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The Cedric Maxwell Interview

By: Michael D. McClellan | The man known as “Cornbread” arrives as the Celtics bottom out, the organization’s future as cloudy as a room filled with Red Auerbach’s cigar smoke. After decades of acquiring talented, high-character players who put the team’s goals ahead of their own, Boston is suddenly a breeding ground for malcontents and me-first players, as a wave of overpaid and under-performing athletes infect the NBA. The 1977–78 season disintegrates almost as soon as it begins, a campaign that sees Jo Jo White shut down with injuries, Charlie Scott traded away, and Heinsohn fired after 34 games. Havlicek, the team’s elder statesman, plays all 82 games and does his best to represent Celtic Pride. He announces his retirement on January 29, 1978, igniting a league-wide farewell tour that ends with a meaningless 131–114 Boston Garden victory over the hapless Buffalo Braves. The ongoing drama rolls through the summer and on into the 1978–79 season, headlined by Auerbach’s courtship with the rival Knicks.

In steps Cedric Maxwell, who joins the Celtics as the 12th pick in the 1977 NBA draft. A star at lightly-regarded UNC-Charlotte, Maxwell’s promising transition to the pros goes largely unnoticed due to the circus atmosphere permeating North Station. He plays in 72 games, averaging seven points and five boards, and displays a knack for cleaning up missed shots. Not a bad start for a player hoping to ball elsewhere.

“When I found out I was going to be drafted by Boston, I couldn’t believe it,” Maxwell says. “I’m a Southern boy. I wasn’t prepared to make my home in Boston. Besides, I heard that Atlanta was going to take me with the 14th pick if I were still on the board, so it wouldn’t have broken my heart if Red had passed on me.”

Maxwell’s road to the NBA starts in Kinston, North Carolina. It’s hardly the Jim Crow South, but it isn’t the most progressive place, either.

“North Carolina was a segregated situation in the late ’50s and early ’60s. I vividly remember the white and colored water fountains and bathrooms.”

Maxwell lives in Kinston until age six, at which point his father’s military obligation takes him to Hawaii.

“I felt isolated . . . Hawaii was a great environment and a great learning experience, so it’s really hard to complain. I remember my mother taking us to the beach on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and how much fun we had on those trips together as a family. Culturally, we were around a lot of Asian kids and native Hawaiians. The diversity was quite a contrast from North Carolina in the late ’50s.”

They say that all roads lead home. In Maxwell’s case, it’s on a commercial flight instead of in the family station wagon.

“We moved back to Kinston, which is where I played my high school basketball,” Maxwell explains. “I was something of a late-bloomer—I was cut from team as a junior—but I grew from 6–3 to 6–7 in the span of a year, and we ended up winning the state championship. From there I decided to attend UNC-Charlotte.”

Maxwell’s arrival helps transform a basketball program that had never won more than 15 games in a season; the 49ers lose just 18 games during his four years at the school, and the 1976 NIT Tournament becomes known as “Cornbread’s Garden Party,” after the 49ers reach the finals against Kentucky.

“There weren’t many who got to see us play during the regular season, so we were an unknown coming into the NIT. We got on a roll and beat NC State and Oregon. We also beat a very good San Francisco team with Bill Cartwright at center. The loss to Kentucky was tough to take, because we’d had such a good year and the game was close. Rick Robey was on that team. He would later be my teammate in Boston.”

Maxwell is named the tournament’s Most Valuable Player.

“Winning the MVP award proved that I was good enough to play with the best in the country. Unfortunately, we didn’t win the championship. I’d trade the award for a win over Kentucky in the final, no hesitation.”

A year later, UNCC makes a storybook run to the Final Four. Maxwell’s star shines brightest in the 1977 Mideast Regional Final against Michigan. The 75–68 win catapults the 49ers into the Final Four and a date with Marquette, the other Cinderella story of the tournament. With three seconds left in a tight and tense National Semifinal, Maxwell hits a dramatic shot to tie the game at 49. And then…

“Butch Lee of Marquette flings a length-of-the-court inbounds pass toward Bo Ellis,” Maxwell says, shaking his head. “The ball is deflected off of Ellis’s hands, but then it goes directly to his teammate, Jerome Whitehead. Whitehead bumped me, but I was still able to partially block his dunk. The ball hit the backboard and bounced off the rim before dropping. The shot somehow goes in, and Marquette gets the victory. They win the national championship a couple of nights later.”

The four years Maxwell spends on campus represent a Golden Age for UNCC basketball. He averages 20 points and 12 rebounds in each of his final two seasons at Charlotte, and walks away having never lost at home.

“How many players can say that they’ve never lost a home game?” he asks proudly. “We were 58–0. It’s a remarkable statistic because we competed against a mixture of teams during that run, some of them very good. Robert Parish played us in Charlotte, and Centenary was very tough at that time. We beat them by two points. We first faced Robert in the 1975 NIT Tipoff Tournament, and we won that game as well. I had his number in college. He had to come to Boston to keep me from beating him in the pros.”

Had he played for a major program, Maxwell would have been a top five pick. Auerbach, looking for a rebounding forward with a nose for the basket, grabs Maxwell when the Celtics pick at twelve.

“I joined a team that suffered its first losing season in almost ten years,” Maxwell says. “We had veterans who had won two championships together. We also had guys like Dave Bing, Curtis Rowe, and Sidney Wicks. Kermit Washington was brought in and played 32 games. Ernie DiGregorio played 27. We had a collection of former All-Stars, but the chemistry just wasn’t right. It reached a point of desperation. It was a very difficult period.”

The Celtics’ fortunes change with the arrival of Larry Bird in 1979. By the time Bird arrives in Boston he’s already a national phenom, leading Indiana State to 1979 NCAA National Championship Game before falling to Magic Johnson’s Michigan State Spartans. Most expect that Bird will become a solid pro; few, however, can foresee Bird becoming one of the greatest players in NBA history. All Bird does in his first season is lead the Celtics to 61 wins.

“Larry came in with a chip on his shoulder,” Maxwell says. “There were so many people who questioned his talent, and who said that he wasn’t going to be great. Others labeled him the ‘White Hope.’ Larry was determined to come in and prove these people wrong. He worked hard and he carried that attitude with him all the time. He was very motivated to succeed.”

For a young Cedric Maxwell, having Bird on the roster means making personal sacrifices for the good of the team, not an easy ask of a player with so much talent.

“Larry’s arrival meant that my role changed. The previous season I’d averaged 19 points-per-game and was the go-to guy on offense. Larry was suddenly the primary weapon. He played on the opposite side of the basket and I understood the need for me to sacrifice in order to make the team better. Personal statistics and achievements weren’t important to me. I was a team player. I wanted to win, so I concentrated on other aspects of my game.”

Bird’s presence returns a team to its roots—teamwork instead of individual agendas, hard work instead of shortcuts. Three years of dysfunction washes away over the course of 82 games. A playoff defeat at the hands of the Philadelphia 76ers does little to slow the renaissance underway on Causeway Street.

“As for that particular Celtics team, I’d have to say that we were the best that year in terms of the total package, but we just didn’t get the job done in playoffs. Philly was more athletic, and Los Angeles had more foot speed. I think that was obvious to anyone who followed NBA basketball at the time. But I still think that we were the more complete team of the three.”

Bird also brings a swagger to the Celtics. He quickly becomes one of the most famous trash-talkers in the game, a trait that he shares with Maxwell.

“Max was always talking trash,” Larry Bird says, flipping the script. “There would be times when he’d walk into the locker room after an interview and say, ‘Hey, we’ve got to get serious tonight. I just said something the other team’s not going to like.’”

Maxwell: “Larry was a pretty good talker himself—in fact, he was the talker of all talkers! M. L. Carr was always talking trash. Kevin McHale was always talking. Danny Ainge, too. It was total team effort! I talked trash because I knew I’d have to back it up. I didn’t want to go out there and look like a fool after saying things to fire up an opponent. It raised the stakes.”

With Bird and Maxwell, the Celtics’ frontline is good—but when Auerbach engineers a trade with Golden State to land Robert Parish and Kevin McHale, it becomes historic.

“Robert had a bad agent representing him at the time, which helped Red pull off the trade with the Warriors,” says Maxwell. “That was one of the best trades in NBA history—or one of the worst, depending on which end you were on. The Big Three became legendary, and rightfully so. I was the Fourth Musketeer, the guy who got lost in the shadows cast by Larry, Kevin and Robert. I’d like to think that I was a pretty important piece of the puzzle while I was there.”

Boston goes on to win the 1981 NBA Championship, defeating the Houston Rockets. Game 5 of the Finals is vintage Max; with the series deadlocked at two games apiece and Rockets star Moses Malone talking trash, Maxwell responds with a 28-point, 19-rebound performance that helps shift momentum and propel the Celtics to their 14th banner. Maxwell is named Finals MVP.

“That was the year we were down 3–1 to the 76ers in the Eastern Conference Finals,” he says. “Philadelphia had Julius Erving and a great supporting cast, so that series felt like we were playing for the championship. We came back and won three straight close games. Beating Houston was incredible, but we knew that they weren’t as talented or as deep as Philly. Overconfidence was the only thing that would could keep us from winning that series, and we weren’t going to let that happen. Being named MVP was icing on the cake.”

“When most people think of Robert, they see the stoic player who didn’t say much and who didn’t change his expression all that often. He was a talker away from the court, and he could tell a joke. A lot of people don’t realize that about Robert. He was a really funny guy with a very good sense of humor.”

The Celtics win another NBA championship in 1984, this one against Magic Johnson and the heavily favored Lakers. This time it’s Bird who garners MVP honors, but nobody plays bigger than Maxwell when it matters most. “I always looked at myself as a big game player,” Maxwell says. “My mother is a very competitive person. I think that’s where I got it.”

That Maxwell outshines Bird in Game 7 is a surprise to most, but not to those who know him best. He attacks forward James Worthy from the opening tip, scoring 24 points and crashing the boards like a fringe player on a 10-day contract.

“I think my performance against the Lakers was so noticeable because I was more laid back than Larry,” he continues. “Larry only knew one way to play—he gave 110 percent all the time. I turned it on when I needed to. I had a little extra to give in that game.”

Maxwell’s time with the Celtics ends amid a very public feud with Auerbach, when, on September 6, 1985, he’s traded to the Los Angeles Clippers for center Bill Walton. Auerbach accuses his forward of not working hard enough to rehab a knee injury during the team’s failed attempt to repeat as champions, and is so angry that he orders a favorable mention of Maxwell stricken from one of his books.

“I’d like to wish them well even though they didn’t wish me well,” a bitter Maxwell says following the trade. “I’ve got 30 pairs of green tennis shoes. I’m going to spray-paint them white. I don’t want to see anything green unless it’s money.”

Time is a healer of all wounds, and eventually Maxwell and Auerbach are able to forgive and forget.

“It was like a father and son issue, both of us stubborn and unwilling to give in. I was very bitter about the way I was portrayed, because I have a tremendous amount of integrity. I’d played hurt for the Celtics on many occasions, and there was never a time that I didn’t play hard and try to help the team win. And then I hurt my knee. It was hard not to take it personally, but I had to accept that part of the business and move on.”

Through it all, Maxwell leaves his mark: A Final Four appearance. Two NBA titles. The Finals MVP Award. And then, on December 15, 2003, Maxwell’s number 31 is retired to the rafters with all the other great Celtics.

“It means a great deal to be part of the Celtics family,” he says. “When you think of all the great players to wear a Celtics uniform—Russell, Cousy, Havlicek, and Bird to name a few—to have your number retired with theirs is the ultimate honor. I’m very proud of that.”

You were born in Kinston, North Carolina, Monday, November 21, 1955.  Please tell me a little about growing up there.

I had a good childhood.  My father was a military man and my mother was a traditional, stay-at-home spouse who raised three children.  We lived in Kinston until I was six, at which point my father’s military obligation took us to Hawaii.  North Carolina was a segregated situation in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, and I vividly remember when there were “white” and “colored” water fountains and bathrooms.

While UNC-Charlotte’s basketball program has enjoyed recent success, your teams put it on the map.  What led you to play your college ball at UNC-Charlotte?

We moved back to Kinston, which is where I played my high school basketball.  I was something of a late-bloomer, getting cut from the team as a junior before finally finding success on the court during my senior season.  I grew from 6’-3 ½” to 6’-7 ½” in the span of a year, which also helped.  It was a wonderful time, and we were a very good team.  We won the championship and from there I decided to attend UNC-Charlotte.  By that time I was ready to leave home, and the school was far enough away to where I could enjoy my independence.  It was also close enough that I could get home when I needed to, which was a big plus.  UNC-Charlotte is also a good school with a good reputation.  I’m very happy that I decided to go there.

The 1976 NIT Tournament was also known to many as “Cornbread’s Garden Party”.  UNC-Charlotte reached the finals against Kentucky and you were named the tournament’s Most Valuable Player.  What do you remember most about that tournament, and how special was it to be recognized in such a way?

