I joined IAABO Board 39 in 1978 and retired once the pandemic struck in early 2020.

In February of 2019, one week before the end of the regular season, I received an unusual phone request from a board officer. He wanted me to assess the competency of a fellow veteran official.

The gentleman in question was in his 70s and allegedly demonstrating erratic behavior. He was a longtime friend and my most frequent whistle-blowing partner over my career. We likely worked far more than 100 middle school, junior varsity and varsity girls and boys games together over the years.

I was clearly the right person for this sensitive job.

Bill Hammond

I had not seen this official at all during the 2018-19 season. We had not been paired and curiously he had not attended a single board meeting.

This was highly unusual and indicated this would be his swan song to officiating. Missing mandatory meetings would likely make him ineligible for next season.

I had heard more than one report about my friend’s quirky behavior from other officials.

They said he failed to recognize out-of-bounds lines, was confused where to stand and once realized he was missing his whistle halfway through the first quarter. All telltale signs to me of diminishing cognitive ability.

My caller and other board officers had obviously heard some of those concerns and likely more. Referees gossip. A lot.

My initial thought was why hadn’t my board leadership immediately investigated. Any hint of alcohol, drugs, profanity, sexism, or even criticism of a fellow official would have prompted an immediate investigation and likely severe penalties.

Basketball begins in November and this was mid-February. That’s four long months.

These reports were unsettling and totally out of character. The situation had demanded a prompt decision.

The board’s integrity was at stake, not to mention a cherished longtime official’s apparently slipping mental health.

I showed up extra early for our middle school boys game and discreetly asked the opposing coaches if they had observed my partner this season. Neither had but were familiar with his work over the years.

As game time neared, my partner was nowhere to be seen. Officials generally try to arrive at a minimum of 30 minutes ahead of tip-off. That’s time enough to change into uniform and go through a pregame discussion on rules and duties.

My partner walked into the gym with less than five minutes to game time and appeared stunned by his surroundings. He stared at the facilities like it was his first time visiting the site.

Then instead of hurrying to the locker room to change into his uniform, he walked over and sat down on a team bench. Something was clearly not right.

I encouraged him to change and he returned moments later with an unusual whistle I surmised he had grabbed from a coach’s locker.

I asked if he was okay. He said he was, but when he wanted to know where I would like him to stand for the opening jump ball, I knew otherwise. My heart sank.

The game was a disaster. He whistled only on out-of-bounds plays.

I was forced to call all of the game’s fouls, several from the wrong end of the gym. We frequently passed each other while running up and down the court, which should never happen.

Both coaches approached me at halftime with concerns. I did my best to reassure them I would take control and we managed to make it through a difficult situation.

My old friend was uncharacteristically quiet and distant after the game. He quickly dressed without showering and left, explaining he had to hurry home.

I called my board contact as soon as I walked in the door at home and gave him a piece of my mind and the bad news — my partner was unfit to work a game at any level. I later learned he had been diagnosed with dementia.

My anger over the incident only grew. I eventually filed the only formal grievance of my officiating career. I made accusations of dereliction of duty and conduct detrimental to the board.

Never heard a word back about it.

I’m still furious about the whole sorry episode. It should never have been allowed to happen.

Rest in peace, my friend. You deserved better. Much better.

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Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor.