“Here Comes Willis”
Willis Reed died last week. He was 80 years old. His death hit me hard.
You see… when I was kid Willis Reed was the captain and most valuable player of the New York Knickerbockers in the late 60s and 70s when they won two NBA championships. He was a 6’9’’ center with a light shooting touch out of Grambling State College who became a symbol for selfless leadership and courage in the face of injury and pain.
Being from New Jersey, I believed people didn’t live in New York City. They just commuted to work there. But for a few glorious years in my childhood, Madison Square Garden on 33rd St. in Manhattan was the place where Willis Reed worked.
It was 1,000 miles away from my home but instead of homework, I listened to every Knick home game on the radio, described by the great Marv Albert. “Heeere’s the jumper. YES!!!’’ I watched every away game, broadcast on WOR Channel 9. The announcer was Bob Woolf and his sidekick was Cal Ramsey, a former college star and pro for the Knicks. They were terrible. But I loved them.
I charted every home game on posterboard with a black felt-tip pen, keeping the stats for each player: points, rebounds, assists, and fouls. It wasn’t accurate but I didn’t care.
The Knicks of 1969-70 have been glorified in the mists of time. They won 18 straight games, then a record. They won a championship over Wilt Chamberlain, Jerry West, and the Lakers. They were Walt “Clyde’’ Frazier, “Dollar’’ Bill Bradley, Dave DeBusschere, Dick Barnett, and Cazzie Russell. Frazier was a clotheshorse who drove a Bentley. Bradley became a U.S. Senator. Barnett got a Ph.D. in education. Two years later, the Knicks traded Russell for Earl “The Pearl’’ Monroe, a flashy guard who helped the Knicks win a second title. Their 19-point comeback in a game against Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s Milwaukee Bucks in 1972 was absolutely thrilling.
But it was Reed, the Captain, who brought all the parts together. He had quickness, range, a soft shot, was smart about the game, and smart about people. He also had a work ethic he learned from his parents picking cotton in the Louisiana sun.
In a league dominated by giants like Wilt Chamberlain and Bill Russel, Willis Reed won the MVP for the All-Star game, the league, AND the NBA Finals.
Most famously, in Game 7 of the championship series against the heavily favored Chamberlain and Lakers, an injured Reed hobbled onto the court, his leg filled with painkillers. The garden - 19,500 fans - went crazy. It was a show of courage unmatched in sports. You can watch the grainy footage on Youtube: Reed limping up and down the court, battling the immense Chamberlain while his teammates secured the victory. It was a legendary performance and the most emotional sports moment of my life.
Injury would dog Reed for the next few years. The Knicks won another title with him but the body sacrifice took its toll. He retired at only 31.
Years later, stuck at LaGuardia airport on my way back to Vermont, I spied Willis Reed sitting in the corner. His hair was gray but his giant frame was still strong. I knew the stats, the courage, the will. I remembered tracking him on my poster board. I had to say hello. It wasn’t an autograph I wanted or the desire to be around a star athlete, I just wanted to let him know how important he was to me.
Heroes rarely live up to their billing. But Willis Reed did - in a big way.
I had questions - the nerdy kind that only a Reed junkie would ask. And he answered every one with grace and humility.
What was the painkiller that day? Carbocaine.
Why didn’t you play in Game 6? Couldn’t walk.
Looking back, what was the secret of the team’s success? Teamwork and togetherness. People from different backgrounds came together for a common purpose.
On and on we went, until they called the flight.
“Thank you,’’ I said. “And thank you for all the memories and joy you provided for so many people.’’
“I enjoyed it,’’ he said. “See you soon.’’
RIP Willis Reed. You earned it.