Our run through the tournament stands out.  Beating NC State and Oregon – a lot of people don’t know this, but Oregon was coached by Dick Harter, who is now the assistant coach and defensive guru for the Celtics.  We also beat a very good San Francisco team with Bill Cartwright at center.  We reached the championship game before losing to Kentucky, 71-67, which was a tough loss to a very good team.  Kentucky was coached by Joe B. Hall that season.  Rick Robey was on that team, and he would later be my teammate with the Celtics.

Winning the MVP award showed people that I was good enough to play with the best in the country.  That’s what meant  the most to me about receiving such an honor.  There weren’t many who got to see UNC-Charlotte play during the regular season, so we weren’t all that well-known coming into the NIT.  We got on a roll and beat some very good teams, so it was very satisfying to run.  Unfortunately, we didn’t win the championship.

March 26th, 1977:  There are three seconds left in the NCAA National Semifinal between UNC-Charlotte and Marquette.  You hit a big shot to tie the game at 49.  Tell me what happens next.

Butch Lee of Marquette flung a length-of-the-court inbounds pass toward Bo Ellis.  The ball deflected off of Ellis’ hands and went directly to his teammate, Jerome Whitehead.  Whitehead bumped me – I still think it was a foul [laughs] – but I was able to partially block his dunk.  The ball hit the backboard and bounced off the rim before dropping, but there should have been a goaltending call [laughs]!  Jerome clearly touched the ball over the cylinder.  The shot goes in and the referees confer before ruling in Marquette’s favor.  Marquette and Al McGuire get the victory and continue their Cinderella run to the NCAA Championship.

Very few people realize what I was prepared to do if I’d stolen that long inbounds pass.  I was prepared to call timeout immediately after the steal, which wouldn’t have been a very smart thing to do in that situation.  Do you know why?

No, why?

Because we didn’t have any timeouts left [laughs]!  If I had called timeout I would have been Chris Webber before Chris Webber.  Chris became infamous for calling the timeout that he didn’t have, so in that respect I have to thank Jerome Whitehead for sparing me that indignity [laughs].

If you were asked to select a signature game from either of those tournaments, which one would it be and why?

That’s an excellent question – I’ve never been asked that before.  If I had to select a signature game it would have to be the 1977 Mideast Regional Final against Michigan.  The Wolverines were the number one seed and the heavy favorite to knock us out of the tournament.  We went into this game and played with tremendous confidence, and because of this we were able to beat them convincingly.  I think the final score was 75-68.  I’d select this game because of the work I did on the boards.

You and senior teammate Melvin Watkins can boast of never losing a home game.  The 49ers won all 58 games played in the Belk Gym and former Charlotte Coliseum.  Where does this accomplishment rank in terms of your overall athletic achievement?

It’s a great accomplishment – how many players can say that they’ve never lost a home game?  It’s a remarkable statistic because we played a mixture of teams during that run, some of them very good.  Robert Parish played us in Charlotte, and Centenary was very tough at that time.  I remember that it was a close game, and that we ended up beating them by 2 points.  We first faced Robert in the 1975 NIT Tipoff Tournament, and we won that game as well.  It was ironic playing against him in college and then playing with him later as teammates in Boston.

You are the only player in collegiate history to average more than 20 points and 10 rebounds for an NIT semifinalist one year and an NCAA semifinalist the next season.  Were you aware of this?

No, but that’s very interesting to hear – I didn’t realize that I held that distinction.

You were drafted by the Celtics and the team went 32-50 during your rookie season.  The next year the team won 29 games and by then you’d played for three coaches – all former Celtic greats.  At that point in time did you feel as if the Celtics would ever turn things around?

I’d say it was more a case of shock than anything else.  Coming in as a rookie, I joined a team that suffered its first losing record since the 1969-70 season.  That year we had established and proven veterans on the team like Dave Cowens, John Havlicek and Jo Jo White, guys who had been there and who had won two NBA championships as Boston Celtics.  Charlie Scott was on that ’77-’78 team.  Dave Bing.  Curtis Rowe.  Don Chaney.  Sidney Wicks.  Kermit Washington was brought in and played 32 games.  Ernie DiGregorio played 27.  In all we had eight guys who were former All-Stars but the chemistry just wasn’t right.

The next season we added players like Bob McAdoo and Tiny Archibald, but the team continued to struggle.  It reached a point of desperation.  We were grasping at straws, trying different combinations but not getting the desired results.  It was a very difficult period.

Larry Bird joins the team in 1979, and the Celtics complete one of the most remarkable turnarounds in NBA history, winning 61 games and the Atlantic Division title in the process.  Tell me about that Celtics team in general, and that Larry Bird – the 1979-80 version – in particular.  What made both special?

Larry came in with a chip on his shoulder.  There were so many people who questioned him as a basketball player, and who said that he wasn’t going to be great.  There were other people labeling him as the ‘White Hope’.  Larry was determined to come in and prove these people wrong.  He worked hard and he carried that attitude with him all the time.  He was very motivated to succeed.

Larry’s arrival meant that my role on the team changed.  The previous season I’d averaged 19 points-per-game and was the go-to guy on offense.  Larry was suddenly the primary weapon.  He played on the opposite side of the basket and I understood the need for me to sacrifice in order to make the team better.  I had always been a team player, and I was unselfish when it came to personal statistics and achievements.  Those things weren’t really important to me.  I wanted to win so I sacrificed scoring and began concentrating on other aspects of my game.

As for that particular Celtics team, I’d have to say that we were the best in terms of the total package.  Philly was more athletic, and Los Angeles had more foot speed.  I think that was obvious to anyone who followed NBA basketball at the time.  But I still think that we were the more complete team of the three.

Bill Fitch was brought in as coach of the ’79-’80 Celtics.  That team had some great players on it, players like Bird, Tiny Archibald and Rick Robey.  Pete Maravich played 26 games for us – who I absolutely loved – but Pete was at the end of a Hall of Fame career.  Our practices were awesome that year, as good as any championship game I’ve been involved in.

In Larry’s autobiography Drive, he has this to say about you:  ‘Max was always talking trash…sometimes he’d come into the locker room after an interview and say, “Hey, we’ve got to get serious tonight.  I just said something they’re not going to like.”’  It’s my favorite passage in the book because it reveals both the playful and competitive sides of Cedric Maxwell.  Do you agree with that assessment?

Yes.  I’m a very competitive person, which probably explains why I never picked up golf.  If I did play I’d want to be the best and I wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise.  Why did I talk trash in certain situations?  Because I knew I’d have to back it up.  I didn’t want to go out there and look like a fool after saying things to fire up an opponent.  It raised the stakes and gave me the edge I needed.

I felt very fortunate to play basketball – at that time, there were a little over 200 players in the NBA and I felt as though I was one of the better players in the league.  I wasn’t the biggest or fastest player out there, but I was smart, tenacious and very competitive.

And I wasn’t the only one out there talking trash.  Larry was a pretty good talker himself – he was the talker of all talkers [laughs]!  We had M.L. Carr…he was always talking trash.  Kevin McHale was always talking.  So even from that aspect it was a total team effort [laughs].  But you have to remember that these guys could talk and back it up.  That’s what made those teams so special.

You’ve never been one to shy away from the big moments.  Game 5 of the 1981 NBA Finals and Game 7 of the 1984 Finals jump to mind.

That’s just who I am.  Some players step up and embrace those situations and others shy away from them.  I’ve never been one to shy away.

Game 7 of the 1984 Finals; Celtics vs. Lakers, Bird vs. Magic.  East coast vs. west coast.  From a media standpoint it was probably the biggest NBA Finals in league history.  Just how big was that game for you?

It was huge.  It was the kind of moment I live for, and I knew that I had to step up.  Prime time players play big in prime time games – I know that’s become a cliché in this league, but I always looked at myself as that type of player.

Just before that game you told your teammates to jump on your back, that you were going to carry them to the title.  Then you went out and played an incredible game.  You shut down James Worthy, drew fouls and dominated the boards.  What is it about you that lives for these types of situations?

I wish I knew – I also wish I could bottle it up and sell it [laughs].  My mother is a very competitive person, so I think that’s where I got it.  Her competitive spirit was passed on to me.  I think that helped me rise to the occasion.  So my drive – and the ability to elevate my game – comes to me honestly [laughs].

I think my Game 7 performance against the Lakers was so noticeable because I was more laid back than Larry.  By that I mean Larry only knew one way to play – he gave 110% all the time.  This could occasionally work against him, because when you give 110% there isn’t anything else to give when you need it.  He played every moment of every game as if it were his last, and I was more laid back in that respect.  I had a little extra to give in that game.

Robert Parish will be inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame this summer.  You’re the one responsible for the nickname “Chief”.  Please tell me a little about Robert from your perspective, and do you plan on attending his induction ceremony?

I would certainly hope to be there [laughs].  I have a tremendous amount of respect for Robert, and I’m looking forward to his induction into the Hall of Fame.  He’s very deserving of the honor, as is Dennis Johnson.  In my mind DJ is worthy of inclusion – his accomplishments speak for themselves.

Robert is an extraordinary individual, a unique person who will go down as one of the greatest centers to ever play the game of basketball.  He was maligned at Golden State in the ‘70s, but there were a lot of factors responsible for that.  He had a bad agent at the time and he was viewed by many as an underachiever.  Then Red pulls off the trade with the Warriors, which brought Robert and Kevin to the Celtics.  That was one of the greatest trades in the history of sports – or one of the worst, depending on which end you were on [laughs].

Robert was one of the first running centers to come into this league, and certainly one of the first seven-footers to run the court.  Dave Cowens was a true running center, but Dave was only 6’-9”.  Robert came into the league and showed that players his size could play like thoroughbreds.

When most people think of Robert, they see the quiet, stoic player who didn’t say much and who didn’t change his expression all that often.  He was quiet to be sure, but he was also a very confident player who played this game longer than anyone else.  His longevity is unbelievable.  And he could tell a joke [laughs].  A lot of people don’t realize that about Robert.  He was a really funny guy with a very good sense of humor.

I know you’ve been asked this question a million times, but I’ll ask again.  How did Robert get his nickname “Chief”?

I pinned that one on him.  I saw the Jack Nicholson movie ‘One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ and I instantly thought of Robert as Chief Bromden [laughs].  Bromden was this silent, dignified, towering and huge patient committed to the ward visited by Nicholson’s character.

McMurphy?

That’s right.  There’s the classic scene where McMurphy is teaching the Chief ‘that old Indian game’ –basketball on a fenced-in court.  And he has that great line, ‘It’s called, uh, put the ball in the hole’ [laughs].

I hear that you are a very good chess player.  What parallels can you draw between the game of chess and the game of basketball?

Both games require a tremendous amount of thought to be successful.  You have to be able to anticipate your opponent’s moves and put yourself in a position to take advantage of that.  For example, you might be guarding a player who makes a move on you earlier in the game.  You know that move will be coming again, so you prepare for it.  You anticipate what he might do next, and when.  Then later in the game you counter his move, maybe cut him off on his way to the basket.  You’re able to do this because you’ve studied your opponent and you know what his tendency will be in a certain situation.

I’ve read where you’ve produced Broadway-style plays.  You’re also an impeccable dresser with a great sense of style.   Please tell me about the creative side of Cedric Maxwell.

That’s just how I grew up.  My mother was always playing music, and was always helping us to think creatively.  She’s a big reason that I got involved in the entertainment business after I finished playing basketball.  I produced some gospel musicals and some off Broadway plays back in the Southeast, which was interesting.  I started broadcasting college basketball in Charlotte.  It was a natural progression to what I’m doing now.

My fashion sense came from my grandfather and my great-grandfather.  I like the oversized jackets and pants, so I decided that I could do the designs myself.  I work with a tailor in Asia.  I send my ideas to him and he creates my suits.  It’s grown to the point where I am doing designs for other people as well.

The North Carolina Sports Hall of Fame is home to one of your NBA Championship rings.  Which ring is it – 1981 or 1984 – and how hard was it to part with such a special piece of hardware?

It was the 1984 ring, and it really wasn’t that hard to part with.  From a purely practical standpoint it wasn’t hard because I don’t wear jewelry.  The championship rings are so large and gaudy that I never felt comfortable with it on.  On another level, the ring really wasn’t the most important thing to me.  You can always lose a ring, but you can’t lose the championship.  It was all about the camaraderie that I shared with my teammates and the thrill of knowing that we were the best in the world.  All of those things are greater than the ring.

This fall the Celtics will bestow upon you the highest honor – you will have your number retired to the rafters with all the other great Celtics.  What does this honor mean to you?

