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The Satch Sanders Interview

By:  Michael D. McClellan | The coolest cat on the Celtics’ roster is a bad-ass with a hot head and a childhood history of causing trouble. He grows up in Harlem, and is five years old when the infamous Harlem Race Riot of 1943 occurs, in which police are attacked, stores are vandalized and looted, and automobiles are destroyed. The unrest lasts two full days. By the time order is restored, six black residents are dead, nearly 200 people are injured, and 550 more are arrested.

To many, the events that begin in Harlem on August 1, 1943, remain a riot, pure, and simple. To others, they are a revolt, a rebellion, an uprising, a violent but justified leap into a future of black self-empowerment. If you’re black growing up in 1940s Harlem, you instantly understand how the potent combination of segregation, unemployment, and racial tension can explode when mixed with another senseless case of police brutality—especially when the black man is a respected member of the military, and the woman he attempts to rescue is being beaten and falsely accused of prostitution.

“History repeats,” Sanders says. “Sadly, these fundamental problems still exist today.”

In 1951, a 12-year-old Sanders is running with one of Harlem’s gangs. His time is spent making zip guns and threatening passersby in the neighborhood. Sanders, by his own account, admits that the younger version of himself is headed for trouble. He credits an appearance by Brooklyn Dodger star Jackie Robinson at his school for changing the trajectory.

“Jackie Robinson helped set me on the right course,” he says. “He came to my junior high school and spoke to the assembly. It felt like he was speaking directly to me. I was getting into trouble at this point in my life, so his message felt extremely personal. My behavior improved. As one might expect, being 12, my mother still had to keep me in line from time-to-time.

“Jackie Robinson owned a shoe store on 125th Street. We would hang around outside hoping to see him. He’d come out on occasion and say a few things to us, which was a thrill, and the words he spoke were always positive. Guys like Roy Campanella and Don Newcombe would drop by and we’d get to see them, too. They were black, and they were stars. It was inspiring.”

Sanders grows up on 116th Street and Lenox Avenue and attends Seward Park High School on the Lower East Side. He gets his nickname playing baseball at Mount Morris Park in East Harlem. People think he looks like Satchel Paige, the iconic Negro League pitcher. While he doesn’t stick with baseball, the nickname sticks with him.

“I pitched, but I didn’t stay with it because I kept getting hit in the mouth by the ball. I wanted to protect my teeth.”

Basketball becomes his new love. In New York City in the ’50s, Harlem is the ultimate proving ground, the place where ballers and would-be-ballers go to make names for themselves. They play pickup games on courts like Mount Morris, or in tournaments at Rucker Park. It’s here that players like Julius Erving, Connie Hawkins, and Wilt Chamberlain later strut their stuff, while hundreds crowd into the playground temple and hundreds more clamor to watch from the surrounding rooftops, overpasses, and trees, just to get a glimpse of the action.

“There was so much black talent that I aspired to when I was growing up—the Harlem Globetrotters, the Harlem Rens, and all of those great Eastern League players who were never blessed with the opportunity that I had,” Sanders says. “These were guys who I looked up to, that showed me the way to play the game. Guys that toughened me up and taught me to play defense. Guys who could play in the NBA but never had the chance because of the color of their skin.”

Basketball and a love of reading keep him off the streets and out of trouble, but growing up in 1950s Harlem is as dangerous for Sanders as ’80s Compton is for Eazy-E, Ice Cube, and Dr. Dre. He sees a drug dealer viciously beat a man on the sidewalk. Heroin claims the lives of several relatives, and some of the older boys in his school are already copping drugs. He hears about the little girl down the block who is raped and murdered. All of this shapes Sanders, but it doesn’t stop his shine.

“I grew up in Harlem, and I didn’t have much in terms of resources. I didn’t have much money at this particular point in my life. However, this did not prohibit me from learning, nor did it impede my growth as an individual. I was determined to make something of my life.”

The rule of the day allows him to go to any high school in the city. He chooses Seward Park High after two friends convince him to aim higher than the vocational schools.

“That singular decision changed my life,” Sanders says. “In those days you could pick the high school you wanted to attend, provided you could get there and they wanted you. I woke up every morning and rode the train from Harlem to Seward. I also played in various church and community leagues. It wasn’t until my eleventh grade year that I played basketball for Seward Park.”

Sanders is a good enough high school player to attract the attention of schools like Duquesne and Seton Hall, but Sanders stays local and accepts a scholarship to attend New York University. He leads NYU to the 1960 Final Four, developing a reputation as a rugged defender who plays with maximum effort. The Violets fall to eventual champion Ohio State, but Sanders is the NYU captain in his senior year and the recipient of the Haggerty Award as the metropolitan area’s most valuable player. A back-to-the-basket post player, he finishes his career at NYU as its second-leading rebounder. He dreams of being selected for the US Olympic team, but players like Oscar Robertson, Jerry West, Jerry Lucas, and Walt Bellamy are stacked in front of him. Still, Sanders’s senior season catches the attention of Celtics coach Red Auerbach, who’s looking for a defensive presence to eventually replace Jim Loscutoff. Auerbach selects him with the eighth overall pick in the 1960 NBA Draft.

“NYU was close to home, which in itself was an added bonus,” says Sander. “We played against a variety of topflight competition, such as the Harlem Globetrotters, and all of those fine Eastern League players. My junior year we did quite well in the NIT, and the following year reached the NCAA Final Four, which was quite an accomplishment for that team.”

Sanders, who graduates with a degree in marketing, prides himself on playing hard-nosed defense, and knows it’s his best chance to catch on with the defending champions.

“I worked hard on defense. My job was to guard the opposition’s best scorer at the forward position, such as an Elgin Baylor or a Bob Pettit, and this was something from which I derived a tremendous amount of satisfaction. I would also like to say that we had a number of great defensive players on those Celtics teams, the first and foremost being Bill Russell. As a team, our defensive philosophy began with Bill. He set the tone on the defensive end of the court. K. C. Jones was also a tremendous defensive player in terms of what he brought to the game. He drew the tough assignments in the backcourt and applied great pressure defense.”

Sanders brings a New York City edge with him to the Celtics. He goes hard in practice, often hammering his teammates to the floor. There are plenty of doubters who dismiss Sanders when he arrives in the pros, questioning his ability to play facing the basket, let alone take minutes from established forwards Tom Heinsohn, Frank Ramsey, and Jim Loscutoff. The chip on his shoulder doesn’t go away quickly.

“I joined the Celtics hungry. I was very combative. I felt I had to do whatever I could to make this team. I didn’t back down. That’s the way it was in Harlem. I was ready to bump heads and fight with Loscutoff every chance I could get. And anyone who knew Loscutoff knows that he was an ornery cuss in his own right, so we tangled quite often in the beginning.”

Sanders ultimately finds his niche with the Celtics. Focused and under control, he’s the consummate teammate, ceding the offensive spotlight to stars like John Havlicek and Sam Jones, crashing the glass and doing most of his scoring on put-backs. On the court he endures a mixed bag of hate, with road games sometimes marred by flying bottles, coins, and racial epithets. Away from it he encounters reluctant real estate agents who fear that the color of his skin will drive away business, and proudly moves into the predominately black Roxbury section of Boston.

“The misconception is that just Boston was racist,” he says, “but it was the entire country. We had problems everywhere we went. In Los Angeles, cops pulled guns on us for no other reason than we were black.”

During one exhibition tour that took the Celtics through the Heart of Dixie, the black players on the team are denied service at a coffee shop in a hotel in Lexington, Kentucky.

“All of the black players were denied service—not just the black players for the Celtics,” Sanders says quickly. “The hotel changed its stance when it discovered that we were members of the Celtics and Hawks, so this naturally begged the question concerning our status had we not been professional athletes. That scenario was posed to the hotel management, and their position was that we would have been denied service. So, as ordinary citizens we were looked upon quite differently. Based on this criteria, Bill Russell quickly decided that he would not play in the game. The other black players on the Celtics—myself, Sam Jones, K. C. Jones—felt the same way about the situation. It was an easy decision to make.”

Sanders’s new job description is simple, yet incredibly difficult: Shut down the opponent’s best small forward, players like Baylor and Pettit. He accepts the challenge, buckling down and doing the dirty work needed to keep the championship machine humming. The Celtics win it all in his rookie season, the team’s third consecutive banner and fourth overall. The titles keep coming: 1962. 1963. 1964. 1965. 1966. 1968. 1969. He retires following the 1972–73 season, his eight titles in 13 seasons the third-most of any player in NBA history. Which begs the question: Is there one that stands out from the rest?

“If I had to select one title, I would have to say the first. This was during the 1960–61 season, and we won the championship 4–1 over the St. Louis Hawks. In retrospect it’s easier for one to look back on winning a number of championships, but it’s a much different situation when you’re striving to achieve that goal. Back then, at any given point, it was always a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately sort of thing. By that I mean we were only as good as our last championship. So every title that we won was special in that regard.”

Those Celtics teams are stocked with talent and loaded with future Hall of Famers.

“Sam Jones, K. C. Jones, and Frank Ramsey were all part of the second unit at one point —three outstanding basketball players that could have started on any NBA team. John Havlicek is another. It was a great luxury to have players of this caliber coming off the bench, because the opposition knew that there would be no letdown. That was one of the components to the Celtics’ greatness, and a hallmark of Red’s coaching ability. He was able to find players who possessed starting ability yet had egos that could handle a reserve role.”

Following retirement, Sanders breaks new ground by becoming the head basketball coach at Harvard University—the first black head coach in Ivy League history. He briefly coaches the Celtics a few years later, and in the late ’80s heads up the NBA’s Rookie Transition Program. It’s a position he holds for 18 years; during this time, every other major sports league replicates Sanders’s workshops.

How ironic that one of the roughest cuss’s on those great Celtics teams becomes one of the NBA’s greatest mentors. Sanders, voted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame as a contributor—primarily for his work with the program he created—also remains the coolest cat to ever have his jersey retired by the Celtics. When the NBA champion Boston Celtics visit the White House in 1963—then occupied by John F. Kennedy, a big Boston Celtics fan – it is left to Sanders to deliver the memorable parting line to the commander in chief.

“Take it easy, baby,” Tom Sanders tells the president of the most powerful nation on earth. For a one-time troublemaker and reformed hothead, it doesn’t get much cooler than that.

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The Don Nelson Interview

Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | Don Nelson is enshrined in the Hall of Fame as a coach, and rightly so; the winner of 1,335 NBA games sits alone atop the list of all-time great coaches, collecting more Ws than legends like Pat Riley, Phil Jackson, and Greg Popovich. He wins the NBA Coach of the Year Award three times, conjures the point forward into basketball lexicon, and introduces the world to “Nellieball,” an alien concept during the NBA’s center-centric ’80s but all the rage in the small-ball world we live in today. At Golden State, he mixes his small lineup with a run-and-gun attack, emerging from his laboratory with something the press dubs “Run TMC” and leading the Warriors to a 23-game turnaround from the previous season. Yes, Don Nelson—“Nellie” to the basketball world—should be in the Hall of Fame as a coach. But lost amid the coaching savant narrative is a baller who wins five NBA championships, three with Bill Russell and two with Dave Cowens, and whose leprechaun-aided jumper crushes the Lakers hopes and helps Russell walk away a champion.

Surprisingly, a young Don Nelson nearly bypasses a playing career altogether, setting his sights on coaching long before taking that first gig with the Milwaukee Bucks in ’76. Who knows how many wins he would have racked up had he decided not to play in the NBA. But then again, Nelson, who joins the Celtics in 1965, would have never played for (and learned from) one of the game’s greatest.

“Red wanted to speed up the pace and dictate how the game was going to be played,” Nellie says. “We spent countless hours practicing it in the gym. He would drill into our heads why the fast break was so important, reiterating the mechanics that made it successful . . . the rebound, the outlet pass, the finish. It was my first year on the team and Red’s last as coach. For me, it was a master class.”

Born in Muskegon, Michigan, Nelson gets his first taste of hoops on his family’s Illinois hog farm. Nelson’s family loses the farm when he’s in the sixth grade, and his father takes a shop job in the farm implement industry. They move to Rock Island, Illinois, and it’s here that Nelson begins spending time at the local YMCA, learning to play the game.

“I went out for my seventh-grade team and got hooked on basketball,” he says. “When I was a sophomore at Rock Island High School, the head coach thought that I was good enough for the varsity team. I sat on the end of the bench my first year. I started as a junior, and the next year I made All-State.”

His success gets him noticed. He ultimately signs with Iowa.

“Iowa’s head coach, Bucky O’Connor, recruited me. I signed a letter of intent, and then Bucky was killed later that summer in a tragic automobile accident. Sharm Sherman was appointed head coach. He came down to Rock Island and watched our games, so he knew what he was getting. It made for a natural transition.”

At Iowa, Nelson scores 1,522 points and averages 21.2 points-per-game from 1960–62, leading the team in scoring and rebounding all three seasons. He’s named first-team All-Big Ten and second-team All-American as a senior.

“Somebody at the University of Iowa knew somebody who worked for the Chicago Zephyrs, and they asked if I wanted to play pro ball,” Nellie says. “I was actually going to be Sharm’s assistant coach, but that conversation got me headed in another direction. I figured I could always fall back on coaching if a playing career didn’t work out. I was drafted in the third round that year.”

The Zephyrs begin NBA play in ’61 as the Chicago Packers, the nickname a nod to the city’s meatpacking industry. (Today the team is known as the Washington Wizards.) After one season in Chicago, Nelson is acquired by the Los Angeles Lakers in 1963, starting out on the other side of the NBA’s greatest rivalry.

“I only played one full season for the Lakers, before I was waived midway through the 1964–65 season. That’s how Boston picked me up. I was a backup that first year with the Lakers. We ended having a bunch of injuries—Elgin got hurt in the playoffs, and Jerry West averaged 44 points to get us to the Finals. Boston killed us. The next year I got waived because the Lakers had this hotshot draft pick named John Fairchild. I remember he had a really good exhibition game, and the next day they waived me and kept him. Ironically, Fairchild never made it in the NBA, and I went on to have a pretty good career.”

The Lakers waive Nelson 39 games into the 1964–65 campaign. The reserve forward is averaging a paltry 2.4 points and 1.9 rebounds. He figures his NBA experiment is over.
“In those days I didn’t have an agent, and I didn’t know if any other teams even had my number,” Nellie says. “I was home for a couple of weeks when I got a call from Red, who was looking for a player. They’d drafted Ronnie Watts from Wake Forest, but he didn’t pan out the way that they’d hoped, so they were looking for a guy who could play. It was either going to be Jackie Moreland or me from the Detroit Pistons. They chose me, and to this day I don’t know why. It only cost the Celtics $1,000 bucks. I flew into Boston, but the season had already started, and the team was on a road trip. I signed my contract and then I went to my hotel room and waited for four days. I listened to them on the radio.”

Nelson averages 10.2 points and 5.4 rebounds while appearing in 75 games during the 1965–66 season, Auerbach’s last as head coach. In the 1966 NBA Finals, the Celtics beat the Lakers 4–3, sweet revenge for a player the Lakers deemed expendable.

“It was my first championship, so it was special,” he says coyly. “I’ll just leave it at that.”

Over the next several seasons, Nelson continues his role as valued bench contributor. “Red started the Sixth Man trend with Frank Ramsey. John Havlicek was the Sixth Man when I got there. A few years later they moved him into the starting lineup, and that’s when I became the Sixth Man. It’s a role I played for about six years, and then somebody else took my place.”

