By: Michael D. McClellan |  When Mel Counts joined the Boston Celtics as a rookie in the fall of 1964, he did so with the knowledge that he would probably never earn a starting position, and that his name might forever be a footnote to one of the greatest dynasties in the history of team sport. Standing in line behind Bill Russell can do that to you. Counts, drafted ninth overall in the first round of the 1964 NBA Draft, just ahead of future stars Willis Reed and Paul Silas, found his two-year stay in Boston to be both a blessing and a curse. One the one hand, he was a member of a Celtic team that won eleven championships in thirteen seasons, a feat unmatched and still regarded as the gold standard for the four major North American sports. On the other, Counts simply never got to play.  To many NBA fans, Counts remained a mystery, a lithe seven-footer who could seldom flaunt the talent that made him a two-time All-America selection at Oregon State University. The legendary Red Auerbach ultimately used this to his advantage, shrouding Counts in so much secrecy that he could pry rugged forward Bailey Howell away from Baltimore in an even-up trade. Bailey, of course, was an integral component on two Celtic championship teams, while Counts would go on to a fine, 12-year career with six different NBA franchises, including two stints with the Los Angeles Lakers. That he would end up becoming on the league’s first true journeymen is of little consequence. Counts, for all of his stops and travels, entered the NBA as Boston’s green giant, and to this day he remains proud of his time spent in a Celtic uniform.

“I’ve been blessed,” Counts says, when asked about his bit-part in the Celtics’ dynasty. “How many people can say that they’ve played with guys like Bill Russell, John Havlicek, Sam Jones, Tommy Heinsohn, KC Jones and Satch Sanders? How many can say that they’ve played on one of the greatest teams of all time?”

Born on October 16th, 1941, in Coos Bay, Oregon, Counts found himself drawn to the outdoors well before he developed a love for basketball. Situated in Oregon’s Bay Area, and with the largest natural harbor between Seattle and San Francisco, Coos Bay offers hunting and fishing in equal abundance, and a young rarely missed an opportunity to indulge in his favorite pastimes. He also enjoyed hiking with his father, whom he idolized, and who taught him how to appreciate nature. In fact, Oregon’s picturesque outdoors was so all-consuming that Counts didn’t pick up a basketball until fourth grade – but when he finally did, he took to the sport quickly and dramatically, displaying a natural athleticism that clearly set him apart from other children his age.

The next several years would provide a solid foundation for Counts, as his coaches drilled into him the importance of basketball fundamentals. They eschewed the fancy stuff, opting instead for clean, crisp passes, solid defense, and high-percentage shots. Counts listened and learned, developing into the most accomplished cager in the history of Marshfield High School. By then his height rivaled his prodigious basketball talent, making him so dominant in the low-post that college recruiters with no working knowledge of Oregon’s geography suddenly knew of Coos Bay and the area’s thriving lumber industry. Naturally, offers poured in. With no shortage of universities at his beck and call, Counts elected to play collegiate hoops for Oregon State and its legendary, hall-of-fame coach, Slats Gill. Gill, who had taken the 1949 Oregon State team to the Final Four, would do so again in 1963 with Counts as the centerpiece of the Beaver attack. And Counts, then a junior, would earn All-America honors for his efforts, a feat that he would repeat following his senior season.

There was little doubt that Counts would play professionally, but his date with the Boston Celtics would have to wait, as Oregon’s favorite son was selected to represent the United States in the 1964 Olympic Games in Tokyo, Japan. Playing for another legendary coach, Hank Iba, Counts and his teammates shrugged off the underdog tag to finish 9-0, including a dominating 73-59 gold medal win over the previously undefeated Soviet Union.

“I don’t remember a lot about the ebb and flow of the gold medal game,” Counts wrote years later.  “I remember that the Soviets had a guy on their team named Jan Kruminsh. He was 7’6″ and weighed 320 pounds. They actually recruited him from the Siberian forest. I don’t think he had to saw the trees down, he could just tear them out by the roots and load them on the trucks by hand. He was huge. And he wasn’t even their starting center. The guy who was their starting center was “only” 6’11.

“At that time, we were just starting to send American coaches and players to foreign countries. These other counties hadn’t caught on to how we played the game here in America. The Soviets, like a lot of teams from other countries, were a lot more mechanical, less creative and freelancing, than we as Americans were. That really hurt their game. We were clearly better than them at the point.

“We ended up winning the game, and the most vivid memory I have is stepping up on the podium with a gold medal draped around my neck.  What a great feeling.  I was kind of awestruck, like, ‘Hey, this is what it looks like. This is for real. I’m here!’  The rest of the team felt the same way, like, ‘We came here to get the job done, we did it, and it was exciting.’”

Drafted ninth overall by the Boston Celtics, Counts continued his tutelage under another coaching luminary, Arnold “Red” Auerbach.  It was at that first training camp that Counts would experience Auerbach’s military-style approach to conditioning, an approach that, along with superior talent, would help propel the Celtics to 11 championships in thirteen seasons.  Counts, for his part, would average 4.8 ppg and 4.9 rpg in mostly mop-up duty, with his primary contributions coming against Russell during the team’s rugged practices.  The Celtics won sixty-two games that season, then a club record, culminating with a 4-1 NBA Finals win over the Los Angeles Lakers – and Boston’s seventh consecutive NBA championship.

While the rookie may not have seen the court much during the regular season, and even less of it during the playoffs, Counts nonetheless was blessed to be present for perhaps the single biggest moment in franchise history.  Immortalized by radio announcer Johnny Most’s signature ‘Havlicek stole the ball!’ call during Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Finals, John Havlicek’s famous theft only seems to grow bigger through the years – and Counts had the good fortune to be courtside for history in the making.

Counts would win another title a year later, his second with the team, as the Celtics would conclude their  record string of eight consecutive championships.  Statistically, the player known as ‘Goose’ would improve in almost every important category – games played (67, versus 57 the year before), minutes played (1021 versus 572), points-per-game (8.4 versus 4.8), rebounds-per-game (6.4 versus 4.9), and field goal percentage (.403 versus .368).  His playing days as a Celtic, however, were all but done; Auerbach’s retirement as coach meant a full-time gig as the team’s general manager, and one of his first offseason moves was to appoint Russell as his successor.  The first African-American head coach in any of the three major sports, Russell had no intentions of slowing down.  As player/coach, he was determined to log the same heavy workload that he had in the past.  For Counts, that would mean another season’s worth of garbage-time minutes, something that he was ready to accept in order to win another championship.  Auerbach had other ideas; convinced that the team needed more depth at power forward, as well as more size underneath the boards, he traded Counts to Baltimore in exchange for All-Star Bailey Howell.  He then acquired Wayne Embry to fill Counts’ spot as a backup to Russell.  The Celtics would win two of the next three championships, sending Russell off a winner.

Counts’ stay in Baltimore was abbreviated; he played 25 games during the 1966-67 NBA season before being shipped to the Lakers in a trade.  Counts fit in perfectly with the likes of Elgin Baylor, Wilt Chamberlain, and Jerry West.  With Baylor and Chamberlain down in the paint, Counts was free to play away from the basket and use his great outside touch.  He averaged a career-best 12.6 ppg in 1969-70.  The Lakers went to three NBA Finals in those four seasons.  Ironically, he found himself squarely on the other side of the heated Celtic-Laker rivalry, learning firsthand what it was like to lose to the great Bill Russell.

Counts went to the Phoenix Suns in 1970, and had one solid season (11 ppg, 6.3 rpg).  Then he had one bad season, and soon he found himself bouncing around the league.  Counts went to the Philadelphia 76ers, returned to L.A., and then finished his career with the New Orleans Jazz before retiring after the 1975-76 season. In all, he played in 789 regular season and 85 playoff games.  Still, he thinks of himself as Boston’s green giant, the player who arrived at a place and time that was truly special, where legendary men performed in an historic venue, where the fiery coach chomped victory cigars in the waning moments of games big and small, and where anything less than a championship was considered a season wasted.

Since retirement, Counts has received numerous accolades and awards, including enshrinement into the PAC-10 Hall of Honor, the US Olympic Hall of Fame, the OSU Hall of Fame, and the State of Oregon Sports Hall of Fame.  Celtic Nation is honored to bring you this interview.

You were born on October 16th, 1941, in Coos Bay, Oregon.  Please share some of the memories from your childhood, and also some of the events in your life that led you to the basketball court.

Growing up in a small town of about 300-to-400 people was a real advantage and positive for me.  I had the opportunity to hunt and fish, and go to a small school.  I think one of the best coaches I ever had was my fourth, fifth and six grade coach.  Just him being a mentor and a teacher of the basic fundamentals, not to mention his general enthusiasm and his involvement with kids, really set the stage for the rest of my life.

There are so many childhood memories that stand out.  We lived about three miles from Coos Bay.  In grade school, we used to hitchhike to town to go to the movies.  Back then the movie houses were a little different – you had all of the previews, you had the news, you had two serials, you had two cartoons, and you had a double-feature, all of this for the price of one ticket.  The average movie house cost sixteen cents for a ticket, and the uptown movie house cost a quarter.  Either way, it was dark outside by the time you got out.  I remember one time when my friend and I were hitchhiking back to the little town that I lived in, and we’re about a mile or so away when this car stopped for us, and we got in.  We drove along for a couple of blocks before the two guys in the front seat stopped the car and asked what we were doing in the car.  Well, what happened was that they’d stopped at a stop sign and we’d just walked over and gotten in [laughs].  They ended up giving us a ride all the way home anyway [laughs].

I have fond memories of growing up around Coos Bay.  I have a lifetime friend that I still hunt and fish with, this after about fifty-five years of knowing each other.  I remember the area being boom or bust, because the two primary sources of revenue were the fishing and lumber industries.  People would be down and out when the longshoremen were on strike, and other times thing would be going lickety-split.  There were a lot of economic cycles, no doubt about it.  At one time the area was the number one exporter of lumber in the world.  Of course it’s no longer that way now.

I remember, too, that you didn’t have to worry about your topside getting wet during a rain – it was always your bottom, because when the rain came at you, it came at you sideways from the wind blowing it.  So that umbrella didn’t do you a lot of good [laughs].


You are the most accomplished basketball player in the history of Marshfield High School.  Please tell me a little about this period in your life.

I think my work ethic was the reason I was so successful – it was instilled in me at a very early age by my mom.  She always talked about things like that.  And the great coaches that I had in junior high and high school also made a big difference.  Their influence helped shaped me into a better basketball player, and also a better person.  There really is no substitute for work ethic and for trying to do what’s right.


You graduated from high school in 1960, and then signed to play collegiate basketball at Oregon State University.  As a junior, you led the Beavers to the Final Four.  Please tell me about this experience.

I got to play for Slats Gill.  To me, he was one of the greatest college coaches of all time  He was assisted by Paul Valenti, another great coach.  I think nine of the thirteen players on that Final Four team were from Oregon.  One of them was Terry Baker, who had won the Heisman Trophy and was also Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the Year.  Steve Pauly was a decathlon champion.  We had people who played dual sports – two or three of the guys were also baseball players – which I don’t think that they do quite so much anymore.

The experiences that I gained from playing for Slats was worth so much more than just basketball.  He was very similar to my earlier coaches, in that he helped mold me into a better person and prepare for things that would come later in life.  In fact, some of the best times of my life were spent in college, at Oregon State, having that college experience – not only as an athlete, but as a student.  It was a great place to grow, and to meet other people – and not only from other parts of the country, but from other parts of the world.  It was a wonderful experience.

As for reaching the Final Four, that was only the second time in school history that Oregon State had done that.  Slats guided the 1949 team to the Final Four as well, so that tells you a little about his coaching ability.  We didn’t have as good a record as some of the teams in past years, but we had a real cohesive group.  And when they talk about peaking at the right time, towards the end of the year, that’s what we did.  We were ready for the tournament.  We won some games when we had to and reached the Final Four where Cincinnati beat us.  We played Duke in the consolation game and we lost that game as well – back then you played two games if you reached the Final Four, which they don’t do now – but it was just a wonderful experience.  Just to represent Oregon, OSU and the community was quite a privilege, and quite an honor.  Of course, the idea is to go all the way and win it, but it just didn’t happen.  The other teams were better than we were.  They deserve all of the credit for a job well done.


You were a two-time All-America selection.  How did it feel to be recognized as one of the greatest players in the country?

Well again, it was an honor to be recognized in that way, and I attribute a lot of that to a number of factors; the upbringing that I had, the coaching, the work ethic, and so on.  I looked at it as a collective thing, a team thing, with a lot of people helping along the way.  Yeah, you’d have to do a lot of it on your own, but I think a lot of times, as individuals playing a team sport, there end up being a lot of other people involved in your success.  For me, part of it was the coaches that I had – from grade school, into junior high and high school, and then on into college – they all had an impact, and they all played an important part in helping to make me successful.


The 1964 Olympic Games were held in Tokyo.  As hard as it may be to fathom, the U.S. men’s basketball team was considered something of an underdog going in.  What was it like to represent your country, and what memories stand out in your mind after all of these years?

The writers wrote us off.  They said that we weren’t going to get the job done.  Unlike the 1960 team, we didn’t have guys like Jerry West, or Oscar Robertson, or Jerry Lucas, or Walt Bellamy, or Terry Dischinger, or Bob Boozer.  These guys went on to play pro ball, with three or four of them becoming superstars in the NBA.  We didn’t have anybody on our team like that.  But we did have a great coach in Hank Iba, and a great group of assistant coaches.

We went to Pearl Harbor and worked out for three weeks.  We worked out twice a day, for three hours a pop, and when it came game time we were ready.  I remember one time, we had a game in the morning, and then we had practice that afternoon to get ready for the next day.  We were extremely well-prepared and extremely well-conditioned.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been over to Hawaii in the middle of the summer, or know the humidity factor, but it really helps to prepare you for the challenges and pressures of representing your country in Olympic competition – not only physically, but mentally and emotionally.

We went in with confidence, tradition, and the idea that the sports writers had written us off – there’s no doubt that that got in our crawl.  We wanted to show them.  That was an extremely powerful source of motivation for our team.  Our goal was to represent our country to the best of our ability, and that’s exactly what we did.  We won the gold medal and proved everybody wrong.


The Boston Celtics selected you in the first round of the 1964 NBA Draft, the ninth player chosen overall.  Please take me back to that first training camp with the Celtics.

It was like hell [laughs].  It was like boot camp.  The first three days we didn’t shoot the basketball.  In fact, back then they didn’t know as much about nutrition as they know now, and about how the body recovers from exercise.  And truthfully, the way we did things back then really wasn’t the best way to do it.  They’ve learned a lot since then.  Back then we’d go full-bore from ten until twelve, and then from two until four, with hardly a drink of water.  There wouldn’t be any breaks.  Now they practice in the morning and in the evening, which makes more sense.  It gives the body more time to recover.

The first three days, all we’d do was run and do drills.  We didn’t do any shooting.  It was total exercise.  But the fact that they ran so much in training camp certainly gave the Celtics an edge, and I think that’s why they always got off to a fast start.  Having Bill Russell, the greatest defensive player in the history of the game, didn’t hurt, either [laughs].  It all played into Red’s up-tempo offense, which was predicated on the fast break.  But those training camps were quite an experience.  They were tough.


Red Auerbach was notorious for those preseason barnstorming tours that took the team all over New England.  Were you ever a part of these tours and, if so, do you have a fond memory or an amusing story to share?

I broke my wrist my during training camp during my first season, so I missed those, and then the next season was when the player’s union really gained momentum and the number of preseason games were pared way down.  But they used to play anywhere from sixteen to twenty games during the preseason, where now they’re down to maybe six or eight.  So I really don’t have any recollection of what those barnstorming tours were like.

But I do recall other stories about Red.  He was a tremendous tactician, a tremendous psychiatrist, and a tremendous psychologist.  He deserves a lot of credit for treating each player different, which had a lot to do with the team’s exceptional chemistry.  He pioneered the idea of the sixth man, bringing a Frank Ramsey or a John Havlicek off the bench to help ignite the offense.  Red always had the ability to go to other teams and get players who were on the way out and get another year or two out of them – a prime example of that is when he traded me to the Baltimore Bullets for Bailey Howell, who had been an All-Star forward for much of his career.  That was the piece that the Celtics were missing at the time, because I was still young and green, and I still had a lot to learn about the game.  Bailey Howell came in and really helped them – I think he was on two of those championship teams with Russell.  Red was a smart coach and a shrewd judge of talent.


Everyone today knows that NBA players are pulling down multi-million dollar salaries.  What was the pay scale like when you played?

Obviously we weren’t making a lot of money.  I made $12,000 my first season with the team, plus $3,400 for winning the NBA championship.  The next year it was another $12,000, plus $3,600.  It helped, in a way, to keep you humble.  You didn’t forget where you came from.  Looking back, it’s easy to see that players from my generation played primarily for the love of the game, because a lot of them were making more money in the offseason than they were playing basketball.  Some of them were in real estate, or insurance, those types of things.  Of course, back then it didn’t cost as much to live.  Today, NBA wages far outpace inflation.  I’m not knocking these players getting that kind of money, but I don’t care for the ones with the bad attitudes and bad behavior.  When I played, you didn’t have problems with drugs, or players getting into fights with weapons, or players going to jail for any of those types of things.


Walter Brown passed away on September 7th, 1964.  Please tell me a little about Mr. Brown.

I never did meet Walter Brown.  It’s interesting, because I was invited out to meet him in a social setting, and I didn’t take advantage of that.  So when I arrived for training camp, he had already passed away.  From what I’ve heard, Walter Brown was a great human being who loved basketball, and loved the Boston Celtics.  He would do anything for you – if players were short on money, he would loan it to them without a second thought.  I think he was the kind of man who would give you the shirt off his back.


The ’65 playoffs produced one of the most dramatic moments in NBA history, as Johnny Most makes his legendary radio call: “Havlicek stole the ball! Havlicek stole the ball!”  Please take me back to that series in general, and that game in particular.

The guide wire supporting the backboard almost cost us that game against the Sixers.  I remember a conversation between Red Auerbach and Bill Russell prior to that series, and the decision was made to leave the guide wire in place.  Well, it was a really close game and Russell had to inbound the basketball.  Sure enough, he hit that wire and gave the ball back to Philadelphia under their basket.  I thought, ‘Oh no, this is it’, and then Havlicek came out of nowhere to steal the basketball.  He was a smart, smart player.  He grabbed the ball, made the pass, and the rest is history.


The Celtics dismantled the Lakers 4-1 to secure the team’s seventh consecutive title – and eighth overall.  While old hat to players like Bill Russell and Sam Jones, it was a new experience for you.  What was it like win your first NBA championship?

I’d never been on a championship team before.  In high school I was on two second place teams, and in college we made it to the Final Four once, so to be on a championship team like that is very special.  I think at the time it numbs you and you don’t really take it all in, but as time goes on it becomes more meaningful.  Now I can look at my Celtic ring or my Celtic watch, and say ‘Hey, I was on a world championship team’.  I’ve been very blessed and very fortunate to have the opportunity  to play on those teams.


Please tell me about the heart-and-soul of the Celtic Dynasty:  Bill Russell and Sam Jones.

Bill Russell is the greatest team player to ever play the game, and one of the greatest individual players to ever play it as well.  I think he really brought to the forefront the importance of defense in winning.  The guy would not only block shots, but he would try to block them to a teammate, or to himself, which helped initiate that great Celtic fast break.  There have been other great shot blockers, but not with his ability.  Russell was extremely intelligent, one of the smartest players that I’ve ever played with or against.  He was also one of the fastest.  Even back then he was somewhat undersized for a center, but he was probably one of the most mentally tough and mentally prepared players to ever play the game.  He was 6’9” and weighted about 210, and when you go up against guys like Wilt Chamberlain, who was 7’1”, 285, there was quite a bit of difference there.  But Russell always rose to the occasion.  I remember one time, when he was under the basket and we were playing the Lakers, and Archie Clark was at midcourt with the basketball.  And as Archie reached the basket, he decided to go under for a reverse.  It didn’t matter, because Russell had chased him down and was able to block the shot.  I thought, ‘This is unbelievable – Russell’s a half a court away, and he’s still able to catch this guy.’  What made it so special was that Archie knew Russell was coming.  That’s why he went under the basket, to keep Russell from blocking the shot.  Like I said, it didn’t matter.  Even after all of these years, it’s still one of the greatest plays I’ve ever seen.

Don’t get me wrong; Michael Jordan was a great player, one of the greatest ever.  But even today, if I had to choose one player to start a team, it would be Bill Russell.  He epitomized the term ‘team player’.  And just look at the results – thirteen seasons, eleven championships.  There aren’t many other players in any sport that can compare to that.  And the schedule was so grueling – back then there were only nine teams when I started, so the rosters were filled with quality from top-to-bottom.  Today there are more than thirty teams, so the league has been watered down in some respects.  I’m not disparaging the guys playing today, because there are some really great players out there.  But when you have fewer teams, that means more quality players have to step up.  And Russell was able to consistently outshine the best of the best.  He faced great players almost every time he stepped out on the court, and he was always at his best with a championship on the line.

Sam Jones was a tremendous clutch shooter, and one of the greatest bank shooters in the game.  He had deceptive speed – just when you thought he was running his fastest, he would kick it into another gear and just take off.  It was almost like he had another gear, or afterburners [laughs].  His speed and shooting ability were huge components of Red’s fast break attack.  Russell would block the shot, get the ball to the point, and Sam would be sprinting downcourt on the wing, ready to take the shot.


Red Auerbach would bow out the following season with yet another championship, the team’s eighth in a row.  The starting five had an average age of 31 that season, and many experts felt the team was too old to win again.  How were the Celtics able to overcome the age factor and send Red off a winner?

Two words:  Bill Russell [laughs].  You know, I was a member of the Lakers when Los Angeles played Boston during the 1969 NBA Finals.  That was Russell’s last season in the league.  It came down to Game 7 in Los Angeles, and one of the shots that killed us in that game was Don Nelson’s shot that hit the rim, went about ten feet straight up in the air, and then dropped into the basket.  That was a backbreaker, because the Celtics raced out to a huge lead – I think it was eighteen points – before we were able to cut it down to one.  You know, there’s no substitute for tradition, for believing in yourself, for reaching down for that little bit extra – it doesn’t matter what the sport is…basketball, golf, whatever the case may be.  And the Celtics had that.  They had tradition.  They were used to being successful.  They believed in themselves, even when they were down, and that’s how they were able to overcome adversity and win year-after-year.  And it all revolved around Russell.  The Celtics were an average team before he arrived, and they immediately won a championship with him on the team.  He gave the team tremendous confidence.  A swagger.  It carried the team to a bunch of championships.

If my memory is correct, the Celtics finished the 1968-69 regular season in fourth place.  They won a few more games than they lost, but not many – just enough to get into the playoffs.  They were considered old, and everyone was saying that the dynasty was over.  They were used to winning their division, even though they always had those great battles with Philadelphia when Wilt was there.  So the writers were all predicting a quick playoff exit, but Russell played like a great warrior in the playoffs.  He willed them to win in many cases.  That seventh game against us is a prime example.  I think Russell played all forty-eight minutes in that game.  The Celtics, of course, came out on top.


In 1966, you were traded to the Baltimore Bullets in exchange for the versatile Bailey Howell, and from there you were traded to the Los Angeles Lakers.  What was it like to be on the other side of the Celtics-Lakers rivalry?

I thought it was great.  It was a challenge being on the other side, because I had the opportunity to be in a championship situation with the Celtics.  I knew what they were all about.  I thought it would really be special to be duplicate that with the Lakers.  I played the Celtics the only way I knew how – I took pride in what I did, I played hard, and I believed in myself.  I also trusted my teammates and my coaches, knowing that together we could do whatever necessary to be successful and to be a champion.  So I looked at it as just another challenge.


Please tell me about Jerry West.

He was unbelievable.  I remember I was in the game when we were playing New York, and he hit that famous, 65-foot shot to tie the game.  That would have won it now, with the three-pointer.  He was not only one of the greatest clutch shooters, but he was also a great defensive ballplayer.  Quick hands.  I saw Jerry steal the ball from Pistol Pete [Maravich] – picked him clean.  And Pete was one of the best ball handlers in the game.

Jerry was also a smart, smart player.  I’d put him in the category with Bill Russell as far as intelligence goes, and as far as seeing the whole floor, and seeing what he needed to do.  When he played with Wilt and Elgin Baylor, he would do a phenomenal job of distributing the basketball.  As the game got tighter, then he’d start taking his shots.  He believed in himself so much that he never shied away from the big shot.  And on top of everything else, Jerry was just a class guy.


You played alongside two of the greatest players in NBA history – Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain.  What was this like for you?

You’re talking about two of the greatest players to ever suit up in the NBA, so it was an honor to play alongside of them.  They also afforded me the opportunity to play some at the forward position.  It was quite a learning process.  You’re talking about two of the best ever.  As I’ve said, Bill Russell that in 13 seasons won 11 championships. He was the greatest team player the game has ever seen.  And Wilt, well he was arguably the most dominant offensive force of all-time.


Of your time spent with the team, do you have a fond memory or an amusing story that stands out most?

I have a story that stands out, but it’s actually sad rather than amusing.  I remember one time, in the dressing room – and this was when John Thompson was my roommate – and John came into the locker room, and his uniform wasn’t hanging up.  That’s how he found out that he was no longer on the team.  I thought that that was a poor way to communicate with him.  John was such a good person, that I thought the Celtics could have done a better job of handling his release.

I remember another story as well – we would always meet at the end of the season to divide up the playoff money, and I remember John being there.  Woody Sauldsberry, too.  And the team voted to give John and Woody a half of a share, as opposed to a full share, because they really hadn’t played a lot that season.  I think John played 10 games, and Woody had played in about half of the games.  Well, John stood up in the meeting and objected.  He felt that if you were a member of the team, then you were deserving of a full share or none at all.  It was a very impassioned speech on his part, and the team responded to that by giving each of them a full share.  I was really happy with the way it worked out for John and Woody – as I indicated, back then there just wasn’t a lot of money to go around.

One thing you learned very quickly about that team was that they did a lot of things together – gatherings, dinners, that sort of thing.  I don’t think they do that so much anymore.  It used to be that the team would socialize a lot together.  As I went on to other teams, the people that I associated more with were my neighbors.  But in Boston it was much more of a family atmosphere.  But when it came to game time it was serious.


Let’s talk life after basketball.  What have you been up to in the years since retiring from the NBA?

I have been a realtor for twenty-eight years, listing and selling properties, investing in properties, that sort of thing.  I’ve been very involved in the pro-life movement, and I belong to the traditional Catholic Church.  I’m very involved in my community – I’ve been on the school board for eight years, and I’ve been on a hospital board for three.  In the past I’ve given talks to churches, schools and clubs, which is part of giving back for all that I’ve received through the years.  I still fish and hunt quite a bit as well, and I do some biking.  There’s an organization in Oregon called ‘Cycle Oregon’, and there are 2,000 cyclists that take part in this.  I’ve been on four or five rides so far, one of which starts close to the Idaho border and goes all the way to the beach – it’s about a 500 mile ride.  I have five children and thirteen grandchildren, and another on the way, so were pretty involved with the kids and their activities, and the grandkids.  I’ve just been enjoying life and thanking God for all of his blessings.


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?

Have trust and faith in God and his teachings.  Always try to do the right thing and reach out and help others, because there is always someone else out there a little worse off.  Put yourself out there to others instead of always thinking about yourself.


Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | There are those who say that Indiana is the cradle of basketball civilization, the epicenter of a hardwood explosion that reaches all corners of the globe.  From Sydney to Slovenia, the NBA as we now know it reflects the far-reaching impact of the game’s legendary ambassadors, basketball gods known to the masses only as Michael, Magic and Larry, as nearly every team now has at least one foreign player on its roster.  Many of those players, in fact, are stars:  There is Yao Ming from China, Dirk Nowitzki from Germany, Manu Ginobili from Argentina, Tony Parker from France, and Pau Gasol from Spain.  Impact players all, these men excel in a sport that gained its critical mass in high school gymnasiums throughout 1950s rural Indiana.  Talk basketball lore with anyone form the Hoosier State, and it isn’t long before the story of Bobby Plump and tiny Milan High School enters the conversation.  Plump, of course, hit that last-second shot to lead Milan to the 1954 Indiana state title, becoming an almost mythical figure in the process and later providing the inspiration for the movie Hoosiers.  Simply put, Indiana basketball – Indiana high school basketball to be precise– is beyond passion, beyond obsession, beyond reason.  It is a religion that spans generations, the game and its players worshipped unlike anywhere else in the country.  And in the pantheon of all those Indiana high school greats, from Bobby Plump to Oscar Robertson to Larry Bird, few have stood taller than Muncie Central’s own Ron Bonham.

As a two-time All-State selection and as Indiana’s ‘Mr. Basketball’ in 1960, one might expect Bonham to have grown up with a basketball in his hands, his future as the Hoosier State’s hoops messiah cosmically preordained.  In fact, nothing could be further from the truth; Bonham, born with a heart murmur, didn’t play organized basketball until the eighth grade.  He was raised to appreciate the outdoors, and spent the early part of his childhood hunting and fishing in the Indiana countryside.  His passion for wildlife stayed with him long after his playing days were done, as he has served more than thirty-five years as the superintendent at Prairie Creek Park, a 2,300 acre refuge for those looking to reconnect with nature.

“My dad was an outdoors person,” says Ron Bonham, still a basketball legend in the basketball-crazed Hoosier State.  “He more or less raised me on the river.  We fished and hunted all the time.  He taught me how to appreciate nature, and how to respect the environment.”

Arriving late to the basketball court, Bonham proved to be a prodigious student of the game; his ball handling and shooting skills were far superior to those of players with more experience, and his court presence, even at such an early age, was impossible to ignore.  At Muncie Central, Bonham’s game only got better.  He finished his junior season by being named All-State, before erupting for 28 points-per-game in leading Muncie Central to the state finals as a senior.  Bonham finished his career as the leading scorer in the history of Indiana high school basketball with 2,023 points.  Indiana coaches and sportswriters were quick to acknowledge Bonham’s on-court excellence, voting him ‘Mr. Basketball’ while touting him as the state’s brightest college prospect since the great Robertson.  Bonham validated that praise by leading a contingent of Indiana All-Stars over its rival Kentucky counterparts, 101-64.  Deluged with scholarship offers, Bonham packed off to home-state Purdue.  He stayed just three days.

“I decided that four years is a long time to be unhappy,” Bonham said at the time.  He then went home to reconsider other offers.  His final choice:  The University of Cincinnati — the school that Robertson had carried to basketball fame.

Following Robertson to Cincinnati was not without its pitfalls, especially given the ‘Big O’s’ three-year run at the school; from 1958-60, Robertson – himself a ‘Mr. Basketball’ in the State of Indiana – set or broke 19 school and 14 NCAA records while leading the Bearcats to a 79-9 record and two straight NCAA tournament championship games (1959 and 1960).  It was, in many ways, a daunting task for the school’s Next Big Name – a near impossible act to follow.  However, the three-time College Player of the Year and national scoring leader at Cincinnati was instrumental in Bonham’s decision to attend college in the Queen City.  Robertson’s presence had transformed the Bearcat program into a national power, and Bonham embraced the long shadow cast by Oscar’s dizzying list of achievements and accolades.

There was little doubt that Counts would play professionally, but his date with the Boston Celtics would have to wait, as Oregon’s favorite son was selected to represent the United States in the 1964 Olympic Games in Tokyo, Japan.  Playing for another legendary coach, Hank Iba, Counts and his teammates shrugged off the underdog tag to finish 9-0, including a dominating 73-59 gold medal win over the previously undefeated Soviet Union.

The early sixties remain the Golden Era of Bearcat Basketball.  Following Robertson’s graduation, the team won its first national championship in 1960-61.  Led by All-Americans Bob Wiesenhahn and Paul Hogue, as well as future All-Americans Tom Thacker and Tony Yates, Cincinnati defeated an imposing Ohio State team featuring John Havlicek, Jerry Lucas, Bobby Knight and Larry Siegfried.  The win cemented Cincinnati’s burgeoning reputation as a national power, and set the stage for a rare event – repeating as national champions.

With freshmen ineligible to compete in varsity athletics, Bonham adjusted to college life while preparing to help his team secure back-to-back titles.  Cincinnati started Bonham’s sophomore season where it left off, bolting to a 10-1 record and a Number 2 ranking in the polls.  His role in those early games was to come off the bench.  Ever the consummate team player, Bonham understood that UC had lost only two players (Wiesenhahn and guard Carl Bouldin) from a team that ran off 22 straight wins on its way to that 70-65 title clincher over the Buckeyes.  Hogue, the team’s rugged rebounder, was still there.  Lanky forward Fred Dierking, the man with perhaps the sharpest elbows in the college game, was still there.  Guards Thacker and Yates were only juniors.  Bonham filled the role of Sixth Man to perfection, providing instant offense when head coach Ed Jucker sensed his team needed it.

“I like to have a good bench,” Jucker said at the time, referring to the player known alternately as the ‘Muncie Mortar’ and the ‘Blonde Bomber’.  “And Bonham helps make it one of the best.”

By season’s end, Bonham was playing a far more integral role in Cincinnati’s fortunes, with perhaps his biggest game coming in the National Semifinals against budding power UCLA.  In a tightly contested game (tied 37-37 at halftime), Hogue (36 points) and Bonham (19) powered UC to a 72-70 win and a rematch with Ohio State for the national championship.  Bonham would score 10 in that 71-59 victory, completing a dream season for a player unafraid to follow Robertson’s footsteps.

“You can’t put it into words,” he says.  “Even after all of these years it’s hard to believe what we accomplished.”

A year later Bonham was a certified star, earning Consensus All-America honors while leading the ’63 team in scoring (21.0 ppg).  Cincinnati made a then-unprecedented fifth straight trip to the Final Four in 1962-63, and narrowly missed capturing a third-straight national crown when Loyola (Ill.) overcame a 15-point deficit and defeated the Bearcats by a basket, 60-58, in overtime.  During those five seasons, UC recorded a 37-game win streak and posted a 161-16 record.  The five straight Final Four appearances remain a feat topped only by UCLA.  And Bonham was squarely in it all.

“What a thrill to be a part of those teams,” Bonham says, smiling.  “It was an honor to be associated with Bearcat basketball – it’s something I’ll never forget.”

