The Legend of Jerry Beene

The Last Rep

By Eric Spruill

Imagine being a good athlete. Good enough to lead your high school team to the state basketball tournament in 2000—and still losing pickup games at the YMCA to your 60-year-old grandfather.

Back in the early 2000s, plenty of middle school and high school kids took losses on the court—then got driven home by their bus driver, who had just beat them.

Sounds a little far-fetched at first. But that’s exactly what happened in the gym at Macomb Public Schools—one of many stops in Pottawatomie County where the legend of Jerry Beene began.

Next month, Jerry will turn 86.

The wheel of time keeps turning—just like the ball spinning through his fingers as he lines up another shot.

The ball echoes through the gym at 10:30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning at the Shawnee Family YMCA.

Shooters know the sound—a pure shot snapping through the net in an empty gym.

Now visualize that happening 17 times in a row.

Jerry moves from one spot to the next. Ten feet each time.

Nothing but net.

“I once hit 99 free throws in a row,” he said with a grin. “Choked on the last one.”

This is 85-year-old Jerry. Fresh off mowing a neighbor’s lawn and ready to get in his workout.

Fifteen- to 18-year-old Jerry must have been a terror on the court.

Jerry wasn’t always just a shooter.

“I used to dunk back before it became popular,” he said.

Several tried, but few succeeded in beating him.

“I spent my high school days trying to beat him,” his brother, Joe Beene, said in a Facebook post. “Unfortunately, he was two years older and a much better player.”

In his own words, Jerry grew up dirt poor, the son of an alcoholic. Basketball became his outlet. He played for three schools during his high school years, moving from town to town.

He played at Macomb before going to Bethel—because there was a girl there, he was seeing.

While at Bethel, his coach asked him to “evaporate,” and that suited Jerry just fine. He moved on to Tribbey, where he promptly averaged 30 points per game and helped his team beat Bethel twice that season. They also picked up two wins each over Tecumseh and Dale.

“I could’ve scored 100 points a few times,” Jerry said. “But Coach Claudell Overton liked to play everyone, so that never happened.”

Claudell Overton wasn’t just any coach. He played in the NBA and helped start the Oklahoma Basketball Coaches Association. His son, Bo Overton, is now the head women’s coach at OBU.

His play caught the attention of coaches at OBU, Bacone College and East Central. He chose Bacone.

And his career was over nearly as quickly as it began.

A pop in his knee while standing up from a horseshoe game.

Torn cartilage.

No money. No guarantee surgery would help.

Just like that—his collegiate career was gone.

Or so it seemed.

“The track coach asked me to run the 440,” Jerry said. “I had never run it. I went ahead and ran it—and I won.”

He played ball in the Navy. And just like before—people noticed.

“Some people thought I should try out for the Lakers,” he said. “Back then it didn’t take great size. Today’s guards are 6-7, 6-8. Different game.”

But what may matter most—is who he is off the court.

Faith.

That’s what people talk about.

“He’s the reason I have such a strong faith in God,” his granddaughter, Danielle Neer Evans, said. “He has always been the best example of a Christian for me.”

It shows up every week.

“You can find Jerry and his wife at Bible Study at the Y on Thursdays,” Kirk Hoster said.

It’s who he’s always been.

“My dear friend from my days pastoring the church at Tribbey,” Clyde Ross said. “He is truly an amazing man of faith. He was truly an unforgettable star. He’s still amazing.”

Jerry is a staple at the Y.

An hour of shooting. Another on the treadmill.

A recent post about Jerry—where many of these quotes came from—drew more than 18,000 views in just a day and a half.

People here know Jerry.

And the people who know him speak nothing but great things.

The story isn’t finished.

The National Senior Games invited him to compete in 2027 in Tulsa.

When asked if he’d go: “No. Can’t play like I used to,” Jerry said.

Yet to some, he’s still exactly what he’s always been.

As Scott W. Hawkins put it — “The legend Jerry Beene.”