The Celtics’ streak of eight consecutive championships comes to an end in 1967, but the team rebounds to win again in ’68. A year later, an aging Bill Russell carries Boston back to the Finals, where they face Wilt Chamberlain, Jerry West, and the heavily favored Lakers. The series is deadlocked after six games, Game 7 in Los Angeles. Lakers owner Jack Kent Cooke orders purple and gold balloons harnessed at the top of the Forum, to be set free as soon as the last second drain from the clock and an entire city exorcises the Ghosts of Celtics Past.

The shot that beats the Lakers that night leaves Nelson’s hands from the foul line, hits the back of the rim and bounces straight up, an impossibly high trajectory for a midrange jumper. It hangs in the air for what seems like days, before falling through the basket.

“A lot has been written about that game,” Nellie says. “I hit the lucky shot that probably won the championship—I shot it so poorly that it hit the back of the rim and it went way up in the air, and it came down and went straight through the basket. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, because Havlicek was dribbling the ball and had it poked out of his hands. It came straight to me. We were up a point when that shot dropped, so that basket definitely helped us hang on to win that game. The Lakers didn’t release those balloons. They’re probably still up there today [laughs].”

Bill Russell and Sam Jones walk away after that championship, and Auerbach hires Tom Heinsohn to lead the rebuilding process. Jo Jo White arrives via the 1969 NBA Draft, and a year later Dave Cowens is selected out of Florida State.

“Red Auerbach drafted a great player that year in Dave Cowens, but at the time we really didn’t know what we had,” Nellie says. “I met Dave early that summer after he’d been drafted. He came to Boston to get comfortable with the city . . . We’d go to the YMCA every day and work out. I could tell how good he was going to be, but at that time he was a rookie and didn’t know a lot. We played one-on-one all the time, and he couldn’t beat me, no matter how hard he tried. Two months later I couldn’t beat him.”

With a nucleus of Cowens, White, and Havlicek, and with Nelson providing valuable minutes off the bench, the Celtics return to win the 1974 NBA Championship, beating the Milwaukee Bucks in seven games.

“Tommy Heinsohn made a key strategic decision at the beginning of that series,” Nellie says. “Tommy wanted to use Oscar’s age to our advantage. He decided that we were going to press Oscar full court and try to wear him out over the course of the series. The press would make it harder for him to bring the ball up the court, and the Bucks would have to start their offense deeper in the shot clock—which meant they couldn’t get the ball into Kareem’s hands as easily. We picked him up full court using Don Chaney or anybody else we had. We ended up beating them in Milwaukee, which was my first title without Bill Russell. It was a pretty special moment for me because I was part of a completely new group of champions.”

Two years later the Celtics win it all again, defeating Phoenix to claim the team’s 13th banner. The series will forever be remembered for Game 5 in Boston Garden, a triple-overtime affair that ranks as one of the best games ever played.

“That game had everything. The Boston Garden was so hot that Tommy Heinsohn had an episode with his blood pressure. We jumped to an early 20 point lead, but the Suns came back and forced overtime. That’s when Paul Silas called a timeout that we didn’t have. Referee Richie Powers was supposed to call a technical foul on that play. If that technical had been called, Phoenix would’ve had a foul shot to win the game. Everybody on the Suns’ sideline was pissed!

“We had a three-point lead with 15 seconds left in the second overtime, but Dick Van Arsdale scored a bucket, then Paul Westphal made a steal, and Curtis Perry followed his own miss to score a basket and put Phoenix up by one point. With four seconds left, Havlicek dribbled down the left sideline, made his cut, and hit a 15-foot bank shot.

Everyone thought the game was over because the shot was at the buzzer. Hundreds of people stormed the court to celebrate. The referees ruled that one second remained on the clock. Eventually, the court was cleared, and that’s when Westphal called the timeout that the Suns didn’t have. We were up by a point, and while the foul shot gave us a two-point lead, it also allowed the Suns to inbound the basketball at half court. That’s when they designed a last-second play for Garfield Heard, who made a jump shot over me at the top of the key. It was a little out of his range, but he made it anyway and put us into triple overtime.

“Glenn McDonald rarely played for us that season, but because of all of the foul trouble he had to play big minutes in the third overtime. He responded by scoring six points to help us secure the win. It was without a doubt the craziest game that I ever played in.”

Nelson retires following that ’76 championship, his fifth with the team, and dives headlong into coaching.

“I learned everything that I knew about coaching from Red Auerbach,” Nellie says. “Not only did I play for him, we struck up a friendship, and he became a close personal friend. Before every home game I would have my pregame meal in downtown Boston, and then I would show up at the Garden early and talk basketball with Red for an hour. I learned so much just listening to him—how he handled the players, his coaching philosophy, things like that—and I basically adopted most of what he imparted. Over time I added a few my own wrinkles, and I ended up becoming a pretty decent coach.”

While Nelson’s genius is unquestioned, he’s quick to remind us that it’s Auerbach who was ahead of his time.

“People call me a genius and I cringe,” he says. “Red used to play the smalls against the bigs in practice to get everyone fired up. When we played full court games, the bigs never won. They were ineffective because they couldn’t handle the basketball, and that gave the smalls an advantage. When we played half court, it worked out the other way. The smalls couldn’t stop the bigs. I think I get more credit than I deserve about a lot of things. I don’t think of myself as a coaching genius. All I did was use a small lineup with a team that didn’t have very good big men, and I was very successful with it.”

Although he doesn’t win an NBA crown as a head coach, Nelson strikes gold at the 1994 FIBA World Championships.

“That was the hardest thing I ever did as a coach because the Dream Team had just won the gold medal in the 1992 Olympics. I was coaching Dream Team 2. The criticism came if we didn’t win by 20 points every time out, so it wasn’t just about winning the gold medal. It’s a good experience to look back on, but it was a tough one to go through.”

Nelson retires in 2010, his coaching career capped by those 1,335 wins and three Coach of the Year trophies. His résumé might not include an NBA championship, but he could care less. His only regret is not pursuing the Celtics head coaching job when Bill Fitch is fired, which ends up going to K. C. Jones instead.

“I felt a loyalty to the Milwaukee Bucks because they had been so good to me,” Nellie says. “Looking back, who knows, maybe I should have been more willing to make that break and pursue the Celtics job. But I have no complaints with the way things worked out. If you write my epitaph, I would be very happy if you just said that Don Nelson was a good guy and a pretty good coach.”

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The Sam Jones Interview

By:  Michael D. McClellan | Imagine: The greatest athletic deal-closer of the twentieth century is celebrated endlessly, his name floating atop every all-time championship list and dropped into every serious debate over who has exerted the greatest influence on their sport, his close personal friendships awash in celebrity, royalty and head-of-state chutzpah. His likeness is iconic, a symbol of championship excellence against which all others in team sport are measured. His legacy as the ultimate bottom line, results-oriented exclamation point is long since secure, the label ‘winner’ perhaps more synonymous with his name than any athlete in history. And yet when Bill Russell – yes, that Bill Russell, the one with the signature laugh and all of those championship rings, many of them coming at the expense of a certain statistical glutton named Wilt Chamberlain – is asked to name the single greatest player he has ever been associated with, the answer comes quickly and without hesitation.

“In the years that I played with the Celtics,” says Russell, “in terms of total basketball skills, Sam Jones was the most skillful player that I ever played with. At one point, we won a total of eight consecutive NBA championships, and six times during that run we asked Sam to take the shot that meant the season. If he didn’t hit the shot we were finished – we were going home empty-handed. He never missed.”

Imagine: You are Sam Jones, and Russell’s words waft over you from just a few feet away. You are humbled by them, and your usual loquaciousness evaporates at the sincerity of the proclamation. The loss of words is easy to understand; Russell, never one to offer undeserving praise, is beautifully matter-of-fact in his assessment of his close friend and former teammate. It is the ultimate show of respect, and you are reminded of 1969, when Jones had announced his retirement and Russell had decided to keep his own retirement plans under wraps, so as not to detract from the magnitude of Jones’ twelve seasons in a Boston Celtic uniform.

“No one compares to Bill Russell,” Jones finally responds. He is seated with six other NBA legends, some of the greatest to ever pick up a basketball – Jerry West, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson and Julius Erving among them. This is the Bill Russell Adult Fantasy Basketball Camp, a one-time opportunity to rub elbows with hoop royalty. “With all due respect to the gentlemen around me, Bill Russell was the smartest, most driven basketball player the game has ever seen. To this day he remains the single most influential force in team sports of any kind.”

And so it goes. Friends for life, Russell and Jones share a mutual respect forged by the blast furnace temperatures of championship basketball, one that comes from laying it on the line together, night in and night out, and ultimately walking away together, on top. For Jones, the journey began in the small town of Laurinburg, North Carolina, where sports flowed freely from one season to the next, and where baseball appeared to be his strongest suit. Not that he dreamed of becoming a professional athlete; times were different in the 1940s, and the teen aged Jones saw himself becoming a teacher. Sports represented a shot at a scholarship, a chance to experience life as a college student, an opportunity to pursue his dream career as an educator.

Determined to make athletics a means to that end, Jones played basketball well enough at Laurinburg High School to generate genuine interest from a number of prominent colleges. He attended North Carolina Central, a small black NAIA school in Durham, where he played for the legendary John McClendon, who had learned the game from Dr. James Naismith, and where Jones found himself free to push the boundaries of his emerging talent. Had Jones played today he would be considered a blue chip basketball phenom, but back then many of his sublime collegiate performances went largely unnoticed. There simply were no Internet chat rooms, no cell phones, no text messages, no 24 x 7 sports channels beaming coverage to all points on the globe. Jones’ exploits traveled slowly instead, by word-of-mouth, which is how another legendary coach, Arnold “Red” Auerbach, came to take a chance on the unknown talent from a school that was barely on the basketball map.

Selected eighth overall by Auerbach in the 1957 NBA Draft, Jones arrived in Boston wary of his chances of making a team that had just won its first championship. The Celtics boasted two All-Star guards in its starting lineup, eventual hall of fame players Bob Cousy and Bill Sharman, and there was plenty of veteran competition for the reserve spots on the bench. Jones considered himself a long shot at best. Auerbach, for his part, had never seen Jones play, and he approached the rookie with skepticism. He wondered whether Jones would have the heart to survive training camp, well-known to be the most demanding in the league, and he doubted the rookie’s mental toughness to battle his way onto the season-opening roster. All of that changed as soon as he saw Jones run the first set of drills. He was sprinting without breathing hard. He was clearly prepared, and serious about the opportunity.

“When he arrived,” Auerbach recalled years later, “there were three other guys almost just like Sam who were trying to make the team. The difference was the other three just thought about shooting. After a couple of days, Sam started handing out some nice passes and blocking out so other guys could shoot. You could see that he was committed to becoming a complete player.”

Forced to cut veteran and former ACC star Dick Hemric to make room for Jones, Auerbach played his rookie shooting guard sparingly during the 1957-58 season. Cousy and Sharman were at the peak of their respective games, Bill Russell and Tom Heinsohn were another year wiser, and the Celtics appeared destined to repeat as NBA champions. Jones averaged a meager 4.6 points while playing in just over 10 minutes per game, and few outside of Boston knew anything about the player destined to become one of the greatest clutch shooters of all time.

Jones’ rookie season ended in disappointment. The Celtics advanced to the NBA Finals for the second consecutive season, and were overwhelming favorites to repeat as champions. Facing the St. Louis Hawks, a severe ankle injury to Russell torpedoed any title hopes as Bob Pettit and “Easy” Ed Macauley won their first and only NBA crown.

Jones saw his playing time double the following season as Auerbach began planning for Sharman’s eventual retirement. The Celtics, now deeper with Jones playing a bigger role in the offense, steamrolled the Minneapolis Lakers 4-0 to win a second title in three years. In a season defined by balance and capped with a crown, six Celtics (Sharman, Cousy, Heinsohn, Russell, Frank Ramsey and Jones) averaged double-figure scoring.

Winning it all again the next season cemented the Celtics’ stature as a dynasty in the making. Russell was clearly the league’s defensive player nonpareil, the team’s driving force, and the primary cog in Auerbach’s title-hungry machine. It was also clear to Red that Jones was the heir apparent to Sharman, and that his young shooting guard seemed to play his best basketball with the game hanging in the balance. The addition of Satch Sanders in 1960, along with the grooming of fellow backup KC Jones as the eventual successor to Cousy, gave Boston a stronger defensive presence and furthered Auerbach’s need for perimeter scoring. Heinsohn assumed that role during the 1960-61 season, leading the Celtics with a 21.3 PPG average, as Boston won its third consecutive title. For Jones, Auerbach’s attacking, fast break offense fit like a glove. It was similar to McClendon’s system at North Carolina Central, full throttle on both side of the ball.

“Our style of play at that time started the use of smaller, fast forwards,” Auerbach told Pro Sports Weekly. “It was up tempo, and because it put a smaller team on the floor we had to go to the press more often. See, Sam understood his role in this perfectly. He would race the length of the court on the wing, and on defense he knew how to pressure his man. Sam was a smart basketball player.”

The 1960-61 season marked the last for Sharman, whose body was beginning to break down from the rigors of professional basketball, and it was also noteworthy in that Jones made his breakthrough into the starting lineup.

“I knew I was ready,” Jones says, “but in my mind, the backcourt still belonged to Bob Cousy and Bill Sharman. They were great, great players who had earned their right to start. Replacing Bill as the starter at that point, well that was by necessity. He was hurting and the team needed me to step up.”

With Sharman retired and Jones the unquestioned starter, Boston posted a 60-20 record and earned a date with Wilt Chamberlain and the Philadelphia Warriors in the 1962 Eastern Division Finals. It was classic battle; in the thrilling seventh-game showdown, with the score tied at 107 and two seconds left, Jones hit a jump shot over the outstretched arms of Chamberlain to seal the win. After the game Chamberlain hailed Jones as the Celtics’ best player. Auerbach lauded his guard’s coolness under pressure and predicted that Jones would be ready to produce further heroics if needed. The comments would prove prophetic; in the NBA Finals against the Los Angeles Lakers, Jones again came through, scoring five of the Celtics’ 10 overtime points in Game 7 to propel Boston to a fourth straight NBA crown.

With Jones in his prime and his reputation as a clutch performer spreading throughout the league, it was also becoming apparent that Jones’ favorite shot – the stop-and-pop bank shot – was a deadly accurate weapon, and one of the most feared shots in the game. His quickness, intelligence and knack for finding the open spot on the court allowed him to get the shot off even when opponents tried sticking like glue.

“I started shooting the bank shot in high school,” Jones says. “I wasn’t a great outside shooter and I struggled a little making layups, so I worked on my shooting technique and I focused on using the backboard. I picked out my target and I’d shoot for hours. I got to the point where I could really trust that shot, and it helped the rest of my game.”

And about that knack for seemingly always being in the right place at the right time?

“You simply can’t stand still,” he explains. “When the ball is shot, the defender has to turn his head to see where the rebound is going. When I see we have the rebound, I immediately go to another position on the court. The man who is guarding me has his back to me now and he doesn’t know I’ve moved. He has to turn around and look for me. It doesn’t have to be much. Just an opening. That’s all you need, because you only need a split second to get a shot off.”

The Celtics would win the titles in 1963 and 1964, giving them six consecutive championships and cementing their status as a dynasty. Jones scoring average continued to climb as well, as he, along with John Havlicek, became the focal points of the offense. The retirement of Bob Cousy following the 1962-63 season also ushered in a new era in the Boston backcourt, and one with a distinct defensive feel. Cousy, replaced in the starting lineup by defensive specialist KC Jones, could only marvel at the quality of play exhibited by the duo nicknamed “The Jones Boys”.

“It was a great pairing,” Cousy says. “It gave Arnold [Auerbach] a different dimension that what he had with me and Sharman, and he knew how to coach to their strengths. It helped keep the championships coming, that’s for sure.”

Jones averaged a career-high 25.9 PPG during the 1964-65 season, good enough for fourth in the league, and landed in the NBA All-Star Game for the third time in his career. Noteworthy to be certain, but statistics and individual accolades were of little concern. Sam Jones was a team player who shared Russell’s singular desire to win it all, all the time.

“Scoring averages don’t mean a thing, ” he says. “Making the All-Star team, and being named All-NBA, those things don’t mean a thing either. Every guy on those Celtic teams had the ability to lead the team in scoring if that’s what he was asked to do. But we all had a role to play. We all knew what was expected of us, and what each of us had to do in order to win the championship. It was the most unselfish group of people I’ve ever been associated with. It’s also why I didn’t want to be inducted into the hall of fame without my teammates. To me, what we did wasn’t about one person. It was only about Bill Russell or Sam Jones. It was about the entire team, the roles we played, and the sacrifices that we made in order to achieve something bigger.”

The Celtics continued sacrificing and kept right on winning, adding two more titles to the coffer before Auerbach bowed out as head coach following the 1965-66 season. Rumors swirled as to who would take over the reins, but in Auerbach’s mind there was only one other man who could coach the great Bill Russell: Russell himself.

“Great choice,” Jones says without hesitation. “Russell was at the perfect point in his career to coach the Boston Celtics. It was a veteran team, a close team, and we were all focused on championships. That was all that mattered.”

Russell’s first season as player/coach ended in disappointment, as the Celtics succumbed 1-4 to Wilt Chamberlain and the eventual champion Philadelphia 76ers. Jones played well throughout, leading the team with a 22.1 PPG scoring average, and although he failed to make the All-Star Team for the first time in four years, Jones was named to the All-NBA Second Team. The Celtics, meanwhile, were viewed by many as too old to challenge for another championship. They proved the experts wrong by winning it all in 1968 and repeating in 1969, with Jones playing a huge role in Game 4 of that ’69 series against the Los Angeles Lakers. Behind by one point with seven seconds remaining, the Celtics called a timeout and Russell didn’t hesitate in choosing the player to take the game-winning shot. When Jones found the ball in his hands, he did what he always did best.

“I knew that last shot was good from the moment it left my hand,” Jones says, smiling. “There never was any doubt because I had time to release the shot properly, and I trusted my technique completely. That took the pressure off. The ball rolled right over the cylinder. We won that game, and then we went on to win the championship.”

The ’69 championship gave Russell 11 titles in 13 seasons, while Jones finished with 10 in 12. Both retired as two of the greatest legends to ever wear a Boston Celtic uniform. Perhaps the greatest compliment anyone paid to Jones was supplied by Auerbach at a special ceremony at Boston Garden. “I would like to thank Sam Jones,” he said at the time, “for making me a helluva coach.”

In 1970, Jones was named to the NBA 25th Anniversary All-Time Team, and in 1983 he was elected to the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. In 1996, Jones – Mr. Clutch to you – was further honored by being named to the NBA 50th Anniversary All-Time Team.

You were born on June 24th, 1933, in Laurinburg, North Carolina.

Laurinburg is a very small town – much smaller than Wilmington, which is where many people seem to think I was born and raised.  Wilmington had a big, big school.  Laurinburg didn’t have anything like that.  It was a very small town, and my childhood in Laurinburg was very typical in many respects.  All of the boys that I knew played basketball, baseball and football.  We weren’t focused on one sport, we played them all.  That’s just the way it was back then.

 

Who were some of your role models as a child?

I was fortunate to have what you would call mentors – these were boys that were a little bit older than me, and these were boys that I looked up to as role models.  There were four of them in total, and three of these four mentors went on to college – and I’m proud to say that all three of them graduated from college.  They were very important people in my life.  They all played sports – in fact, they were the ones that got us younger kids involved.  I can tell you right now that we never got into trouble, and I think that says something about the influence that the older boys had on us.

When they went on to college and left us behind, I remember them coming back and telling us stories about meeting people from different places in the United States – places I thought I’d never visit, of course – and that was something that really stayed with me as I grew up.  I would sit there and listen to their stories with my eyes wide open, and they would talk about cities that seemed to exist in another world.  I learned that they’d all gotten scholarships to go to college, so they didn’t have to pay, and that was something else that really stuck with me.  I knew that if I wanted to go to college, then someone was going to have to give me a scholarship.  So I guess you could say that these mentors were truly instrumental in leading me to the basketball court.

There is something else I would like to mention:  My father died when I was quite young, and that could have given me the excuse to go the wrong way – but I did not.  I had a very fine immediate family, and a fine extended family, and we still have family reunions every year.  So to be drafted by the Boston Celtics was more than an honor for me – it was a testament to the fine family that raised me into the man that I became.

You went to high school at Laurinburg Institute.  What were your high school years like at Laurinburg?

Laurinburg Institute was a co-ed school.  The coach’s name was Dr. Frank McDuffie, Jr., and he was the coach of football, basketball, baseball and track.  Since we were a very, very small school, we had to play several sports.  My sports were basketball and baseball, but he made me play three years of football at quarterback, which I didn’t want to play [laughs].  Somehow I made it through, and after graduation I was one of the most highly recruited basketball players in the State of North Carolina.  He never did make a football player out of me – there weren’t a lot of offers to go off and play quarterback [laughs].

 

You played collegiate basketball at North Carolina Central, a small NAIA school.  Tell me about that.

Back in those days blacks couldn’t go to the white schools, at least not in North Carolina.  There were a lot of white schools that recruited me, but they were simply too far away – either up north or way out west.  I thought it was funny in a way; recruiting was much different then than it is today, and some of these schools contacted me even though I’d never heard of them.  I guess they had heard about me from someone who had seen me play, or from someone who had told someone about me.  Anyway, I ended up staying close to home and going to what is now known as North Carolina Central University in Durham, North Carolina.

I was recruited by head coach John McClendon, who became one of the first African-American coaches to break into professional basketball when he coached the Cleveland Pipers.  He was quite a man.  He traveled the world promoting the game of basketball.  He learned basketball from Dr. James Naismith as an undergraduate at Kansas, and he was the first coach in history to win three consecutive national titles. He did that by leading Tennessee State to the 1957, 1958 and 1959 NAIA national championships.  For many years he scouted opposing teams for the United States, as the US prepared to play basketball in the Olympic Games.  He’s also in the NAIA Hall of Fame – I think he was inducted sometime in the 1970s.  He was a great man, so it was an honor to play for him.

 

What kind of coach was John McClendon?

I enjoyed my time with Coach McClendon because he gave you a lot of leeway.  You had a lot of liberty to create something in his offense.  But he was also a little bit of a dictator like Red was with the Celtics. They both stressed discipline and fundamentals, things that are still important today.

 

Aside from professional basketball, what other career goals did you have?

I love education.  I love teaching.  So I would have become a teacher.  I was also interested in medicine – if there had been scholarships for black kids to go to medical school back then, and if I had qualified, I’d have done that over pro ball.  But there just wasn’t any money for me to go that route.

 

In September 1954 you entered the Army.

The Army sent me to Camp Gordon, but I was only there a short time before they switched me to the 101st Airborne Division in Augusta, Georgia.  I guess they saw me as one of those gung-ho guys [laughs].

 

Is it true that you jumped out of perfectly good airplanes?

True story [laughs].  Some guy came around looking for volunteers for jump school, and he told us we’d make more money doing that.  Well, all he had to say was money – I was a pretty good athlete and I was in pretty good shape, and he was looking for guys who fit that mold.  I thought it would be interesting so I volunteered, and the next thing you know I’m at Fort Benning, Georgia, where they prepared you for jumping.

 

Did jumping scare you?

It wasn’t long before we were actually jumping, and reality hit me – I thought I had to be out of my mind [laughs].  Well, they took us to Fort Bragg, North Carolina.  At that particular time that’s where you did most of your jumping.  Most people don’t realize this, but you don’t pull your own parachute.  In the plane, you have what you call a static line.  When the jump master ordered you to stand up, you hooked yourself up to that static line, which actually stayed in the plane, and that’s what pulled your chute for you.  You didn’t do it yourself.  You also had an emergency chute, just in case, which you would pulled yourself in the event of a problem with the primary chute.  It was interesting because you’d see all of these people standing up and bailing out of the plane, and the parachutes opening up, and that’s all you want to happen when it’s your turn to jump.  It’s a thrill that everyone should try once in their lives because there’s nothing under you.

 

You played basketball on a military team.

The jumping played a part in that, too.  In training they work with you on how to hit the ground – they teach you to roll over because you hit pretty hard.  It’s a thud, it’s not an easy landing.  I hurt my ankle pretty badly once.  I think it was my fifth jump.  I didn’t break it, but it was about as close as you come so I got out of there – I didn’t jump anymore [laughs].  In the meantime I got shipped to White Sands Proving Grounds, which is in New Mexico.  I was given a desk job, and they were starting a basketball team – it was the first basketball team that they had ever fielded – and it was fielded by a second lieutenant named Robert Williams.  Fine man.  Well, when he started the team he made me his assistant coach.  He wanted me to help because he was inexperienced and really didn’t like cutting players, and he knew he could delegate the duties that he didn’t like to his assistant [laughs].

 

What were the games like?

We had twelve players on that first team.  We were very fortunate in one respect, because we had people on the team who were over 6’6”.  We didn’t think the Army was allowed to take anybody over 6’6”.  Anyway, we played our games with these twelve volunteers who were simply interested in the game of basketball.  There was nothing fancy about it – in fact, that first year we didn’t even have a gym to play in.  We scrimmaged in a Quonset hut.  That’s what we used to practice in – they just put baskets on each end of the Quonset hut, and when they were finished only a small number of people could be seated in it.  I’m talking 60-to-70, tops.  That’s the place we practiced.  So needless to say, we didn’t have any home games that season.  We played all of our games off base – at other air force bases, army bases, and on some college campuses against  junior varsity teams.  That year we played 34 games, and we won 30.  The current athletic director at Texas Tech, Gerald Myers, was on that junior varsity team that we played against at Texas Tech.  This was back in 1955.  And then there were people like Frank Ramsey, who was my teammate in Boston.  Frank was in the military, based at Fort Knox, Kentucky.  And there was Bobby Leonard, who was known as Slick – he played professional basketball for the Minneapolis Lakers and the Los Angeles Lakers.  Both of these gentleman are in the Hall of Fame, and both were playing basketball in the military at the same time as me.  Bobby was the one who really got me interested in playing professional basketball.  I’d never really thought about it until we played against each other at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.  Frank Ramsey was there, Bobby Leonard was there, Al Bianchi was there – Al Bianchi played for Syracuse and Philadelphia, and went on to coach professionally with Chicago and Phoenix.

 

Did you play against Frank Ramsey?

No, because he had just gotten shipped out, but I played against some of these other guys and I performed pretty well.  That’s when people started asking me if I wanted to play pro ball.  Bobby Leonard left and went to Minneapolis, and the Lakers actually drafted me while I was in the service, but I decided that I wanted to get my degree.  So I went back to school and my name went back into the hat for the NBA Draft.

 

You were the eighth overall selection in the 1957 NBA Draft, sight unseen, by the legendary Red Auerbach.

To be quite honest, I was shocked when the Boston Celtics drafted me in the first round of the 1957 NBA Draft.  I don’t think many people knew who I was because I didn’t play for a big program like Kansas or Kentucky.  In fact, I was the first African-American from a black college to be drafted in the first round of any sport.  I didn’t feel like I had something to prove, but I carried burden on my shoulders that felt very similar to what Jackie Robinson must have felt.  I wanted to succeed.  I wanted to make good so that others could follow me, and so that the people in this country could see that we had some good basketball players in our black collegiate institutions.

 

How did Red learn about you?

The year that I was discharged from the army and returned to school, well, I want you to know that we had a hell of a season.  We just simply had a good team.  North Carolina Central always had good teams back then, even though it was a small, Division II school, but  that year we were particularly strong.  Bones McKinney, who had played for Red Auerbach and who had also coached in the ACC, knew who I was because we were so good, and he played a big part in my becoming a Boston Celtic.  It was during my senior season that Red called Bones McKinney and asked him who, in his opinion, was the best basketball player in the State of North Carolina.  And he said, “Sam Jones.’  Red Auerbach didn’t know anything about me [laughs], but he knew that that year UNC had won 32 straight games, had beat Kansas in triple-overtime for the NCAA championship, and had done so by beating a KU team featuring Wilt Chamberlain.  This is 1957.  This is the year that UNC had guys like Tommy Kearns and Lennie Rosenbluth – Rosenbluth averaged over 29 points-per-game that season and was named the Helms Foundation National Player of the Year.  Red knew all of this because these were the big schools with proven programs, and that’s why he really challenged Bones McKinney’s evaluation.  McKinney never wavered  – he said the best player in the State of North Carolina was Sam Jones – and that was ultimately enough to convince Red.  He ended up drafting me in the first round of the 1957 NBA Draft.

 

I’ve read where you were disappointed to be chosen by the Celtics.

You’re right – I was disappointed that the Boston Celtics drafted me, because I really didn’t want to go up there and play with ‘em [laughs].  I didn’t want to go with them because I felt that I wouldn’t get to play.  Don’t get me wrong, I felt that I was good enough to play, but because the Celtics had just won their first world championship I didn’t think I would even have a shot at making the team.  People today don’t realize this, but back them teams were only allowed to carry ten players on the active roster.  My thinking was that Red wasn’t going to cut anybody.  I felt that he was going to be loyal to that team because it was the one that won his first world championship.  Well, I thought it over and finally decided to give it a try, and the fella that I beat out for the last spot was coached by Bones McKinney.  How ironic is that?  His name was Dick Hemric.  To me, it was almost unbelievable at the time.  Hemric was a two-time ACC Men’s Basketball Player of the Year in ‘54 and ’55.  He set the conference scoring records that remained untouched for 50 years and was a member of Red’s first championship team, so it was very special to beat out such a fine player for that last roster spot.

 

After playing in small college gyms, what was it like to play in fabled arenas like the Boston Garden and Madison Square Garden?

It was a big adjustment, believe me.  All of a sudden, you’re in these huge arenas.  All of a sudden, you’re looking at 18,000 people there to watch a basketball game, and you’re a part of it.  I remember playing in New York for the first time and performing at Madison Square Garden.  As a rookie it was very intimidating.  You’ve got to run out there, and the spotlight is on you. You just hear the noise. You feel like you’re as small as an ant, and you’re so nervous.

 

Please tell me about the great Bill Russell – your relationship with him on the basketball court, and your friendship with him away from it.

We still have that friendship, and we’ve stayed in contact with each other since retiring together following that last championship in 1969.  I hate to say that because it sounds like the Marines, but Bill Russell was determined to be the best that he could be.  Whatever cliché you want to pick, it just isn’t a cliché when you’re talking about Bill Russell.  He was so competitive and so committed to excellence that he tried to win every play, every possession.  To me, what makes a player great is the ability to make the other players around him play better.  Bill Russell did that.  He was just an incredibly special basketball player, and nowhere was that more apparent than on defense.  From the moment Bill Russell joined the Boston Celtics and on up until today, he remains the greatest defensive player to ever play the game.  And trust me, I do follow basketball – and I have not seen anyone that could block shots with the great timing that he had.  It was unbelievable.  And it was just a joy to play with him knowing that nobody you played was going into the lane and make a layup.  Not as long as Bill Russell was the protector of that basket.  He carried that level of play with him for thirteen years in the NBA, and I thank God that I had the opportunity to play basketball with him for twelve of those thirteen years.  Between the two of us, we hold the record for championships.  He won eleven and I won ten.  There are only two players in NBA history to ever win more than ten championships, and that’s Russell and I.  You can talk about great players – you can talk about Michael Jordan all you want because he was a great player.  But again, what makes a truly great player is a man who makes his teammates around him better.  Nobody did that better than Bill Russell.