It’s a wonderful honor, and in many ways the highest that can be bestowed on a player.  I’ve given some thought as to what I’ll say at the ceremony.  My quote will go something like this:  ‘Springfield is home to the basketball hall of fame, but the real hall of fame is right here in Boston’.  When you think of all the great players to wear a Celtics uniform – Russell, Cousy, Havlicek and Bird to name a few – to have your number retired with theirs is the ultimate honor.

Much has been made of your differences with Red, and how these may have impacted the decision to have your number retired.  You’ve since mended fences and put those differences in the past.  Will Red be in attendance at your retirement ceremony?

I would hope so!  I would not accept this honor without Red’s blessing.  We’re on good terms now.  We’ve talked about the way my Celtics career ended, and now I’m looking forward to having my number retired.

Was it a big misunderstanding?

It was more like a father and son issue, both of us stubborn and unwilling to give in.  It was explained to me that way – the father never goes and apologizes to the son.  I was very bitter about the way I was portrayed, because I have a tremendous amount of integrity.  I had played hurt for the Celtics organization on many occasions, and there was never a time that I didn’t play hard and try to help the team win.  And then I hurt my knee.  I learned then that this was all about business, and that I couldn’t take it personally – it was hard to have my desire and integrity questioned, but I had to accept that part of the business and move on.

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The Dennis Johnson Interview

By: Michael D. McClellan | The player Larry Bird calls “the best teammate I’ve ever had” gets his start driving a forklift for $2.75 an hour in a tape warehouse. He arrives in Boston years later with a championship ring and a reputation as a locker room cancer, the former by virtue of one big play after another during the 1979 NBA Finals, the latter the result of a Grand Canyon-sized chip on his shoulder that comes from continually having to prove himself. He enters the league with an ugly jumper and a gift for rising to the occasion, his 0-for-14 Game 7 shooting debacle in the ’78 NBA Finals a testament to both; how many players choke so completely with everything on the line, only to come back and win the championship—and the Finals MVP Award—the very next season? He exits as one of the game’s clutch performers.

That Dennis Johnson even makes it to the NBA is equal parts miracle and mystery. It’s a ride that starts in Compton decades before gangsta rap goes from the ghetto to the mainstream, and for Johnson, the eighth of 16 children raised in a tough neighborhood, basketball time is his studio time. But to say that he “plays” prep basketball is a misnomer, because Johnson watches most games from the end of the bench at Compton’s Dominquez High School, unable to cop any meaningful minutes, his hoops portfolio noteworthy only for being cut from his seventh and eighth grade teams. He is so underwhelming that not a single college recruiter comes calling. He is also years away from the NBA, an idea so farfetched at the time that Johnson—better known as DJ—graduates from Dominguez and takes that job operating a forklift.

“I was 5–9 at the time, and I wasn’t very quick,” Johnson says. “I was the 11th man and I averaged about two minutes of playing time. I don’t think I was a bad player. There were some really good players on our varsity team. I grew three or four inches right after high school, so I guess you could say that I was a late bloomer.”

Compton isn’t the war zone that it becomes later, but it isn’t exactly the suburbs, either. Johnson is eleven when the Watts Rebellion heats up, resulting in 34 deaths and over $40 million in property damage. He stays out of trouble by playing Little League baseball. The Johnson residence is a hub of activity, kids playing sports and spinning records, the air thick with the smell of home cooking.

“My father was a cement mason and my mother was a social worker, so money was tight, especially with that many mouths to feed. Somehow my father always found a way to take us to sporting events. We’d occasionally see the Lakers play, but at that time it was mostly the Dodgers because it was cheaper and he could take advantage of the neighborhood deals on tickets. When you’re taking 10 people to a sporting event it’s important to do so in the most economical way possible, so we’d go to whatever event that offered the best deal. That way everyone could go to the game. Football, basketball, baseball, soccer, it didn’t really matter. Sometimes me and my brothers would sneak into games.”

While baseball hooks Johnson early, it’s basketball that eventually wins out.

“I was 5–4 in junior high,” Johnson says, “so baseball was a better fit for me at that time. I went out for the basketball team and was cut a couple of times, which really hurt, but I wasn’t going to give up. I never doubted myself, not even when I was sitting the bench in high school and hoping there’d be a blowout so that I could get some garbage minutes.”

Johnson gets on with his life following graduation. He has no real plan, other than hopping the bus after work to play in summer league games with his brothers. It’s then that an amazing thing happens; the once too-small high school player grows into a muscular basketball junkie with springs for legs.

“I’d considered Compton Community College after graduation, as well as a number of other schools both inside and outside of the district,” Johnson says. “Unfortunately, there weren’t any scholarship offers, so college wasn’t a realistic option. Based on my financial situation I decided to get a job instead. I worked in warehouses and drove forklifts. I knew that it wasn’t for me. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with these types of jobs. I just knew that there had to be other opportunities out there.

“My brothers were involved in a summer basketball league in San Pedro, and after work I would catch the bus and play ball with them. One of my brothers coached our team, and three of my brothers played. It was a good period in my life. My game improved tremendously. It helped that I’d grown several inches, and that I’d continued to work out and stay in shape. I was 6-foot-3 and much stronger than I was in high school.”

Johnson’s play catches the eye of Jim White, the head coach of nearby Harbor Junior College. White sees enough potential in the reddish-haired, freckle-faced Johnson to offer a scholarship.

“My brother organized a game against Harbor,” Johnson explains. “Coach White saw me play, and was impressed enough to invite me over for a tryout. The school was close to home, so it was an ideal situation. Playing in front of Coach White was one of the most important things to ever happen to me.”

Young and undisciplined, Johnson is often unable to contain his temper when exposed to White’s demanding ways. He’s kicked off of the team three times in two seasons. White never completely gives up on his rebellious guard, a fact that Johnson appreciates today.

“I was a wild stallion at the time, young and emotional and very sure of myself,” Johnson admits. “Coach White and I butted heads on occasion. After I moved into coaching I could see some of the same things with my players. I gained a new appreciation for Coach White. Being older and wiser puts things in a different perspective.”

Johnson spends two years at Harbor, winning the ’74 state JUCO title before transferring to Pepperdine, where he is coached by the classy Gary Colson.

“Coach White worked hard to get me into a Division I university. He called a friend who was an assistant coach at Pepperdine. Coach Colson had already seen me play, so I think that helped. I played one season for Pepperdine, and after talking to Colson I declared myself eligible for the 1976 draft. I was allowed to do this because, technically, my junior year at Pepperdine represented my fourth year of college had I gone there directly from high school. It’s the same junior eligible rule that the Celtics used to select Larry Bird.”

Johnson blossoms during his lone season at Pepperdine, but struggles with his shot. While an abysmal field goal percentage might be a limiting factor for other guards, Johnson’s game is about the sum of its parts. He plays hard nosed defense on one end and scraps for put-backs on the other. He sprinkles the stat sheet with a steals, blocks and rebounds. And then, just as he’s starting to turn heads, calamity strikes.

“Sometime during the Christmas season my mother phoned me with news that our house had burned down,” Johnson says. “The cause of the fire was never really determined, although it appeared to have been electrical. I briefly considered leaving college and finding a job so that I could help them get back on their feet. I discussed my options with Coach Colson, and he advised me to stay in school because there was a very real possibility that I’d be drafted. Up until then I’d never really considered playing professionally. Fortunately, my uncle was able to help out with my parent’s situation. He had two houses and offered one of them to us. Nobody likes a handout, but his generosity eased the burden on my family and allowed me to stay in school.”

The Sonics select Johnson in the second round of the 1976 NBA Draft, the 29th player chosen overall. In a twist, it’s former Celtics great Bill Russell who pulls the trigger.

“Heading into the draft, only two GMs really knew anything about me, Jerry West and Bill Russell,” Johnson says. “Jerry was the Lakers’ GM, and Bill Russell was the coach and GM of the SuperSonics. Jerry had a great relationship with Coach Colson, who was touting my potential as an NBA prospect. The Lakers ended up drafting Earl Tatum from Marquette instead, because they only had one pick and Jerry didn’t think that I was eligible to play that season. The Sonics selected me eight picks later. Jerry was very upset when he found out that I was eligible to play right away. He filed a formal complaint questioning the legality of the draft. By the time the NBA completed its investigation I’d already signed my rookie contract. The Lakers eventually dropped their protest.”

With Russell as his coach, Johnson comes off the bench behind Slick Watts and Fred Brown. He’s raw but eager, his 6-foot-4 frame equally suited for the gridiron, his athleticism making up for the deficiencies in his game.

“I wasn’t sure I belonged,” Johnson says of that first year in Seattle. “Having Bill Russell as my coach was intimidating, but he did a good job of pulling me aside and pointing things out. We talked a lot. That’s how I started learning the pro game, and my defense became very good. I started analyzing other players’ moves and tendencies, and figuring out how to counter them. I didn’t follow the Boston Celtics all that much growing up, but I knew who Russell was and what the Celtics were accomplishing at that time. So when he talked to me about basketball, I definitely listened and tried to incorporate what he was saying.”

The Sonics finish the 1976–77 regular season 40–42. Russell is out as coach, replaced by Bob Hopkins, who lasts only 22 games before he is replaced by Lenny Wilkens. One of Wilkens’s first decisions is to insert Johnson into the starting backcourt alongside Gus Williams, a lightning-quick point guard from USC. The Sonics, who start the 1977–78 regular season 5–17 under Hopkins, respond by going 42–18 the rest of the way and racing to the 1978 NBA Finals. It’s there, in that Game 7 against the Washington Bullets, that Johnson goes scoreless from the field. Washington wins the game—and the NBA championship—by six points.

“I went home that summer and did everything in my power to keep that from ever happening again,” he says. “It was an embarrassing experience to play so poorly, especially in a situation of that magnitude. I choked. I’d never played on a stage that big, not with 15,000 people in an arena, but it motivated me and made me stronger.”

Johnson redeems himself a year later, when, on June 1, 1979, the SuperSonics defeat the Bullets, 97–93, to capture the NBA championship. He averages 21 points, but it’s his defense that makes the difference. He blocks 14 shots as the Sonics win in five.

“That first championship was the best,” Johnson says, smiling. “That feeling can’t be duplicated. Everything about that first title is so vivid: the great players that I played with, such as Jack Sikma, and the absolute high that I felt winning it all. That Sonics team was so young and talented, and had all the makings of a dynasty. I remember all the talk was about repeating as champions. One of my greatest disappointments was not being able to win back-to-back championships in Seattle.”

The Sonics’ bid to repeat is stopped cold in the 1980 Western Conference Finals, when the Lakers run them off the court, 4–1. The storyline in Los Angeles revolves around the team’s charismatic rookie, Magic Johnson. In Seattle, all the talk is about the moody, headstrong DJ. Shockingly, Johnson is traded to Phoenix. On his way out of town, Wilkens refers to Johnson as a locker room cancer.

“I was truly happy in every place I played,” he says. “I loved Seattle. Paul Silas never stopped mentoring me, never stopped dispensing advice so valuable to winning championships. He was a 15-year veteran by then, and I respected him greatly. I was young and hotheaded, and a lot of what was said went in one ear and out the other. I think that hurt me. If I could do it all over again, I would have kept my temper in check. But I wasn’t a cancer.”

The fiery Johnson gets off to a rocky start in Phoenix. His new coach, John MacLeod, is known for his demanding practice rituals, which include aerobics and wind sprints. The Suns reach the playoffs in each of Johnson’s three seasons with the team, but postseason success proves elusive. Johnson clashes with MacLeod and ends up being shipped to Boston for Rick Robey. The trade is pennies on the dollar.

“I looked at the trade two ways,” Johnson says. “Back then, no one really knew who you were unless you played in one of the major markets. Going to Boston meant that there would be more exposure. On the other hand, the so-called experts were saying that the Suns practically gave me away because I was a problem child. That bothered me, but I used it as motivation. In the end, joining the Celtics was a dream come true, because I got to compete for championships with guys like Larry, Robert, and Kevin.”

In Boston, Johnson gets a crash course in Celtics history. He’d played for Russell in Seattle; in Boston, he meets a living legend in Red Auerbach.

“Surreal,” Johnson says, when asked for one word to describe their initial encounter. Reporting to camp out of shape, Johnson also learns that practices in Boston are unlike anything he’d experienced in Seattle or Phoenix.

“Practice would definitely take on a different tone when Red was there. Everyone would snap into place. We would work a little harder, because we wanted to make sure that he saw us at our best. It was almost like we were the soldiers and he was the four-star general out on the battlefield, surveying his troops. The practices were more intense than some of the games that we played. It made us a better team. Some of my fondest memories are of those battles.”

The Celtics go 62–20 during the 1983–84 regular season and reach the 1984 NBA Finals, where Magic and the Showtime Lakers await. After falling behind 2–1 in the series, K. C. Jones assigns Johnson the task of guarding Magic. DJ responds by scoring 20 or more points in each of the last four games, while making life miserable for LA’s 6-foot-9 point guard. Boston wins a classic series in seven games.

