Column: My childhood goal (unrealized): grow to 6 feet

I desperately wanted to be 6 feet tall.

I wanted it so badly I could taste it. But my dream turned out to be only that. A dream.

I began the pursuit of my dream in 1958. I was in ninth grade. My favorite television program was “Gunsmoke,” and my favorite actor James Arness: Marshal Matt Dillon.

Dillon was cool … and he stood 6-feet, 7-inches tall.

No one with common sense messed with Dillon.

Dillon’s associate, Chester Goode (Dennis Weaver), was 6 foot 2, yet looked 5 foot 2 next to the towering marshal.

I guess I didn’t realize that many things in life are illusory. Chester was Mt. Mitchell of the Appalachians (6,683 feet) compared to Dillon’s Mt. Whitney of the Sierra Nevada (14,505). They’re not comparable.

I learned at 13 that if you want to be perceived as “tall” you don’t stand in a group photo next to the biggest guy in the ninth grade. I was so desperate to be tall that I glued a 1-inch block of wood into the heels of my loafers. That bought me a painful inch.

I ultimately discovered that DNA rules.

My dad was 5 foot 8. My paternal grandfather was 5 foot 7, and my maternal grandfather was 5 foot 6. The two great grandfathers that I knew were both about 5 foot 5.

Still, I harbored this crazy dream.

I entered Costa Mesa High School a 5-foot-6-inch freshman. I figured I had four years to grow 6 inches. I didn’t smoke with my rebellious classmates for fear of stunting my growth. Nor did I imbibe.

I decided to try out for the boy’s basketball team. I was convinced that basketball stimulated growth. I told myself that basketball players aren’t basketball players because they’re tall; they’re tall because they’re basketball players.

I actually believed that.

My favorite Laker, Jerry West, couldn’t possibly be 6 foot 2 by chance. That wouldn’t be fair. The product of an average family, he reached that height because he was a basketball player. God rewards the pursuit of excellence.

I went out for the D squad my freshman year and didn’t make it.

I grew two inches over the next 12 months and, as a strapping 5-foot-8, 120-pound sophomore center, made the D team. Most of the guys on the squad were freshmen and the average height was about 5 foot 4. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

I was king for a day.

I was also third string, which meant I saw the floor only during “garbage time.” Except that teams that go 10-18 don’t enjoy much garbage time.

My junior year I was still 5 foot 8. I was determined to make the junior varsity team, but the average height of players on that squad was about 6 foot 1. I was too small to play center — we had a guy who was 6 foot 6 to do that — and I couldn’t handle the ball well enough to be a guard.

So, I chose to excel in intramural basketball.

I had a decent jump shot, and teams that comprised gym class leagues were lackluster and didn’t play defense — or much of anything else. I kept track of my stats and updated them daily during study hall. I averaged better than 20 points per game as a senior, and in one scored 44.

But I was still 5 foot 8.

So I became public address announcer for my high school’s games. Though I liked playing basketball, I enjoyed being the PA even more. I also kept the score book, called the results to the local newspapers and was sports editor of the school paper.

Talk about preparation for a career.

Playing basketball may not ensure you’ll grow tall, but being an announcer at 14 means you’ll have great pipes at 30.

As a hobby, I spent the next 40 years announcing basketball, football and baseball games.

By the way, I grew a final inch my freshman year of college and topped out at 5 foot 9. Never made it to 6 feet.

Thereafter, however, I always referred to myself as 5 foot 10.

Now, at 73, I can come clean.

Jim Carnett, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.