Cancer, which takes no numbers or quarter, disregards age, race and creed, has ended the iconic life of Bill Walton. On Memorial Day.
So many other medical issues tried to beat this incredible man who lived so much of his 71 years in pain that eventually drove him to the brink of suicide, and failed. Cancer succeeded, as it so often does.
Bill — and I will call him Bill because he was a friend — not only was basketball’s greatest ambassador, he was San Diego’s greatest ambassador. Bill approached every single thing he did with over-the-top enthusiasm.
And he did so love his hometown, and was vocal in his criticism of where local government is taking us.
He was no fan of the current istration — I have written he would have been a great mayor — but City Hall should put feelings aside and erect a life-size, 7-foot statue of Bill, ion covering his face, arms outstretched in defensive position.
This was a brilliant man, so grateful for his beloved Grateful Dead (he attended hundreds of their concerts), who approached everything he did with unmatched enthusiasm.
I find it impossible to believe there has been a greater prep basketball player than Bill was at Helix High School. His senior year, 1970, the Scotties finished 33-0 and went to the prestigious Covina Tournament. They won all five games.
In that final, Helix coach Gordon Nash dropped the reins on Bill, turned him loose, and he responded, according to Rick Smith’s terrific Parletonsports.com, with 50 points and 34 rebounds in a 110-68 win over powerful Pasadena.
Famed Louisville coach Denny Crum, then an assistant under John Wooden at UCLA, scouted that game, returned to campus, walked into Wooden’s office and said: “I’ve just seen the greatest high school basketball player.”
John, sitting at his desk, looked up over his glasses and said: “Better than Lewis (meaning Lew Alcindor/Kareem-Abdul Jabbar)?”
Denny: “Yes.”
Wooden: “Keep your voice down and close the door.”
That year, Sports Illustrated put Mansfield, Pa., center Tom McMillen on its cover, calling him the best high school player in America.
Wooden, who of course successfully recruited Bill, sent a note to SI, simply stating: “You made a mistake.”
John was right a lot.
Bill was a three-time college Player of the Year at UCLA (two titles; should have been three). Freshmen didn’t play then.
I saw his first game as a sophomore — vs. Ohio State in Pauley Pavilion — and the Buckeyes’ first trip down the court resulted in Bill blocking a shot, grabbing the rebound in the air, and throwing one of his great outlet es before returning to the ground.
As great as Lewis/Kareem was, he couldn’t do all the things Bill could do on the court. He did everything. He was a great er, defender and rebounder, a 7-foot point guard who covered the entire court. The Bruins’ average win over opponents his sophomore year was by 29 points. Bill, whose bad knees and feet eventually would betray him, had to rest at least a little. It was the best college team I’ve seen.
As a youngster, Bill had a bad speech impediment, which made him feel shy. He, as Frank Gifford also did, overcame it and became a top broadcaster. He also attended Stanford Law School.
He was an activist, and Wooden told him to cut his long hair or go home. Bill did not approve, but cut it. And they had a unique relationship, to say the least. That relationship improved, of course, and if you asked Bill to list the greatest men he’s known, John would have been near the top.
As a pro, Bill won a title with Portland and became NBA MVP, but soon his feet let him down. He came to the San Diego Clippers and spent most of his time on crutches. During a moment of good health, I saw him during an exhibition game here vs. the 76ers and highly touted Darryl Dawkins. He fouled Dawkins out in the first half of a game meaningless to everyone but Bill Walton. A clinic.
He considered his failure to lift his hometown Clippers (which Bill’s body wouldn’t allow), Notre Dame breaking UCLA’s 88-game winning streak with him on the court, and the loss to North Carolina State in the NCAA Tournament his senior year, as his worst moments.
He grew up going to local Catholic schools before choosing Helix, and he revered basketball as though it were a second religion.
As an analyst, he could be extremely critical, which can happen when a near-perfect player is watching something the near-perfect cannot comprehend. He would ramble on, touching subjects that had nothing to do with basketball.
If you asked him one question, that was plenty. He would give you a 15-minute answer. Bill spoke in sentences without periods.
Several years back, Bill called and asked to talk. I went to his home adjacent to Balboa Park. We went outside and he sat in one of those tall chairs of his, and he told me about his bad back, how the pain had become intolerable, that he seriously thought about ending it all.
I asked: “You mean suicide?”
And he said: “Yes,” adding there were times he was thinking of crawling to the nearest bridge. But he finally found a doctor who removed the pain, which is why he invited me. He was able to ride his beloved bike, which he did for miles upon miles.
Bill Center, our longtime sportswriter, probably was the first media member to see Walton play at Helix, as a gangly sophomore, and he became friends with Bill’s family.
“Even as a junior you could see what Bill could do,” Center says. “He absolutely dominated every game. He could have scored 50 points a game, but his two favorite stats were shots and blocks. Nash kept a category called “sleeper blocks,” where Bill controlled the ball rather than slap it out of bounds. He would rather than shoot.”
He was the most complete center, and it saddens me that his body never allowed such brilliance to continue. One of his greatest joys was his ability to return and become sixth man for the NBA champion Celtics in 1986.
We met at La Costa shortly after that, and he was drinking a beer, and every time the Celtics were mentioned, he’d hoist his glass and give me a “Here! Here!” with that huge smile on his face.
I wish I could replay every game he played when in good health. In this day of comparison, one can’t be done with Bill. Impossible to explain, because no one that big played the game as he played it, with such incredible all-around skill, vivacity and intelligence.
His love for this city never waned. He was a San Diegan, a sequoia with bad legs but strong roots.
I am saddened for everyone who crossed into his orbit, especially for Lori, his wife of 33 years, sons Adam, Nate, Luke and Chris, and grandchildren Olivia, Avery Rose and Chris.
So, those everywhere who loved William Theodore Walton III should raise their glasses, to an incredible man who somehow hurdled setbacks to lead life on his own . “Here! Here!”