“That whole season was geared toward meeting the Lakers in the Finals,” Johnson says. “Everyone knew that we were the two best teams, and it almost seemed like a foregone conclusion that we were going to battle for the NBA championship. People were talking about it six months before the playoffs started. It more than lived up to the billing.”

The Celtics meet the Lakers again a year later. This time it’s Magic Johnson who rebounds from a poor Game 7 performance.

“The Lakers won, and it hurt more than any loss I’ve ever suffered on a basketball court,” Johnson says. “The series started with us crushing them on Memorial Day. We couldn’t have played any better that afternoon, but Kareem came out and played like a man possessed in Game 2. We couldn’t stop him. The Lakers won that game, took away our home court advantage, and then we had to play the next three games in Los Angeles. We won one game there, but we didn’t get the job done in Boston. The day we lost that series was the lowest point in my professional career. We had given everything that year to repeat as champions, and we put ourselves in a position to make history. We just couldn’t pull it off.”

Auerbach trades forward Cedric Maxwell to the Clippers for Bill Walton following that series, and the Celtics roll to a 67-win season. After dispatching the Houston Rockets in the ’86 Finals, Boston has its second title in three years, and Johnson’s third overall.

“We were untouchable that year. We were healthy, and everyone was at the top of their game. With players like Bill, Scott Wedman, and Jerry Sichting coming off the bench, we were incredibly deep. It helped having the best player in the league.”

Understandably, DJ’s respect for Bird is of the highest order.

“Larry was a special player, one of the best ever,” Johnson says. “What made him so great was his drive. He practiced the way he played the game, going full-speed all of the time. Larry never took a practice off. You hear sportswriters talk about how he would dive for loose balls during games, but he did that stuff in practice, too. It wasn’t for show. Larry wasn’t a big talker. Practices were his way of making a statement. He was one who always led by example, and he never let you know how bad he was hurting. That was the real Larry Bird that you saw on the court.”

Bird and Johnson will forever be linked, in large part because of the steal against the Pistons in Game 5 of the 1987 Eastern Conference Finals. Bird’s theft of Isiah Thomas’ inbounds pass with seconds left is as heady as it gets, but without Johnson’s quick thinking the Celtics would have lost the game and likely the series. With Bird’s momentum pushing him out of bounds, Johnson cuts to the basket, giving him the perfect target.

“That play ranks as the greatest that I’ve ever been a part of,” Johnson says. “The shot I hit to beat the Lakers in Game 4 of the ’84 Finals was huge, but being involved with Larry’s steal is my all-time favorite. Had we lost that game, the Pistons would have gone back to Detroit up 3–2 in the series. We were so hard to beat at home, and anytime you have Larry on your team you feel like you’ve got a chance, no matter how bad the outlook. Larry made a great play, and I reacted to it.”

Johnson retires following the 1989–90 season, his seventh in a Boston uniform. By then his reputation as a malcontent is a thing of the past. He’s played 14 seasons in the NBA, made six trips to the Finals, won three championships walked away with a Finals MVP award. Along the way he’s named to the All-NBA First Team (1981), All-NBA Second Team (1980), and from 1979 to 1987, either first-team or second-team All-Defense.

“Boston was a fairytale for me,” he says, flashing that famous gap-toothed grin. “Having my number retired is the ultimate honor.” Not a bad ride, especially for a one-time forklift operator straight outta Compton.

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The Terry Duerod Interview

Written By:  Michael D. McClellan |  Garbage time is hardly the place where legends are born – those moments are usually reserved for the huge, pressure-packed situations, when everything is on the line and the fans are on their feet, their throaty roar engulfing the participants, swallowing them whole – but all of that changed on December 12, 1980, when then-head coach Bill Fitch emptied his bench in a home game against the New Jersey Nets.  The final score read 119-104, but it really wasn’t that close.  A young triumvirate of Larry Bird, Robert Parish and Kevin McHale had just finished toasting a horrid Nets squad, putting on a basketball clinic and, in the process, earning some well-deserved time on the bench.  With less than four minutes remaining, Fitch turned toward the direction of Terry Duerod – the same Terry Duerod who had been signed to a ten-day contract only eight days before – and motioned for him to enter the game.  The Boston Garden faithful welcomed the University of Detroit product onto the parquet floor, where he quickly rubbed off his defender on a pick and nailed a mid-range jumper.  Chants of “DO-O-O-O” cascaded from the partisan crowd, many of whom had stayed just to cheer the scrubs.  Two possessions later he found the ball in his hands again, and once again he had an open look at the basket.  Heeding the advice of Fitch, who had given him the green light, Duerod did what all shooters do in that situation:  He let one fly.  The baseline jumper found the bottom of the net, and the spontaneous, heartfelt chant grew stronger.

Had it ended there, the Garden faithful would have gone home happy and Duerod would have simply become obscure trivia fodder.  Instead, Duerod found himself twenty feet from the basket, launching a shot that would instantly elevate him to cult-hero status.  With the remaining crowd now chanting “DO-O-O-O” in unison, the ball followed an almost impossibly high arc before dropping cleanly through the hoop.  Everyone on the bench jumped to their feet, Bird included.   There was still time on the clock for one more possession, and one more chance for Duerod to cement his place in Boston Celtics lore.  With Bird directing his teammates to get Duerod the ball, the Net reserves inexplicably backed away from the hottest player on the court.  Duerod drained the open three – and with that final basket, a legend was born.

Terry Duerod’s circuitous journey to the Boston Celtics began in Highland Park, Michigan, during the mid-1960s.  He was an athletic child, strong for his age, and plenty tall as well.  He played a little bit of everything – baseball, basketball, football – but mostly with other kids in his neighborhood, and in the parks and on the playgrounds near his home.  When he did get around to playing organized sports, Duerod proved to be a quick study on the hardwood – he was a key player on every team from sixth grade through twelfth, and over a six year span those teams would lose only a handful of games.  As a senior at Highland Park, Duerod and his teammates were considered frontrunners for a state championship.  A tragic car accident involving two his closest friends – and two of Highland Park’s biggest cage stars – derailed those title dreams, yet Duerod played well enough to catch the eye of Dick Vitale, the frenetic coach at the University of Detroit.  Already a salesman extraordinaire, Vitale preached the history of Detroit basketball, invoking the names of Dave DeBusschere and Spencer Haywood, and the promise of an up-tempo system in which to showcase Duerod’s deceptive speed and shooting accuracy.

It wasn’t a tough sell:  Duerod preferred to play his collegiate basketball close to home, where friends and family could come out and cheer him on.  And with Highland Park just a stone’s throw to the north (Henry Ford opened a Model T Factory there in 1909, giving birth to the automotive industry), there was always plenty of support in the stands.  Duerod worked hard to hone his skills, while waiting patiently for his time to shine.  He was there for Detroit’s 21-game win streak in 1977, which included a wild victory over Al McGuire and eventual-champion Marquette.  He was there for three post-season tournaments, and a truckload of memories.  He led Detroit in scoring as a senior, averaging 23.3 points-per-game.

Ironically, it was Vitale who would pave the way for Duerod to enter the NBA.  Vitale, who had accepted the head coaching job with the Detroit Pistons, wasted little time selecting the sweet-shooting guard in the third round of the 1979 NBA Draft.  It seemed like the perfect fit, as Duerod’s professional career got of to a promising start; the rookie averaged 9.3 points-per-game on 47-percent shooting, and he looked comfortable playing against some of the best guards in the league.  Vitale, however, lasted only 12 games into the season before being replaced by Richie Adubato, and Duerod then found himself available in the 1980 expansion draft.  The Dallas Mavericks quickly snapped him up.

The marriage between Duerod and the Mavericks seemed ill-fated from the very beginning.  While head coach Dick Motta clearly gave his new guard a chance to prove himself, there was very little communication between players and coaching staff.  A revolving door mentality took hold, as twenty-one players donned a Maverick uniform for at least one game that season.  Duerod lasted just eighteen games before getting the boot.

Duerod didn’t stay out of work for long.  Fitch lobbied for the team to sign the sharpshooter, which is exactly what happened after Duerod cleared waivers.  He worked hard, didn’t complain, and played the role of twelfth man to perfection.  And after signing a second consecutive ten-day contract, the Celtics rewarded him with a season-long offer.  He quickly became a welcome sight at the end of games, taking to the court with the outcome no longer in the balance, the Boston Garden crowd serenading him with chants of  “DO-O-O-O”.  Legendary announcer Johnny Most loved to talk about him on the air.  Cedric Maxwell good-naturedly nicknamed him ‘The Human Cigar’, a reference to Red Auerbach’s penchant for lighting up when the game was well in hand.  And everyone on the team, from Bird to Gerald Henderson to M.L. Carr, had only positive things to say about the team’s mid-season acquisition.

While Duerod’s NBA career was short-lived – he would play in just 143 games over four seasons, with the Pistons, Mavericks, Celtics and Warriors – he was able to win a championship following Boston’s memorable 4-2 series win over Moses Malone and the Houston Rockets.  Still, he is best remembered for that magical night in the Boston Garden, when a garbage-time player simply couldn’t miss, when Larry Legend became a fan of the fan favorite, and when everyone in the building found themselves caught up in doing the “DO-O-O-O”.

Let’s start at the beginning.  Take me way back to your childhood at Highland Park, Michigan.

I grew up in Highland Park, which is located just north of metro Detroit, and I went to school right there in town.  I liked playing sports as a child, but I really wasn’t involved in any organized leagues early on.  That changed when I reached the sixth grade – I was pretty tall for my age, and the basketball coach suggested that I go out for the team.  I didn’t know what to expect because up until then I hadn’t played a lot of ball.

I’d say things worked out pretty well. 

I tried out and made it, and that’s the first time I really took playing seriously.  I remember that my mother bought a basketball hoop and set it up for me, which really helped me work on different parts of my game.  Our eighth grade team went undefeated.  I could jump, although I really didn’t know it at the time.  I’d never tried to dunk a basketball, but I went up and dunked, and from then on I was hooked.  I worked hard on my jump shot.  I played freshman basketball at Highland Park High School, and our team went 22-3 that season.  I believe that our tenth grade team was also 22-3.  I didn’t play varsity ball because the coach didn’t want me to sit on the bench behind the older, more experienced players.  So I was able to play quite a bit those first two seasons.  I played varsity as a junior and senior.

How did your senior year play out?

We had a lot of expectations going into that final season, but two of my friends on the team – Steve Martin and Eugene Littleton – were involved in a car wreck.   Martin was 6′-8″ and could really play.  He died in the crash, while Littleton was somehow able to survive.  That accident was just terrible for the families and their friends.  It also hurt the team – we finished up just over .500, which was very disappointing because a lot of us had been together since the sixth grade, we had experienced a lot of success together, and we had a lot of high expectations going into the start of the season.

From Highland Park you stayed close to home, playing college basketball at the University of Detroit.  You followed in the school’s great tradition of talent, joining Dave DeBusschere, Spencer Haywood, Terry Tyler and John Long as distinguished basketball alums.

Dick Vitale was a great salesman.  He recruited me, and said that he wanted to bring basketball back to the University of Detroit.  He talked about the great tradition, the players like DeBusschere and Haywood, and about the guys that were just a recruiting class ahead of me, like Terry Tyler and John Long.  That first year we went to the NCAA Tournament behind veteran players like Dennis Boyd and Ron Bossie, but lost in the first round.  The next season we were led by Tyler and Long, and we played in the NIT tournament.  My junior year we were back in the NCAAs.  By then I was playing a much bigger role on the team, and I was able to help these guys on both ends of the court.  It was great to be a part of the team’s success.

Detroit had a 21-game winning streak during the 1976-77 season, including a victory in Milwaukee over eventual national champion Marquette.

I remember that game like it was yesterday – it was an exciting contest and a great college atmosphere, and probably the greatest game I’ve ever been involved in.  It was very close all way, the Warriors had the one-point lead, and it came down to one possession.  Dennis Boyd hit a shot from the top of the key with one second left to give us the win, setting off a wild celebration at the buzzer.  It was a lot of fun to be a part of that.

Players today are all about the tattoos.  When you played, it was more about the nicknames – from George “Ice Man” Gervin to “Daryl “Chocolate Thunder” Dawkins, it was a great era for colorful handles.  How did you get the nickname “Sweet Due”?

Because of the way I shot the basketball [laughs].  Somebody in the media talked about the way my jumper grazed the net going in, and how sweet the shot looked.  The fans really picked up on that, and they would chant ‘DO-O-O-O’ at the games [laughs].  It was great.  From then on I became known as ‘Sweet Due’!

You scored 1,690 points during your career at Detroit, this before the advent of the three-point line.  Where, on the court, did most of your points come from?

