The Nate Archibald Interview
By:
Michael D. McClellan
|
Friday, November 6th, 2004
As
you’ve just mentioned, Coach Haskins led UTEP – then known as Texas Western – to
the 1966 national title, a victory forever known for its political and social
consequence. That same year, he became the first coach to start five
African-American players at the major college level. What did these milestones
mean to you, and did they factor into your decision to play Coach Haskins?
It meant a lot
because it was for the national championship, but it just happened to be five
black guys playing against five white guys. That undertone brought the game a
lot of attention because of the whole segregation thing, because it was
televised and being played for all the money. For me, knowing those guys was
more important. I’d played ball with Worsley, Cager and Shed. I could identify
with them because we’d grown up in the same environment. So when I arrived a
year later it wasn’t such a big deal to fit in. They understood what it was
like to grow up in New York.
Playing basketball at UTEP was just the next progression for me. As a student-athlete you start out by keeping the grades to compete, and then once you’re on the team you start to fight for minutes. Then you want to take minutes away from the guys at your position. That all comes from being hungry. Back then I wasn’t hungry – I was 150 pounds ringing wet – back then I was starving [laughs]. I think that goes back to growing up without a whole lot. Like I said before, we didn’t have meat on the dinner table very often – but then we never missed a meal, either. Our mother worked at Alexander’s, which was a supermarket in the neighborhood, and she always made sure the family had food on the table. We ate a lot of bean soup. And we were always right there ready to eat at 5PM, because she used to say, “The kitchen is open from 5:30 until 7 o’clock, but not a minute longer.” And she meant it. Come 7:01 the kitchen was closed and we weren’t going to get anything else to eat. It’s a lot different today. Young kids today have pocket money, and most of them are spoiled when it comes to food. They can look at something and say, “I’m not going to eat that.”
We were a very close family, and still are to this day. Back then only two people had keys to the apartment – my mother and my older sister. And just like dinner, there came a time when you’d better be in the apartment or the door would be locked. I remember coming home and banging on the door, and my sister refusing to let me in. She’d say, “I’ll only let you in if you promise to do the dishes.” And that was deal. We still laugh about it today. You have to understand that our father left when I was fourteen, so we all took turns filling his shoes. It must have worked, because there are five undergrads in our family, and three with masters. I’m still going to school because I believe you never stop learning. My sister is working on her PhD. And that all goes back to our mother. She insisted that we go to school and get our degrees. So even after I went to the NBA I knew I’d go back and finish the work needed to graduate. My mother would see me, or call me, and it was always the same. She’d say, “Where’s my degree?” And that’s the way she looked at it. That was as much her accomplishment as it was ours.
To her, the fact that I played professional basketball never ranked with what any of us accomplished in the classroom. I understand that now. I remember when I was playing for the Nets, and the Philadelphia 76ers were coming to town. I had a broken bone and wasn’t going to be in the lineup. That afternoon I stopped by and my mother was getting all dolled up. I said, “Where are you going?” She said, “To the game.” She never went to the games, but Dr. J was going to be on the floor that night and she loved watching him play. It wasn’t that she didn’t like watching me; it was just that she was more interested in my education. She was a great woman. So my decision to play at UTEP had a lot more to do with these things than with any of the black-versus-white stuff that the media talked about. It was important, but it wasn’t the biggest thing that put me in El Paso.
You
scored 51 points in the 1970 Aloha Classic, and were subsequently drafted by
the NBA’s Cincinnati Royals. Your head coach was former Celtic legend Bob
Cousy who, coincidentally, had also grown up on the tough streets of New
York. Please tell me about Mr. Cousy, and what it was like to play for him.
This is a fact
– before I went to Hawaii, I played on a Phillips 66 team in Idaho. It was
a collection of college players showcasing their talents for the pros –
collegiate All-Star games – and Haskins sent me up there to play. The games
were rough. There was a lot of bumping and banging, a lot of people getting
knocked to the floor. I played three games and was running for my life the
whole time [laughs]. But my scoring average was impressive, which helped
generate some interest, and I played well against some of the best talent
coming out that year. I always wanted to excel against the guys in my
class, no matter who it was. I was excited whenever I got the chance to
play against the likes of Dave Cowens, Pistol [Pete Maravich], Rudy
[Tomjanovich], Charlie Scott, or any of the others. For me, it was a great
challenge. I took the mindset that I was a bandit and they were on my hit
list, and I wanted to play against them so bad. I knew I had to be in great
shape to stand out against them. I kept myself in great shape. Always
well-conditioned and ready to run.
