The Big Redhead

I called Bill Walton back. This was last June, about 11 months ago. He was either expecting the call or recognized the phone number on caller ID because he didn’t say hello.

“Just hang on a sec.”

That’s all he said.

Then I heard music. He had been listening to a concert stream of Dead & Company, headlined by former members of Walton’s beloved Grateful Dead, from the night before in Philadelphia. He wanted me to hear too, because to Walton the Dead should be a shared experience, and so he set the phone near a speaker or held it within hearing range and neither of us spoke for two minutes 35 seconds of performance magic.

“That’s Standing on the Moon,” he finally interjected at the end of the song, pausing the rest of the show. “Oh my God. Oh my God. ‘A lovely view of heaven, but I’d rather be with you.’ ”

That passion.

Walton at UCLA was a brilliant passer for a center, a superstar defender and ran the court with great mobility in the John Wooden fast break, but he left as arguably the greatest talent in college basketball history because he played with a jet pack of emotion. “He’s better than [Lew] Alcindor because he plays with more enthusiasm,” Long Beach State coach Jerry Tarkanian said, one of several victims of both Bruin big men who in the moment rated Walton ahead of the future Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Walton spent mornings imagining a shot he would use in the game that night, rehearsing the move over and over in his mind with such fervor that some teammates realized they could never measure up to Walton in desire, let alone talent. Walton called basketball his religion and the court his church, and Wooden was heard to say he never had a better leader on the court.

Walton the broadcaster would ramble through long, strange tangents unrelated to the game at hand, annoying viewers who wanted to hear hoops rather than a filibuster about his visit to a sculpture garden or some other topic that scurried across his mind. But the energy and interest in the unrelated topic was real. Schtick wasn’t his thing. He was genuine and just wanted the annoyed masses to share in his excitement.

Passion is the same reason he and wife Lori were involved in numerous charities, especially around his native San Diego. Walton invested emotionally, just as he did with basketball, and so he would arrive at a dinner as the guest of honor and immediately become the organization’s biggest cheerleader, turning preacher-like to rave about the group. He would stay at events much longer than asked. People with winning bids to have lunch or whatever did get the meal – sometimes at the Walton home. If he stood up for a cause, it became personal.

Beat this for wanting to spread joy: Walton dominating the San Diego area as a senior at Helix High School prepared to face Grossmont and promising sophomore Ralph Drollinger. Aware Drollinger lacked confidence, Walton approached at the circle just before the opening tip to tell the opposing center to take any shot without fear it will be blocked and to do anything he wanted to score. Make tonight about building your confidence, Walton quietly informed him. Drollinger understandably wondered about the psychological ploy underway, yet Walton kept his word and allowed Drollinger a big night while making sure Helix still won easily, an astounding gesture that stayed with Drollinger for decades.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

When Lyle Spencer of the Santa Monica Evening Outlook, a friend beyond their working relationship, wrote that the just-completed sophomore season at UCLA showed Walton had the potential to become the greatest player in history, Walton stormed at Spencer when they next saw each other a few days later. The compliment enraged Walton, wondering how Spencer could disrespect Abdul-Jabbar, Russell and Chamberlain, looking out for others even when the others could handle themselves. And when foul trouble forced Walton to the bench nine minutes into the biggest regular-season game in six years, UCLA-North Carolina State in St. Louis in December 1973, he encouraged teammate Drollinger as if it was still midcourt before tip-off at Helix-Grossmont. Whenever you feel nervous, Walton told Drollinger, look into Wooden’s eyes and see how much the coach believes in you. Drollinger, boosted, performed admirably. (Walton returned to spark the final run that led to the Bruin victory, then spent the evening at the team hotel circulating a petition in the lobby urging the impeachment of Richard Nixon.)

Anyway, June 2023. Walton was one of the first people I talked to, just in conversation years before, about my idea of a book on the UCLA dynasty of the 1960s and 1970s set against the backdrop of unhinged years in America and college campuses in particular. He predicted that not only would his Bruin teammates give interviews, they would enjoy the chance to time travel and remember amazing life experiences. Walton only wanted to make certain the project centered on the entire program and not him – he and Abdul-Jabbar were the definition of team players who in college and even in retirement insisted on spreading the praise. (The historic night Walton made 21 of 22 shots to demolish Memphis State for the 1973 title in St. Louis? That was the Greg Lee game, Walton corrected, because the point guard delivered the right passes.)

We visited on the phone for 1 hour 41 minutes last June. He was great, of course, all energy, fully invested, wanting to help. I don’t believe his health status at the time would have made a difference, because Bill agreed to the conversation long before and would not renege, but I can’t help but wonder now if he had received the cancer diagnosis by then or word came later.

I finished by saying I hoped we would cross paths again before long.

“I know we will,” Bill said. “Looking forward to our futures together. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. Reporting from the bright side of the road. Here we go. Thanks, Scott. Bye.”

Kingdom on Fire: Kareem, Wooden, Walton and the Turbulent Days of the UCLA Basketball Dynasty came out March 5 with special personal appreciation for Bill. Walton’s passing was announced May 27. I played Standing on the Moon again late at night and thought about a man and his passion.