From the top of the key, and from the corners.  I really didn’t pay attention to how far out I was shooting, because it just came naturally for me.  That’s where I felt comfortable shooting from – that was my normal range.  Someone brought that up later, and pointed out that a lot of my shots would be from behind the arc today.  So I think having the three-point line back then would have played right into my strength as a long-range shooter.

In 1993 you were honored by being inducted into the University of Detroit’s Athletic Hall of Fame.  What was this like for you?

It was great accomplishment, and very nice to be recognized for my achievements at Detroit.  It’s something that will be with me for the rest of my life, no question about it, and I’m proud that the University honored me in that way.  I don’t think it’s something that I would have appreciated at a younger age.  Now, I think about it and I’m very grateful for the recognition.  I think every person wants to be recognized in some way, shape or form, and that it’s important to have something to point to down the road.  When I go to the games in Detroit people still know me, which is also a good feeling.  They might announce my name over the loudspeakers and introduce me, and mention what I have accomplished, and it still makes me tingle.

Following college, you were drafted by the Detroit Pistons in the third round of the 1979 NBA Draft.  Ironically – and briefly – Dick Vitale was your first professional coach.  What was it like to be drafted by your hometown team?

I was very excited.  I’d played basketball in-or-around Detroit my whole life, from middle school to high school, and then on into college.  So to be chosen by the Pistons was like a dream come true.  All of the fans knew me.  They were very supportive and cheered for me when I got into the game.  It helped a lot.  It made me work that much harder.  Having them behind me was a special feeling, and one that’s hard to explain, but it gave me the added confidence to play against the top talent in the league.

You played in 67 games as a rookie, averaging 9.3 points-per-game.

From a team standpoint, we were really struggling.  We were 16-66 that season, we were the worst team in the NBA.  Coach Vitale lasted twelve games and was replaced by Richie Adubato.  It didn’t really matter who coached us, though, because we were a team with a lot of rookies and old veterans, and not a whole lot of anything in-between.  There were four rookies – myself, Greg Kelser, Earl Evans, and Roy Lee Hamilton.  Terry Tyler and John Long were also on that team, and they were just in their second seasons.  We had Bob Lanier but he ended up getting hurt.  We had Bob McAdoo.  The injuries did help me in a way, because it allowed me to play and to show what I could do on the court.

You hear players talk about the dreaded “Rookie Wall”.  Did you hit the wall that season, and what was it like adjusting to all of that travel?

I think there really is something to that.  There is just so much travel – much more than you ever experience in college – and the season is so much longer as well.  You have to adjust to getting up earlier.  For a college kid, getting up at 5 AM is a big change.  I ran into all of these things my rookie season.  I just kept working hard and trying to make it through.

You played one season in Detroit, and then ended up a member of the Dallas Mavericks.  You only played 18 games before being waived.  What happened?

I was showing a lot of promise, enough that the Pistons protected me during the expansion draft, but I later ended up going to the Dallas Mavericks in the supplemental draft.  I was averaging double figures before I got hurt, and when I came back from injury the team had chosen to go in another direction.

After Dallas waived me, I received a call from Red Auerbach.  He was awesome.  He told me about wanting to draft me in ’79, but that the Pistons had gotten to me first.  He said that he wanted me to play for the Boston Celtics.  It was a very good conversation.  Red went on to say that Coach [Bill] Fitch had a problem with free agents, and that it had something to do with an experience that he had in Cleveland.  But he also assured me that everything was going to work out if I joined the team.  So I signed with the Celtics on December 4, 1980, and I played hard.

What was it like to join a young, championship-caliber team like the Celtics?

It was a great experience.  The coaching staff, the players, the fans – it was all very special for me.  Being a part of something like that was another dream come true.  Max – Cedric Maxwell – was my man [laughs]!  Robert Parish and Kevin McHale were great teammates.  We had Tiny Archibald and Larry Bird – I couldn’t have asked for better teammates!  It was a very positive situation, which was nice because I’d come from a negative situation in Dallas.  It was totally different.  The team was focused on winning, and it was loaded with great, young talent.

Big Chief [Parish] took me under his wing.  He helped me a lot.  A lot of people don’t realize this – I didn’t until I got there – but Chief, Kevin and Larry are all very funny people.  Great jokesters.  They all talked some trash, told some jokes, and pulled some pranks.  So there was never a dull moment [laughs]!  In addition to being great players, they were a great bunch of guys.

You played 32 games for the Celtics that season, becoming a fan-favorite.  The familiar chant of “DO-O-O-O” could be heard at almost every home game.  Please tell me about the fans in Boston.

Best fans in the world.  Period.  They treat the players great, and support the team no matter what the record is  It was a super experience for me to play in front of them!

The legendary Nate “Tiny” Archibald was also on that team.

Tiny was also giving me pointers and showing me things.  He was left-handed but could shoot right – it wasn’t the prettiest sight, but it went in [laughs].  He was always teaching the young guys.  I don’t know if he did a lot of that early in his career, but by the time I got there he was a very good mentor.  He was a funny guy as well.  He has a reputation for being quiet and shy, but once he starts talking you can’t get him to stop [laughs]!

Another player with Motown on résumé was M.L. Carr.  Please tell me about M.L.

M.L. had a great personality – he didn’t call me “Sweet Due”.  He always called me “Dip” [laughs].  He stayed in shape and was always ready to play.  We played one-on-one all the time, and had some great battles.

What was it like to meet Red Auerbach?

I remember the smoke!  I can’t stand cigar smoke, but I didn’t tell him that [laughs].  I remember him coming to the practices and just watching, taking it all in.  He didn’t miss anything – he’s so smart, and he understands the game so well.  He took an interest in me, and took me under his wing.  He was always very positive.

Please tell me about the Boston Garden – what are some of the memories that stand out about that fabled arena?

The mystique.  When you played in the Garden and you saw all of those banners – no other arena in the league was like it, and the same holds true today.  You couldn’t help but think about Bob Cousy, Bill Russell, John Havlicek and all of the other Celtic greats that helped to put those banners in the rafters.  I was in awe.

Final Question:  You’ve achieved great success in your life.  If you could offer one piece of advice on life to others, what would that be?

If I’m speaking to aspiring basketball players, it would be simply:  Get your education.  Basketball is secondary to the real world, and you need an education if you’re going to succeed off of the court.

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The Bill Walton Interview

Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | Bill Walton wins an NBA championship, an NBA Finals MVP award, and an NBA Most Valuable Player award before vanishing into rumor, missing three full seasons and playing only 14 games in another, the one-time “Next Great Thing” undone by feet not designed to support a man his size, the pain taking him on a decades-long journey that includes 37 orthopedic operations and an inner-dialog dominated by thoughts of suicide. In his darkest moments, Walton lay prone on the floor, unable to move, his spine having collapsed, wishing only that he had a bottle of pills, or a bottle of whiskey, or a gun. He can think of nothing else but the radiating nerve pain, pain so severe that no life is the better alternative to the one in which he finds himself trapped. This is a side of Bill Walton the public never sees, at least not until he pulls the curtain back in his 2016 memoir, Back from the Dead, giving readers a backstage pass to three hellish years spent on the floor of his house, eating his meals flat on his stomach, crawling to the bathroom, barely able to hoist himself into bed.

“I’m getting back into the game of life,” Walton says, smiling. “Before I had my spine surgery, it got to the point where my life wasn’t worth living. I was useless. I can’t describe the pain—people who haven’t experienced nerve pain can’t relate. It’s debilitating, excruciating, unrelenting. Today, I’m pain-free.”

Walton’s story unfolds with an idyllic childhood in La Mesa, California, transitions to a counterculture lifestyle that’s alien to mid-70s NBA, and descends into an injury-ravaged abyss that undercuts his vast potential. It’s a long, strange voyage filled with contradictions.

“I had the most wonderful childhood,” Walton begins. “We had nothing, but I had everything. My mom was our town librarian, so I had an endless supply of books. That was my life. I’ve never been a television watcher—I’m not really much of a spectator, I like doing things. I had a transistor radio and a basketball. I also had a bike and a skateboard, so I could go places on my own. But that was nothing compared to the places I could visit through the books that my mom brought home daily. The mental travels from those books, and from reading the LA Times in those days, were my form of escape.”

It’s his mother who sets Walton on his path to basketball greatness.

“In 1964, my mom brought home the first sports book that I ever read, which was Go Up For Glory, written by the incomparable Bill Russell. She said, ‘Billy, this book just came into the library, and I know that you have been outside playing basketball, whatever that is, so I thought this might be of interest to you.’ I devoured every aspect of that book, and I never gave it back to her. I read it over and over and over again. When I joined the NBA, one of the first checks that I ever wrote was to the San Diego library for the book that I never returned.”

Walton’s passion for basketball begins not at the playground with other children but as a solitary endeavor.

“I loved playing basketball by myself. I was very awkward and shy, so I was by myself all of the time. There was Little Billy with his red hair, and his freckles, and his big nose, and his goofy, nerdy looking face, and this horrendous speech impediment—I couldn’t speak at all without stuttering horribly. But I could play basketball, and I could practice by myself. I would be playing these imaginary basketball games out in the backyard, with legendary Laker broadcaster Chick Hearn transporting me to the NBA where I’d play games as a member of the Boston Celtics. I was 12 at the time and never in my wildest dreams thought that I might one day be doing it for real.”

Walton pauses, his mind on constant fast-forward and rewind.

“It is impossible to understate the importance of the Boston Celtics in my life. They were my favorite team as a young boy chasing the dream of being part of the NBA. I’m from San Diego, but I developed my love for the Boston Celtics because of Chick, who spoke with such awe and respect for the Celtics. He was so complimentary of Red Auerbach, Bill Russell, and of all of the players on those great championship teams of the ’60s, even though his job was to sell everything Lakers. So here was Little Billy in San Diego, with his transistor radio under the covers, listening to Chick talk about the incredible accomplishments of the Celtics. That’s what I wanted to be a part of, so it was the perfect situation.

“I love all things Boston.”

Little Billy continues to grow, and it’s hard not to notice his potential. Walton attends Helix High School, where he grows into the most coveted basketball player on the planet. Helix captures the California Interscholastic Federation High School title two years running, all while winning its final 49 games. He’s 6–10 when he graduates in 1970, setting the national record for field goal percentage (79 percent), but some of Walton’s favorite high school memories are created away from the court.

“I went to my first Grateful Dead concert when I was 15 years old and immediately fell in love with them. There’s this great community and tribal spirit that comes with being a Dead Head. Going to the concerts was the most fun in the world. Everybody’s happy, everybody’s dancing, and everybody’s jumping up and down. The music is phenomenal. The whole experience is one of joy and love.”

Walton enrolls at UCLA in 1970, following in the sizeable wake of Lew Alcindor (Kareem Abdul-Jabbar). It’s an impossibly high bar to clear, but Walton matches Abdul-Jabbar as a three-time Consensus First Team All-American, and as a three-time recipient of the NCAA Player of the Year Award. It’s during Walton’s freshman season that UCLA starts a mind-boggling win streak that spans four seasons. It begins on January 30, 1971, with a victory over UC Santa Barbara. He joins it 15 games later, his brilliance helping stretch the streak to 88 straight, including two consecutive 30–0 seasons and three national championships.

“January 19, 1974,” he says, when asked what he remembers most about the streak. “The loss at Notre Dame. We wanted a third undefeated season, but it didn’t happen. That loss was a punch to the gut.”

The disappointment is easy to understand. As a sophomore, a Walton-led UCLA rolls to a 30–0 season by outscoring its opponents by 30.3 points a game, an NCAA record that still stands. A year later, Walton and the 1972–73 Bruins again go undefeated and again cut down the nets. By his senior season, the streak and the chase for perfection becomes a national preoccupation.

“The loss to Notre Dame was a harbinger of things to come,” Walton says. “At any other program, finishing 26–4 and reaching the Final Four would be a cause for celebration. But, like those great Celtics teams, we wanted to win every game we played, and we wanted to go out on top.”

Doesn’t happen. The Bruins lose two more regular season games, and then, on March 23, 1974, North Carolina State beats UCLA 80–77 in double-overtime in the National Semifinal at the Greensboro (NC) Coliseum, in what is widely regarded as one of the greatest NCAA tournament games ever. The loss marks the end of the Bruins’ seven-year national championship run.

“Coach Wooden never talked about the streak,” Walton says. “He never mentioned winning, period, because that was a byproduct of everything else that went into preparing to play the game. He kept us focused on doing things the right way. That’s why losing to North Carolina State in the Final Four was so difficult for me to overcome.”

Along the way, Walton becomes not only one of Wooden’s favorite pupils, but also one of his biggest challenges.

“I knew I was Coach Wooden’s worst nightmare because I fought him on everything. I always wanted to know why,” says Walton, who finishes his college career as a three-time Academic All-American. “Why were we in Vietnam? Why did I have to cut my hair? Why did I have to shave? Why was Nixon president? I was never satisfied.”