 

Bill Russell’s accomplishments are legendary.  Take me behind the curtain – what was he like during practice?

Bill Russell was not a practice player.  He never wanted to practice.  So what he would do – he would always come to practice, but he would block every shot he could contest.  And I mean every shot.  A layup, a fifteen foot jumper, it didn’t matter.  He wouldn’t let anything go into the basket.  Red did not like that, and the players did not like that, so we’d put him off and let him sit down while the rest of us went on to have a good practice [laughs].

 

The Celtics have retired a lot of numbers, most of them from those great Celtics teams that you played on.

You couldn’t have a better situation than I did, playing with guys like that.  They were all so special  – KC Jones, Bob Cousy, Bill Sharman, Jim Loscutoff, Tom Heinsohn, and John Havlicek.  It was unbelievable the way we played as a team, and I was really mad – yes, I’m going to put it that way, I was really mad when they started picking entire teams for inclusion into the Hall of Fame.  When I was inducted, one of my statements was that team sports were not about the individual, that sometimes forgotten are the players who may not make it to the Hall of Fame – which is the case with some of the players that I played with during my career with the Boston Celtics.  So the day that I was inducted I said that my [Hall of Fame] ring was in honor of those players that I participated with who may never find themselves standing at that podium in Springfield.  I also said that it was my wish that we could go in as a team.  At that time the Hall of Fame had never inducted a team – but just a few years ago the first team to be included was the Harlem Globetrotters.  And then, in 2007, Texas Western was inducted.  If you saw the movie Glory Road, you know that they won the 1966 NCAA National Championship and did so by becoming the first Division I school to start five African-American players.  Not to take anything away from that, but I’ve always thought that we should have went into the Hall of Fame as a team.  I went to eleven NBA Finals in my twelve years in the league, and we won ten championships.  You’ll never see that again – that will never happen, unless God gets his own team [laughs].

 

You had a special situation in Boston.

It truly was special.  The whole time I was there we never signed a no-cut contract.  We just played because we loved the game.  And we even loved it better because we had Bill Russell and we had Bob Cousy, who was way ahead of his time.  When you looked at John Stockton, you would think that John Stockton was a clone of Bob Cousy.  Having those guys around was a luxury that very few teams could ever claim.  Cousy was a magician with the basketball, and Russell was the greatest defensive player – and the greatest winner – the NBA has ever seen.

I remember my third year with the Celtics, and Coach Auerbach bringing me in and saying that I had a green light to shoot the basketball.  I’d heard about the green light to shoot, and it was only granted if Auerbach had the trust in a player’s scoring ability.  You could shoot it anytime you wanted to.  I said, ‘Coach, what did you say?’  He said, ‘You’ve got the green light, and that gives you a lot of responsibility.’  So I felt kind of  special then [laughs].

 

In those days, the Celtics made frequent preseason barnstorming tours throughout New England.  Did you ever experience Red’s driving firsthand?

Don’t even talk about that – I rode with him once and I got straight out of the car [laughs].  No, no, no, no [laughs].  You know how the rookies were supposed to ride with certain people – well, I wanted to ride with Bill Russell.  He was safe.  You know Red – there was no telling where Red was going, or if he was going to make it there in one piece [laughs].  From then on I never volunteered to ride with Red.  Besides, when I joined the team Russell was the only black player on the roster.  The joke during my rookie season was that I made the team because Russell needed somebody to talk to [laughs].  I didn’t room with Russell that much, I roomed with Frank Ramsey and sometimes with Tommy Heinsohn.  Those barnstorming tours were something else – you’d play the same team every night, maybe the Minneapolis Lakers, and by the end of the thing you were ready to kill each other [laughs].

 

The bank shot was your calling card, as deadly a weapon as Kareem’s skyhook, but you don’t see players shooting it as much today?  What has happened to the bank shot?

It hasn’t really gone anywhere, I just don’t think that it’s being taught like it used to be taught.  I think the three-point shot has something to do with that, because it really has hurt the intermediate jumper.  Coaches today are stressing the three pointer, kids see it on television, and as a result the mid-range jumper has been lost.  I think that’s a mistake.

One of the greatest teachers of the bank shot was John Wooden at UCLA.  Most of his kids had that shot.  Tim Duncan is still shooting the bank shot, and he’s going to go down as one of the greatest players in the history of the NBA.  He shoots it with pretty good accuracy, and I think he prefers that mid-range bank shot over a flashy slam dunk.  In that respect he’s a throwback of sorts.  Scottie Pippen used that shot quite a bit as well.  But those guys are the exceptions to the rule.  I just think the bank shot is one of the most effective shots you could use on the court, within a certain range.

 

In tight game situations you were known to stay away from the huddles during timeouts. What was that about, and did you demand the basketball in those crucial situations?

No, I didn’t demand the basketball.  The impetus came from Red Auerbach.  He took all the pressure off of the players – in those tight games where you needed that one shot, he would call timeout, pull us all together and call the play for me.  As we’re coming off the court he’d say, ‘We’re running the two play for Sam Jones’, or ‘We’re going to run the four play for Sam Jones.’  I had quite a few plays designed for me to get a shot off.  I knew when we ran those plays that we were going to have an open shot.  It wasn’t’ that I’d stay away from the huddle, but the play had already been called.  I was just waiting for the gong to be sounded so that we could go back out on the court [laughs].

 

Please tell me about two greats that you played against – Jerry West and Oscar Robertson.

Jerry West and Oscar Robertson were tremendous basketball players.  They were probably the two greatest guards to ever play the game, at least until guys like Magic, Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant came along.  Jerry and Oscar, because of their athleticism and knowledge, could still play the game at an All-Star level today.  They could play with anybody.  Jerry West just came out wanting to win.  He had that attitude, the one that screams ‘I want to win.’  If it wasn’t’ for the Boston Celtics he would have probably ended up winning six or seven rings.  We went up against the Lakers year-after-year-after-year and it was not easy beating us.  It didn’t happen very often, I’ll put it that way.

One more story about Jerry West – we were in the playoffs and preparing to play the Lakers for the championship.  Jerry and the Lakers had the best team ever; really, they were just winning like mad and killing their opponents.  That’s how much talent they had.  Before we go out to L.A. I learn that I’ve got to guard Jerry West.  So in practice I’m guarding John Havlicek, and I knew that Jerry couldn’t run like John.  I say this because I knew I was going to need all of the preparation in the world to keep up with Jerry.  He was that tremendous.  Well, we get out to L.A., and we’ve a really good guy on our roster – and guy by the name of Emmette Bryant.  He looks at Russell and says, ‘Russell, I’ve got Jerry West tonight.’  And I said, ‘Good – and thank God.  You can have him.’  Russell put me on him anyway [laughs].

 

What was it like playing for Red Auerbach?

Red had a simple system that you had to adapt to. When you play under a coach that doesn’t over-complicate things, it truly makes things that much easier.  That’s one thing.  The other thing that I liked about playing under Red was that he felt that you shouldn’t come to camp to get into shape.  He felt you should stay in shape all year so that the day training camp opens, you were ready to play the first game.  His training camps were much more demanding than playing the actual games themselves.

 

Red Auerbach retired following an eighth consecutive NBA Championship in 1966, and Bill Russell was Red’s choice to take over as player/coach.

I had the pleasure of playing with Bill Russell for twelve years, and when I first joined the Celtics I lived with Russell and his family – I stayed with him until I made the team and knew that I could afford a place of my own.  We became great friends, but honestly, it was more like family.  It was a great chemistry that carried over onto the court.  And then years later, after I had moved out he had went on to become the head coach, I learned that half of the time I could do nothing right.  That’s what becoming a head coach can do to a friendship [laughs].  Seriously though, Bill Russell was the only man who could possibly follow Red Auerbach as head coach of the Boston Celtics.

 

As you’ve said, Bill Russell won 11 NBA Championships in thirteen seasons.  You won ten titles in twelve years.  Many of those championships were won in the tightest of games, and with the pressure dialed way up.  How were the Celtics able to thrive under such intense championship pressure?

I’ll answer that with a story.  We were in Game 7 of an NBA Finals, and Bill Russell was the coach.  The game was tight late in the game, and Russell called timeout.  We all gather together on the sideline, and Russell says, ‘Okay guys, we’re going to run a six.’  Now, the six play is for Bill Russell – the worst shooter on our team [laughs].  So he calls the six play and of course it doesn’t work, but we get the rebound and call timeout.  Now we’ve got about thirteen seconds left in the game.  Russell says, ‘Okay guys, we’re going to run the seven play.’  So we run the seven play that that doesn’t work, either.  We get another rebound and call our last timeout.  We get together in the huddle, and all of us realize that there is a lot of pressure – we didn’t leave school early like kids do today.  We graduated [smiles].  To a man we knew that there was less than ten seconds left and that we needed to score if we were going to walk off the court as champions.  Russell gathers us together and says, ‘Okay guys, we ran the six play and that didn’t work.  We ran the seven play and that didn’t work.  Six and seven equals fourteen.  Let’s run the fourteen play.’  We run the fourteen play and sure enough it works – we win the championship.  We get back to the locker room and all the media is swarming around.  Someone asks, ‘Russell, what play did you run?’  He says, ‘Oh God, we ran the seven play and it didn’t work, we ran the six play and it didn’t work – seven and six equals fourteen, so we ran that play and we won the game.’  So the news writers were scratching their heads – and one of them good-naturedly asks, ‘Russell, where did you graduate from?’  Russell hadn’t caught on.  He says, ‘Oh, USF – the University of San Francisco.’ The writer smiles and says, ‘Well, where we come from seven and six equals thirteen.’  Well, let me tell you something – Havlicek didn’t know it, I didn’t know it…nobody standing in the huddle at that point in time, when that play was called, knew that seven and six equaled fourteen.  That’s what pressure is all about.  We were so focused on the play that was called, and on executing that play to win a championship, that we weren’t aware of Russell’s little adding problem [laughs].

 

The Celtics played the Lakers for the 1969 NBA Championship.  What memories stand out after all these years?

Probably the fourth game of the series – there were seven seconds to go in the game, and we were losing by a point.  If we lost this game, we’d go to Los Angeles down 3 games to 1.  We called a timeout, and Russell called a play for me.  Later, he told me he almost didn’t call it because it was my last season and he said that people always remember the one you missed.  ‘But I made it, and I knew it was good from the time it left my hand.  It rolled right over the cylinder.  We won the game and went on to win the championship.

 

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?

God gives everyone in this life a gift.  Find out what it is, and use it well.

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The John Havlicek Interview

By:  Michael D. McClellan |  He is born to run, and for 16 seasons John Havlicek is an unyielding force of perpetual motion for the Boston Celtics, breaking down defenders and NBA records alike, winning eight NBA championships, first as Sixth Man extraordinaire, and then as an All-Star standout in the waning years of the Russell Dynasty, and finally as an All-NBA First Team selection, NBA Finals Most Valuable Player, and key protagonist in the NBA’s Greatest Game Ever Played. Havlicek, or “Hondo” to legions of adoring fans, will be forever immortalized by the most famous radio call in basketball history, but the most lasting image is that of an indefatigable small forward who, years before Boston Marathoner Bill Rodgers conjures legions of road racers, unbidden, out of the invisible fabric of the universe, runs an aging Oscar Robertson ragged on the way to the 1974 NBA Championship.

Havlicek’s story begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio, a small town on the West Virginia border. The son of Czechoslovakian immigrants becomes a three-sport star at Bridgeport High School, earning All-State honors in football, baseball, and basketball. Havlicek receives dozens of basketball scholarship offers. He chooses Ohio State, where he plays for the legendary Fred Taylor and teams with collegiate stars Jerry Lucas and Larry Siegfried, as well as with future coaching legend Bobby Knight. Havlicek’s time in Columbus is a fairy tale, as the Buckeyes roll to a 78–6 record over a three-season span and win the 1960 national championship.

Featuring six players drafted by the NBA, two future Hall of Famers in Lucas and Havlicek, and Knight, who goes on to become the winningest basketball coach in NCAA history, the Buckeyes lead the nation by averaging 90.4 points en route to the 1960 championship over California.

Ohio State reaches the title game the next two years, losing to Cincinnati in ’61 and ’62. Havlicek is selected by the Celtics in the first round of the 1962 NBA Draft. Boston, fresh off its fourth title in five seasons, is loaded with great players. It allows Havlicek time to assimilate. The unproven rookie finds his niche by bringing relentless energy to the court.

“Red loved defensive players,” Havlicek says. “At Ohio State, my role was to play hard-nosed defense. In Boston, I started out playing five minutes a game early in the season. My minutes increased as Red gained more confidence in me. I ended the year averaging 20 minutes per game, which was fourth best in the league for rookies.”

The Celtics capture their sixth NBA Championship, and Havlicek earns a spot on the All-Rookie Team. He puts in work during the summer, and then leads the team in scoring during the 1963–64 regular season. The Celtics, meanwhile, continue to roll, winning 59 games and easily defeating the San Francisco in the 1964 NBA Finals.

Havlicek’s signature moment comes during the 1965 Eastern Division Finals when the Celtics, winners of six consecutive NBA Championships, suddenly find themselves on the brink of elimination. Battling Chamberlain and the Philadelphia 76ers, and clinging to a 110–109 Game 7 lead, Bill Russell’s inbound pass hits the guide wire supporting the basket with less than five seconds left. Havlicek’s ensuing steal of Hal Greer’s inbound pass – arguably the most famous theft in NBA history – keeps the championship streak intact and sends the Celtics to the Finals. Fans all over New England hang on the words of Celtics radio broadcaster Johnny Most, whose call instantly becomes part of Celtics lore: “Havlicek steals it. Over to Sam Jones. Havlicek stole the ball! It’s all over! Johnny Havlicek stole the ball!”

Havlicek continues to reprise his role of Sixth Man through the end of the Bill Russell Era, winning championships in 1965, 1966, 1968, and 1969. With Russell’s retirement in ’69, Havlicek is not only starting for the first time in his professional career, but he’s also the unquestioned leader of the next generation of Boston Celtics. New head coach Tom Heinsohn installs an up-tempo offense, and Havlicek responds with the best statistical season of his career: 24 points, 7.8 rebounds, and 6.8 assists. But after winning six championships during the Sixties, the new-look Celtics are suddenly NBA bottom feeders.

It doesn’t take long for the Celtics to bounce back. With Cowens, White, and Havlicek forming the nucleus of a revamped roster, the 1972–73 Boston Celtics post the best regular season record in team history, going 68–14 and looking like a slam dunk to win the NBA Championship. All of that changes when Havlicek injures his shoulder during the Eastern Conference Finals against New York, allowing the Knicks to take the series in seven games. The loss puts the Celtics at a crossroads, but Boston rebounds the following season by winning 56 regular season games and saving their best effort for the playoffs. After dispatching the Buffalo Braves in the first round, Boston exacts revenge by beating the Knicks in the Eastern Conference Finals, 4–1.

Awaiting them are the Milwaukee Bucks, led by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Oscar Robertson. The series goes seven games, with neither team able to protect home court advantage. With the Celtics up 3–2 and returning to the Boston Garden, everyone in New England prepares to celebrate the team’s 12th championship banner and its first without Russell.

“Game 6 in the Garden,” Havlicek recalls. “We wanted to win the championship in front of our fans, and the Bucks wanted to have the same opportunity in Game 7 back in Milwaukee.”

Facing a do-or-die situation, the Bucks’ season comes down to one shot. Abdul-Jabbar’s baseline skyhook at the buzzer sends the Celtics back to Milwaukee for Game 7. Robertson plays 46 minutes on dead legs. Boston wins easily, 102–87, securing the team’s first championship of the post-Russell era.

The Celtics fail to repeat, falling to the Bullets in the ’75 Eastern Conference Finals, prompting Auerbach to trade Westphal for Scott. The transaction is made to counter Rick Barry’s Golden State Warriors, who sweep Washington in the Finals.

“Red wanted more backcourt speed,” Havlicek says. “Charlie was one of the fastest players in the league.”

On October 24, the Celtics open the season by running past the Houston Rockets, 109–94. Havlicek leads the way with 24, the first step in a journey that culminates with a championship over the Phoenix Suns. The ’76 Finals is best remembered for that triple-overtime classic in the old Boston Garden.

“I hit that running bank shot with two seconds left on the clock in double-overtime, and the Garden went crazy,” Havlicek says. “The crowd immediately stormed the floor, and we headed to the locker room thinking that we’d won the game. The refs put one second back on the clock, and pandemonium breaks out. The scorer’s tables were toppled over. Richie Powers—a referee—got into a fight with a fan. Then Gar Heard hits that long, turnaround jumper to put the game into triple-overtime. We were able to win it and then go to Phoenix and close it out.”

That 1976 title is the last time Havlicek walks off the court a champion. Havlicek retires in 1978, his 38-year-old body worn down from 16 seasons of NBA pounding. That the Celtics are in disarray doesn’t help; Havlicek, who plays the game at the highest standard, can’t stomach the new breed of selfish players like Curtis Rowe, who emerges from the shower after a humiliating 30-point defeat to announce, “What’s everybody upset about? The Ws and Ls don’t show up on the paychecks.” Ironic then that Havlicek—the Celtics’ unstoppable running man, and one of the best-conditioned ballers on the planet—simply decides he’s had enough and walks away.

“It was time,” he says, and then, without a hint of irony: “It didn’t end the way that I’d hoped, but it was a good run.”

You won a national championship while playing alongside four future NBA players:  Jerry Lucas, Larry Siegfried, Joe Roberts and Mel Nowell.  How were you able to put individual agendas aside and win it all?

We had a great head coach in Fred Taylor, and we played for a program that was known for its winning tradition.  Our team chemistry really fed off of those two things.  Red was able to accomplish this in Boston, while Fred created that same time of atmosphere at Ohio State.  Red had a theory that it’s not what statistics you have that measures your value to the team.  Everyone wants to score 25 or 30 points a game and grab 15 or 20 rebounds.  But you have to work together to be successful.  You have to make sacrifices in your game in order to make the team stronger.  That’s the same type of philosophy that Fred adhered to at Ohio State.  Sacrifice for the good of the team.  Put egos and agendas aside and do what’s necessary to be successful as a team.  And with a strong leader like Fred, it was easy for us to play as a cohesive unit.  So really, all of the credit goes to Fred for getting us to buy into that philosophy.

 

Looking back now, what do you remember most about winning the national championship against California?

Two days before the championship game I injured myself in the bathroom at Ohio State.  I cut myself on a paper towel dispenser, and I ended up with 10 stitches on the ends of my fingers on my shooting hands.  I remember being concerned about the injury and how it would affect my play in the game.  The other thing I remember was how good we shot the ball in the first half – I believe we only missed four shots and were up big at halftime.  We played extremely well in that game.  We were a sophomore dominated group, and many people didn’t think we would go very far that season, let alone reach the title game and then win big.

 

That 1960 championship team was also known for its academics.

The unusual thing about our team was that we were true student-athletes.  Everyone graduated.  We had seven guys get masters degrees.  Two received Ph. Ds and two received MDs.  There was one quarter during the school year that our team GPA was a 3.4.  That’s really hard to believe, but true, and I’ll bet that’s an NCAA record.  We considered ourselves students first and foremost, and we took a lot of pride in our accomplishments in the classroom.  And to a large degree, Fred [Taylor] was the architect of our academic success.  Fred told me when he was recruiting me that I was here for an education, and that was going to be number one on my list of priorities.  Number two was basketball.  Number three was a social life.  And after the first two, we all knew that there was not going to be much of a social life [laughs].

 

Please tell me a little about your coach at Ohio State, the legendary Fred Taylor.

Well, I don’t think I would have gotten anywhere without his tutelage. He shaped me tremendously, and I feel that he was the person most responsible for preparing me to play professional basketball.  He stressed the fundamentals, and he stressed defense.  Those were the things helped get me into the NBA, and those were the things that kept me there for all of those years.  The foundation of my professional basketball career was truly based on what I learned from Fred Taylor.

 

Coaching great Bob Knight was a teammate on that national championship team.  What kind of player was Coach Knight?

Let’s just say that Bobby wasn’t the quickest man on foot [laughs], but defensively he played hard.  When you got fouled by Bobby, you knew you had been fouled.  He definitely got his money’s worth [laughs].  Bobby played a reserve role and came off the bench quite a bit.  He was a shooter, but his calling card was defense.  If he’d been allowed to play more minutes he would have just fouled out, he was that aggressive [laughs].

 

Let’s talk Olympic basketball.  Many people were shocked when you failed to make the 1960 Olympic basketball team.  What happened?

That was probably the biggest disappointment of my athletic career.  I thought I played extremely well during the Olympic trials, and I felt that I deserved to be selected to play on that team.  The same argument could be made for my teammate, Larry Siegfried.  In my mind, he played well enough to be chosen for that team.  The system was a lot different back then.  The AAU and NCAA were feuding at the time, and it really became a big political thing after the first team was selected.

 

You were selected by the Celtics in the first round of the 1962 NBA Draft.  Boston had just won its fourth title in five seasons.

I was lucky to be drafted by the Celtics, no question about that.  I remember that when I learned that I was drafted by the Celtics, Bob Knight said that that was the greatest thing that could have happened to me because the Celtics played my style of basketball.  And like you just mentioned, I wasn’t forced to come in and be a savior or anything like that, because they had a lot of hall of fame players on that team.  You did have a Bill Russell, a Cooz, a Sharman, a Sam Jones.  You also had Heinsohn and KC [Jones].  You had Frank Ramsey.  It made my transition a lot smoother than had I been drafted to play elsewhere.  I was able to ease in.  I just sort of became a part of that process, where they were using me a little bit here and there, and whatever, and over time it evolved into a bigger and better leadership role for me.

 

What was it like adjusting to the pro game?

I think the people that you involve yourself with, and who help you along the way, these people all play a part in some sort of design or pattern in what you’re going to become.  The same was true with me when I joined the Celtics.  Looking back at when I was drafted, in my wildest dreams I didn’t think I’d be able to do what I did during my career with the Celtics.  I was able to learn from other people on that team, and you learn from winners like Bill Russell and KC and Sam and Cooz and Ramsey.

 

Hall of Famer Frank Ramsey was the team’s original Sixth Man.  Now here you come, competing for his job.  How did he handle that?

When I came to Boston, Ramsey could have felt threatened and could have made life hard on me, but he didn’t.  He was the opposite of that.  He said, ‘I’m so glad you’re here because you’re going to add two years to my life, because I can’t do it as much as I used to and I’m hoping you’ll step in and help me.’  That was totally different experience from what I expected as a rookie, because when you go to training camp everyone is working to protect their job.  They don’t want to see some guy come in and knock them off the team or take away their minutes.  It was totally different with the Celtics.  It was a secure team, and we embraced each other, and it was a great marriage.

 

As a rookie, how did you find your niche on team loaded with stars?

Well, one of the things that I knew about Red Auerbach was that he loved defensive players.  He understood that defense was what meant the difference between simply reaching the playoffs and winning a championship.  If you look at those early Celtics teams that he coached, they were very good on the offensive end but weren’t the best defensively.  All of that changed with Bill Russell.  When I arrived I knew that Tom Sanders, KC Jones, Russell and Sam Jones were all great defenders.  At Ohio State, that was basically my job – to be the defensive stopper.  So, I felt then and still feel today that the quickest way into the NBA is to play defense.  If you have NBA ability and can play defense you’ll have an opportunity to succeed, because great defenders are never a liability.  Offense is all about instinct, and with the great teams that I was on I had an opportunity to find my place on offense as well.  I had great hands, which really helped me, and I loved playing with Cousy that one year that we were together because the ball was going to be right where you needed it most of the time.  As I started out as a rookie I was playing maybe five minutes a game early in the season.  But as I gained more confidence, and as Auerbach gained more confidence in me, I ended the year with about twenty minutes per game, which was about fourth best in the league for rookies.  So, that’s how I fit in with the Celtics – I came in, played solid defense, and I worked hard on the offensive end to earn the trust of my coach and teammates.

 

Were you surprised to be selected by the Celtics?

No, not really.  It never hurts to be on a team that is successful, and I knew Red Auerbach often times would draft a person based on the type of program the person was involved with.  He was well aware of Ohio State’s program and the success that we’d enjoyed, and he knew the caliber of players we had on those teams.  He knew that we had won a national championship, and that we were competing for a championship every year.  So there were a lot of good things about me that he took into consideration based on the kind of program that I came from.  He knew that if I could contribute at a high level on such a successful team, he figured that I should be able to make the transition to the pros and be able to help the Celtics.

 

Your rookie season with the Celtics was also the final season for the incomparable Bob Cousy.  Even though you only played one season together, what were you able to learn from one of the greatest players in NBA history?

As a rookie, I quickly came to appreciate Cousy’s court vision.  I think that was the one thing that I learned from him, and I was able to develop it because Bob Cousy was such a visionary on the floor.  I think that you pick up a lot from your teammates. I was never a great ball handler or anything like that, but I tried to never lose sight of the ball at any time while I was on the basketball floor. The other thing is that I had a lot of movement to my game, a constant motion that really challenged defenders on a number of levels.  I was never standing around. And that creates a lot of opportunities.  Cousy always had the presence of mind to find me in situations where I was able to move and free myself for an open shot.  His court vision was unbelievable, and it helped me to see the court better – the passing lanes, the angles, things like that.  Those are the things that I took away from my rookie season with Bob Cousy.

 

You were such a great athlete that the Cleveland Browns also drafted you, intrigued by your potential as a wide receiver.  What was it like experimenting with a career in the NFL? 

I had decent speed, especially for that era, but it wasn’t great speed.  I believe I was timed at 4.6 in the 40-yard dash.  That’s slow by today’s standards.  Today you have plenty of defensive linemen who run faster than that.  But I could catch the ball.  I had really good hands.  That, and my height, were the things that really caught the Browns’ interest.

 

Please tell me a little about the Browns’ hall of fame head coach, the late Paul Brown. 

Interestingly enough, Paul Brown and I really liked each other.  I really appreciated  the way he ran things as a coach, the way everything was so precise.  He was very meticulous, very detail-oriented, which really matched who I was as a person, so Paul Brown was definitely my kind of coach.  I enjoyed my time in a Browns uniform, even though it became clear early on that football wasn’t my strong suit athletically – especially when compared to playing basketball.  Brown was very nice about it when he let me go.  He knew I had something to go to, that I had a future playing professional basketball.  So it really worked out best for everyone involved.

 

Were you really serious about playing football for the Browns? 

I was going to try and play both sports. But the good Lord has a way of playing a part in those types of decisions.  I think He made it pretty clear that I was cut out for basketball and not football.

 

You’ve mentioned the great Bill Russell, and what he meant to turning the Boston Celtics into world champions.  Please tell me what it was like to play with Russell.

There was no bigger winner, no better champion in basketball history, than my friend Bill Russell.  Russell was the kind of player who never concerned himself with personal goals – he put his team above all else, and in the process he made his teammates better players.  If you were a scorer, you were six-to-eight points better because Russell was around.  If you were a good defensive player you became a great defensive player, because with Russell hanging around you were able to do things that you weren’t ordinarily able to do.  You could take more chances, apply more pressure, knowing that Russell was back there protecting the basket. 

Obviously, playing with Russell for all of those years meant that you were going to be in the mix for a championship, and winning those titles were the most important things in my career.  Forget about the points, rebounds and assists or whatever, the championships are things that they can’t take away from you, and with Russell being involved, and being involved with him, you always knew that you had a chance.  And obviously, eleven championships in thirteen years is quite a remarkable feat, and that’s exactly what Russell accomplished during his career with the Celtics.  I was happy – and fortunate – to be on eight championships teams, six of them with Russell.

 

You followed Ramsey as the next great Sixth Man.

Coming off the bench never bothered me, because basketball is a team game.  It takes a total team effort, and it takes everyone buying into their role and playing it to the best of their ability.  The sixth man role is very important to a ball club – it was back then, and it is equally as important today.  I had confidence in my game, and I knew that I had the ability to start, which is something that evolved over time, but joining a team loaded with talent meant that I would have to wait my turn.  We had Tom Heinsohn, Satch Sanders, Frank Ramsey, Jim Loscutoff and Gene Guarilia.  All of these guys played the forward position, and all of them had the NBA experience that I lacked as a rookie.  So coming off the bench didn’t affect me in a negative way.  Like I said, I was confident in my ability to play the game of basketball.  Besides, one thing I learned from Red Auerbach was that it’s not who starts the game, but who finishes it, and I generally was around at the finish.

 

You were involved in one of the greatest plays in NBA history.  Take me back to that famous steal in the closing seconds of the 1965 NBA Eastern Conference Finals.

Well, it’s Game 7 against Wilt Chamberlain and the Philadelphia 76ers.  We’re up by a point with five seconds to play, 110-109, and we have possession of the basketball.  Bill Russell takes the ball out of bounds and hits the guide wire, and Philadelphia immediately regains possession.  At this point, everyone was concerned about the ruling because of the guide wire, but we quickly learned that Philadelphia was going to retain possession of the ball.

Red always said that you always needed to figure out some way to find an edge.  Some of the things he would come up with were just ridiculous [laughs], but he really drove that into us from the very beginning.  So, when I found myself on the court in that situation, I said to myself that the only thing that I could do to get a possible edge, is that when the ball is handed to Hal Greer, who was taking the ball out of bounds, I could actually try to time the pass and have a shot at deflecting or stealing the inbounds pass.  I knew that as soon as he was handed the ball that he had five seconds to put in in play.  So I counted.  One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…

Most of the time the ball is delivered within the first three seconds.  But I get to one thousand four, and the ball hasn’t been inbounded yet.  So at that point you’re trying to keep visual contact with the man out of bounds with the ball, and with the person that you’re defending.  When I got to four a gave a little look, and it allowed me to see the play develop a little better.  Had I had my back to the ball, Hal Greer would have lobbed the ball right over my head.  But that little look allowed me to get a better perspective, and it convinced me that I could get a hand on this one.  And I got up in front of the ball, and momentarily controlled it before kicking it out to Sam Jones.

 

Bill Russell acted as player/coach of the Boston Celtics following Red Auerbach’s retirement in 1966.  Were you ever interested in coaching?

No, not really.  I knew very early on that I wouldn’t enjoy coaching, in large part because I was such a disciplined player.  I felt that I was a very coachable player because of that, but that isn’t always the case when it comes to the relationship between the coach and the players.  Oftentimes, players don’t get on the same page as the coach, and I would have found that frustrating.  I would have been very hard on myself.

The Celtics used to call me about coaching, but they pretty much knew what the answer was going to be, so they finally stopped calling.  Whenever the Celtics were changing coaches in the 70’s and 80’s, Red Auerbach would call and say, ‘Okay, for the record, do you want to coach?’  I’d always say, ‘No,’ and then he’d say, ‘Goodbye.’  I think Red knew that coaching wasn’t for me, but he wanted to extend the offer anyway.  It was a show of respect on his part.  The Celtics were a family, and for the most part he looked within the family when hiring his coaches.  Russell, Heinsohn, Satch Sanders, Dave Cowens, KC Jones.  Red hired his guys because he trusted them, and he knew that they were going to do their best to help the Celtics win another championship.