When the All-Star games were over, a couple of guys ended up not going to Hawaii and I took one of the slots. The trip wasn’t a new experience for me; I’d played there because UTEP was in the WAC with the University of Hawai’i. So I just wanted to stay loose, have fun, and learn some more about myself as a basketball player. I scored 51. Cooz was there. I met him for the first time in Hawaii and it was really special for me. I’d had seen him on television, and I knew all about his career with the Boston Celtics. He was the Royals coach at the time. He took me aside before the game and said, “I’m going to be talking to you.” I didn’t say much – I was pretty quiet at the time – but in the back of my mind I’m thinking, “Why do you want to talk to me?” After the game we sat down together and at first he didn’t say anything about drafting me. He just wanted to know what my intentions were, and whether I was interested in playing NBA basketball. I froze up, went completely blank. I told him that I didn’t know for sure, but that I hoped to play in the NBA. He said, “Well, we’re looking at players for the upcoming draft, and you’re one of the guys that we have in mind.” I didn’t believe it. To hear the great Bob Cousy say that he was interested was just too much, almost like he was blowing smoke at me. But he was true to his word; the next thing I know, I’m a member of the Cincinnati Royals and Cooz is my coach.
I always tell people that Bob Cousy was like my step-dad, that’s how much I think of him. Even though he’s from Queens and I’m from the Bronx, I never held that against him [laughs]. It was great to play for him. He gave me a shot at pro basketball when none of the so-called experts thought I could play in this league. And for him to think of me that way, well it only gave me more confidence and really helped my development. He was one of the greatest point guards to ever play the game, so I listened to everything he said. Our conversations were guard-to-guard. He understood the position so well, and he knew what I was going through as far as learning to play the game. He made me understand what it was to be a leader. He envisioned me being more of a floor general and less of a scorer, and he said, “One of these days you’re going to change the way you play the game. You’re going to become more of a quarterback and not so much of a scorer.” That’s what happened. I ended up winning that championship in ’81 with the Celtics of all teams, and I didn’t score a ton of points. Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Cedric Maxwell – those guys were going out and getting the points. My job was to run the offense and keep the team flowing, just like Cousy had said way back in my rookie season.
A lot of guys get drafted and don’t get a chance to play, but Cooz was a man of his word. He gave me the basketball and said. “This is your team. Run it. Score points in transition. Get guys up-and-down the court.” He had all this faith in me, even at such a young age. It shocked me, really, because I wasn’t ready for that much responsibility. You’re talking about a guy who is twenty-one years old, and he’s asked to run an NBA team. I just wasn’t ready. He expected me to be a more vocal leader, but that wasn’t my nature. I didn’t do a lot of talking. I let my game do that. Later on he complimented me on that first season, but thought that I didn’t speak out enough. I just told him that I led by example. I think he came to understand that.
You
averaged 28.2 points-per-game in only your second season in the league. You
were particularly hot down the stretch, averaging 34 ppg after the All-Star
Break. What happened?
I don’t
know that it was by design, it was just a matter of getting on a roll. At
that point in my career I was one of the primary threats on offense. I just
went out and played the game. If the shot was there, I was going to take
it, and if not then I wanted to find my teammate. Early on, I was a scorer
first and a quarterback second. Cooz knew that I’d have to change my game,
that I’d do it eventually, but he didn’t put the clamps down to get his
point across. He gave me the freedom to play. He trusted that I’d take
good shots, and that I’d distribute the ball if there was a better option on
a given trip down the court.
The
Royals moved to Kansas City prior to the 1972-73 season, changing their name
to the Kings. You averaged 34.0 points and 11.4 assists, becoming the only
player ever to lead the league in both categories in a single year. What did
this accomplishment mean to you then, and what does it mean to you now?
That was
never by design, either. It was something that just happened. I never went
out on the court feeling as though I was going to make history that way – I
just wanted to help the team win. I went out and played the game. Cooz
gets a lot of credit for that record, because he gave the chance to play.
He gave this skinny kid the chance to go out there and do his thing, and in
a lot of respects I became an extension of Cooz out on the court. Some
coaches are good for bigs, and some are good for guards. Cooz helped me to
analyze what was going on out there, and he really helped me to make good
decisions. I think that’s why I was able to lead the league in scoring and
assists in the same season. I could quickly dissect the situation and
instinctively know when to take the shot versus giving up the ball.
Our team that year was different from all of those great Celtics that Cooz played on. We didn’t have a Bill Russell. We didn’t have a Tommy Heinsohn. We didn’t have a K.C. Jones, or a Sam Jones, or a Jim Loscutoff. We didn’t have the old guys to learn from, the guys who’d been through the playoff wars and had walked away with championship rings. We were learning how to communicate without the benefit of great veterans who’d been there and done that. But we did have guys like Johnny Green, who took me under his wing and helped me understand the game better. Johnny had led the league in field goal percentage. He was a great target on the court. I looked for him when we needed a big basket. He was on the receiving end of a bunch of my assists, and he was also the wise sage who gave me a lot of great advice.
Leading the league in both categories in the same season was a very satisfying accomplishment, but not one that outranks winning the championship in ’81. It was just something that all came together – we were running at every opportunity, and scoring a lot of points in transition. I just played my game, which blended perfectly with the philosophy in place at the time.
