"A Day to Cherish" by Ben Blaho

Here is another essay contributed by Ben Blaho. He shared this with us while visiting our booth at Copemish Heritage Days in 2025. He wrote this essay about his time playing on the 1952 Copemish Cyclones state runner-up basketball team. We hope you will enjoy reading it.

A Day to Cherish

The day is March 22, 1952 some 58 years ago. What was it? What happened and why? What is the outcome, does it all make sense?

Here we are, Smith, Rodgers, Nordbeck, Finan, Bigelow, Egan, Morris, Suchy, Jakubik, Scarbrough, Milks, and me, Ben Blaho.

It all started about 6 years earlier when I was in the 4th grade during school recess time. Boys from my grade would be playing basketball on the playground and would be challenged by the older 5th grade boys to the point where sometimes it ended in a fight. But even though we were smaller and younger, we would never give up. This went on until Mr. Jewett, the school superintendent, took charge and assigned a senior varsity basketball player to each class and started to train us for the big match in the gym with all school students present. This event went on for the next two years. And that was the start of being groomed to be the best could.

A group of young basketball players from the Copemish School, 1947-48
(photo courtesy of Ben Blaho).

During my 7th grade, we are now part of the Manistee County school league, and the two grades are playing as one team with Mr. Fish, the varsity basketball coach, teaching and guiding us. Now fast forward through my 7th, 8th, and 9th grades, my team wins every game we play.

Sophomore year is here, and some of us are now starting players on the Copemish Cyclones varsity basketball team. And yes, we are still winning each game. With the league championship, district and regional titles behind us, we are going to Petoskey for the Michigan State quarter-final game. By all reports and newspaper ratings, this team from Manistee County is about to lose, as the team from Mass are taller, faster, and better than the Cyclones.

Coach Fish instructs us to do what we do best; Never give up and work our game plan. The whistle blows and the game is under way. 8 minutes later the 1st quarter is over and we have a comfortable lead, to the point where we are over confident and making fun of our opponents. 2nd quarter starts and before we know it we are behind; Now we are in the ball game of our lives. For the rest of the game, no more than 3 points separates us; First one team then the other would be ahead. In the last minute we did it! The headlines read "Copemish Cyclones 1st County Team to Reach Lansing in 19 Year, Beat Mass 51 to 50."

Ben Blaho in his #12 basketball jersey (photo courtesy of Blaho).

On Friday night we win our semi-final game 60 to 42... Now to Saturday, March 22, and the Class D state final game.

What makes this night so special is, first, most of us have never been away from home and now we are staying at the Olds Hotel, best hotel in Lansing at the time. 7:30 P.M, game time: playing a team from Fowler, rated #1 in the state, and at Michigan State College's Jenison Field House, the first time we have ever seen glass backboards. We can't see the gym walls like in the smaller schools we have been playing in; Our view is only spectators. Did they scare us? I don't remember.

The horn blows, lights are turned off, and the spotlight is on each player as they are introduced. Boy is that a special memory! At the end of the 1st quarter we know we have met our match, as Fowler was taller, faster, and no match for us. They win, the score 55 to 20.

However, we were still champions of northern Michigan, and put up a defense that kept Fowler 25 points under their game average of 80. And that is a success for us; Also, we a have a Michigan state runner-up trophy to show for it.


The 1952 Copemish Cyclones basketball team (photo courtesy of Ben Blaho).

This night is one I will remember all my life. It shows what can be done with average talent, training, determination, and a never-give-up attitude.

Thank you, Coach Fish.


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