Walton has countless stories like these. Some have morphed into urban legend.

“John Wooden used to place a lucky penny in the corner of the locker room each year and pretend to find it as he was giving a pregame speech,” he says, smiling. “Well, I ended up stealing John Wooden’s lucky penny. One day I received an anonymous letter stating that there was a curse on me, and that the only way to break the curse was to go to the Philippines and see this witch doctor. Trust me, when you’re the most injured athlete in the history of sports, you can’t say it doesn’t cross your mind.”

The Next Great Thing’s fairytale ride starts hitting potholes in Portland. Selected by the Trail Blazers with the first overall pick of the 1974 NBA Draft, Walton’s first two years are marred by a constant string of injuries, causing him to miss 78 of 164 games.

Walton misses time with a broken nose and then follows that indignity with injuries to his wrist, leg, and foot. When healthy, he redefines the center position with his vision and passing. In his third season, Walton plays in a career-high 65 games, spearheading the Blazers’ run through the playoffs. He refuses to be singled out for his greatness, instead crediting everyone else as the difference makers against Philadelphia in the 1977 NBA Finals.

“It was a total team concept,” Walton says of Portland winning the championship. “We trusted each other, and we trusted the system. I played my part, and I tried to play it well, but the truth is, we had Maurice Lucas, and nobody else did. We had Jack Ramsey, and nobody else did. And, just as importantly, we had the Blazermaniacs, and nobody else did.”

An avid biker, Walton endears himself to those Blazermaniacs by biking to Memorial Coliseum on game days. His counterculture lifestyle, seen by many around the country as strange and off-putting, is right at home in Portland.

“The crowd made me better; the crowd made me high,” says Walton. “They knew they made us better, and that drove them to give us even higher levels to delirious celebration and support.”

It’s in Portland that Walton’s love affair with the Grateful Dead reaches new heights when he’s recognized at a concert. It’s a memorable affair for all involved.
Walton wins the NBA MVP Award following the 1977–78 season, even though he only plays in 58 games. By the All-Star Break the Blazers are 40–8, and winners of 44 straight at home, but on March 5, Walton has surgery on the nerves in his right foot. That foot heals, but now something is wrong with the left. He misses 22 straight games, returning to play 34 gutsy minutes in the playoff opener against Seattle, scoring 17 points and grabbing 16 rebounds in a losing effort. It’s clear to anyone watching that Walton is not healthy.

“The beginning of the end in Portland,” he says.

Still in pain, Walton faces a dilemma; rule himself out for a must-win Game 2, or take an injection of Xylocaine, an anesthetic. Walton takes the shot. He plays. And while the Blazers win to even the series, Walton’s season, and his career in Portland, is over.

“I played on a broken foot,” Walton says. “I didn’t want to let my coaches down, or let my teammates down. It turned out to be the wrong decision, because it was based on immediacy. We needed to win that game to avoid a 2–0 hole against the SuperSonics. I wasn’t thinking about my long-term health.”

The injury leads to legal action and finger-pointing, with Walton sitting out the entire 1978–79 season in protest. After the season he signs with the San Diego Clippers, returning home but playing in just 102 games over five years.

And then, just when he considers walking away for good, Red Auerbach and the Boston Celtics come calling.

The Trade goes down during the summer of ’85.

Auerbach, unhappy with Cedric Maxwell’s injury rehab, swings a blockbuster deal that delivers Bill Walton to Boston. The feud between Auerbach and Maxwell goes public, with both sides taking the low road; Auerbach strikes mention of Maxwell in an upcoming book, while Max leaves town throwing shade.

“With Red, loyalty was a two-way deal,” Walton says. “Red created a culture of trust, family, loyalty, pride, all the things that we love and mean so much to us. He expected us to be wholly vested in his vision, and the temporary falling out with Cedric Maxwell was, in Red’s mind, a violation of that trust. He felt that Cornbread hadn’t worked hard enough at rehabbing his knee injury, and Red considered it an affront to the Celtic Way. I’m just glad that they were able to get past their differences because Cedric was a special player who helped the Celtics win two championships.”

For Walton, who grows up idolizing Bill Russell, The Trade is a dream come true.

“The Celtics didn’t give me my career back, they gave me my life back,” he continues. “To be able to go from the bottom to the top in one plane ride was just staggering. I had early success in my career, but the endless string of injuries destroyed everything. The Celtics gave me a chance to be a part of something special, which has always been my dream in life.”

Walton’s medical history is of prime concern, but it isn’t the only concern; the media and the fans immediately wonder whether Walton and Parish can coexist.
“Meeting with Robert Parish was the very first thing that I did when I arrived in Boston,” Walton explains. “When I got off of the airplane, M. L. Carr was there to pick me up. M. L. wasn’t going to be on the team that season because he’d transitioned to something else, but he was still part of the Celtic family. We hadn’t left the airport yet. I said, ‘M. L., take me over to Chief’s house, I’ve got to talk to him.’

“I went over to his house, and I looked at him, and I said, ‘Robert, I just want you to know that I’m only here to help you. I’m not here to take anything from you. I’m here to add to what you’ve already done, to what you’re currently doing, and to what you are going to do.’ I’m a team guy. That’s what I’m all about. I needed Robert to hear that come from me personally because that’s the way a team is supposed to work. And Robert could not have been nicer. It was so fun to play with him. I love that guy so much.”

Once training camp starts, a healthy and reinvigorated Bill Walton falls in love with his sport all over again.

“I had played against Robert Parish, and I knew he was excellent. I had played against Dennis Johnson, and I knew that he was fantastic. I didn’t know how good Larry Bird and Kevin McHale truly were. Larry was the best player that I ever played with. Kevin was the second greatest low-post player that I ever played against, after Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. It was just so much fun. I’m sitting here today, 30-plus years later, and I’ve got this big, giant grin on my face thinking about how fun it was to get up every day, and to go and spend the day with those guys. It was that way with everybody on the team. Danny Ainge—who should be in the Hall of Fame: Scott Wedman, Jerry Sichting, Rick Carlisle, Greg Kite, Sam Vincent, David Thirdkill . . . K. C. Jones and the assistant coaches, Chris Ford, Jimmy Rodgers, and Ray Melchiorre. It was an incredible experience. It was better than perfect.”

For the first time in his career, Walton doesn’t feel the burden of carrying a team on his shoulders. In Boston, he can simply fit in.

“It was a championship team before I ever got there,” he says. “I was just lucky to be in a Celtics uniform. My job was to remind the guys of what the schedule was [laughs]. K. C. Jones would put a variety of combinations out there. Sometimes he would have Larry, Kevin, and Chief on the court doing their thing. And then it might be Larry, Kevin, and me…or Robert, Kevin, and me. He also had Scott Wedman, who was a fantastic talent coming off the bench. Everybody could do everything, including think. There were a lot of interchangeable parts.”

In Portland, Walton becomes famous for riding that bike to games. In Boston, he relies on another mode of transportation.

“I hate traffic, and I hate to wait,” he says. “The T was the fastest way to get to the games; I remember riding the Red Line and the Green Line to get to the Boston Garden because the traffic was just so awful. The fans would be rocking the cars, just like they did in the Garden, with chants of ‘Here we go Celtics, here we go!’ And then you’d get there, and the fans were so fired up. They were the best fans in the world. People would buy tickets just to be in the arena, even though they could even see the game. I don’t know how many people actually bought tickets because if you knew anybody, you could get in for free. They had that backdoor on the Causeway Street entrance, where some guy was just standing there waving people through. It was just so fun, it was a dream come true. The world as it could be and as it should be. What could be better than that?”


The most famous Dead Head in the world wastes little time evangelizing his favorite group to his new teammates.

“When I came to Boston, my love for the Grateful Dead was well-known,” Walton says. “Larry and Kevin came up and asked me if they could go to the show, because they’d never been and didn’t know any of the songs. And my reaction was one of immediate excitement. I was like, ‘Yeah, okay, let’s go!’ And so we put together a road trip, and we all went—well, everybody except for Danny Ainge because his wife wouldn’t let him go with us [laughs]. It was a fantastic time! When the show was over, they looked at me with the Kaleidoscope eyes of somebody who’s just seen something for the very first time. I don’t know that they ever embraced the Grateful Dead. I can’t speak for them. But afterward, they said, ‘Wow! Can we come back tomorrow?’ So we went back again the next night.”

With Walton finally healthy and Bird at the top of his game, the Celtics roll to a 67–15 record, best in the NBA. The players are alike in many ways—consummate teammates, brilliant passers, intense competitors. The friendship that develops is immediate.

“Spending time with Larry Bird is like being on a tropical island,” Walton says. “There is so much heat, and so much life, and everything is happening at warp speed. I don’t know if you have ever been to Maui, but you can sit there in a chair and see the plants get bigger because everything is happening at such an extreme level. That’s what life with Larry Bird was like. There was so much fun, and so many things going on. I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have been a part of that.”

The connection with Robert Parish is equally rich.

“I love Robert Parish. Away from the spotlight, Robert is very funny. That’s the way that he is. On the bus rides, in the locker room, in the hotels, in the airports . . . he was just so much fun. Imagine the honor that I had when Chief went into the Hall of Fame, and he called me up and said, ‘Bill, would you be my presenter?’ Are you kidding me? I am the luckiest guy on earth. Playing behind Robert Parish, that is akin to following a Brinks truck down a bumpy road and they forgot to close the back door.”

Walton anchors the second unit, and the Celtics roll to the ’86 NBA championship. For a student of the game, following in the footsteps of the great Bill Russell is the ultimate “pinch me” moment.

“Bill Russell became my favorite player ever, on and off the court. The way he always carried himself epitomized everything that I wanted to be. The way he stands up for a better world. To see someone like Russell stand up to the nonsense, to the indignities, to the injustices . . . he’s a beacon of hope, he’s a shining star. He’s who I aspire to be, knowing full well that I could only hope to be but a tiny fraction of the towering pillar of humanity that he has always been. Bill Russell is a towering giant in a world of shriveling midgets.

“There is this incredible moment in Bill Russell’s last game,” Walton begins. “It’s Game 7 of the 1969 NBA Finals, and the Celtics are playing the Lakers in Los Angeles. The game’s on national TV, the Celtics are huge underdogs, it’s being played in the Forum. Jack Twyman, who is one of the announcers, goes into the Celtics’ locker room before the game. Russell is sitting there. He’s got this scowl on his face, and he’s ready to go. Sam Jones has already shown him the letter that Jack Kent Cooke wrote to all of the Laker season ticket holders, about how the championship would be celebrated at the end of the game. Russell has also heard about the purple and gold balloons suspended in the rafters and how the Lakers will be releasing them when the final horn sounds. He knows about the champagne chilled in the Lakers’ locker room. Jack Twyman says to Bill Russell on camera, ‘What’s going to happen tonight, Russ?’ Russell just glares at Jack, and he says simply, ‘We’re going to win.’ Jack is taken aback, and he asks how he knows that the Celtics are going to win. Russell looks at him and says, ‘Because we’ve done this before.’ I was so pumped up when I heard him say that. I was sitting there, watching Russell on TV, and I was like, ‘Yeah! Let’s go!’ And we all know what happened. Russell played the entire 48 minutes and walked into the sunset a champion.”

Steer the conversation in any direction, and all roads eventually lead back to the Grateful Dead. Walton has jammed with the Dead, toured with them, and seen more of their concerts than just about anyone. He’s so close to the band that they often stay at his home, rather than a hotel, when visiting San Diego. He even met his wife, Lori, through friends of the band.

“She’s a fan of the Grateful Dead, and she went to UCLA, which were two very important attributes,” he says, laughing.

Walton, who keeps count of his concert tally, certainly doesn’t see himself scaling back anytime soon.

“I didn’t count the first 12 years that I went to Grateful Dead concerts—nobody ever thought of counting back then, we just went all of the time. It was during the late ’70s or early ’80s that I started to count my concerts. Today the count is 889, but it’s not important how many. It’s important that we were there, that we are there now, and that we hope to be there tomorrow. I used to care where they played and what they played, now the only thing that I care about is that they play at all, and how they play. I want more shows.”

Walton sees endless parallels between basketball and the Grateful Dead and moves seamlessly between his two favorite subjects.

“From the very beginning with the Grateful Dead, I looked up on that stage and shouted from the top of the highest mountain, ‘I am with those guys!’ From the earliest days listening to Chick Hearn, I said the same thing about the Boston Celtics: ‘I’m with those guys!’ I’m with Red Auerbach. I’m with K. C. Jones. I’m with Bill Russell. I’m with John Havlicek. And then the ’70s came, and the love affair never stopped, because then I’m with Dave Cowens. I’m with Jo Jo White. I’m with Paul Westphal. I’m with Paul Silas. I’m with Don Nelson. And then I’m traded to Boston, and my dream comes true. I’m with Larry, Kevin, Robert, DJ, Danny, Rick, Scotty, Jerry, and all of the guys. I’m with those guys.”

