They’re Making the Best of a Special Relationship

They met at a school for special people, which is how they made each other feel.

“I heard you talking about me,” Paul Crawford said.

“I was not,” Alice Emory said.

Then she giggled, and he knew she was.

Their first date, they walked to the International House of Pancakes.

Their second date, they walked to a basketball court.

He was a Special Olympian, a 6-foot forward who has scored as many as 25 points in one game, and can sometimes even dunk.

She was 5 feet 4 and wore pounds of jewelry.

“I don’t know how to play,” she said.

“Let me teach you,” he said.

So he did, colorful lessons on a stark court in their Compton neighborhood, about dribbling and defense and the oath.

“Let me win; but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.”

He realized the joy of knowing something important, the thrill of passing it along.

She realized the best way to stop him from shooting was to tickle him.

“Pretty soon, she was whupping me,” Paul said.

“Whatever he says,” Alice said.

Pretty soon, the Compton afternoons turned into nights in front of a televised Laker game, visits to Clipper games, more practices, more tickling.

Five years later, last weekend at UCLA, the strangest thing happened.

At the Southern California Special Olympics Summer Games, Alice Emory’s basketball team won a gold medal.

Paul Crawford’s team won a bronze.

But they barely noticed which was which.

“She was great,” he said.

“He was great,” she said.

Which is how two people sound when they are engaged to be married.

The tentative date is Aug. 25, 1998.

Paul, 31, hopes to have his own apartment and driver’s license by then.

Alice, 40, hopes her father is used to the idea by then.

The independent union of two mentally retarded adults may seem ridiculous to some.

About as ridiculous as a guy teaching his girlfriend to play basketball, then watching her win a gold medal in the sport.

“I tell Alice, Special Olympics is training for life,” Paul said.

“I tell everybody, he’s my man,” Alice said.

*

You’ve seen the snapshots, the one-minute TV videos, the athletes running into the arms of volunteers, soft music in the background, tears all around.

This is not about that.

The Southern California Special Olympics are about more than a weekend like the one that recently involved 1,350 athletes at UCLA.

They are a year-round deal that begins with a guy like Paul Crawford, who used to be in a gang, which is like other stories you’ve heard about some athletes with one exception.

Mentally retarded kids are allowed in gangs?

“They are enlisted to do the grunt work,” said Nancy Ward, director of development and communications for the local Special Olympics. “It’s something nobody realizes.”

Crawford was doing that sort of work--scouting other streets for opposing gang members--when the Special Olympics recruited him for basketball, floor hockey, soccer.

He entered a world that isn’t all hugs.

Special Olympic athletes must do well in school and in jobs, or risk suspension. If you curse, you could be benched. If you don’t pay attention, you will be reprimanded.

“It helped me in my job, helped me to learn things better,” Crawford said, referring to his four-hour-a-day shift at a local oil refinery. “It helped me listen.”

He lives in a room in a group home. In his 12 years in the program, not once has anyone in his broken family seen him play.

Special Olympics gave him the confidence to fill this void with somebody like Alice.

She comes from a stable, protected environment. She scoffs at gangs. She also scoffed at basketball, until they met.

“Sports has helped us help each other,” Alice said.

Before each of her games that he attends, he kisses her on the cheek. Afterward, win or lose, he kisses her on the cheek again.

When it is his turn to play, she sits behind his bench. When he looks up at her from the free-throw line, she giggles.

“She’s always giggling,” Paul said.

“I am not,” Alice said, giggling.

During one heated game last weekend, a man guarded by Alice became upset at her tight defense and threatened to hit her.

Alice accepted the challenge, and a fight was looming when two strong arms appeared.

They were Paul’s. He ran down from the bleachers and urged his fiancee to remain calm.

“OK,” shouted the guy to Paul, “I’ll fight you.”

Now it was Alice restraining Paul, holding him as he had held her, two special souls being brave in the attempt.