UC’s Final Four streak ended a year later, but Bonham was once again named to the All-America team.  He was then the sixteenth player selected in the 1964 NBA draft, going in the second round to the defending champion Boston Celtics.  A great athlete in the best shape of his life, Bonham was nevertheless ill-prepared for those grueling training camps ran by the legendary Red Auerbach.  He found himself physically exhausted after two weeks of two-a-days, at times wondering whether he wanted to be so far away from home.  Somehow Bonham survived both his homesickness and Auerbach’s military-style boot camp, making the cut along with fellow rookie Mel Counts.  The Celtics roared out of the blocks; the sixty-two wins that season were a club record, and the club won it’s seventh consecutive NBA championship.

For Bonham, the wide-eyed rookie suddenly had the basketball world on a string.  He was an Indiana high school hoops legend, an NCAA champion, and a member for the greatest dynasty in professional sports.  His teammates were some of the greatest players in NBA history, including hall-of-fame talent such as Bill Russell, Sam Jones, KC Jones, Tom Heinsohn and John Havlicek.  Auerbach was revered in Boston and reviled outside of it, a certified genius and the NBA’s Coach of the Year.  Russell was the league’s MVP for a record fifth time.  Radio announcer Johnny Most belted out his signature call (“Havlicek stole the ball! Havlicek stole the ball!”) following Havlicek’s theft of inbounds pass during the final seconds of Eastern Division deciding game against Philadelphia.  Bonham soaked it all in – the awesome personalities, the key moments, the grueling practices – well aware that he was in a very special place indeed.

“The Celtics were a family,” Bonham says.  “As a rookie, I was considered an outsider.  But that all changed once I made the team.  At that point I became part of something truly special.”

The Celtics repeated as champions a year later, with Bonham playing 39 games as a reserve.  It was the team’s eighth consecutive title, a record that many feel will never be broken.  It was also a year of change for the aging franchise; Auerbach retired as coach following a 95-93 Game 7 win over the Los Angeles Lakers in the fabled Boston Garden, while Russell was named to succeed him as player/coach.  Bonham found himself playing less as the season went on, and by following summer he was out of basketball and back home in Indiana.

His time away from the game would prove short-lived; still a marquee name in his home state, the fledging Indiana Pacers coaxed him back onto the court for one more season of action.  That Bonham finished his cage career as an original member of the ABA’s Indiana Pacers is only fitting, given his towering presence over Indiana high school basketball.  To this day he remains part of the lore that fuels hoops hysteria in his home state, the stories told and retold through the generations.  From Plump to Robertson, Bonham to Bird, fans statewide can recite the historic moments that make basketball such a special part of their lives.  Bearcat and Celtic fans can, too, as Bonham’s achievements have left an indelible mark on two of this sport’s true dynasties.

Celtic Nation is honored to bring you this interview.

You were born on May 31st, 1942, in Muncie, Indiana.  Take me back in time – what was your childhood like, and what sports did you like to play?

I’ve always been an outdoors person, just like my farther and mother.  My father loved to hunt and fish – he always followed sports of all kinds – so I guess you could say I came by it honestly [laughs].  Growing up, especially in those early years, I spent a lot of time outdoors with my father.  We were always in the woods or on a stream, which remain some of my earliest memories of sports-related activities.  People think I grew up shooting baskets, but I had a heart murmur as a youngster and couldn’t participate in a strenuous sport such as basketball until about the eighth grade.  So I was about fourteen before I started playing competitively.

You’ve heard of Indiana basketball.  It’s known nationwide as the basketball capital.  My parents always had season tickets to the Muncie Central Bearcats, which was one of the powers in Indiana high school basketball.  Muncie Central has won more state championships than any other team in Indiana.  So I got the love of basketball from going to the Muncie Central games with my parents.  I used to work out two or three times a day, drilling every chance I could get, and I ended up being a pretty good player in high school.


You were twice a first-team All-State player at Muncie Central High School, finishing your career as the leading scorer in the history of Indiana high school basketball with 2,023 points.  Please share some of the memories from this period in your life.

We had a lot of talent on our high school team.  We were ranked Number 1 in the state during my senior year.  We won twenty-nine straight games but ended losing that last game, which was for the state championship.  That was one of the biggest disappointments that I ever had in my life as a basketball player.

I was fortunate enough to be Mr. Basketball of Indiana in 1960, and I was also lucky enough to be the Most Valuable Player of both the Kentucky and Indiana All-Star games.  But those honors really go back to the talent that we had on our high school team, especially during my senior season.  It was just phenomenal.  All five of the starting players on that team went on to play college basketball.  One of our guards was the state champion in the low hurdles.  They were just tremendous athletes.  And very unselfish, as well.  I was lucky enough that I got to shoot the ball a lot.  That was my role on the team – to score and rebound.

The backing that we had from the community was just tremendous.  I can remember going down to the semifinals and finals of the state championship in Indianapolis, and there was such a line of cars behind the bus that you couldn’t see the end of it.  Muncie Central Fieldhouse was one of the larger ones in the state – it held about 6,000 patrons, and it was full every game.  Since they’ve gone to the class basketball here in Indiana, there just isn’t the same interest as before.  I can remember sitting in the isles as a young child because there were so many people at the games.  As a matter of fact, families used to pass down their Muncie Central season tickets in their wills, that’s how much interest there was in Bearcat basketball.


You averaged 28 points-per-game as a senior, earning nicknames such as the “Blonde Bomber” and the “Muncie Mortar” along the way.  What was the secret to your prodigious scoring touch?

We had a basketball goal out behind our house, and I never missed a day once I started playing.  I can remember the summer in-between my ninth grade and sophomore years at Muncie Central.  I was out there playing, and I cracked a bone in my left foot and broke my ankle.  Even with a walking cast on – I don’t know how many walking casts I went through that summer – I never missed a day of shooting.  I think that had a lot to do with it.

I took tap dancing lessons for twelve years, starting at a very early age, and I think that that was one of the reasons for my coordination and leaping ability on the basketball court.  It especially made a difference in my footwork.  I also took acrobatics, which involved a lot of leg strengthening, and that absolutely made a difference.  I guess you could say that I was one of those white guys that could jump [laughs].

We used to go to one of the junior high schools that was open in the summer, and work out for three hours in the early afternoon, and then go outside and play at a church at night.  There are still pockets of interest like that today, but nothing like it used to be.  Kids just have so many other activities to distract them.


You were Indiana’s Mr. Basketball in 1960.  What did this honor mean to you then, and what does it mean to you now?

One of the things it proved was that team success really goes hand-in-hand with individual success.  We had awesome teams during my junior and senior seasons, so we were in the limelight quite a bit.  All of the big newspapers all around the state covered us, including the Indianapolis paper.  We were winning games by such a large margin that reporters followed us everywhere.  So I think our team accomplishments had a lot to do with people getting to know about my ability, which in turn led to me being named Mr. Basketball.


You followed the great Oscar Robertson to the University of Cincinnati.  Was this a coincidence or by design?

I wanted to go to a basketball school.  I had just over 300 offers for college, and I was torn between Purdue and the University of Cincinnati.  Purdue was a college football power, and the University of Cincinnati was a power basketball program.  And with Oscar being at Cincinnati, oh boy…I went to his senior banquet – he was a senior in college when I was a senior in high school – and you couldn’t even see Oscar at the table.  He won every award you could imagine that year.

I just really wanted to be a part of the UC program.  It was strictly a run-and-shoot, which is what I’d always played in high school, but then the coach had some health problems prior to my sophomore year and Ed Jucker came in as coach.  So my sophomore year I really had to buckle down and work on defense, and all the other aspects of the game.  It was a slowdown, half court type of offense, which is completely different from what I’d ever played before.  But it was obviously very successful.


Although denied a championship in high school, the Bearcats won the NCAA title during your freshman and sophomore seasons, while finishing as a runner-up to Loyola of Chicago following your junior year at the school.  What memories stand out after all of these years, and what was it like to be a part of the Golden Age of Bearcat Basketball?

I can remember being well ahead of Loyola – we were the top-rated team in the country, and we were winning that championship game handily – and Vic Rouse was guarding me.  At one point in the game he actually said, ‘Ron, great game.  You guys have a great team.’  He had actually given up.  Well, our strategy when leading like that was to go into a stall.  We had worked on their zone press for two weeks.  We felt we were capable of holding the lead for an extended period of time.  Well, we were so far ahead that we started stalling with well over ten minutes left in the game, instead of our usual six-to-eight minutes.  It was just one of those things where the momentum changed.  We threw the ball away, lost momentum, and I’ll be doggone if they didn’t come back and beat us in overtime.  We should have had three national championships in a row, but the game just got away from us.

The talent on those three Cincinnati teams was phenomenal.  There were two high school All-Americans that came in as freshmen – George Wilson and myself.  We had great defensive players in Tom Thacker and Paul Hogue.  Anytime you can beat an Ohio State team that had John Havlicek, Jerry Lucas and Larry Siegfried, and do it for the national championship, then you’re really doing something.  Ohio State was rated Number 1 in the nation during my freshman and sophomore seasons, and Cincinnati was rated Number 2, and we beat them for the title both times – and pretty handily, at that.  So that shows the talent that you had on those Cincinnati teams.


You were a two-time All-America selection at Cincinnati.  How did it feel to be recognized as one of the greatest players in the country?

It was a real thrill.  Basketball had been such a large part of my life, going back as far as I could remember as a youngster, and to be named one of the top five players in the United States was such an honor.  But there again, I need to talk about my teammates.  We were so successful because of the group, not just because of one player, and I ended up getting a lot of votes because of that success.  I may have been the top-scorer, but there were other players who got you the ball, set the picks, things like that.  And a lot of the plays were set for me, so that I could shoot.  So I was lucky all through my career – high school, college, and then with the Boston Celtics – to be able to play with great teammates who know how to win.


The Boston Celtics drafted you in the second round, the 16th overall selection.  Please take me back to that first training camp.

I can remember talking to Auerbach over the phone, and he says, ‘Bonham, you’ll want to be in the greatest shape you’ve ever been in your life.’  And I was already working out twice a day, six hours a day, and I was in the best shape of my life.  And then I went to training camp.  I think there were three openings at that time, and there were between fifty and sixty people competing for those spots.  They were letting anybody into camp who wanted to try out.  After the first day of training camp, only a few of those guys bothered to come back.  It was that brutal.  I can also remember them carrying Tommy Heinsohn off the floor after that first practice.  He passed out – it was a real hot day.  Auerbach wanted to see if you really wanted it.  That was his way.  It was so excruciating – he wanted to see the pain, and he wanted to see if you really wanted to be on that team.


Red Auerbach was notorious for those preseason barnstorming tours that took the team all over New England.  Were you ever a part of these tours and, if so, do you have a fond memory or an amusing story to share?

A lot of times we played against each other.  In one of the exhibition games I scored something like forty-two points, and Auerbach said, ‘I’m going to have Havlicek on you in the next exhibition game.’  And I think I scored something like twelve in that one.  John was all over me, all over that court [laughs].  But the fans were great wherever we went in New England.  The stands were always full.  The passion reminded me of the fans we had in high school and college.


Today, players have sports agents and lawyers to negotiate contracts with NBA clubs.  What was it like back then?

When we went in to sign our contracts, I’d seen Red at quite a few of our college games.  So I knew who he was.  Mel Counts and I were drafted the same year, and we went in at the same time to talk contract with Mr. Auerbach, and there Red was, sitting in his chair with his feet up on the desk.  He had that cigar jammed in his mouth, and the room was so damned smoky.  He put his feet down, and he shoved two pieces of paper across the desk to Mel Counts and I.  And he said, ‘This ain’t a democracy.  Here’s what you boys are going to get.’  So Mel and I signed right then and there – that was the way Red negotiated [laughs].


Walter Brown passed away on September 7th, 1964.  Please tell me a little about Mr. Brown.