Winners of 15 world championships before he arrives, ‘those guys’ now includes this guy, the oft-injured redhead who resurrects his career in a Boston Celtics uniform.

“I was drawn to those great Celtics teams by the way that they played,” Walton says. “Those great teams in the ’60s were so fast, and the ball never seemed to touch the floor. You had Sam Jones with his patented bank shot, K. C. Jones with the great defensive steal leading to transition offense. You had Bill Russell blocking a shot or grabbing a rebound to ignite the fast break. You had Tommy Heinsohn with the running hook shot, John Havlicek doing everything imaginable on earth and never getting tired. And then you had Dave Cowens, who was so fabulous in the early ’70s and who was just so fun to watch. And then later you had Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, and DJ doing their thing . . . To be an admirer of that tradition, and then to be a part of it, you couldn’t possibly hope for anything else.”

Unfortunately, Walton’s injury woes return. He plays in a career-high 80 regular season games during the championship run but appears in only 10 during the 1986–87 season. He’s on the bench when Larry Bird makes his famous steal during Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Finals, and he retires shortly after the Celtics fall to the Lakers in the ’87 NBA Finals.

“Being part of a band is the same as being a part of a team,” Walton says. “That spirit of, ‘Yeah, we’re going to get this done,’ or ‘Let’s go, we’ve got a show to put on,’ or ‘We’ve got a game to play.’ It all translates into the same thing: ‘We get to go do this today, and we get to go do it together.’ The teamwork, creativity, improvisation, and imagination that goes into being a great musician also goes into being a great basketball player. Those are the things that I knew I was going to miss when I decided it was time to retire from basketball.”

Walton has long ago accepted his lot in life.

“My story is one of a meteoric rise to the top, and then immediately followed by catastrophic orthopedic health problems. I’m the most injured player ever. I missed more than nine full seasons of my 14-year NBA career. I could never sustain. I’m on Bill Walton 17 right now.

“I wanted to be the best, but my body would not carry me where I needed to go or where I wanted to go. I spent half of my adult life in the hospital, endured 37 operations, and never achieved the ultimate dream of being the best. I’ve learned to appreciate the things that I’ve accomplished, like being a part of two of the greatest basketball teams in the world, the Bruins and the Celtics. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

One thing is clear: Bill Walton 17 is happy to be back.

“When you are old like I am, the driving emotions in your life are pride, loyalty, and gratitude. Pride: The satisfaction with your choices. Loyalty: Do we care, and is this worth it? Gratitude: The appreciation and the respect and the acknowledgment of the sacrifice that has gone for you to create what we have today.”

Walton pauses. His smile releases a row of perfect teeth, thoughts of suicide nowhere to be found.

“I try to learn from the past, dream and hope for a better tomorrow, and live for today. Today is what I can go for, and that sense of going for it is what excites and motivates me. There’s a song by the Grateful Dead, called ‘Saint of Circumstance.’ Listening to it reminds me that when you have dreams, and then the dreams come true, and then the reality is better than a dream, there’s nothing like that in life. That’s happened a lot in my life. The Boston Celtics are such a big part of who I am, and a big part of the life that I have today.”

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The Fred Roberts Interview

By:  Michael D. McClellan |  The NBA has always been a star-driven universe, the lineage stretching from Mikan to Michael to LeBron, but the league and its teams can’t exist on star-power alone. For every Kevin Durant there are hundreds of grinders doing their best to make a roster, to make a contribution, to make a living doing what they love the most. Fred Roberts is such a man. Roberts played his college basketball at Brigham Young University during the late 70s and early 80s, and even at the collegiate level he could hardly be described as a star. That mantle went to teammate Danny Ainge, winner of the John R. Wooden Award as a senior at BYU, but Roberts was long and athletic and could run the court, and he averaged 15.5 points and seven rebounds while shooting 54.6% from the field. His contributions helped to spark a basketball renaissance at BYU, and in the process he garnered the attention of NBA scouts, with the Milwaukee Bucks taking him in the second round of the 1982 NBA Draft.

Roberts chose to play basketball in Europe rather than jump directly into the NBA.  While in Italy, Roberts was traded from the Bucks to the New Jersey Nets, who, in turn, would trade him to the San Antonio Spurs. The latter transaction was also notable in that it involved a head coach – Stan Albeck – one of the few times in the league history that a coach was a part of a trade between teams.

Roberts returned to the U.S. following one season in Italy, joining the Spurs for the 1983-84 regular season.  Despite a roster stocked with the likes of George Gervin, Artis Gilmore and John Lucas, San Antonio finished with a 37-45 record, narrowly missing the playoffs. The next season, Roberts was traded after playing 22 games for the Spurs, landing on a Utah Jazz team coached by Frank Layden and led by a rookie point guard named John Stockton. And although the Jazz finished with a 41-41 record, Roberts found himself in the NBA Playoffs for the first time in his career. The Jazz upset the favored Houston Rockets 3-2, winning twice in Houston to advance to the Western Conference Semifinals. Despite losing to the Nuggets, 4-1, the playoff experience was truly special for the forward from Provo, Utah.

Karl Malone would join the Jazz via the 1985 NBA Draft, and it soon became clear that Malone was going to be a star. Roberts’ minutes and scoring average both took a hit, and his future with the team became cloudy. The NBA Champion Boston Celtics were in the market for a player to solidify their front line, and in September of 1986 they offered Roberts a two-year deal to join the team. Utah matched the offer, eventually trading Roberts to Boston for a future draft choice. This transaction was also notable, because included in the trade was an agreement for the Celtics to play an exhibition game in Utah. With the Celtics one of the biggest road draws in the league, and with the team featuring Larry Bird in his prime, having the Celtics come to Salt Lake City was a financial boon to the city and the team.

Had highly touted draft pick Len Bias not died from a cocaine overdose, Roberts’ arrival in Boston probably wouldn’t have happened at all. But the Bias tragedy created the need for a forward to provide spot relief for Larry Bird and Kevin McHale. The 1986-87 Boston Celtics remain, in the minds of many, one the most resilient teams in NBA history; battling through injuries to key players such as Bird, McHale, Robert Parish and Bill Walton, the Celtics slugged their way through the Eastern Conference before eventually falling to a deep, healthy and rested Los Angeles Lakers squad. That playoff run was filled with memorable moments, including Bird’s steal of Isiah Thomas’ inbounds pass to save Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Finals. And through it all there was Roberts, the consummate professional, doing his part to help the Celtics succeed.

By the end of the 1987-88 regular season it was clear that the Celtics were a team in transition. Boston left Roberts unprotected during the ’88 NBA Expansion Draft, and the Miami Heat immediately took him. In another twist of fate, Roberts was immediately traded to the Milwaukee Bucks, the team that had drafted him in the first place. And, ironically, Roberts would play five seasons with the Bucks – the longest stretch with one team in his career – while also enjoying his best statistical seasons.

There would be three more NBA stops for Roberts – Cleveland (1994-95), Los Angeles (1995-96) and Dallas (1996-97), with a stint in Spain and the Continental Basketball Association sandwiched in between. Exactly what you would expect from a pro’s pro, the kind of player who grew up loving the game of basketball and who worked hard to forge a long and successful career playing with – and against – some of the greatest stars the game has ever known.

You were born on August 14, 1960 in Provo, Utah. Please tell me a little about your childhood.

The biggest influence on me was family – I have five brothers.  Baseball was my first love, and we were really fortunate because we grew up in a small town that had a great baseball program. We got involved with that pretty early on. I got to watch my two older brothers play ball, and I loved going to the games and watching. So I was never bored, and when I got old enough to play, my passion for the competition of sports just increased.

 

When did you start playing basketball?

I actually went from baseball to football. They had an organized Punt, Pass and Kick program in my hometown, and that was great fun. I wasn’t all that crazy about basketball at first, because it took me a lot longer to become any good at that. Overall I think basketball is a more challenging sport, and by the time I reached junior high that was the only sport that my school offered. So that’s what I matriculated to. I grew into the sport, and as I got taller I realized that was a good fit for me. It was a good sport where I lived because we could play indoors – Provo can get cold like Massachusetts.

 

Tell me about your high school basketball career.

In high school I had the privilege of watching a great high school basketball player and a great athlete in Bruce Hardy, who was also the first high school player to appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated. So watching him was inspiring. I made the varsity team as a sophomore, and we won the state championship my junior and senior year. The community was involved so that was exciting and fun for us. I had a good bunch of friends on the team, and we got to compete against a bunch of big schools and did pretty well.

 

You were teammates with James Worthy on that 1979 USA Junior World Championship Team. What was that experience like for you?

That was a great team and a great experience. We had some really strong players, and we were able to go to Brazil and compete. We went to one city and won that pool, and then we went to another city and played our way to the championship. We went through the Russians and then we beat Brazil on their home court, which was really good for us.

To make the team you had to try out at the Sports Festival in Colorado Springs. I was on the South team, and we had James Worthy, Sam Perkins, a bunch of really good players. And from that tryout they put together the team that went to Brazil. It was fun. We beat a lot of teams down there, both good and bad. Worthy and I both started. It seemed like we got every rebound, and we’d take off down the floor, and either Worthy or I would dunk it.

 

You played your college ball at Brigham Young.  What was it like to play with future Boston Celtics teammate Danny Ainge?

I was motivated to go to Brigham Young. My older brother played on the basketball team, and I had hoped to play with him. Danny was a year ahead of me. He came in and brought a new excitement to the school and to the basketball program. So I looked forward to playing with Danny. He was a tough guy, and he was a real competitor, but he knew how to have a good time. He was fun, and knew how to relax. That was a little more difficult for me. I took everything a lot more serious. If we’d get beat I’d really get down about that. Danny competed and played just as hard as anybody else, but when the game was over he moved on. That was something that I tried to learn from him.

 

Another Celtics teammate, Greg Kite, was also on that team.

We had a good time. When Kite joined us we were able to go to some of the bigger schools and compete with them. My junior year – Danny’s senior year – we had that run to the Elite 8. We beat UCLA and beat Notre Dame before losing to Virginia. That Notre Dame game was the game where Danny sprinted the length of the court and scored on Kelly Tripucka to win it at the buzzer. So I had a great time playing ball at BYU.

 

How would you assess your career at Brigham Young?

My best year in college was my junior year. My senior season was a disappointment – Danny was gone, which meant that we were bringing in a pair of freshmen guards, and there was some frustration involved because they were young and just learning to play college basketball. And I don’t think I was ever in as good a shape as I needed to be at that level. As a result, I was drafted a lot deeper in the draft than I thought and hoped I would be.

 

You were selected by the Milwaukee Bucks in the second round of the 1982 NBA Draft, but decided to play a year overseas. What led you to make that decision?

Don Nelson was the Milwaukee coach at the time, and he made it sound like I was going to have a real hard time making the team. In retrospect I should have been a little bit stronger mentally, and I should have went to camp and tried out. But I had another opportunity and I went overseas – I had a contract waiting on me in Italy, so I went over there instead. It was actually good in some ways because we worked really hard on conditioning and fitness. I was always a pretty good runner, but I’d never had a coach who really pushed his players as hard as my coach in Italy. And when I came back to the States I think I was better prepared. I was a big man who could run, which really served me well. I think that’s the reason I was able to stay in the league as long as I did.

 

You were traded to two teams before ever playing your first NBA game, and you were part of a trade package that involved an NBA head coach.

When I was in Italy, Milwaukee traded my rights to the New Jersey Nets.  Not long after that, an NBA team came over and played some exhibition games. I played great against them and ended up scoring 43 points. Stan Albeck was the coach, and he was also the head coach in San Antonio at the time. I think Albeck may have went back to San Antonio and told some people to keep me on their radar. And as luck would have it, I was still property of the Nets when Albeck later decides he wants to coach in New Jersey. So my rights were included as compensation for Albeck being allowed to leave San Antonio to coach the Nets.

 

Tell me about your time in San Antonio.

It was a good fit for me. I was able to go to San Antonio and play a year-and-a-half. I may have stayed there longer, but the team was in transition at that point in time. They went through three coaches during my time there, and it was the tail end of the good years, so that’s when I ended up playing in Utah.

 

Let’s talk about your journey to Boston: The Utah Jazz traded you to Boston for draft picks and home team rights to an exhibition game?

That’s correct [laughs]. I think there were two exhibition games that were part of that deal. You’ll have to ask Kevin McHale about that, because he hated that deal – we had to come to Utah to play that exhibition game, which McHale whined about the whole time [laughs]. I played in Utah a year-and-a-half. I had a really good first year, but the second year they drafted Karl Malone. With Malone on the team, my minutes went way down. At the end of the season I became a restricted free agent, and during the summer I went to Boston to play in their summer league. That’s when the Celtics signed me, and that’s when Utah traded me with the restrictions to include the exhibition games.