 

You had an up-close view of those great battles between Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain.  What stands out in your mind?

It wasn’t a matter of Wilt-versus-Russell with Bill. He would let Wilt score 50 if we won, and there were times when that was the case.  The most important things to Bill were championships, rings and winning.  He was never after the personal stats.  Wilt could raise the level of his game, he could do things that were eye-popping when you reviewed the box score, but he could never figure out how to make his teammates around him better.  Bill was always there to win the important possessions, to grab the key rebounds, to make the key blocks, to trigger a key fast breaks.  He played a completely different game than Wilt.  It was a mental game, a psychological game.  And it was a big weapon whenever Bill went up against Wilt, because in Wilt’s mind, Bill already had Wilt’s number.  The battle was already won before it ever started.  Wilt would never admit it, but Bill knew he was in Wilt’s head.  And he used that to his advantage.

 

What makes the Lakers-Celtics rivalry so special? 

Well, it started in the 60s, with all of those great battles in the Finals.  Jerry West and all of those guys going up against Bill Russell, Sam Jones and the rest of us.  And then you had the Bird-Magic rivalry that increased the intensity to a completely different pitch, because you had two great players who basically saved the league from irrelevance and also took it to a new height.  In the nineties you had the Dream Team, with Larry and Magic on the same team, and that added something to it.  And then you had a renewal of the rivalry with Paul Pierce and Kobe Bryant going at each other in the Finals.  You had Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen going for their first title.  You had Paul injuring his knee in that first game, only to come back and win the MVP award while leading the Celtics back to the title.

Today everything has gotten so big.  There is some much media coverage, in so many forms.  Newspaper, radio, television, the Internet.  Those things all help fuel the fire when it comes to great rivalries.  I don’t even think there were people who traveled with us when we won some of those early championships [laughs].

 

The continuity of those great Celtics teams is truly remarkable. 

The Celtics always had an older, more experienced person to pass along the team philosophy.  Bob Cousy and Bill Sharman were a great backcourt tandem, and they passed that along to KC and Sam [Jones].  Frank Ramsey passed the Sixth Man role to me.   Russell retires, and along comes Cowens.  It’s just the way we did things, and it was a big part of our success.

With Red, he was very loyal to his players.  The first eight or nine years of my career we never even made a trade.  We picked people up off of waivers, but Red had this ability to see a player, and see the talent that he had, and basically mold that individuals talent into a team effort.  It wasn’t who scored the most points, or who did this or that.  He always said it was about your value to the team.  And everyone had a certain value.  As I mentioned before, Tom Sanders and KC Jones were great defensive players.  Of course there’s no one like Bill Russell.  He was the guy who made the Celtics great.

 

During your Celtics career you played for Red Auerbach, Bill Russell and Tom Heinsohn.  What did these men have in common, and how were they different?

Red Auerbach was a person who was able to motivate people, and I think that this was probably his strongest asset.  Red had a situation where he could yell at people a little bit and get away with it.  He was intense.  What made him so smart was that he knew which players he could yell at and which ones he shouldn’t.  He yelled at Tommy quite a bit, but you didn’t see him doing those types of things to Bob Cousy.

With Russ, I knew that we were going to have basically the same system, and also pretty much have the same core group of players.  I think Russ’s biggest adjustment as coach came with cutting players in training camp, because cutting players was something that he really didn’t like to do.

Tommy was totally different that Red and Russ – he was far more relational with his players.  When I was a player, Tommy and I were roommates, and we used to call him the social director because he knew where all of the good restaurants and movie houses were at the time.  Didn’t matter what city, Tommy always had those types of things figured out.  Suddenly I find him as my coach, and all of a sudden all of these things have restrictions and limits to them [laughs].  But Tommy was the right man for the job of rebuilding the Celtics after Russ and Sam Jones retired.  I think he was more patient than Russ or Red would have been, which was crucial since he inherited such a young club.

 

You won six championships playing alongside Bill Russell, and following his retirement the Celtics were in a rebuilding mode.  How difficult a period was this for you?

Well, it was really quite difficult for me, and I was short-tempered a lot of the time.  During my first seven seasons we had veteran teams, and I was really the kid on those teams.  Suddenly everything was flip-flopped; I was the old man on a team loaded with young players.  When all of the rookies came in, I can recall the first exhibition game we played in 1970.  You had Dave Cowens, Jo Jo White, Don Chaney and Garfield Smith on the court with me.  The referee turns and looks at me, and asks if this is really the Boston Celtics on the floor [laughs].

Rookies and younger players are going to go out there and make mistakes, and that’s exactly what happened.  I tried my best to help them get over these rough spots, but I really had a hard time with it.  That’s why I don’t think I could have ever been a coach.

 

The 1972-73 Boston Celtics posted the best regular season record in team history, going 68-14 and looking like a slam dunk to win the NBA Championship.  All of that changed during the Eastern Conference Finals against the New York Knicks.  What happened?

I thought all year long that we would win the championship.  We won 68 games during the regular season, had the best record in the NBA, and heading into the playoffs I thought we were playing with tremendous confidence and momentum.  We won our first round series against the Atlanta Hawks, and really didn’t have much trouble in that series against them.  Three of our wins were blowouts.  Unfortunately, I separated my  shoulder during the series with the Knicks, and it became an issue.  The injury kept me out of a key game that we lost in double overtime. I thought that ’72-’73 was going to be our year, but the shoulder injury just devastated the whole thing.  Injuries are an important factor in any championship run.  You have to be fortunate not to lose players or have people laid up, because if you do then it is going to take something away from the team.  Suddenly you’re not as deep, the rotation is different, the combinations aren’t the same, the chemistry might not be what is was before the injury.  That’s what happened to us.  We didn’t have the same confidence, and everything was suddenly a lot more difficult.  Credit goes to the Knicks for beating us.  They capitalized on the injury and beat us in seven games.

 

By 1974 the rebuilding was complete – the Boston Celtics were world champions once again, defeating the Milwaukee Bucks in a thrilling seven game series.

That particular championship was probably the one I enjoyed the most, because it was probably the one that I played the best in.  I can recall that double-overtime game when Don Chaney deflected the ball and I ran down the court – there were fifteen seconds left on the clock, and Heinsohn was calling timeout.  Well, I shot the ball, followed the miss and put it back up and in the basket as time expired.  That sent the game into double-overtime.  I hit three shots in the period, we were up 99-98, but then Mickey Davis hits a big shot to take the lead.  We ran a play with time winding down, and I make a shot on the baseline to put us back up by one.  The Bucks responded by running a play for Kareem [Abdul-Jabbar], and he hit that famous hook shoot along the baseline as time expired to beat us on our home floor.

Many people came up to my after the game and said that I didn’t look like the same person who started the game.  I can understand that, because I played 58 minutes, and it was a grueling experience.  But I was prepared to continue, and to play as long as it took to win that game.  Unfortunately we lost it, which meant that we had to travel to Milwaukee for Game 7.  We were determined to win that game, and that’s exactly what we did.  It was an unbelievable feeling.

 

That 1976 title would be your last, and the eighth time that you would walk off of the floor as an NBA champion.  Did winning ever get old for you?

Winning never gets old.  It only gets old if you lose, and that’s what made it so special to play for the Celtics.  The organization was committed to wining, and this started with [team founder and original owner] Walter Brown, and was reinforced daily by Red Auerbach.  Those two men created a winning atmosphere within the Celtics organization, and this made it easy for the players to put team success ahead of individual accomplishments.  If you look at any of those great championship teams, you’ll see players who could have easily put up big numbers on lesser teams elsewhere.  But we were interested in team goals.  Winning championships never got old to any of us.

 

Your career in Boston spanned two distinct eras – the Bill Russell Dynasty of the 1960s, and the Dave Cowens Era of the 1970s.  What was it like to be part of both periods in Boston Celtics history?

When you have the greatest defensive player in the history of basketball anchoring your team, everything is going to be predicated on defense.  Defensively, Russell revolutionized the game.  He could dominate without scoring a point.  You also had KC Jones on those teams, you had Satch Sanders.  Great defensive players.  But as we moved into the 70s, we shifted the emphasis from defense to offense. Again, Russell was the greatest defensive center the game has ever known.  Dave Cowens couldn’t come in and take the place of Russell, at least not by trying to imitate him.  Cowens had to play the game to his strengths.  He was a better shooter than Russell.  KC was a great defensive player.  Jo Jo White was a better shooter.  I was counted on more to carry the scoring burden on those later teams.  So we were much more offensively oriented during the 70s.  But make no mistake, those Russell teams could also score – as obvious as it sounds, you have to be able to outscore your opponent to win a game, and we won more than our share during the 60s.

 

Your conditioning and fitness levels were the stuff of legend.  Over the course of your career you ran countless defenders ragged trying to keep up with you.

Running was a very important part of my game, no question about it.  And I knew from the first time I played a basketball game that the toughest guy to score on was the guy who kept after me all the time, nose-to-nose, basket-to-basket, on every single possession.  So I stayed in motion, and I used the constant movement to my advantage.  I also knew that the opposite was also true. The toughest guy to defend against was the guy who kept running. The guy who never let up, never stopped moving, never let you relax. I knew that I could be successful doing those types of things, and that over the course of a game it would wear down the guy guarding me and open up valuable scoring opportunities late in the fourth quarter.  Those were the types of advantages that I wanted to have, especially in the close games.  If you were in better shape than the man guarding you, you could take advantage of the fatigue factor.   That’s the edge I wanted to have.

 

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

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Never give up.  I had hundreds of shots blocked during my career, but I always focused on making the next shot.  You’ve got to take chances, and you can’t dwell on the negatives.

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The Tom Heinsohn Interview

By:  Michael D. McClellan |  His arrival in Boston coincided with that of a certain shot-blocking, game-altering, paradigm-shifting center named Bill Russell, his considerable basketball talent overshadowed by the dazzling ball handling of fellow Holy Cross alum Bob Cousy and the dead-eye marksmanship of the gifted Bill Sharman.  There would soon be other marquee players added to the mix, future Hall of Famers such as John Havlicek and the Jones Boys, KC and Sam, further obscuring the contributions of one Thomas William Heinsohn, and yet his very arrival helped cement a roster on the rise send the Boston Celtics on an unparalleled, decade-long championship feast.

Despite starting his Celtics career in Russell’s considerable shadow, Heinsohn was the trigger man for that untouchable run of eleven titles in thirteen seasons; with Russell in Melbourne, missing the first 24 games of 1956-57 regular season to compete in the Olympic Games, Heinsohn bounded onto the NBA stage like a playful pup, chasing down rebounds and firing those patented low-trajectory jumpers en route to the league’s Rookie of the Year Award.  The capstone of that dream season came in Game 7 of the 1957 NBA Finals.  With Cousy and Sharman both ice cold from the field, Heinsohn scored 37 points and grabbed 23 rebounds in Boston’s thrilling 125-123 double-overtime win over Bob Pettit and the St. Louis Hawks.  It would prove to be the defining moment for Boston Celtic basketball, and in many ways the foundation of Celtic Pride:  That win not only established Boston as a perennial NBA power, but it also stamped the Celtics as clutch performers obsessed with the bottom line, an unselfish team far greater than the sum of its individual parts.

Born on August 26th, 1934, in Jersey City, Heinsohn flourished at St. Michael’s High School, earning all-county and all-state honors as a junior, and then earning national All-America honors as a senior.  The four-year letter winner averaged an eye-popping 28 PPG during that 1951-52 season, drawing national attention and prompting an avalanche of scholarship offers.  He ultimately decided on Holy Cross, then one of the preeminent basketball programs in the country, following in the collegiate footsteps of another hoops legend, Bob Cousy.

At Holy Cross, Heinsohn went onto become a three-year letter-winner, as well as a three-time All-Conference performer.  As a junior he averaged 23.3. PPG, and as a senior he set a school scoring record by averaging 27.4 PPG.  The numbers could be downright spectacular – on March 1, 1956, Heinsohn scored a school-record 51 points against Boston College – or they could simply be amazing, such as the eighteen consecutive free throws made in a game against Georgetown University earlier that same season.  Not surprisingly, Heinsohn finished his senior season by being honored as a consensus All-American, but perhaps even more impressive was his making the dean’s list (four times in two years) and being named Holy Cross’ top student-athlete.

A territorial pick by Red Auerbach and the Celtics in the 1956 NBA Draft, Heinsohn averaged 16 PPG during his rookie season.  Together, Heinsohn and Russell proved to be the missing ingredients to a championship mix, defeating the Hawks in that dramatic 1957 NBA Finals and staking claim as professional basketball’s team of the future.

Heinsohn’s scoring averaging increased during the 1957-58 season, to 17.8 PPG, but an ankle injury to Bill Russell in the ’58 Finals allowed the Hawks to claim the title.  Nicknamed “Tommy Gun” and “Ack-Ack” by his teammates, Heinsohn’s offensive punch helped the Celtics win a second title a year later.

The 1959-60 NBA season brought another championship to Boston.  Heinsohn’s scoring average increased for the fourth consecutive year, to 21.7 PPG, this to go along with a career-high 10.6 RPG.  Battling Wilt Chamberlain and the Philadelphia Warriors in the Eastern Division Finals, Heinsohn was there when the team needed him most, tipping in a shot at the buzzer to win Game 6 and send the Celtics back to the NBA Finals.  For Heinsohn, that play remains one of his biggest thrills.

“Wilt didn’t like me to begin with,” Heinsohn recalls with a smile.  “He was pretty easy-going, but for some reason I seemed to get under his skin.  I scored twenty-two points in that game, including that tap-in at the buzzer.  It was a great feeling to score like that.”

Heinsohn was named to his second All-Star Game the following season, and the Celtics were once again world champions.  It was a delicious pattern that would repeat for the next four seasons.  He would retire following the 1964-65 campaign, his mind willing but his ailing knees unable to carry him further as a professional basketball player.  Still, there were no regrets; his nine years in the league had produced eight championships and six All-Star selections.

Auerbach would retire a year following the 1965-66 season, and, in the ultimate show of respect, he approached Heinsohn about taking his place on the bench.  Heinsohn didn’t have to think long about the offer – he pretty much refused on the spot.

“I was flattered, but I knew that Russell still had a few years left,” he says.  “I couldn’t accept the job because, aside from Red, there was only one other person who could coach and motivate Bill Russell – and that was Bill Russell.”

Auerbach agreed, and Russell was named player-coach.  He would win two more championships over the next three seasons and then bow out a winner.  The final tally for the Russell Dynasty would be eleven titles in thirteen years, including eight in a row.

Russell would retire following that 1969 title run, and Auerbach once again approached Heinsohn about the head coaching job.  This time Heinsohn agreed.  With Auerbach providing the talent – he grabbed Kansas point guard Jo Jo White in the 1969 NBA Draft, and a year later selected Florida State’s Dave Cowens – the rebuilding Celtics enjoyed a speedy resurgence; after finishing 34-48 during Heinsohn’s rookie campaign as head coach, the team rebounded with a 44-38 record the following season.  A 56-26 record ended a two-year playoff drought, and then the Celtics rolled to a 68-14 record during the 1972-73 regular season.  The 68 wins were a team record.  Heinsohn was named the NBA Coach of the Year.

