- An versatile athlete for the Duhawks baseball team, Potts started both in the infield and the outfield, earning the team most valuable player award in 1959.
- A three-year starter, Potts led the Duhawks to a 35-8 record during his three year career and hit .273 (44-for-161).
- A two-year year starter on the basketball team, Potts averaged 8.4 points per game (460 points) in 55 games played.
- Also a member of the Dubuque Independent League Baseball Hall of Fame.
- Along with his brother, Cy, the Potts are the only pair of siblings in the Loras Athletic Hall of Fame.
- It was a very cold spring day and we were having a baseball scrimmage on Keane Field. Coach Vince Dowd was pitching for both sides. Thus the pitches were equally terrible for both sides. No matter, the competitive spirit was obvious. I was playing short, 22.5 feet behind the sidewalk. I swear to God, there was a sidewalk that ran right through our field.
There were men on first and second. The batter’s box was close to the bottom of the hill of Keane Hall, towards Loras Boulevard. One of my teammates on the other side hit a monster of a drive to left that I thought would land in the Rock Bowl. There was a hill in left as well. Dick Wright looked up and ran over the hill and disappeared. But to everyone’s amazement he quickly reappeared and fired a strike to second. “Out! Holy Cow!” said Vince, who couldn’t see from the mound to home, let alone way out to left field; there was a heated argument but the Coach’s call held up. Chewing tobacco and batting gloves are not the only things put in the back pockets of baseball pants. Sometimes an extra baseball fits and works out very well. Ask Dick Wright!
We were playing a big game at St. Norbert’s. We both had very good records. Doc Kammer always traveled with the team when we played at St. Norbert’s. I really don’t know why. At the time I really didn’t care. However, on this trip I was really glad he was along. My shin splints were killing me. Of course, the answer was a “Doc” tape job. I played about ten minutes and Coach Dowd said to me, “You look like you’re in pain.” “Damn right I am. Look at my legs. They’re purple all the way to my crotch.” Doc said, “Gee, Tiny, maybe it’s a little too tight”. To make a long story short, I had Doc cut off the tape job. We went on to win the game and I scored 28 points, the most in any college game in my career. The story doesn’t end there; Doc wanted to tape my shin splint before every game thereafter. “Gee, Tiny, you play a hell of a lot better when you got purple legs. Get your butt up here; I’m taping you.”
I was approaching the batter’s box and first base coach Frank Noonan called me toward him. I met him about halfway between home and first. “I got the signals; if I do this, it’s a fastball; if I do this, it’s a curveball,” he proudly whispered in my ear. What a confidence booster. What an advantage because on the mound was a 6’5” fireballer with an equally wicked curve. I stepped into the box and looked to first. Frank signaled curve, I was ready. The pitcher delivered the pitch and I stepped towards first to go with the pitch but Holy #@^#*, it was a fastball. The ball hit the bill of my hat and it took off like a helicopter blade. When it landed, it was still spinning like a top on a marble floor. Funny Huh?!! When I reached first base I was as white as a ghost. I looked at my friend, my coach, my signal stealer. By God, he was grinning from ear to ear. It sure as hell wasn’t funny. But before I could say, “Please don’t do me anymore favors,” Frank leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I can’t help it if he crossed up his catcher.” As I look back on this incident, I think of the trust I had in Frank and the lifelong friendship as a result of this trust. Frank, when I get up there with you, I’m going to really tell you what I was thinking when I reached first.
Story
It was a very cold spring day and we were having a baseball scrimmage on Keane Field. Coach Vince Dowd was pitching for both sides. Thus the pitches were equally terrible for both sides. No matter, the competitive spirit was obvious. I was playing short, 22.5 feet behind the sidewalk. I swear to God, there was a sidewalk that ran right through our field.
There were men on first and second. The batter’s box was close to the bottom of the hill of Keane Hall, towards Loras Boulevard. One of my teammates on the other side hit a monster of a drive to left that I thought would land in the Rock Bowl. There was a hill in left as well. Dick Wright looked up and ran over the hill and disappeared. But to everyone’s amazement he quickly reappeared and fired a strike to second. “Out! Holy Cow!” said Vince, who couldn’t see from the mound to home, let alone way out to left field; there was a heated argument but the Coach’s call held up. Chewing tobacco and batting gloves are not the only things put in the back pockets of baseball pants. Sometimes an extra baseball fits and works out very well. Ask Dick Wright!
We were playing a big game at St. Norbert’s. We both had very good records. Doc Kammer always traveled with the team when we played at St. Norbert’s. I really don’t know why. At the time I really didn’t care. However, on this trip I was really glad he was along. My shin splints were killing me. Of course, the answer was a “Doc” tape job. I played about ten minutes and Coach Dowd said to me, “You look like you’re in pain.” “Damn right I am. Look at my legs. They’re purple all the way to my crotch.” Doc said, “Gee, Tiny, maybe it’s a little too tight”. To make a long story short, I had Doc cut off the tape job. We went on to win the game and I scored 28 points, the most in any college game in my career. The story doesn’t end there; Doc wanted to tape my shin splint before every game thereafter. “Gee, Tiny, you play a hell of a lot better when you got purple legs. Get your butt up here; I’m taping you.”
I was approaching the batter’s box and first base coach Frank Noonan called me toward him. I met him about halfway between home and first. “I got the signals; if I do this, it’s a fastball; if I do this, it’s a curveball,” he proudly whispered in my ear. What a confidence booster. What an advantage because on the mound was a 6’5” fireballer with an equally wicked curve. I stepped into the box and looked to first. Frank signaled curve, I was ready. The pitcher delivered the pitch and I stepped towards first to go with the pitch but Holy #@^#*, it was a fastball. The ball hit the bill of my hat and it took off like a helicopter blade. When it landed, it was still spinning like a top on a marble floor. Funny Huh?!! When I reached first base I was as white as a ghost. I looked at my friend, my coach, my signal stealer. By God, he was grinning from ear to ear. It sure as hell wasn’t funny. But before I could say, “Please don’t do me anymore favors,” Frank leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I can’t help it if he crossed up his catcher.” As I look back on this incident, I think of the trust I had in Frank and the lifelong friendship as a result of this trust. Frank, when I get up there with you, I’m going to really tell you what I was thinking when I reached first.