That was my first year coming in.  Everything was first class – wherever we traveled, wherever we stayed.  That ownership was just fantastic.  It was the best in the league at that time.  It really spoiled me, because I played on the first Indiana Pacer team, and it was just the compete opposite in the ABA.  We sat in airports all night long, things like that.  There was so much disorganization.  In Boston, everything was organized.  From the day you left on your trip everything was laid out perfectly.  It was just top notch.


The Boston Celtics retired the honorary “Number 1” in honor of Mr. Brown during a Boston Garden ceremony on October 17th.  What memories do you have of this emotional event?

There was a lot of sorrow, and there was a lot of support for the man who had given so much of himself through the years.  I remember that Red just thought the world of him – he talked so highly of Mr. Brown, and I know it really hurt Red when Mr. Brown passed away.  We all missed him, that’s for sure.


The Celtics won 62 games that season, a club record.  What was it like to be a part of such a successful campaign?

I used to follow the Boston Celtics because of their winning tradition.  The players amazed me, especially Bill Russell.  Today you see players block a shot, and knock it five rows into the stands.  Russell would block a shot to start the fast break.  His coordination was unbelievable.  The way he passed off, things like that.  That team had Sam [Jones] and KC [Jones], Heinsohn and Havlicek…it was truly a special place to be.

You come out of high school and college, and you think you’re a hotshot, and then you play with the best players in the world.  It’s humbling.  My second year in Boston, I saw the leading scorer in the nation try out for the Boston Celtics and he didn’t even make the team.  Satch Sanders made him look ridiculous.  So for me, it was humbling to come in and see that type of talent, and play against that type of talent in practice.  You learn a lot.  They were great mentors.


The ’65 playoffs produced one of the most dramatic moments in NBA history, as Johnny Most makes his legendary radio call: “Havlicek stole the ball! Havlicek stole the ball!”  Please take me back to that series in general, and that game in particular.

That whole series was a knockdown, drag out fight.  I can remember Bill trying to throw the ball in and it hitting the guide wire.  We were all going crazy on the sidelines.  And for Havlicek to make that play, it was just fantastic.  I can still remember Johnny Most and that voice of his – Johnny and I used to spend a lot of time together on the road, talking, and I respected him so much.  And like I’ve said, every game in that series was tough.  Philly had great talent as well, but when it was over you saw who the champs were.


The Celtics dismantled the Lakers 4-1 to secure the team’s seventh consecutive title – and eighth overall.  While old hat to players like Bill Russell and Sam Jones, it was a new experience for you.  What was it like win your first NBA championship?

It was bedlam when we won that final game.  Fans streamed onto the court.  Havlicek and I got off the beaten path going back to the dressing room, so to speak, and it was just crazy.  Our warm-up jackets get ripped off, our jerseys get ripped off our back, and then I felt someone get hold of my trunks – I thought those were coming off next [laughs].  Luckily, some security people found us and got us into the dressing room.  But we thought we were going to lose all of our clothes [laughs].  What an environment to play basketball – the fans were the best anywhere, and they really supported the team.  And that parquet floor – what a beautiful floor.  It was also a great shooting floor.  There wasn’t a better place to place basketball than the Boston Garden.


Red Auerbach would bow out the following season with yet another championship, the team’s eighth in a row.  The starting five had an average age of 31 that season, and many experts felt the team was too old to win again.  How were the Celtics able to overcome the age factor and send Red off a winner?

It was the closeness of the guys on that team – it was just one big family.  I’ll tell you, Bill Russell didn’t speak to any rookies or anyone new coming in.  John Havlicek and I had been friends all through college, and I asked John about that.  I said, ‘What’s the deal with Bill?’  And he said, ‘That’s just the way he is.  If you make the team then you’re a part of the family, and that’s the way this whole team is.  That’s the reason we’re so successful.’  So after I did make the team it was like night and day.  Russell invited us over to his house for dinner, and at that time he had a little soul food restaurant in downtown Boston.  He invited us down there and treated us to dinner.  So it really was like family, and I think that’s a big reason for the team’s success.  Of course, you’ve got to have talent, and Boston had plenty of that, too.  But race was never an issue.  It was just a great environment.  The talent was there, the love for each other was there, and that was really the secret to the team’s success.


Everyone who has played for the Celtics seems to have a favorite story about the great Red Auerbach.  What was it like to meet him for the first time, and do you have a story that stands out?

He was a tremendous coach, very knowledgeable.  Very knowledgeable of our opponents.  And we always had a good game plan.  All the players respected him.  There was always humor in the dressing room – not during our practices, because they were very heated – but the camaraderie went a long way towards the success of the Boston Celtics, and Red had a lot to do with that.  He was genius.


Let’s talk about your ABA career – you were a member of the first Indiana Pacer team.

Well, for one thing I didn’t like the basketball.  It had a completely different feel.  As a shooter, I never did like the feel.  It was rubber-coated, and it didn’t have the deeper groove like the NBA basketball.  The first year of the ABA’s existence was chaos, it really was.  I can’t tell you how many times we stayed in airports all night long.  The scheduling wasn’t like it should have been, and some of the rooms we stayed in were pretty bad.  I’ll tell you, I was spoiled by my time spent with the Boston Celtics.  I should have played several more years, but I’d always had an interest in the outdoors, and I was an old homebody [laughs].  I don’t know what my phone bills were when I was living in Boston, but I used to call home several times a week and talk to mom and dad.  I’d talk for several hours at a time.  So I guess I just liked it more back home – I was happier to go back home and pet my birddog [laughs].


Let’s talk life after basketball.  What have you been up to in the years since retiring from the NBA?

I’m in my thirty-fifth year as superintendent of a 2,300 acre recreational facility for the City of Muncie, Indiana.  I’ve many other opportunities to make double or triple the money that I make here, but my dad more-or-less raised me on the river.  He taught me how to hunt, how to appreciate nature, and how to respect the environment.  So everything just fell into place when I had the chance to take this job at Prairie Creek Reservoir.  I’ve been here thirty-five years, and my wife has been working at this same facility for thirty-four.  Anytime you can come to a job and work eight, nine, or ten hours and wonder where the time went, that’s a job you can stick with.  And that’s what it feels like.  Hopefully my health will hold up two more years, and then I’m going to fade off into the sunset [laughs].

I’ve also been involved in politics – I was the county commissioner for twelve years, serving three full terms as administrator for the county, which is equivalent to being the mayor of a city.  We have about 120,000 people in Delaware County.  But after my third term I went to the doctor, and my blood pressure was sky high, so I decided ease up a little.  It was hard to do, because I’ve always been a public relations person, and I enjoyed serving my community as county commissioner.

We built a new home just east of the reservoir – we’ve got fifty or sixty acres, all in a wildlife habitat with the state.  We’ve got an abundance of quail, and we’ve put in a new seven acre wetland, so my wife and I are both looking forward to retirement.  We raise Springer Spaniels – we have fourteen right now, and they stay in a very nice kennel.


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?

Don’t feel that you’re better than anybody else.  Don’t ask someone to do something that you wouldn’t do yourself.  I think that’s respected.


Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | Red Auerbach is only weeks removed from his 85th birthday, and the cigar-smoking patriarch of the Boston Celtics is as sharp—in mind and tongue—as ever. He answers the telephone, listening silently in a way that reminds me of Marlon Brando’s character in The Godfather, a comparison that doesn’t seem far from the truth. Larry Bird once said it best: “When Red Auerbach walks into the room, everyone knows their place. Everyone respects him. And when Red says something you listen to him.”

I nervously make my pitch, convinced that having a mutual friend will be good enough to score an exclusive. Harold Furash has known Auerbach for decades—“Half Court” Harold used to ref those preseason barnstorming exhibitions as a favor for Red—and he’s already greased the rails by calling ahead earlier in the week. The interview, I decide, is a slam dunk.

“No,” Auerbach says flatly, breaking the silence. It’s a one-word gut punch. If a recommendation by Auerbach’s close friend isn’t enough to seal the deal, then what real chance do I have? “I don’t want to sound mean here, but I don’t have time for this crap. Do you know how many people want to interview me? Do you know how many calls I get?”

I feebly tell him that I can only imagine.

“Three thousand a year,” he shoots back. There’s no way to know if he’s blowing smoke, and even if he were, who am I to call bullshit? Red Auerbach is as legend as they come, the Original Gangster, the dopest coach to ever work an NBA sideline. “Do you know how many I turn down? I’m 85 years old. I’m too damned old to do these anymore, so I don’t do these anymore.”

Panicked, I rattle off my just-completed interviews with Frank Ramsey, K. C. Jones, and Satch Sanders, all Hall of Famers handpicked by Auerbach during the Celtics’ heyday. I remind him about Harold’s call earlier in the week.

“What’s your name again? Where are you calling from?”

I give him my backstory and offer up my credentials. I ramble on about the merits of a book that tells the story of the Boston Celtics through my interviews with key figures big and small.

“Send me something to look at,” he says at last. “I’m letting you know right now that I won’t do an interview, but I’ll take a look at your work. But don’t send me a lot—I don’t have time to fool with this stuff.”

I send him three sample chapters, along with the questions that I’d like to ask him, and follow up with a phone call a few days later. He tells me to hold on. I hear the sound of papers rustling on the other end of the line.

“Look, you’re material is good, but I can’t answer these questions. I’m not answering them because I’m working on another book and I’m not giving that information away. What’s this for again?”

I pitch my idea: Interview as many Celtics players and coaches from different eras, and then tell the history of the Boston Celtics through their own words.

“No, no, no,” he says firmly. “I can’t do this. How much are you making on this?”

I think about my interview with Ramsey, and how he’d negotiated his first contract with Auerbach during a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. I remember Heinsohn’s story, about how he’d talked contract with Auerbach while relieving himself in front of a bathroom urinal.

“Would you be willing to answer just one question from the list?”

Silence.

“I’ll give you one,” he snaps, as the paper rustling begins anew. “I’ll answer the Asimov question, and that’s all you get.”

It’s an offer I can’t refuse. And then a funny thing happens—he answers another. And another. Questions on the paper in front of him, questions that come to me as we talk. And just like that, I’m talking shop with The Godfather.

What memories do you have of World War I as a young child in Brooklyn?

I don’t remember; how could I? The war was over before I was old enough to have any memories of it. My father wasn’t drafted or anything like that. He had a medical exemption.


You worked in your father’s dry-cleaning shop.

I worked from ten in the morning until ten at night. I pressed clothes. I’d press 100 suits a day. I have no complaints because work like that keeps you humble. Hell, I pressed clothes for years after that. Pressed ’em after I became famous. It always reminded me of where I came from.


Did you ever see the Original Celtics play?
No, this all took place before I was born and then when I was very young. I knew who the Original Celtics were—hell, everyone knew. They barnstormed all over the place, played games who knows where. They were what I’d call the first famous basketball team. People who didn’t know what basketball was learned about it from the Original Celtics.


Is it true that Isaac Asimov was one of your classmates at Seth Low Junior College?
He went to Seth Low. I knew Asimov. He was a bright guy who couldn’t sit still. He told a lot of jokes. We kept in touch through the years.


Please tell me about your basketball coach at George Washington.

Bill Reinhart was a great man, an innovator. He was running the fast break before anyone else. He was also a quiet man, very reserved. As a coach, he was 30 years ahead of his time. As one of his players, I remember his practices, and how tough they were. Bill never lost his poise. He was always in control. He could adapt to any situation, and he could talk to a broad range of people.


How were the two of you alike?

Reinhart rubbed off on me. We were alike in a lot of ways, but we were different, too. He was more poised with his temper. He was quiet. I was on the officials more, that was my style.


How much did Reinhart influence you as a coach?
Bill insisted that his players be in top physical shape—if you were in better condition than your opponent then you had the edge. I took that with me. The fast break, that was something that stuck with me. The way he ran his practices, the control that he had over his team, those things.