The next season would prove magical, as Heinsohn’s Celtics dropped to 56-26 but advanced to the 1974 NBA Finals.  Considered an underdog to Lew Alcindor (Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) and the Milwaukee Bucks, the undersized Celtics played a frenetic brand of basketball to forge a 3-2 series lead.  In Boston for what would a the penultimate Game 6, Jabbar’s buzzer-beating skyhook forced Game 7 back in Milwaukee.  The media proclaimed the new-look Celtics dead, that they had squandered their best chance to claim the title.  Privately, Heinsohn had a different take on things.  He saw an old Oscar Robertson, his legs weary from a long season and a difficult playoff push, and he knew that his players were fresh and ready to atone for that Game 6 loss.  And atone they did:  Cowens scored 28 points and grabbed 14 rebounds, outplaying the bigger Jabbar.  Jo Jo White and Don Chaney forced Robertson to work hard on both ends of the court.  Paul Silas was a beast on the glass.  And when it was over, the Celtics were once again world champions – the first of the post-Russell era.

“We were able to dictate the style of play,” Heinsohn says quickly.  “We forced them to play our way, and we wore them down over those seven games.”

The Celtics were unable to repeat the next season, but they were able to reclaim the title one year later, following the 1973-74 regular season. It was Boston’s second title in three seasons.  That series will forever be remembered for Game 5 in the Boston Garden, a three-overtime thriller against the Phoenix Suns that the league now bills as ‘The Greatest Game Ever Played.’  As a coach, Heinsohn compiled a 416-240 record over eight full seasons, won five consecutive Eastern Division titles, and two world championships.  He would resign midway through the 1977-78 regular season, but his passion for the Boston Celtics kept him in the game as a television broadcaster and earned him the reputation as the team’s ultimate homer.

“The Boston Celtics are a special organization, one of the best in all of sports,” he says with a smile.  “I’m proud to be a part of the Celtic family.”

Please tell me a little about your childhood, and some of the things that led you to the basketball court.

I grew up during the Depression and World War II.  In 1944, my family moved to Union City, New Jersey, and that’s when I first started playing basketball.  All sports, for that matter.  A guy named Perry Del Purgatorio took an interest in me in the schoolyard – he played at the University of Villanova with Paul Arizin.  He was between his sophomore and junior years, and he would come home and practice at night, and one night I just happened to be there.  He asked me to shag the balls, and we became friends.  And I did that every night, and he taught me how to play basketball.  That’s how I started playing basketball, and by the time I got to the eighth grade I was pretty good.  I got a scholarship to high school, which allowed me to play basketball at a little Catholic school.  So that’s how I started playing.  I tried out for the football team, but never made it.  I played a little bit of baseball.  But basketball was my game.

 

You played your high school ball at St. Michael’s High School in Union City.

I had a terrific high school coach.  His name was Pat Finnegan.  He arrived at St. Michael’s just prior to my sophomore year.  He was a World War II veteran and a Fordham grad.  His brother John was a marine and Seton Hall graduate.  Both played college basketball for their schools.  The two of them would come around on Saturdays and would scrimmage with all kinds of people, so by the time I was a sophomore in high school I was playing against very, very good basketball players.

 

How good was your high school team?

By the time we got to be seniors we had a very good team.  I played with two guys who ended up going to college on basketball scholarships.  We won the Metropolitan Catholic Championship – all of the Catholic schools in and around the New York metropolitan area competed.  Teams from New York and New Jersey.

 

You were a two-time All-State basketball player at St. Michael’s.  Did that help open doors to playing against better competition?

I was selected to play in an All-Star game down in Murray, Kentucky, for the Converse Rubber Company.  You’d go down there for a week.  You’d have two-a-days and scrimmages, and then you would play the game.  The coaches spent that entire week evaluating the players, and that’s how I ended up being selected to the high school All-America team.  I was also on a team that went up to Eastern States Catholic Invitation Tournament in Newport, Rhode Island, which at that time was a big deal.  We played well and ended up in the final game, but we lost that one.  It was a great experience that helped me transition to the college level.  In fact, I had over 350 offers after making the All-America team, so it opened up a lot of doors.

 

I hear you also played some semi-pro ball.

I played practically every night, from my sophomore year on.  I played under another name for the Jewish Y.  I played PIL basketball for a semi-pro team, which was really the best experience I could have gotten.  The league was more talented, and more competitive than my high school league at the time, which in itself was pretty good at the time.  I played against some pros, and I played against some All-Americans.  A lot of college players.  In one tournament at the end of my sophomore year, against this kind of competition, I was selected as the MVP of the tournament., which was quite a thing for a kid that age.

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Why did you choose to play college ball at Holy Cross?

I selected Holy Cross because I wanted to go to a Jesuit school, and because it had the best basketball program at the time.  Holy Cross was number one in New England, and I knew several of the players.  Togo Palazzi, who also played for the Celtics and who was two years ahead of me, was a Union City guy.  I had played against him in high school, and he was a terrific player.  Another guy by the name of Earl Markey – he was a senior when I was a freshman in high school, and he had played in the same league that I had played in.  I knew his brother, and I played semi-pro basketball with his brother.  So I knew some of the people, I liked the school, and I liked the coach.  So I went to Holy Cross.

 

Freshman weren’t eligible for varsity ball in those days.

I played on the freshman team.  We were an undefeated freshman team, and we used to battle the varsity to a standstill in practice.

 

You ended up having a pretty decent college career at Holy Cross, finishing as the school’s all-time leading scorer and a consensus first-team All-American.

My sophomore year we won the Sugar Bowl, and we won the NIT, which was the premiere tournament at the time.  We were ranked number one or two in the country, depending upon which ranking you wanted to use.  But we were a terrific team.  There were three sophomores starting on the team that won the NIT.  The next two years were successful and challenging at the same time.  We lost Togo Palazzi to graduation.  He was drafted by Red Auerbach and played for the Celtics.  We also lost Ronnie Perry, our captain, so we really didn’t have the same team.  To make matters worse, my coach had a falling out with the school and left at the end of my junior ear.  My senior year brought a brand new coach and a new philosophy and everything else.  But I ended up making All-American both years.  I played against the Harlem Globetrotters, I played in All-Star games, and I was selected as a territorial pick by the Boston Celtics.

 

What was the territorial pick all about?

Back then, the territorial process was really the first round of the NBA Draft.  You had the exclusive rights to a player if you wanted him, regardless of where you finished in the standings.  It was based on a player’s proximity to the team, and it allowed teams to showcase players that were popular in that team’s market.  So the Celtics executed their territorial rights on me.

 

In 1956 you joined a Celtic team on the verge of a dynasty.  Did you know fellow Holy Cross alum and Celtics star, Bob Cousy?

Well, I had watched the Celtics play.  I really didn’t know Bob Cousy until I joined the Celtics, even though he lived in Worcester, where Holy Cross is located.  He was busy playing basketball for the Celtics and I was still in school at the time.  So I never really got to meet him.  But, as I said, I did get to see Cousy and the Celtics play.  They were an up-tempo team.

 

Tell me about your first year in a Celtics uniform.

That year changed everything for the Celtics.  Walter Brown and Red Auerbach made the deal to get Bill Russell, after St. Louis selected him with the third overall pick in the 1956 NBA Draft.  The Celtics also got KC Jones in the second round, and they used that territorial pick on me.  The Celtics got three Hall of Fame players in the same draft.

Russell went to the Olympics, so he didn’t join us until midyear.  In the meantime, I learned to play with Cousy.  That turned out to be the best way to adjust to NBA basketball.  And the reason we were so successful was because of the rebounding.  Prior to my being there, and Russell being there, they really had a terrific offense but no rebounding.  “Easy” Ed Macauley played underneath the basket for them – he was the key player that Boston packaged in order to get Russell from the Hawks – and he was too thin to really compete against the big guys inside.  He was 6’8”, but he didn’t weigh 200 pounds.  He was terrific scorer, though.  He just wasn’t a rebounder.  Russell and I provided that.  Plus, I was a scorer.  Russell came in around the middle of the season on.  We were eight games out of first place by the time Russell came back from the Olympics and started playing with us.

Bob Cousy and Bill Sharman, who were established pros at the time, were the most experienced players on that 1956-57 team.  Jack Nichols was a forward on that team.  Arnie Risen was the center until Bill Russell showed up.  There was Jim Loscutoff, who had been a rookie the year before.  Andy Phillip, who ended up being a Hall of Fame player, was a part of that team.  He was a great playmaker, and very steady.  So it added up to a pretty savvy basketball team, and as the younger group started to mesh.  KC Jones actually didn’t play that year, because he had to go into the service for two years.  We later added Sam Jones and Satch Sanders, and the Boston Celtics was well on its way to becoming a dynasty.

 

After years of playoff disappointment, the Celtics finally broke through.

We played well in the postseason, and we made it to our first NBA Finals.  We beat St. Louis in double-overtime of Game 7, which I still consider to be the most thrilling game that I was ever involved in – and I’ve been involved in a lot of Finals series, broadcasting, coaching or playing.  To the best of my knowledge, there has never been another seventh game that has gone into double-overtime.

 

You scored 37 points and grabbed 23 rebounds in that Game 7 victory over the Hawks.

It was a championship game, winner-take-all.  I got up for the game, and Russell got up for the game, but Cousy and Sharman were so nervous that they never really performed at their best.  Russell had a super game, but I had a super game, too.  Frank Ramsey played very well.  So did Jim Loscutoff.  Cousy and Sharman were like 4-for-40 from the field, or something like that.  They really had a tough night scoring.  But they played great defense, and they got the ball to other people when they needed to.

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What do you remember most abut that game?

I remember Russell fouling out.  I remember how intense the game was, and the excitement in the Boston Garden.  The two greatest plays that I ever saw in basketball happened in that game – one with Russell, who blocked a shot after going out-of-bounds and running the length of the court.  He came out of nowhere to block Jack Coleman’s shot for a layup.  It was breathtaking to watch.  And then, Alex Hannum throwing the ball the length of the court pass off the backboard and into the hands of Bob Pettit, to get a shot with two seconds left.  It was an eighteen footer, and it almost went in.  I had never seen anybody ever do anything like that before or after.  And now they’ve changed the rules, of course, so you don’t have to do that.  But he threw it the length of the court, it hit the right corner of the backboard, and it rebounded all the way out to Bob Pettit [laughs].  He got the ball, and he almost made it.

 

You were very close to team founder Walter Brown, but your friendship was tested in the days before the 1964 NBA All-Star Game.  Tell me about that.

I was the president of the NBA Players Association, and in 1964 the All-Star Game was going to be held in the Boston Garden.  A really difficult situation developed between the Player’s Association and the league with regards to playing conditions – there were no trainers at that time, no pension plans, and playing games on Saturday night and then traveling all night to try and play a game on television on Sunday were just some of the problems that we were trying to address.  Well, the owners wouldn’t talk to us when they promised that they were going to talk to us, and it all came to a head at the 1964 NBA All-Star Game.  I had told Walter Brown that I didn’t know what was going to happen, but unless something was done with regards to these issues, then something was going to transpire at the All-Star Game.  I let him know this about a month before the game was to be played.  The days passed, and the closer it got to playing the All-Star Game the more it looked as if the players were going to boycott.  You have to understand, back then the All-Star Game was the most important national exposure for the league.  It was vitally important to both the players and the owners, but especially for the owners because they were trying to grow professional basketball in a big way.  Well, minutes before game time, NBA President Walter Kennedy gave his personal guarantee that adoption of a pension plan would occur at the next owners meeting, that coming May.  And he was true to his word.  The owners approved a plan in which they would contribute 50% toward the purchase of a $2,000 endowment policy.  That’s how the NBA pension plan was started.

 

Did it effect your relationship with Walter Brown?

And after it all happened, Walter Brown called me the biggest heel in sports.  He said that if the league had a team in Hawaii he’d send me to the team in Hawaii.  He eventually calmed down, and by the end of the season we won the title.  At the team’s breakup dinner he stood up, and he said that I was the main reason why the Celtics had won the title that year.  Believe it or not, at the same time all of this was going on, I was in the insurance business and I was handling the insurance side of Walter Brown’s estate planning.  So I had a somewhat of a mixed relationship with Walter.  He was a terrific human being, and a man of his word.  Frank Ramsey used to send his contract signed completely blank, and he would have Walter fill in his figures.  I can remember negotiating my contract standing in the bathroom at the urinal, and before I zipped up we had a deal [laughs].

 

Red Auerbach often took the Celtics on preseason barnstorming tours throughout New England.  What was it like to ride in the car with Red?

I never rode in the car with Red Auerbach – you’d have to be crazy to ride in the car with Red Auerbach [laughs].  My funniest story?  I don’t know if anyone ever told you this one, but it revolved around Jim Loscutoff, who had had back surgery and was trying to make the ball club again.  Naturally, after back surgery Loscutoff was a little tentative.  Now, Red had been in the Navy, and had done some work helping guys recuperate from injuries in the service, and what have you.  Psychologically, he tried to get into Loscutoff’s head.  He wanted to make him forget about the back and just play basketball.  Anyway, he would have separate drills on these road trips up through New England.  We’d go to play in a high school gym, and we’d all go to take a nap in some motel, and in the afternoon he would take Loscutoff to the gym for a separate workout.  Loscutoff was my roommate, and he would come back to the motel and go, ‘I’m gonna get that little sucker, and I’m gonna kill him.’  And he kept saying this, you know, and finally I went to Red and said, ‘Red, what are you doing to Loscutoff?’  I said, ‘You better watch out, he wants to kill you.’  And Red said, ‘You and Ramsey, you two come and watch what I’m doing.  Just don’t let him know that you’re there.’  So we sneaked into the high school gym and hid way up in the stands behind some seats, and we watched Red put Loscutoff through his paces.  And he would throw the ball on the floor, and he would say, ‘Okay, doggie, go get it.’  Loscutoff was expected to dive on the floor and jump on the ball.  And then Red would throw these long passes so that Loscutoff had one step and then he would crash into the wall.  And after it was all over, I looked at Ramsey and I said, ‘If I were Red, I wouldn’t keep dong that to Loscutoff – he’s a little bit left of center anyway, and he’s just crazy enough to knock Red into next week.’  [Laughs].  But to give Red his due, he got Loscutoff’s head back into the game, and Loscutoff was an important part of the team for years to come.

 

Your relationship with Red Auerbach is clearly special.  How were the two of you able to get along so well?

Before I became the coach, I spent four years in the management end of the insurance business, in which I was very successful.  As I was going through the initial management course for the insurance company, all of a sudden I started to see how good Red really was as a manager of people.  How he drafted certain players, and why.  And how he made the acquisitions to get players in to help keep the team on top.  All of the motivations he used, and everything else.  And I thoroughly believed in the philosophy that we had about running and making the other team play twice as hard, and think twice as fast.  The other thing was, unbeknownst to a lot of people at the time, every time we signed a rookie and something was wrong, he’d ask me questions.  For example, he might say, ‘Tommy, what’s wrong with Mel Counts?  Why can’t he rebound, and why can’t he hold onto the ball?’  And I might say, ‘Well, he’s not catching the ball off the board.  He brings it down and it gets slapped out of his hands easily.’  And Red would respond, ‘Well, you work with him.’  So over the years I worked with a lot of players.  As a consequence, Red saw me dealing with a lot of players.  Larry Siegfried, for example.  Red was going to cut him, and I used to play one-on-one with Siegfried.  Nobody could beat me one-on-one until Siegfried showed up.  He would beat me every time we played.  So I said to Red, ‘Before you cut Siegfried, you should know that he’s the only guy on the team that can beat me one-on-one.’  Red looked at me curiously, and he said, ‘He does?  Well, we’re going to have practice at the Garden.  You play him one-on-one and let me watch.’  So, Red was way up in the stands where he couldn’t be seen.  And he watched – Siegfried never knew this – and so we played and he beat me again.  Red kept Siegfried.

