Jungle Jim Loscutoff

Anyone who followed professional basketball in the ‘60s will remember the small forward for the Boston Celtics, Jim Loscutoff.  At 6’5” and 220 lbs of solid muscle. he was an opposing player’s worst nightmare.  He learned the game on the streets of Palo Alto, California and became a legend playing at the University of Oregon.  Jim and I lived in the same fraternity and shared the same birthday (Feb.4, 1930) but he got all the good stuff.

The son of Russian immigrants, Loscutoff was a charismatic figure on the small campus of the university where he acquired admirers for his ability to find where the fun was, whether it was occurring, on or off the basketball court (He once left the bench when pulled from a game Oregon was winning big and went to a hallway hotdog stand and returned eating the weenie).

Jim was a master manipulator of yo-yos and would do pre-game exhibitions of amazing yo-yo tricks.  Those antics, of course, brought the house down in historic MacArthur Court.

And, oh my, was he a hit off the court as Jungle Jim and his entourage roamed the campus looking for the action.  If they didn’t find it, they created it.  One time at a charity auction fund-raiser, Loscutoff and Jack Faust (a talented musician and creative showman) were purchased by the Alpha Chi Omega sorority to do their act which involved Faust singing while strumming his banjo as Loscutoff flexed his muscles and did dance moves.  But shortly into their act, Loscutoff spontaneously leaped onto a chair next to Faust and started playing the zipper of his fly like a musical instrument, up and down in rhythm with Jack’s banjo.  Can you hear the shrieking, stomping, and clapping of the sisters of Alpha Chi Omega? Can you see the sorority house mother  powering her way to the performers, arms waving and screaming for them to leave immediately?

And so the legend of Jungle Jim Loscutoff grew and grew.  Some time later Loscutoff was expelled from the University for another incident, but that’s another story.

Rus'vil''Echo 12/18/'21

 As a resident in the Russellville Park retirement community,  I am privy to much of what’s happening in this remarkable encampment of citizens who have stepped back from playing the role of slave to the the dictates of a clock and now march (however slowly) to the  cadence of their own drum.

What a crew. Take Bob who once ran a maximum security state prison in New Jersey and once a week, in the evening, would walk alone among the inmates. These were not choir- boys. Or Rodney who spent his working life among archival treasures, including those of the New York Public Library.  Or Lou the one-time California state patrolman who would chase you down at 100 miles an hour and run you into the ditch if you didn’t pull over. Then smile and wish you a really nice day as he handed you your summons. Or Betty who is 102 and will sprinkle an expletive or two in telling you about her adventures in San Fransisco during WWII.

And on and on. This place is full of residents with great stories.  Which results, if you keep your ears open, in entertaining eavesdropping.

Lady seated at a table for lunch greeting her approaching friend: “ Hi, I see you found your teeth.”

“Oh, look, is that the new woman from the fifth floor?”

“Which woman?”

“That one, with the grey hair”

“Well, you’ve narrowed it down to 50.  Thanks.”

Diner to server who has just delivered a plate of food to him: “What’s that supposed to be?”

Server: “Not sure, but there’s a lot more of it in the kitchen.”

Mary Barrett greets a new resident: Hi,  my name’s Mary, welcome to Russellville.”

“Hello, Mary, my name is Ruth”

                       (They chat)

Ruth: “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“My name is Mary, Ruth”

“Your name is Mary Ruth?”

“No, Ruth, my name is Mary.”

That’s the news from Russellville.