You once coached Bowie Kuhn. How did that go?
Bowie Kuhn was a big kid, something like 6–5. He was clumsy, though, wasn’t a basketball player. I saw that as soon as I got a look at him in practice. I cut him after a few weeks.


NFL quarterback Sid Luckman once asked to borrow $20. You gave him $100. Why?
It’s simple human nature. You give a man twenty, and both of you might forget about it. You give a man a hundred, and neither forgets.


One of your masterstrokes was drafting Larry Bird as a junior eligible in 1978.

I did that with Frank Ramsey in ’53. I drafted Ramsey, Cliff Hagan, and Lou Tsioropoulos, all of them from the University of Kentucky. They were juniors who had been redshirted.


You were famous for your contract negotiations. Where did you talk contract with Frank Ramsey?

Fenway Park, in the Red Sox dugout. We talked, came to an agreement, and that was that. See, back then, you didn’t have the agents that you have today, and the contracts weren’t anywhere close to what you have today. Things were much simpler, and you could get things done without lawyers and agents.


As a coach, what do you think was your strongest attribute?

My ability to communicate with the players. That was the thing that I took the most pride in. There are a lot of coaches out there that know their Xs and Os, but a lot of what they say doesn’t translate once the player gets out on the court, because the player gets out there and forgets what was just said. I took pride in my ability to communicate, to get my point across in a way that the player could understand.


Did you communicate with all of your players in the same way?

No, you can’t be successful doing that. It doesn’t work. There were some players who could take getting balled out and who responded to that type of communication. I never balled out Cousy or K. C. Jones because that didn’t work with them. I could scream at a Russell or a Ramsey. I could get on Heinsohn and Loscutoff. Those players were able to take that type of approach.


Tell me about Bob Cousy.

Cousy was coachable. He listened. He was introverted. Like I said before, I didn’t get on him the way I got on Heinsohn and some of the others. The main thing was that he didn’t sulk if I pulled him out of a game and told him to cut down on the razzle-dazzle stuff.


When Cousy retired, K. C. Jones became a starter. Did you coach your team differently?

You coach to the personnel you have on your team, you don’t try to fit the personnel into the system. When we had Cousy, we had that fast break—Russell pulling down the rebounds, and Cousy pushing the ball up the court—and we took advantage of it because I coached to take advantage of it. K. C. was limited on the offensive end, but he made up for it on defense. So I coached to that. A lot of coaches have their system, and that’s the way it is. They fit the players into the system and it doesn’t always work out for the best. That’s crap. You’ve got to be willing to look at your personnel and adjust.


Cousy and Sharman were your first great backcourt. Then comes Sam Jones and K. C. Jones.

Cousy was a great player. Sharman was such a good shooter. When they were playing, they were a great combination for us. Sam and K. C. were coming off the bench at the time, and you knew they were going to be good. But the questions about these two guys were still there until they stepped in and proved themselves. As it turned out, they were Hall of Fame guards, and they were just good in their own ways. We were a different, more defensive-oriented back there, but just as good.


Satch Sanders is another one of those great defensive players.

Satch Sanders is an extremely intelligent individual. He knew his role on the team, and he played tough defense on high-scoring forwards like Dolph Schayes, Elgin Baylor, and Bob Pettit. I can’t say enough good things about Satch Sanders.


In your opinion, where does Bill Russell rank in NBA history?

Bill Russell and Michael Jordan were the two greatest players to ever play the game. Russell made everyone play better. When it comes to winning, no one comes close. The players closest to these two were Larry Bird and Magic Johnson. Shaq is right there in the same group.


You have a special relationship with Russell.

I treated him with respect, and I respected him as person. If something came up I’d talk to him about it privately. It would get settled, and we’d move on. Did I treat him differently than the other players on the team? Yes. He might not practice as long as the others, but there were many nights when he would play the entire game. A few concessions like that goes a long way.


Please tell me about John Havlicek.

Havlicek was a great player who did things on and off the court. By that I mean he took care of himself, which allowed him to play 16 years in the league.


You’ve won a total of 16 NBA championships in various capacities. Do you have a favorite?

The first one was the best. The best one is always the first time you win.


The death of Lenny Bias in 1986 changed the fortunes of the Celtics for years to come.

You couldn’t know how good he was unless you saw him play. Bias was one of the early guys that was 6-foot-8 and could really run. I knew him, knew his family. I planned for three years to draft him.


Do you think Bias was a drug user?

Bias was not a drug user. That’s why he died—he didn’t know how to use them. We tested him a week before the draft, and so did a lot of other teams. He passed three physicals from three different teams.


In 1993, Reggie Lewis died from a heart condition.

I liked Lewis a lot. He was a hell of a kid, and he did a lot for the community. It’s a shame what happened.


What did his death do the Celtics?

The bad break of it all was that the league never gave us a chance to recover from Reggie Lewis. Forget about Bias—they never gave us a pick or anything to recover from that—but they could have given us cap money to use when we lost Reggie. Because his contract was guaranteed, the league made us carry his salary on our cap for three years. Three! Today, they changed that rule. They realized how shabbily they treated us. When you lose two All-Star players and get nothing back—just think about that. Go to New Jersey and take away Kidd and their next best player. Where the hell would they be?


Paul Pierce almost died in that stabbing incident in a Boston bar.

He was lucky. I think he learned a lesson. Pierce is fearless on the court. He can play the two guard or the small forward position. He’s going to be great.


If you could offer one piece of advice on life to others, what would that be?

I don’t have one piece of advice—how can there only be one? A lot constitutes toward being successful. I’d say that you’ve got to be willing to pay the price, that’s the most important thing. And then there are the other things that count—promptness, integrity, honesty, respect. Those things are all part of the package.


Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | Kobe Bryant knows the stories well. He has nothing but love for the man whose legacy stretches from the cramped gyms and bare knuckle brawls of the 1950s, to the innovative way that teams prepare for games today. When Bryant joins the Los Angeles Lakers as a 17-year-old rookie fresh out of high school, he quickly learns that the two of them are kindred spirits. Both pursue basketball greatness by embracing the least-glamorous aspects of the game, spending countless hours fine-tuning the most basic basketball fundamentals. Both are perfectionists who share a hypercompetitive and maniacal drive to win. And both are old school warriors who demand the same unwavering excellence from those around them. As Bryant morphs from precocious teenager to global basketball icon, their relationship grows strong and sturdy. He’s there to help Kobe weather the rape allegations that nearly derail his career, and provides sage advice at the height of his famous feud with Shaquille O’Neal. When Bill Sharman passes away at the age of 87, Kobe joins Jerry West, Pat Riley, and 500 others at Terranea Resort to pay tribute to the man he called mentor, advisor, confidant, and friend.

“Bill really loved Kobe,” Sharman’s wife, Joyce, recalls. “When Kobe was considering leaving the Lakers in 2007, Bill wrote him a personal note. It said that the best thing he could do professionally was to stay in Los Angeles and finish his career where he started it.”

Bryant, who has a deep and abiding respect for NBA history, takes the advice to heart. He walks away after scoring 60 in his final game, knowing he’ll be a Laker for life.

“Bill was someone I respected immensely,” Bryant says. “He played on championship teams and he built them, too. What he accomplished during his life was pretty special. He was an even better human being.”

~  ~  ~

Travel back in time.

The man with the dashing good looks and humble demeanor plays alongside Bob Cousy to form the NBA’s first modern backcourt, his midrange jumper a perfect complement to Cousy’s sleight of hand. He’s such a natural athlete that the Brooklyn Dodgers draft him, and while he never gets into a big league game, he’s in the Dodgers’ dugout on October 3, 1951, the day that Bobby Thomson hits the famous “Shot Heard ‘Round the World” that sinks Brooklyn’s pennant hopes and catapults the Giants in the World Series.

As a player, he’s an eight-time NBA All Star. As a coach, he wins three championships in three different leagues and sets a record for consecutive wins that may never by broken. He is one of three people, along with John Wooden and Lenny Wilkens, honored by the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame as both a player and a coach. He’s an All-Star Game MVP, and a member of the prestigious 50 Greatest Players in NBA History. He drinks championship champagne with Cousy and Russell, and later coaches Jerry West, Elgin Baylor, and Wilt Chamberlain to those 33 consecutive wins en route to the Lakers’ first title in Los Angeles. For an encore he becomes an NBA executive, pulling the trigger on moves that deliver Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson, and James Worthy to Los Angeles, launching Showtime in the process.

Sharman plays during an era that’s almost forgotten now, but few in the game have ever had a sweeter stroke; so pure a shooter is Sharman that he leads the NBA in free throw percentage seven times, and is the only player in league history with three streaks of 50 consecutive free throws. His 56 straight makes during the 1959 playoffs is still a postseason record.

“His shooting mechanics were as close to perfect as you could get,” Cousy says. “Nobody worked harder on their technique.”

Born in Abilene, Texas, on May 25, 1926, Sharman’s early childhood is spent with his parents and older brother at the crossroads of the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression. The family eventually moves to Porterville, California, and it’s here, at Porterville High School, that the ridiculously athletic Sharman earns 15 letters in an assortment of sports, including football, baseball, basketball, tennis, and track.

Sharman enlists in the Navy a day after graduation, and ties the knot a day after that. He serves a two-year stint in the South Pacific at the height of World War II, before returning home to enroll at the University of Southern California. At USC he works an assortment of odd jobs to make ends meet, cleaning up after the art classes on campus, and quietly acting as an extra several Hollywood films.  He also walks onto the baseball and basketball teams. Initially banished with the other scrubs, Sharman literally shoots himself onto the varsity squad when the team’s resident star, Tex Winter, informs the coaches that the Trojans’ best player is in the building next door.

“Those sessions helped me to refine my fundamentals,” Sharman says. “I wasn’t given anything. I had to work hard to earn a scholarship.”

By 1950, the 6-foot-1 Sharman is an All-American forward at USC. He’s selected as team captain before his senior season, and then honored as Most Valuable Player when it ends. The two-time Pacific Coast Conference MVP draws the interest of the fledgling NBA, but Sharman has concerns about the NBA’s financial viability. He signs minor league contract with the Dodgers for $12,000 instead and dreams of stardom in the big leagues.

“I really didn’t think about basketball much at that point,” says Sharman. “It wasn’t as stable as baseball, so I focused on baseball instead.”

The Washington Capitols take Sharman in the second round of the 1950 NBA Draft, even though he’s already toiling away in the minor leagues. With future Hall of Famer Duke Snider in the Brooklyn outfield, playing alongside big league mainstays Carl Furillo and Andy Pafko, it doesn’t take Sharman long to realize that cracking the Dodgers lineup is going to be harder than originally thought. When Washington’s head coach, Horace “Bones” McKinney, pays a visit later that summer, Sharman is all ears. The Capitols offer him $9,000, and Sharman is suddenly a year-round athlete.

“I spent the summer of 1950 in the Dodgers’ Class A league, playing for their team in Colorado,” Sharman says. “When the season was over, I reported to the Capitols’ training camp in Washington, DC. At that time I didn’t realize that one of my teammates—Earl Lloyd—would become the first black player to play in an NBA regular season game. I used to pick him up on the way to practice, and we developed a lifelong friendship. Little did we realize that we would both be inducted into the Hall of Fame!”

Sharman is averaging a team-high 12.2 points when Washington folds 31 games into his rookie season. A dispersal draft is held. He’s selected by Fort Wayne, but never plays a game for the Pistons. Fort Wayne is in search of size. Auerbach dangles center Charlie Share, and the Pistons offer up Sharman and rugged bruiser Bob Brannum in return. Sharman signs for $14,000. It’s one of many shrewd deals Red architects through the years.

“I saw Sharman shoot,” Auerbach says later. “And could he ever shoot. What I didn’t know was how he would mesh with Cousy.”