After I had retired, he called me up that summer and said that he had a chance to get Don Nelson.  He said, ‘What do you think of Don Nelson?’  And I said, ‘Red, Don Nelson is slow as shit.  He cannot run.  But he and Joe Holup are the only two guys that I played against in the NBA that I couldn’t get around.  I don’t know how he does it, but he does it.  He’s also a terrific shooter, so if you’ve got a shot at him I think it’s well worth the effort.’  So that was my contribution to Don Nelson landing in Boston.  And I think Red saw something in me as a coach, and that’s why he approached me for the job.

 

Tell me about your friend and the radio voice of the Celtics, the late Johnny Most.

Johnny Most and I were really good friends.  I hung around Johnny from my rookie year on, because he was a very intelligent man, and he was a great storyteller.  I would ask him questions about everything.  He was in second World War, and I would meet all of his buddies.  He was a gunner on a B-24.  So, we’d go out somewhere and one of his buddies from that crew would meet up with us.  I’d go out to dinner with them, or breakfast or lunch, or whatever, so I got to know all of his old-time buddies.  Johnny had a tough time in the service.  He was in Italy, and he was there with the Tuskegee Airmen, and he was one of the planes that they used to protect.  So, he wrote about stuff like that.  And it made him ultra-sensitive.  He would tell stories about that period in his life.

He helped me after I started broadcasting the games in ’66.  So I roomed with Johnny Most on the road when I did the game.  We did twenty-five road games.  I would room with him, and he helped me learn how to broadcast.  After I became the coach of the Celtics, I started broadcasting at Sports Channel, and in the summer we used to have Johnny Most sound alike contests.  So I would emcee the sound alike contest all over New England – at the hotel, a bar, whatever.  And we had a lot of fun doing that.

Johnny Most was also a Pop Warner football coach, and the commissioner of a Pop Warner football league in his community.  And he helped get my son involved in football.  So, we were brought together in many different ways.  I was friendly with him as a player, I would pal around with him as a coach, and we hung out in between during my time as a broadcaster.  So I hung out with Johnny Most for well over twenty years.

He always had a slew of jokes – he’d sit down, and he’d just rattle off these jokes.  You’d go out with him after a game, and sit at a bar, and he’d start telling jokes and everybody would be laughing their tails off.  What else?  He’d been up in the Borscht Belt in New York, which is up in the Catskills.  He knew all of the comedians, and everything else.  So, Johnny was a special person and a good friend of mine.  And it was a shame that, ultimately, even when he knew what was going to happen he never stopped smoking.

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Do you have a funny story from your time with Johnny Most?

My favorite story about Johnny Most?  If he took a liking to you, then he would try to promote you on the broadcast.  At that time my roommate was Lou Tsioropoulos, which was my rookie year.  So, he liked Louie.  Loscutoff got hurt and couldn’t play in the playoffs, and Louie had to fill in for him.  And his broadcast went something like this:  “I can’t believe the defensive job Lou Tsioropoulos is doing on Bob Pettit.  I mean, he’s in his jersey, he’s in his sneakers, there’s no place that Pettit goes that Lou Tsioropoulos isn’t right there with him.  Here we are in the middle of the second quarter and he’s only got….thirty-two points?”  I laugh about that to this day.

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You scored 22 points in Game 6 of the 1960 Eastern Conference Finals, beating Wilt Chamberlain and the Philadelphia Warriors.

That was one of my more memorable games, because I tipped that shot in at the buzzer.  That’s the only time that anybody has ever shut up 11,000 Philadelphians all at once [laughs].  Convention Hall went deathly silent.

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You were known to get under Wilt Chamberlain’s skin.

Wilt was a force to be reckoned with, and he took an immediate dislike to me during his rookie year in the league.  He ripped off my jersey during one game in which we had a little altercation.  We had a little play that we used to help us beat Philadelphia all the time, because Wilt got a little lazy at times.  They would shoot a free throw, and make it, and Russell would run down the floor.  Cousy would inbound the ball real fast, and Russell would outrun Wilt easily, and Russell would get a layup.  So we were getting three or four baskets a game off of that.  By the time we get to the series with the Sixers that year, Wilt has caught on.  So before the series starts, Red said, ‘The play with Wilt is not working anymore, so we’re going to change it a little bit.  We’re going to have somebody step in and block out the shooter once the ball goes through, go pick off Wilt Chamberlain, so Russell can get the step on him and beat him down the floor.’  So that sounded pretty good to me, because I was never the guy blocking out the shooter.  I was always on the line, rebounding.  So, for five games, I’ve gotta go and get in front of Wilt Chamberlain on every free throw.  Finally, he gets wise to what I’m doing.  And he says, ‘You do that one more time and I’m going to knock you on your ass.’  So, you know, you never back down.  I looked him in the eye and I said, ‘Bring your lunch.’  So, they made the free throw, and I went over there, blocked him…I set a pick on him…and sure enough he knocked me on my ass.  I went all the way out to half court.  Whereupon he comes running down the floor, winds up, and he’s punching me as I’m getting up to my knee.  And I’m looking at this fist coming at me, and all of a sudden Tom Gola walks in between us.  And he hits Gola off of the back of the head – and Wilt breaks his hand!

The next game is up in Boston.  The ball gets by Russell and Wilt turns to the basket.  I’m the guy coming over to help.  I try to punch the ball out of his hand.  Instead, I punch him on the broken hand.  He looks at me, and he’s going to kill me.  And I said to myself, ‘If I play chicken with this guy right now, he’s going to own me.’  So he got to the foul line, and he kept looking at me.  He was giving me a stare down.  I kept looking him right in the eye.  I put my hands on my hips and I just kept staring at him [laughs].  Finally, he said out loud to himself, ‘This guy’s crazy.’  And he took the free throws and I never had another moment of trouble with Wilt [laughs].  It was the ultimate stare-down at the O.K. Corral [laughs].

 

Some told me that you played a pretty good prank on Red Auerbach.

I call it my worst day.  I was in the insurance business, and I would read mail and the paper with breakfast.  I opened the paper and learned that I’d just lost a big, half-million dollar insurance case.  I went to my car and drove down to the radio station in Worcester to do my radio show, and when I came out afterwards I had a parking ticket on my windshield.  Then I hopped in the car to go to practice, and ended up getting a speeding ticket.  I end up late for practice because of the ticket, and I got fined by Red.  By this time I’m in a bad mood and I don’t have a particularly good practice.  I go downstairs to get dressed afterwards, and when I reach into my pocket I realize that somebody had stolen my wallet.  My credit cards are gone, and so is my draft card, which was pretty important in those days.  So I’m sitting there very despondent, and Red says, ‘What’s the matter?’  So I tell him about the worst day I’ve ever had, and he says, ‘You know, Tommy, when things aren’t going well, I always like to have a cigar.’  He reaches into his pocket and says, ‘On the way home, here, take this cigar and smoke it.  You’ll feel better.’  I said, ‘Red, I’m not a cigar smoker.’  He said, ‘Take it anyway and try it.’  So I’m driving home, and about halfway I say to myself, ‘What a nice gesture on Red’s part to give me the cigar and calm me down a little bit.’  So I unwrap the cigar and I put it in my mouth.  I get the cigarette lighter going, I take two puffs, and the damned thing explodes in my face [laughs].

The next day Red says to me, ‘Tommy, did you smoke the cigar?’  Well, I wasn’t going to let him know what happened.  I said, ‘No, you know that I don’t smoke cigars.  I had to go speak at a thing last night, and I gave it to the monsignor.’  Red said, ‘You gave it to the monsignor?’  And I said, ‘Yes I did.’  Well, he looked at me dumbfounded, but he didn’t say anything.

So, every couple of weeks I’d give him a cigar.  I’d say something like, ‘Red, I was just at this thing, and they gave me a couple of cigars.  Here.  You have them.’  And I’d buy the cigars.  I’d feed him the cigars like that, every couple of weeks.  The first few, he kept looking at them to see if they were loaded.  He’d inspect either end.  Finally, I’d given him so many cigars, that he stops looking to see if they’re loaded.  Now we’re going into the playoffs.  We had practice, and I give him this loaded cigar.  All of the newspaper guys are standing around, waiting to hear his pearls of wisdom.  He used to sit there, at the bench, and unwrap a cigar, light it up and talk to the press.  On this particular occasion he didn’t have a match.  I had a cigarette lighter, so I went over and I lit it for him.  And he took two puffs, right in front of the press, and it exploded right in his face [laughs].  Let me tell you – he literally chased me out of that place…up the stairs, on the court, everywhere [laughs].

 

Bill Russell and Sam Jones retired in 1969, and the Celtic Dynasty was officially at an end.  What was it like to take over the reins as head coach, and how were you able to temper the fan’s expectations regarding the new starting center, Hank Finkel?

Needless to say, Hank Finkel was no Bill Russell.  Here I am, I’m going to take over, and I’m going to try to win a championship without Russell, Mr. Defense, of the last thirteen years.  And without Sam Jones, one of the greatest offensive players in the history of the game.  I gotta do something with this team.  After Cousy retired, the Celtics didn’t run quite as much, and things slowed down toward the end of the dynasty because Russell had reached an advanced age.  I always believed that running was the way to win, so I tried to get this team to run a little bit.  Really, what the first year was all about, was an elongated tryout camp.  Trying to fit the pieces together.  Actually, if I’m not mistaken, we didn’t make the playoffs in either of my first two years coaching.  But if you look at the team’s record that second year, it was a good enough record to make the playoffs most any other year.  We had Finkel, we had Richie Johnson, and we had to devise a way to win.  It wasn’t easy.  I had to become a coach, have them listen to me, and establish my credentials as a person capable of doing the job.  It wasn’t easy, especially when you’re losing and the fans are used to winning championships.

We got through the first year, and then we got Cowens.  In the meantime, I had worked with Don Chaney that whole first season, bringing him along.  And Jo Jo White was the pick that first season.  So I worked with him.  The next year I established the style of play, and how to do it.  We started in training camp, and we really, really developed an up-tempo game without the likes of a Bob Cousy.  And I put together a way of running, so that everybody played a little bit like Bob Cousy.  Because I’d run up the floor so many times with him, and I saw how he reacted to the fast break situations.  So I devised tactics to do exactly the same thing with different personnel.  So we didn’t have to rely on one particular player to deliver the ball, like we did when Cousy was playing.  That allowed us to maintain the pace, and win with pace.  Because I believed that that’s how the Celtics, when I played, really won.  A lot of those games we paced the other team completely out of the game, we’d run so much.  But this team I had, with Cowens, was very small.  That’s how we had to win games, or not win at all.  It succeeded.  I put the offense in one year, and then I worked on augmenting it with a pressure defense.  The goal was to have a pressure offense and a pressure defense.  The pressure offense was to beat them up the floor, make them hustle back, and the pressure defense was to make them work the ball up the floor, and to force them into mistakes.  We utilized a lot of people.  We changed the morale of the team a little bit, because we used a lot of people, and we started to win.

 

The following season the Celtics drafted Dave Cowens.  How long did it take for you to realize he would be special?

I had never seen him play – Red was the guy that had seen him play.  So, when we got him, I had gone down and I’d seen a couple of other centers, and I didn’t like any of them.  Red kept telling me about Cowens, who he’d seen at Florida State, and so he said that he was going to draft him.  So I said, ‘Fine.’  I didn’t know what the heck he was capable of until I finally go to see him play.  And I immediately said, ‘Wow, this guy is a bundle of energy and ferocity.’  So, we used that on the fast break.  He really wasn’t a good offensive player at that time.  We spent a couple of years working with him on his offense.  And we also put in a system to bring him along, to where when we played the big centers like Wilt, Bob Lanier, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Willis Reed, and all of those guys – the big seven-footers – we really had a no-center offense.  We would pull Cowens out from under the basket, and we’d rotate people all over the place.  So in addition to becoming a rebounder, Cowens also became a playmaker.  He had the ball, and he would make Wilt come out, and it was a style that became very, very successful for us.  Cowens fit into it beautifully, and it was one of the main reasons we were able to win so many games.  We really played two different styles of basketball – against the big teams we ran, and then we’d use this offense if we had to slow down.  It forced the opponent’s big guys to come out of the middle and play defense on the outside, on the perimeter, which they didn’t know how to do, nor want to do.  Cowens gave us a terrific advantage.

 

What was it like for you to win your first NBA Championship as head coach of the Boston Celtics?

It ranks right up there with winning my first championship as a player.  It was something that I’ll never forget, and it was a great thrill just to be a part of it.  The year before, we had won a team-record 68 regular season games, but John Havlicek hurt his shoulder in the playoffs and we got into a 3-1 hole in the Eastern Conference Finals.  We tied that series up at 3-3, and then lost that seventh game.  So, even though we had a great year, we were left with a very empty feeling to win 68 games and then fall short of a championship.

We came back wiser, healthier, and more mature the next year.  We only won 56 games, but we had learned that winning in the playoffs is far more important – you have to win during the regular season, sure, but we wanted to peak at the right time.  And that’s what we did.  We battled Kareem and Oscar Robertson in that series, and neither team could maintain control of home court advantage.  In fact, we were up by a point in Game 6, and had a 3-2 series lead, and all we had to do was make one more stop to win the championship.  And then Kareem hits that big shot from the corner.  It was one of his patented skyhooks, and it sent the series back to Milwaukee for the seventh game.

We knew we were the better team, and going into that final game we wanted to prove it.  We also knew that our pace had taken a toll on Oscar.  He was at the end of his career, and all series long he had been forced to hustle on both sides of the ball.  He was tired.  So we turned up the pressure on him even more.  We picked him up earlier on defense.  We pushed the ball every chance we got.  And we were able to win that game decisively.  It was a great thrill, and one of the best basketball experiences that I’ve ever had.

 

Nineteen years removed from your incredible double-overtime performance against the St. Louis Hawks, your Boston Celtics took the court in Game 5 of the 1976 NBA Finals.  In your mind, what stands out most about that triple-overtime thriller?

Fainting in the locker room after it was all over [laughs].  I’d gotten dehydrated during that thing, so they’d brought me into the trainer’s room and I fainted.  Somebody asked me a question and I just keeled right over.  I ended up with a touch of high blood pressure, and they weren’t going to let me go out to Phoenix and let me coach the next game.  It wasn’t until the next day that they changed their minds.  They looked me over, and allowed me go out and coach.

That game was such a draining experience.  It was a terrific game.  We got up big, and then Paul Westphal starting making these whirling-dervish moves.  He was the only guy in the league that I’d ever seen go into the paint for a layup, and do a three-sixty at full speed, in the air, and make the shot.  And he made about four of those in the second half of that game.  And then, of course, Gar Heard hit that big shot.  The next game, the sixth game, was in Phoenix.  And whoever was able to bend over, tie their sneakers and walk out onto the floor was going to win that game [laughs].  That’s how debilitating that triple-overtime game was back in Boston.

 

If your athletic career were a play, it would contain three acts:  Your sensational collegiate career at Holy Cross, your Hall of Fame career as a player for the Celtics, and your equally impressive job as head coach.  If you had to choose a signature Heinsohn moment from each of these acts, what would they be?

At Holy Cross, it was winning the NIT and being named MVP of the Sugar Bowl.  As a player, it would be the seventh game of that first championship in 1957.  As a coach, it would be wining my first championship against the Bucks in ’74.

 

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

I told my kids this – you don’t do things because people will like you.  Because I’ve found out playing basketball that forty percent of the people with hate you no matter what.  Forty percent of the people will love you no matter what.  And twenty percent of the people will actually be influenced by what you truly do.  So you’ve got to find something that you like to do, that you have fun doing, and then do it.