 

Did you ever expect to see yourself in a Celtics uniform?

Had Len Bias lived, I probably wouldn’t have been a Celtic. Bias was going to be the next great player for Boston, and he was going to play a reserve role at forward that season. But when Bias died, the Celtics were suddenly in need of a big man. I think that’s how they ended up having some interest in me. I still had a small town attitude and mentality when I arrived in Boston, so I was pretty nervous when I got there. These guys had just won the world championship. Every time I played them with San Antonio they’d whipped us. When I was with Utah they’d whipped us. In fact, the year before the Celtics won that ’86 championship they’d come to Salt Lake and Bird had a quadruple double.

 

The Celtics were a veteran team with lofty goals.  How long did it take you to fit in?

When I got to Boston I didn’t know what to expect, especially with Robert Parish. And then I’m in the locker room getting ready for that very first practice, and in walks Parish. He just smiles at me and asks me what’s up [laughs]. He was very different in person than what you would expect from him after seeing him on the court. So I’ll never forget how he walked in that locker room the first time and made me feel at home. And from then on I felt like I could handle being a part of the team.

 

How was the team chemistry? 

Very good, but for some reason I always felt that there were two teams within that team, at least from the public and the media point-of-view: There was the five starters that had won the championship, and then there was the rest of us. I always felt that if we won, it was the starters who were responsible. If we lost, then it was the bench who let them down. That was kind of a hard thing for me, and a challenge mentally.

 

Tell me about Larry Bird.

I remember that Eastern Conference Finals against the Pistons, and seeing those warriors out there on the court going toe-to-toe against the Pistons. Detroit had Bill Laimbeer, Rick Mahorn, John Salley, Dennis Rodman…they all took turns at Bird at one point or another in that series. Larry was just unbelievable. They’d guard him, grab, scratch, fight, whatever they could do to try and slow him down. But it seemed like the tougher the competition the more Larry liked it. He just rose to the occasion, and he really invited that challenge to be put on him. He wanted the challenge to be as tough and as hard as it could be, and I just remember what a warrior Larry was, especially in that series. And that steal in Game 5. If he hadn’t made that steal we were done.

 

Was there a greater competitor than Larry Bird?

No.  With Larry, it was his level of competitiveness and tenacity, and his singular focus. It was all about the game for Larry Bird. That’s where he found his great joy, that’s where his love was, and it was obvious that it was all about the game for him. That’s where he felt the most free. What a tough, strong guy, and what a great leader. Even when he was beat up and hurting he came to practice and he practiced. He always wanted to be on the top of his game and that’s how he got there.

 

Did Larry have a sense of humor?

I remember when I played for the Jazz, and the Celtics had just lost a game to the Lakers the night before, and now the Celtics are in Utah getting ready to play us. And we’re just finishing shoot-around, and Larry walks up to me and says, ‘Tonight, I’m going to melt the salt off the Salt Palace.’ And you could just see that anger in his eyes because he’d lost to the Lakers. So he comes out and he kills us. And in the second quarter he runs past Frank Layden and says, ‘Frank, don’t you have anyone on this team that can guard me?’ And Frank could only smile and look down the bench and say, ‘Well, you see the same thing I do!’ Larry loved that [laughs]. Larry had a lot of fun torturing the people that played against him.

 

Injuries devastated that team.

We had so many injuries that year. It started with Bill Walton. We kept wondering if he was going to come back, and if he was going to be the difference because he’d been the difference the year before. We were playing well and winning a lot of games, but everybody felt like we were missing a piece. Scott Wedman was out, and everybody was waiting for him to come back. And I don’t know if everyone felt this way, but I sort of felt like the starters were just putting up with the bench until they got those main guys back.

 

Was it difficult for you to find your role with the Celtics?

I was able to play the 3 and 4, so there was some versatility in what they could do with me. I could get into the games a little bit more than the other guys on the bench. For me coming into this organization from the outside, I had an impression that the Celtics were a very tight-knit group. But once I got there, it sort of felt like there was an undercurrent that things weren’t quite right, that maybe there was some friction between Bird and McHale, and that there were some difficulties in getting the personalities to mesh. That’s not uncommon in the NBA. It happens. But there was an undercurrent that people weren’t quite happy, that maybe injuries and age was catching up with the team and there were going to be changes, and yet they were trying to hang onto the greatness that they had.

 

Tell me about the fans in Boston.

There are some unique sports cities in this country, and Boston is definitely one of them. There were some great, great fans in that town. There still are. They love their teams and they love their players and they’re so fanatical. And yet you could go to the neighborhood restaurant and no one would treat you badly. They treated you like you were on their high school team. The fans were just fantastic.

The other thing was going on the road and seeing so many Celtics fans show up to support us. I played for Milwaukee after playing two years in Boston, and I remember driving home from Milwaukee to Salt Lake after the season. We stopped at Mount Rushmore, and this couple recognized me. They started a conversation, and asked me how I liked playing for the Celtics. I told them that I played for Milwaukee, but they remembered me from my time in Boston. That’s the way it was back then. If you played for Boston or Los Angeles, you had a following. It was so much fun to be a part of that, to be part of a national team that was either loved or hated. That was fun.

 

What was it like playing in the fabled Boston Garden?

I remember walking into the Garden, seeing all of those championship banners, and feeling the difference of the building compared to other NBA arenas.  I remember going into that building the first time – I was with San Antonio – and I got lost. I walked through these doors and I’m in a train station, and I didn’t know where I was at [laughs]. It was such a unique place, with all of the excitement and energy in that building. I loved playing in the Garden as a member of the Celtics; we always felt like we were going to win, and the opponents felt that, too. You could see it in their eyes. I hated playing in the Boston Garden as an opponent [laughs], but after I played there and went to other teams, I enjoyed coming back.

 

Tell me about Red Auerbach.

I don’t think Red said a word to me the whole two years I was there [laughs]. I think he nodded at me once. But I was so impressed with the whole organization and everything about it. I was okay on the floor, but off the floor I think I was a little star struck.

 

Did you meet [legendary Celtics radio announcer] Johnny Most?

Johnny Most was a great guy, and a part of that Boston Celtic mystique and image. You’d hear his voice at 7:00 AM in the morning, down in the coffee shop, screaming at the waitress. You just don’t forget stuff like that. He was always a gentleman to me, he was kind when I was traded. Whenever I came back he made it a point to say hello to me.

 

Do you have a favorite Johnny Most story?

Johnny had been announcing forever by the time I got there. I remember there was this gig where people could pay to have Johnny announce the end of a game with their name inserted. And one day I’m walking down the hall and he stops me, and he pulls me in the room and tells me that I have to hear this. And he records the last minute of a game, and he inserts a fan’s name at the end, with the fan receiving the pass from Bird and hitting the game winner. And when it’s over, Johnny smiles and says ‘And that’s five-hundred dollars for me!’ He was so excited, it was like he’d got a free cup of coffee [laughs].

 

Did you every meet the great Bill Russell?

I never did get to meet Bill Russell. But I got to meet John Havlicek and Sam Jones, and now I think the Celtics are trying to bring some of that back. The team sends out a monthly newsletter, and it’s been way fun for me to get that. And even though I was only there for two years and I don’t expect people to remember me, it’s great just to be thought of as a part of that great organization.

 

Jeff Twiss (VP – Media Relations) is a longtime member of the Celtics, and as much a part of the fabric of the team as as anyone.

What a great guy. You just don’t meet many people like Jeff. I remember opening night at the Garden, and the Celtics were going to raise the ’86 championship banner to the rafters. Well, I didn’t know what to do. Jeff could tell that I was feeling awkward, because I hadn’t been a part of that championship team. He came to me and told me I could do what I felt was right – if I wanted to stay on the bench I could do that, or if I wanted to go out on the floor with the team I could go out there with them. Well, I thought about it for awhile and then decided I didn’t want to be the only guy left on the bench sitting by myself. So I went on the court with the team while they raised the banner, and I remember Bird giving me the snarliest look because I hadn’t done anything to contribute to that championship. At that point I wished I’d just stayed in the locker room [laughs]. It was a great privilege to just witness that ceremony. I’ll never forget that.

 

Following two seasons in Boston, you were part of the 1988 expansion draft and were selected by the Miami Heat. Ironically, you were dealt to Milwaukee, where you would play for 5 seasons, your most productive period in the NBA. What was it like to come full circle to the team that drafted you?

My impression of Milwaukee was not great, because my only experience was walking from the Hyatt across the street to the Mecca. The weather was cold and miserable, but once I got there I loved it. The city was easy to get around in. It just felt comfortable for us as a family, and the system just fit my game. Coach Dell Harris trusted me and believed that I could be a good player. I got a lot of regular playing time. It was a good team situation. It was a great sports city – not as big as Boston, but people loved their teams and took pride in their teams. They loved Sidney Moncrief, Terry Cummings, Jack Sikma. So it was a good situation for me to move into. And because I was from Boston I had some respect, more than I’d ever had before. It wasn’t because I’d suddenly become a better player. It came from being a part of that great Celtics organization.

 

In Milwaukee you played with an aging Moses Malone. What was that like?

Moses was great. He was great fun to play with. He played hard, and he was serious about the game. Some guys get to the end of their careers and they’re not as serious anymore. Moses was very serious. He wanted to be a good player and an important part of our team. He was very respectful to all of the guys on the team. He was a good leader. He was like Bird, in that they both did it on the floor. Moses wasn’t much of a talker. Bird wasn’t much of a talker. But on the floor, you knew that those guys were going to lead. I was never a soldier, but if I was, I would go to war with both of those guys. I would want to be in a foxhole with those guys because I knew I could trust them. And that’s the way it was on the basketball court.

 

Late in your career you played for the Los Angeles Lakers, making you one of the few people who could say that they’ve been teammates of both Larry Bird and Magic Johnson. Tell me about Magic.

I got there at the very tail end of Magic’s career when he made that last comeback. You could just tell that Larry and Magic were alike in so many ways. It seemed that Magic had a lot more going on off the court than Larry did, but that didn’t mean he cared about the game any less. He knew that the fame he’d achieved away from basketball was directly related to what he’d done on the court, and he approached the game of basketball like a true professional. It was also his passion, and it was the thing that drove him to be the very best.

 

Let’s talk about the job Danny Ainge, basketball executive.

Danny is as clever and as bright as anybody I’ve ever know. I think he’s very smart. He’s not afraid of taking risks – but the risks are calculated and not random. He really has a vision, and he works hard to ensure that the risks that he takes has the best chance of working out. It was like that from Day One, when he went into the Boston situation and took over as president of basketball operations. I knew that he was the perfect guy for the job, because for as long as I’ve known him he was always playing the personnel game in his head: What players would be best together, what coaches would be the best to take over certain situations, which systems would work best for given personnel, things like that. So when he accepted the Boston job he’d already been doing it for twenty years, he just hadn’t been doing it for a living. It was very natural for him to work deals, because he always knew of ways to get what he wanted.

 

Do you ever give Danny a hard time for being so successful?

I remember a time when I was playing in Milwaukee, and Jack Sikma went up to Danny, who was playing for a very good Portland team at the time, and he said, ‘Boy, you sure know how to land on your feet.’ And Danny said, ‘Hey, I paid the price, I played a season in Sacramento.’ And I said, ‘Danny, most players spent their entire careers playing for bad teams – you get to play with Boston, you get to play with Portland, you get to play for Phoenix, and everywhere you go you get to play for championships!’ We had a good laugh about that. But that’s the way Danny is. He knows how to get to the top. He’s good enough, and he’s smart enough, and he works very hard. He’s a sharp, sharp guy.

 

Your career ended 12 games into the 1996-97 season, which meant you played in parts of 13 NBA seasons. Do you realize how many players drafted ahead of you didn’t last?

I do.  It gave me satisfaction knowing that I found a niche and I found a way to hang on and play a long time in the NBA. There were a lot of guys in my draft that just didn’t make it for one reason or another, and it sort of game me satisfaction knowing that I found a way to hang on in a league with some of the greatest athletes in the world.

 

When you were playing ball in Europe in the early 80s, could you have envisioned how global the game would become today?

Absolutely not. I played my first year in Italy and my tenth year in Spain, and the game changed so much in those ten years. I never would have thought that those teams in Europe and throughout the world would ever be able to compete with what we have in America. When I was in Italy, basketball was like soccer is in the States today. People follow soccer and play it over here, but the passion isn’t the same as it is everywhere else on the world. But when I went back a decade later, basketball had moved up the ladder. It’s a bigger game now, the coaching is much better. When I was there in the ’80s, Russia and Yugoslavia were the two powers and there wasn’t much after that. But now you have Spain, you have Germany, you have France. And that’s just for starters. It’s a different world today. Basketball is definitely a global sport.

 

If you give one piece of life advice to others, what would that be?

Above all else, be grateful for everything that you have.