Glenn Stitzel admits to being blissfully unaware during one of the signature moments of his basketball career at Millersville University (then Millersville State College) over a half-century ago. Some context is in order, though.

Playing for a team that ran relentlessly and amid a 1967-68 season in which he averaged 31.1 points a game (still a school record), the senior guard found himself lighting it up once more against since-shuttered Southeastern University one January night in Brooks Hall. And with time running down and matters well in hand – the Marauders would win, 130-102 – he wondered why coach Dick DeHart still had him out there.

Then Stitzel banged in one last shot, and the crowd erupted.

“I was thinking, ‘I guess I did something here,’” he recalled recently.

He had, in fact, scored 58 points to break Roger Raspen’s one-year-old school record by two. That mark also still stands.

The years have rolled past. Stitzel, who also played baseball at Millersville, was drafted in the 27th round by the Mets in 1968 and hit .295 in eight minor-league seasons with three organizations, while rising as high as Triple-A. After that he taught and coached hoops at Palisades High School, in Bucks County. He also played basketball deep into his 50s. (“Then,” he said, “my knees gave out.”)

Now long retired, he is content at age 75 to sit in the stands on game nights in Pucillo Gym, just across the MU campus from Brooks Hall and just across the court from his son Casey, who coaches his alma mater.

OK, maybe content is pushing it a little. Glenn is certainly not content every minute of every game. But mostly, yeah. The Marauders are 22-5 this year, Casey’s sixth on the job, heading into Saturday’s regular-season finale against Lock Haven. Last time they won that many games was 2007-08. Last time they won more was the season before.

Unlike that night in January 1968, Glenn is aware of every damn thing as the action unfolds before him. Part fan, part coach and all dad, he squirms and agonizes. One moment he is leaning forward in rapt attention. The next he is leaning back in exasperation. Frequently he extends his arms, palms raised, in an unmistakable what-the-you-know-what gesture.

Just trying to help the referees out, is all.

“C’mon,” he muttered when the Marauders’ James Sullivan was called for a blocking foul in the first half of MU’s 92-80 victory over West Chester on Wednesday night. “That’s awful.”

Later, a whistle sounded when the Rams’ Jamil Manigo tried to execute a Euro-step.

“Trrrr-aveling,” intoned Ralph Anttonen, Millersville’s long-time public-address announcer. “Maaa-rauder ball.”

“He did that the last time,” Stitzel said of Manigo, and it certainly appeared he had.

Seated around Stitzel in the stands were his contemporaries. Mel Allen, with whom he played hoops all those years ago (and a retired MU professor of philosophy). Ben Cooper, with whom he played baseball (and a program benefactor of such stature that the Marauders’ home field is named after him). Joe Schneider, with whom Stitzel played both sports. And Allen Hopkins, a retired McCaskey guidance counselor and fellow ‘68 grad. 

Terri Stitzel, one day short of celebrating her 49th anniversary with Glenn, sat on a folding chair next to the stands and fretted herself – “I can’t stand it,” she said. “It drives me crazy” – leaving her husband and his cohorts to kibitz. They discussed knee replacements and such, Stitzel having had one last year, Allen three months ago. And naturally they couldn’t resist a gibe or two, as was the case after the Marauders’ Ryan Davis swooped in for a second-half dunk. Schneider, seated a row in front of Stitzel, turned to his former roommate and fellow MU Hall of Famer.

“Just like you used to do it,” he said.

The Marauders, who never trailed, built a 23-point lead in the final minutes, then saw play grow so ragged that both Stitzels were left fuming over non-calls. 

They would commiserate in the locker room afterward. They planned to talk again the next morning, after both had reviewed the video at their respective homes in Lititz – no surprise, considering Glenn had served as Casey’s assistant in his first head-coaching stop, Perkiomen Valley High School, and his second, Delaware Valley College.

“He’s not afraid to tell you the truth,” Casey said, “even though you might not want to hear it.”

Glenn confirmed that he always tried to shoot his son straight.

“It didn’t matter if he got mad at me,” he said. “My feelings couldn’t get hurt anymore. I’d been through everything.”

One of their long-standing disagreements goes back to Casey’s childhood in Quakertown, and concerns when he finally beat his dad one-on-one. Casey, who played at Widener, swears it happened at age 16, and would have happened sooner had his dad not resorted to hacking. Glenn, 35 years older and three or four inches shorter than his son, swears it happened much later.

“If he says he beat me at 16, we’ll leave it at that,” he said. “But I don’t quite remember that.”

Suffice it to say they are of one accord now, that they walk in lockstep – one man savoring how things once were, and both men celebrating how they are now.

(Photo of Casey Stitzel courtesy of Millersville University)