Love, Loss, and Stanford Women's Basketball

In honor of Stephanie and Enduring Bonds Among Teammates

Jul 22, 2024

Hi friends. Welcome, newcomers. Delighted to have all of you on this team.

My relationship with Stephanie, who died this month of cancer at age 68, lasted two years – or fifty, depending on how you count it.

We were Stanford basketball players. We met in 1974 in the “women’s gym,” which was so small we needed a special skill: a leaping, flying, one-legged judo kick against the end wall to avoid slamming into it after hard-charging layups. Executed properly, with a mid-air spin, you could redirect your momentum toward racing back downcourt.

We became lovers the following year during a backpacking trip through the Grand Canyon. Soon I was proudly sporting a “Teenage Lesbian” button around campus.

We also became activists, holding sit-ins in the Stanford athletic director’s office, insisting the university start implementing Title IX, which had passed in 1972. Along with scholarships, paid coaches, trainers, and access to the men-only weight room, we wanted out of that “women’s gym” (now re-purposed as a yoga studio) and into Maples Pavilion, the grand arena Stanford had recently built — for the men.

Stephanie graduated a year before me and moved to Seattle. With our relationship ending amicably, we agreed to co-parent Druffy, the scruffy puppy my brother had found as a stray and passed along to us. But when the time came for Stephanie to bring Druffy back to Palo Alto, she called me in tears. “Druffy doesn’t want to leave me,” she pleaded. I relented.

When Druffy died seven years later, Stephanie called from the vet, again in tears. Somehow, Druffy was still our dog. By then I had accepted a job working at Women’s Sports and Fitness magazine. Steph shared the sad Druffy news as I was getting ready to ride my bike to my first day of work. I remember feeling torn between the past – Stephanie and Druffy – and my future: an exciting job as an editor for the national magazine founded by Billie Jean King. Concerned about being late, I risked it reminisce. I remember sharing the story about the time we were arguing during a hike in the Stanford foothills and retreated in opposite directions to cool down as the sun sank. Alarmed, Druffy raced back and forth between us in the dimming light, an urgent mediator insisting we reunite. Her frantic errand made us laugh and broke the tension.

Stephanie never really stayed in my past. I last heard from her in March. I had been sorting through my late mother’s photo albums and posted this treasure to Facebook. It shows five members of the Stanford women’s basketball team during a hike in those same Stanford foothills circa 1975.

That’s Steph on the far left. I’m second from right. Seems she’s looking at me because that’s how she used to do that: all shy smiles and affectionate gazes. But maybe she’s just responding, like the rest of us, to a funny moment.

Onnie Killefer, the team jokester (far right), probably said the funny thing. Along with Sukie Jackson and me, she was one of the “trees” on a team with three women over 5’10” – a height that, believe it or not, counted as tall for female basketball players then. At 6’1,” I was the tallest. Our point guard (not pictured) was nicknamed Stumpy (Frances) O’Meara. The entire team became known as “the Trees and Stumps.” That’s how Mom captioned the photo.

Stanford was transitioning away from its Indian mascot then (thank goodness), and on a student survey, many of us voted for the Stanford Trees. (Palo Alto means tall stick and El Palo Alto is the name of a particular redwood.) Ultimately, the administration rejected all mascot options and chose, oddly, a color: Cardinal. But the Stanford Tree lives on as the unofficial mascot and dances at halftime in a crazy evergreen outfit.

The Trees and Stumps live on, too. Not literally, as you already know. Jasmine Gunthorpe (middle) was the first to die, in 1999, while the rest of us were celebrating 25 years of Stanford women’s basketball along with Jennifer Azzi, Sonja Henning, and other younger stars. Jasmine did not attend the reunion but we learned of her death while we were in Palo Alto. Again, we mourned together.

Stephanie died on July 4. Another teammate, Kathy Levinson (not pictured), reached out to tell me the following day. I asked if Steph’s close friend Sonia Jarvis (second from left), already knew. She did.

In Stephanie’s reply to my Facebook photo, she shared her charming “Just Want to Play Ball!” essay, which tells the sit-in story I’ve told many times. It was Sonia and Jasmine who joined Stephanie and me for those long, uninvited hours in the athletic director’s office. Eventually, Stanford listened to us (and to Title IX itself, I presume) and hired Dotty McCrea and Sue Rojcewicz, its first paid women’s basketball coaches; began offering scholarships; and allowed us access to the weight room and Maples.

In May, Stanford renamed Maples. Now it’s Tara VanDerveer Court in honor of the coach who elevated the women’s basketball team to a national powerhouse.

Do we appreciate the poetic justice of the arena that once excluded women being renamed for VanDerveer, the NCAA's all-time winningest basketball coach? Heck, yes.

I don’t know if anything will be named in Stephanie’s honor. As a nature-lover who became a carpenter, she did love trees, as well as the Trees and Stumps. Hoping to offer a fitting tribute, I’ve planted a few trees throughout this story.

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