Auerbach doesn’t have to worry for long; in their first game together, Cousy and Sharman combine to score 44 points.

“Cousy made the game easy for me,” Sharman says. “He was like Larry Bird, in that he knew what was going to happen before anyone else did. My job was to get open. If I did that I knew he would get me the ball. Cousy also had a charisma that the sport needed. He was one of the main reasons that basketball became so popular.”

Bob Cousy and Ed Macauley are clearly the stars in Sharman’s first year with the Celtics, but Sharman finds his niche, averaging 10.7 points while shooting 85 percent from the free-throw line. Boston finishes in second place in the Eastern Division with a 39–27 record, but the lack of a dominant center costs them in the division semifinal series against New York. It proves to be a recurring theme for the pre-Russell Boston Celtics. Nobody takes the losses harder than the team’s biggest fan, Walter Brown.

“Walter Brown was one of the nicest, kindest people that I have ever known,” Sharman says. “He was a true gentleman. He invested just about every dollar he had to help keep the NBA from going under. Without him, the league might not have survived.”

Sharman averages 16.2 points during the 1952–53 season, while playing a more integral role. He also captures the first of seven free throw crowns.

“Hard work and proper technique,” Sharman says, when asked how he made the free throw look so easy. “It all began when my father nailed a basketball hoop to one of our barns in the backyard. And that’s where I’d be most of the time, at least when I didn’t have other family functions or duties which needed my attention. I was very fortunate to start shooting the basketball at a very early age. Grasping the basic fundamentals sparked my love and passion for the game.”

In Boston, Sharman continues to groove his stroke.

“It was important for me to establish a consistent shooting motion. When I played for the Celtics and we went out onto the court, the first thing I did was go to the free throw line and shoot until I made three or four in a row. I wanted my mechanics to be as close to perfect as possible. And then, at halftime, I’d go out and repeat the process. The image of the ball going through the hoop was very powerful. It gave me confidence that, in a game situation, I could step to the line and repeat what I had practiced.”

A year later, Macauley leads the league in field goal percentage, Cousy leads the league in assists, and Sharman is tops in free throw percentage. Auerbach’s selection of junior-eligible Frank Ramsey offers hope, but only in future seasons. Motivated by the loss to the Syracuse Nationals in the Eastern Division Finals, Sharman is one of the first players to recognize the value of year-round workouts.

“He was the first player I knew who adopted a structured exercise program,” Cousy says of Sharman’s workout regimen. “Before the game he would be on the floor doing sit-ups, push-ups, stretches, and things that are common to most teams today. Back then, nobody did that. Sharman was ahead of his time.”

A new era dawns during the 1954–55 regular season. Sharman’s scoring average increases to 18.4 points, and he’s again named to the NBA All-Star Game. This time he garners MVP honors, thanks to a brilliant fourth quarter performance that propels the East to a 100–91 victory at Madison Square Garden.

“Winning the MVP award certainly ranks as one of my all-time career highlights, and remains somewhat unusual in the way that it happened,” Sharman says. “As I recall it, the game was very close going into the fourth quarter—and I had only scored five points at the time. But I got hot during the middle of the period and scored 10 points down the stretch.”

Sometimes it pays to be good, and sometimes it pays to be lucky. On this occasion, Sharman is both.

“Unbeknownst to me,” says Sharman, “Al Cervi, who coached the East that year, tried to substitute for me during the fourth quarter because the game was close and I hadn’t been particularly effective up until that point. However, I scored a couple of quick baskets before the action on the floor was stopped! Cervi decided to call the player back from the scorer’s table—I believe it was Dick McGuire—and let me finish out the game. Had there been anything to stop the clock, I would have come to the bench and watched the rest of the game with everyone else.”

Sharman wins a fourth consecutive free throw crown during the 1955–56 regular season, is again named an All-Star, and for the first time in his career is honored with a spot on the All-NBA First Team. A painful semifinals loss to the Nats convinces Auerbach that changes are needed if the Celtics are to win a title. Cousy is arguably the Celtics’ best player, and easily the most popular. Sharman is at the top of his game. That leaves Macauley, who can score the basketball, but who can’t bang with the game’s goliaths.

“The trade to acquire Bill Russell was probably the biggest and most prolific deal ever made in the history of the NBA,” Sharman says. “The Celtics won 11 championships because of Russell, and the St. Louis Hawks won their only championship with Ed Macauley and Cliff Hagan, whom they received in the deal.”

The trade, while hard on Brown, is a win-win for all involved.

“I had the unique perspective of playing for the Boston Celtics in those years leading up to the trade for Russell,” Sharman continues. “I knew firsthand how we struggled underneath the basket, and how other teams in the NBA would pound away at us—especially in the playoffs. All of that changed with Russell. He was the missing piece that put us over the top. Macauley was a fine player in his own right, but he couldn’t gain weight, no matter how hard he tried. Walter Brown loved him, but he knew that the Celtics weren’t going to win a championship unless something changed.

“Ed was from St. Louis, and he had a very sick son that needed constant medical attention, so when Red and Walter Brown approached Ed about the trade, he was very receptive to the possibility. He could be there to help take care of his son. It really worked out the best for everyone.”

The arrival of Russell, along with fellow rookie Tommy Heinsohn, vaults the Celtics among the NBA’s elite. Sharman’s 21.1 points lead the team, earning him a second consecutive All-NBA First Team nod, cementing his reputation as one of the best shooting guards of his generation. He is again the league leader in free throw percentage, and is an All-Star for the fifth consecutive season. The Celtics, with Russell leading the way, finish the 1956–57 regular season with a 44–28 record and first place in the Eastern Division. Most importantly, the team purges itself of years of playoff disappointment, reaching the 1957 NBA Finals and winning Game 7 in thrilling fashion.

“The series between the Celtics and the Hawks was very special for me. It was my first championship, and the seventh game, played in the Boston Garden, went into double overtime. The Hawks had Macauley and Hagan, and they also had the great Bob Pettit. Cousy and I both struggled to hit shots in that game, which was uncharacteristic of us. I remember Bill Russell and Tommy Heinsohn, both rookies that season, having great games. It was a great win.”

Sharman averages 20.4 points during the 1958–59 season, his ninth in the league, and he reclaims the free throw crown from Dolph Schayes. He’s an All-NBA First Team selection for the fourth and final time in his illustrious career, and is once again an NBA All-Star. More importantly, the Celtics are once again world champions, sweeping the Minneapolis Lakers 4–0 and capturing the league crown for the second time in three years.

Sharman’s final two seasons in Boston end with championship rings, as the Celtics dispatch the Hawks on both occasions. With the 1961 NBA expansion draft looming, he retires from the NBA and returns to California, where he’s hired as player-coach of the Los Angeles Jets in the newly formed American Basketball League. Sharman appears in 19 games for the Jets, but hangs up his sneakers for good when the franchise folds at midseason. Cleveland Pipers’ owner George Steinbrenner wastes little time hiring him to coach his team. Under Sharman’s direction, the Pipers win the ABL Championship. He’s named the league’s Coach of the Year.

“Red had a big influence on my coaching,” Sharman says. “He was ahead of his time in many respects. When I played for him, the fast break wasn’t really used to attack opposing defenses. Red ran the fast break all of the time. It became a very big weapon.”

The ABL folds a few weeks after the Pipers with the championship. Sharman coaches Cal State-Los Angeles for two seasons, and spends time as a broadcaster before taking his first NBA coaching gig with the San Francisco Warriors. While his two years at San Francisco don’t produce a championship, Sharman introduces a revolutionary new approach to game day preparation: The morning shootaround, now a universally accepted practice by basketball programs everywhere, is the product of Sharman’s desire to have his players primed to perform at tipoff. Within three years, every NBA franchise adopts the practice.

“It was something I did on my own when I played for the Celtics,” Sharman notes. “I’d go to an empty gym and just shoot. I noticed that I felt better afterwards, and that I had much more confidence during the game. That’s when I started charting my shooting percentages from both the field and the free-throw line, and, to my surprise, I discovered that I was more effective when I shot baskets on the morning of a game. My first five years in the league, I shot about 86 percent from the free-throw line. The second five, with loosening up during the day, I shot 92 percent.”

After compiling an 87–76 record in San Francisco, Sharman leaves to become head coach of the ABA’s Los Angeles Stars, leading the team to a 43–41 record and being named ABA co-Coach of the Year. The franchise relocates to Utah a year later, where Sharman guides the team to the 1971 ABA Championship.

Jack Kent Cooke hires Sharman to coach the Lakers in the summer of 1971. He inherits a title-starved team, and losers of seven NBA Finals since moving to Los Angeles in 1960. The enigmatic Chamberlain is still a dominating presence in the paint, and sharp-shooting Jerry West is in the prime of his career. With Gail Goodrich, Happy Hairston, and Jim McMillan in the mix, Sharman senses that his new team has the ingredients needed to be special.

“It was a challenge getting the best out of Wilt,” Sharman admits. “As a coach, I recognized his importance if we were going to reach our goal of winning a championship. This doesn’t take anything away from the other players on the team, but we needed Wilt to be fully engaged if we were going to win it all. It became a game that we played between ourselves. I’d continue asking him questions about strategy until he came up with the right answer, thinking that the strategy was his. Wilt assumed ownership of the decision-making process and played a championship brand of basketball.”

From November 5th, 1971 until January 9, 1972, the Lakers win an NBA-record 33 consecutive games. Finishing the season at 69–13—then the best regular-season record in NBA history—Los Angeles storms through the playoffs and crushes the New York Knicks in the 1972 NBA Finals. Sharman is named the 1972 NBA Coach of the Year.

“We were nine games into the regular season, and Elgin Baylor had just announced his retirement from the NBA. We just wanted to win the next game. I wasn’t sure what the record for consecutive wins was, to be completely honest with you. I only learned that it was Milwaukee, with 20, after our streak reached 18. It was special to go for more than two months and not lose a game, but the streak doesn’t compare to winning the championship. If we had set the record and then fallen short of our goal, which was an NBA title, then I don’t think the record would have the significance that it enjoys today.”

New York returns the favor a year later, beating Sharman’s Lakers 4–1 in the 1973 NBA Finals. LA’s aging roster sends the team on a slow, downward spiral, and Sharman resigns following the 1975–76 regular season. The passion to coach is still there, but all of the screaming overtop NBA crowds severely damages Sharman’s vocal cords. It’s an injury that never heals.

In 1976, Sharman becomes the Lakers’ GM. It’s during this period that he trades for Kareem, drafts Magic and Worthy, and hires Pat Riley. The resulting Showtime dynasty wins five more titles during the ’80s, and, in the process, becomes the first team to repeat as NBA champions since the 1969 Boston Celtics.

Sharman retires from the daily grind of management following that 1988 NBA title, staying on as a special consultant to the team and forging a special relationship with Kobe. By then his legacy is secure as the sweet-shooting perfectionist, engineering a Hall of Fame career as a player in Boston, and scoring another nod for his encore as a coach.

His one piece of life advice to others?

“Work hard and be honest, always!”


Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | He battles George Mikan during the early days of his professional career and teams with Bill Russell in its twilight, his contributions to the game obscured by basketball’s most dominant big men of the twentieth century. Arnie Risen is understandably cool with this. The shadows cast by Mikan and Russell swallow their eras whole, and Risen is not alone among the forgotten. The wooden barn otherwise known as Edgerton Park Sports Arena is long gone, the games but fading memories to a vanishing breed of NBA fan. Risen plays professional basketball at a time when the game is more curiosity than sporting staple, more sideshow than main attraction. The average sports fan is more concerned with the exploits of men like Lou Gehrig, Ted Williams, and Warren Spahn. Guys like Arnie Risen exist only to fill a void.

