SAN DIEGO — In 1970, a lanky high school kid named Tom McMillen appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated magazine, jumping with his arms stretched toward the sky and a basketball in each hand. The headline read, “America's Best High School Athlete.”
John Wooden, an affable and well-known coach at the time whose UCLA teams were national champions for seven years, looked at the cover and shook his head. He was so disappointed with the cover that he sent a handwritten note to the magazine's editor telling him it was wrong.
“The best high school players are here in La Mesa, California,” he said.
Wooden was referring to Bill Walton, a 6-foot-11, all-around center who was a force to be reckoned with on both ends of the court. Walton played in a small town outside San Diego, but his talent knew no bounds. Longtime San Diego sportswriter Bill Center was one of the first to cover Walton, then a high school sophomore.
“Because of his knee, he only played half the games, but his great ability was obvious,” the center said. “His junior and senior seasons, he was out there the whole game and no one could stop him. He could have averaged 50 points a game, but that's not what he wanted. He wanted to take the ball off the boards, pass it to the guards so they could run and score. After the games, he loved to look at his assist numbers. He looked at them before he looked at points or rebounds.”
Bill Walton attempts a hook shot against Maryland's Tom McMillen and Len Elmore at Pauley Pavilion in Los Angeles in 1973. UCLA won, 65-64. (UCLA / Collegiate Images / Getty Images)
On Monday, Walton died at age 71 after a long battle with cancer. In the wave of tributes, what surprised me most was how few focused on basketball. That's remarkable, given that he won two national championships and three NBA Player of the Year awards at UCLA, was drafted first overall by the Portland Trail Blazers and won a title with them and Boston, won league MVP, Finals MVP and Sixth Man of the Year awards and was inducted into the Naismith Hall of Fame.
Though it was an acclaimed career, most of the tributes focused on how his ebullient spirit touched hearts and made people smile, and how he lived a life many of us dream of but rarely achieve — squeezing as much joy out of while staying true to who we are. Walton may have loved basketball, but he loved life and inspiring others.
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“His parents were very liberal and always cared about those less fortunate,” says Senter, who dined at the Waltons' house when Bill was in high school. “I think they emphasized to their children how important it is in life to have community values and to look out for those around you, not just yourself.”
Walton's death may have come as a shock to the basketball world, but it was felt even more in San Diego County, where he was born, raised and lived when his 14-season career ended. San Diego has always been fertile ground for elite athletes, producing Billy Casper, Phil Mickelson, Gayle Devers, Jimmie Johnson, Marcus Allen, Terrell Davis, John Lynch, Reggie Bush and Rashaan Salaam, among many others. But the respect for Walton was different, dare I say deeper.
It's hard to put into words, but I can say that Junior Seau, born near Oceanside, and Tony Gwynn, a Los Angeles native who played at San Diego State and was adopted by locals after 20 seasons with the San Diego Padres, are the only other two “locals” to be held in such high esteem. Despite their Hall of Fame careers, they were never considered above the locals; rather, they were considered part of them. And now, 12 years after Seau took his own life and 10 after Gwynn died of cancer, the last of them has passed away.
Walton greets San Diego State fans before the Aztecs' game against Florida Atlantic during the Final Four of the 2023 NCAA Tournament in Houston. (Bob Donnan/USA Today)
We'll never again see Walton bike through Balboa Park or hear him deliver basketball monologues that nobody else could understand. But that was Walton's thing. He did things his way, regardless of how anyone felt. He spoke his mind on topics both silly and serious. He wasn't the first, and he won't be the last, but he was an original, and someone who was committed to making a difference on and off the court.
He was a nonconformist in the most positive sense of the word, always striving to make the world a better place. At UCLA, he was arrested protesting the Vietnam War. In the NBA, he spoke out for racial and social justice when so many other white people were silent. Even when Wooden and NBA officials asked him to be less forthcoming with his beliefs, he stayed true to himself and his upbringing.
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There is a website dedicated to Walton's quotes, which is surprising considering that he spent the first half of his life in limited silence due to a severe stutter that he overcame in his 30s. The most poignant line about how he tried to live his life is, “Love is the most powerful and important word and concept in our culture and language. Unless the power of love replaces the love of power, there is no chance of success at all.”
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After Walton's death, a Portland television station quoted longtime local sports columnist John Canzano as saying, “We may remember him as a newscaster and a basketball player, but I will remember him more as just a human being, and someone who cared about others. During the pandemic, he called into my radio show because he felt the need to give people words of encouragement. It's a wonderful testament to the fact that Bill Walton was a good man who tried to make the world a better place.”
I think Walton would have thought that was the perfect eulogy. I will remember him more for what he accomplished off the court than what he accomplished on it. Not for who he was, but who he was. Basketball may have been what he did, but it wasn't who he was, as the many eulogies rightly attest.
(Top photo of Bill Walton preparing to ride his bike during the 2020 virtual Intergalactic Bike for Humanity fundraiser to support victims and healthcare workers of the COVID-19 virus. by Sean M. Hafey/Getty Images)