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Jack Frasco was not only a prolific scorer, but also an excellent passer. On one memorable occasion be came out to the wing position and posted up. I passed the ball to him and cut to the basket brushing my defensive guard into Jack as I cut by him. I was wide open going to the basket as no one picked me up. Jack without looking back raised the ball over his head and made a perfect blind pass to me right into my hands at perfect height and speed. I missed the layup!!!
Jack, being the tremendous teammate he was, never said an audible word. I felt I owed him an explanation, “Sorry jack, that was the greatest pass. I must have hit my head on the rim!” Then Jack said a few choice words!!! Everyone had a good laugh and we went on to win the game.
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I was a very young energetic freshman when I came to my first scrimmage with Loras varsity basketball team. From the point position I was racing to the basket and the next thing I remember I was sliding on the backside and landed with my back to the bleachers. When I came too, I remember a very large hand belonging to Mr. Ed Lang lifted me to my feet and said, “Welcome to the varsity team Tiny!” I replied, “Thank you Mr. Lang.” From that point forward Ed was my “guardian.”
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We were in a tight game; I was fouled just as the final horn was about to go off. I was given two free throws, one to tie and one to win. I made both free throws and we won the game. My memory is no so much that I was lucky enough to make two free throws and win the game, but what happened after the game in the locker room. I was just out of the shower and starting to get dressed when Bishop Lane came up to me and blessed me right in there in the middle of the locker room. I choose to think he blessed me for my “good character” and not for making two free throws. Whatever his reason, I appreciated being blessed by a Bishop.
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I played J.V. games and suited for the Varsity in my freshman year. After one J.V. game I was sitting on the bench thinking I had played my game for the night. Out of the noisy gym I hear my name. I leaned forward and there was coach Dowd asking me to come by him. He said to me, “Go in there and break that press!” Holy S#$%! St. Ambrose utilized a 3-2-zone press. Three tall players had their hands up under our basket and two very quick guards patrolled behind them halfway between the half court line and the top of the free throw circle. When I entered the game, I did break the press using all my dribbling skills I learned as a youngster at the Boys & Girls Club. That was the first time in a college game that I used all dribbling skills that I had practiced for hours and hours. I do remember that first very loud ovation as I dribbled behind my back to beat a defender and pass to a teammate.
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We were playing a scrimmage game on Keane field. I was playing shortstop and Dick Wright (teammate), was playing leftfield. If you recall there was a steep bank in left field, which led down to the football field. One of the opposing team’s batters hit a fly ball that I swear landed on the football field. Dick ran over the bank out of sight and returned immediately and threw a perfect strike to me at second base. The runner was in his homerun trot and I will never forget the look on his face when he saw me at second base holding the ball. He was dumbfounded. I could hear Coach Dowd, “Holy Cow! What’s going on!?!” Dick Wright wasn’t the speediest on the team, but he was the smartest. He had a baseball in his back pocket for just such an occasion. I can still hear Vince to this day, “Holy Cow! What is going on!?!”
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We were playing a game and Frank Noonan was coaching first base. He and my brother Gerald Potts were permanent fixtures at the scoring table for our basketball games.
The opponent pitcher was a very, very hard throwing right-hander. As I was getting ready to step into the batters box when Frank called me down to first base. He cupped his hands to my ear and whispered, “I have their signals. Do you want them?” Now my mother didn’t raise any dummies so I said sure. As I returned to the batters box, I looked toward Frank and he gave me the signal of a curveball. Good, here it comes. I waited and waited for it to break. It didn’t! God was with me, I just got my head out of the way in time. The ball hit the bill of my batting helmet and flew up in the air like a helicopter blade! Needless to say Frank and I talked again when I reached first base and I told him to never ever give me another stolen signal as long as I lived. A classic Frank reply was, “I cannot help he crossed up the catcher.” I had to laugh, Frank was such a neat man.
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Many days in the spring it was very cold. Batting practice was not so comfortable. It was especially brutal when Dick Winter was throwing knuckleballs. Getting hit with one was bad enough, but when Dick would chuckle and smile it would hurt twice as much. But it was okay and still fun because Dick was a tough free spirit and a great teammate.
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This same tough Dick Winter was only beaten one time in his college career. A very good pitcher! It was an honor to play with him.
The baseball team always had a “track team” in the intramural track meet at the end of the school year. Now the same Dick Winter mentioned above always to have fun. Several days before the track meet he jumped off a bench in the locker room and ran a nail into the ball of his foot. No trouble, he ran the hurdles in the intramural track meet. OUCH! When the going gets tough, the tough get going. A great friend of mine to this day!
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Our team will ever forget the hotel we stayed at in Missouri. The outside room fire escape was a thick rope with knots tied at equal intervals. No kidding! Some of my creative teammates found these “fire escapes” very useful to haul “Pepsi and Coke” products up through the window into their rooms. Where there is a will, there is a way!
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The most important and lasting memory I have of my baseball and basketball career experiences at Loras are of my teammates. They were what all good teammates should be: One for All and All for One! We worked very hard together, we played very hard together, we won together and we lost together, but most importantly we were a team. There was no an “I” in our teams. I love every one of them then and always will. My teammates fully share in my Hall of Fame memberships. God Bless each and every one of them, without teammates there is no Hall of Fame.