Risen, of course, is much more than that. A 6-foot-9 center known affectionately as “Stilts,” Risen is as skilled as any big man in the league, twice leading the Rochester Royals in scoring. In 1949, Risen leads the NBA in field goal percentage while finishing as its fourth leading scorer. He plays in three professional circuits over a thirteen year career—the National Basketball League, the Basketball Association of America, and, after these two leagues merge, the National Basketball Association. In 1949 he is selected to the All-NBA Second Team, behind only Mikan at his position. In 1952, he begins a string of four consecutive All-Star seasons, becoming Rochester’s franchise player in the process.

Then there are the championships, the first coming in 1951 as the Royals’ starting center, the second coming six seasons later as a backup to the great Bill Russell. A key component in one, a complimentary player in another. Friendships and memories to last a lifetime.

Born in 1924, Risen grows up in Williamstown, Kentucky, a postage stamp of a town located halfway between Lexington and Cincinnati. He doesn’t own a real basketball; instead he fashions makeshift balls out of whatever he can find, and shoots them at a bottomless can which is nailed to the side of the family house.

“I was raised in a very rural setting,” Risen says. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as pro basketball until I was approached to play for the Indianapolis Kautskys. I didn’t have athletic goals, especially when compared to the guys playing basketball today. From an early age they start dreaming of their children becoming the next LeBron James, or the next Michael Jordan, or what have you. I didn’t have those aspirations. The goal back then was purely day-to-day.”

Risen gets his start at Williamstown High School.

“The coaches took an interest in me, and they really worked with me to develop my game. I played for three seasons, but back then basketball was just something to do—the really good players might think of it as a way to get a college education, but you really didn’t think about it as a career. World War II was going on then, and that was on everybody’s mind at the time. A lot of good college and professional athletes ended up serving in the military, and a lot of them saw combat duty. By the time I was drafted, I was 6-foot-9 and deemed too tall to serve in the Army.”

Risen contemplates taking his talents to Lexington, where Adolph Rupp is beginning to build a powerhouse at the University of Kentucky. He visits UK following his senior season, but Rupp doesn’t offer a full scholarship. Risen enrolls in Eastern Kentucky State instead.

“EKU was close to home, so it made sense for me to go there,” Risen says. “I played one season before the school dropped the basketball program. Someone talked me into visiting the Ohio State campus, and after that trip I decided to enroll. I am proud to be a part of the Ohio State basketball program.  The school reached three consecutive Final Fours, two while I was there and one after I left.”

It’s the spring of 1944 when Risen makes his first Final Four appearance, leading the Buckeyes to a 10-point win over Temple in the East Regional Semifinals. Ohio State falls short against Dartmouth, 60–53, in the East Regional Finals at Madison Square Garden.

A year later, in 1945, Risen leads Ohio State to an 8-point victory over Kentucky in the East Regional Semifinals, before falling to NYU in overtime.

“Schayes had been a schoolboy star at DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx. He was a hard worker, and a real perfectionist. He went on to a great career in the pros, and was voted to the Hall of Fame.”

Things look promising for the Buckeyes heading into Risen’s senior season. He’s been named the All-Big Ten center in 1944, and a Helms Foundation second-team All-American in 1945, but he’s hit with an elbow just after the season starts, losing a few teeth in the process. Then he catches a cold that turns into pneumonia, causing him to miss classes for a period of time. He’s declared academically ineligible at Ohio State, ending his college career.

“Ohio State reached three consecutive Final Fours from 1944 through 1946,” Risen says. “Even though we didn’t win the championship, I’m very proud to have been part of that.”

Following graduation, Risen plays nearly three seasons for the NBL’s Indianapolis Kautskys. The games are played at Hinkle Fieldhouse on the Butler University campus, where he makes $25 dollars per game.

Risen joins the BAA’s Rochester Royals for the 1948–49 season, and plays for the team’s legendary owner/coach, Les Harrison.

“Les wasn’t the greatest coach from an X and O standpoint, but he was very passionate about the game of basketball. He was a lot like Red Auerbach in that he knew how to surround himself with the right people. I think that had a lot to do with his success.”

As Risen is quick to learn, the game back then belongs to Mikan.

“George Mikan was the league’s first true superstar,” Risen says. “He was a seven-footer, and while there were four of five others close to his size back then, none of those players came close to his skill level. He played for DePaul in college, and he blocked so many shots that the NCAA introduced the goaltending rule. The NBA doubled the width of the free throw lane because of him. It later came up with the 24-second shot clock because teams were slowing down the games to try and beat Mikan’s Lakers. Before Mikan, such rules never existed.”

Fans today watch NBA games in state-of-the-art stadiums. The Royals later move West, first to Cincinnati, then Kansas City-Omaha, and eventually Sacramento. In transit they become the Kings. With each stop, they play in more modern facilities. During Risen’s time, the Royals play in the Edgerton Park Sports Arena, a wood-framed building that holds 4,200 spectators. The city owns the arena and lets its firemen use it to house equipment and carry out exercises.

“It was typical of the facilities in the old National Basketball League, which was where the Royals played before switching leagues and playing in the BAA. Most of the gyms were small, cramped, and outdated—even by the standards of the day. The fans were right on top of the action, which could be a big advantage for the home team.”

The Royals’ roster is stocked with future Hall of Famers Red Holzman, Bobby Wanzer, Risen and Davies, but the team can’t get past Mikan in the playoffs. All of that changes during the 1951 Western Division Finals.

“We were always competitive against the Lakers, but we weren’t as big and as strong. I was the tallest player at 6–9. Mikan was slowed by a broken ankle in that series. We were able to beat them 3–1 and reach the Finals.”

The Royals win the 1951 NBA championship, but the New York Knicks refuse to go down without a fight. Risen scores 19 points in Game 2, and finishes with a game-high 27 in Game 3. Rochester races out to a commanding 3–0 series lead, only to see the Knicks storm back to force a dramatic Game 7.

“We nearly gave the series away. To his credit, New York coach Joe Lapchick made a few roster changes, but it was really more about what we failed to do. We became a team of individuals—I think we started to believe our press clippings, and everyone was out there trying to be the hero. Some of our guys began playing for individual glory, instead of playing for a team goal.”

Harrison’s crew recovers with a thrilling 79–75 victory at the Edgerton Park Sports Arena. Risen leads all scorers with 24 points.

“The game was very tight in the second half. We stayed aggressive, and the Knicks ended up in foul trouble. I scored late, drew a foul, and completed the three-point play to put us up 75–74. Jack Coleman made a basket to put the final nail in the coffin, and that was it. We were finally champions.”

Risen plays another four years in a Rochester uniform. Mikan and the Lakers pound the Royals en route to the championship during three of those seasons, their run ending with a three-peat in 1954. Over in the Eastern Division, Auerbach’s undersized Celtics are also struggling to get over the hump. By the time Risen joins the Celtics, Cousy has supplanted Mikan as the face of the league.

“When I played for Rochester, we actually got the best of Cousy and the Celtics,” Risen says. “Cousy was a terrific ball handler, but in the early days he really struggled with his perimeter shooting. My first year with the Celtics was during the 1955–56 season, and a player named Ernie Barrett was also on the roster at that time. Ernie had a quick release, and great touch. He spent some time working with Cousy. You could really tell the difference after that. Cousy shot the ball much better that season.”

The Royals have the first pick in the ’56 NBA Draft, and the St. Louis Hawks have the second. While there are differing stories about who Les Harrison wants to select, it’s clear that Auerbach, drafting third, has no doubt about the player he covets.

“Red knew how good Russell was going to be, because he got that recommendation directly from Bill Reinhart—and Reinhart was the one person that Auerbach trusted completely. Reinhart advised Red to get Russell no matter what it took.

“Les insisted that he only saw Russell once, in a college All-Star game, and that Russell played poorly on purpose because he didn’t want to play in a small city like Rochester. The Harlem Globetrotters were also in the picture at the time, and I think that pushed up Russell’s asking price.”

Adding to the intrigue, Auerbach has a secret weapon in Walter Brown, who is also the president of the Ice Capades. Brown calls Harrison and offers to send the Ice Capades to Rochester for one week if the Royals pass on Russell.

“Rochester drafted Sihugo Green instead,” Risen says with a laugh. “Auerbach negotiated directly with Hawks owner Ben Kerner, and traded Macauley and Cliff Hagan to St. Louis. That allowed Red to land Russell. The rest is history.”

With Russell in Australia competing in the 1956 Olympics, Risen finds himself starting at center for the Celtics. Everything clicks when Russell rejoins the team in December.

“Russell put us over the top, but we also had Heinsohn. That gave us two all-league rookies on the team. And then we had the veterans like Cousy and Sharman to go with the role players like Jim Loscutoff and Frank Ramsey. As the season went on, we felt that we were the best team in the league. Nobody really talked about it, because we were trying to win that next game, but we were a very confident team.”

The Celtics and Hawks square off in the 1957 NBA Finals, a series punctuated by a 125–123 double-overtime thriller in Game 7.

“Heinsohn played a great game that afternoon. He scored 37 points and grabbed 23 rebounds. Cousy and Sharman really struggled scoring from the field. I think Cousy missed a free throw with just a few seconds left that may have won the game. Sharman’s jumpers weren’t going in, either. Russell blocked a shot by my former Royals teammate, Jack Coleman, late in the fourth quarter, preventing the Hawks from taking a three point lead. Russell then ran the length of the floor and scored. That was a big moment for us.”

The win sparks a wild celebration in the Boston Garden. Risen scores 16 points and grabs 10 boards in that Game 7 victory. Still, the spectacle of winning a championship pales in comparison by modern standards.

“Today, when teams win championships they are given championship rings,” Risen says. “Back then, rings weren’t such a big deal. We played, we won the title, and then we all went on to other jobs in the offseason. Basketball wasn’t as big. We didn’t get rings when we won the championship in Rochester in ’51, and nobody really thought much of it when we beat the Hawks in ‘57. Championship rings became a big deal until the Super Bowl came along.”

The teams meet again a year later, but an ankle injury to Russell in Game 3 forever changes the course of the ’58 Finals.

“We would have repeated if that ankle injury hadn’t occurred,” Risen insists. “Bill Russell was that much better than any other player at the time.  But injuries are part of it. He wasn’t the same the rest of the way, and that was the difference in the series.”

Risen’s NBA playing days end with that Finals loss to the Hawks. He has no regrets—a 10-year career, two NBA championships, and memories and relationships to last a lifetime.

“I enjoyed my time with the Celtics,” he says. “Walter Brown was a great man. His word was his bond, and when he told you something he meant it. In all the time Auerbach worked for Brown, the two of them never had a written contract in place. It was a year-to-year verbal agreement between them, which tells you something about the trust and respect that they had for each other.”

After starting his professional career playing in the barn that was Edgerton Park Sports Arena, Risen has nothing but fond memories of playing in the fabled Boston Garden.

“The parquet floor—nobody else had a floor made like that,” he says. “As an opponent, you were concerned about the so-called dead spots. Legend had it that the Celtics knew where the dead spots were, and that they would try to force you into those areas to create turnovers. As a member of the Celtics, having the dead spots was in our favor was part of our psychological advantage. They may not have helped win a game, but just having the thought in the opponent’s mind was enough to make the Garden a more difficult place to play.”

On October 2nd, 1998, Risen is inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame.

As time goes on and you find yourself farther from the spotlight, and I think it starts to mean more,” Risen says. “Back then you weren’t playing for enshrinement into the Hall of Fame since there wasn’t a Hall of Fame. I think it meant more coming to me late in life, rather than if it came to me on my first trip to the ballot box five years after retirement. It was the crowning point in my career. And joining all of those great players that I suited up with makes me feel like I’m on the team again.”