Interviews from the world of sports!

Written By:  Michael D. McClellan |  

He is born to run, and for 16 seasons John Havlicek is an unyielding force of perpetual motion for the Boston Celtics, breaking down defenders and NBA records alike, winning eight NBA championships, first as Sixth Man extraordinaire, and then as an All-Star standout in the waning years of the Russell Dynasty, and finally as an All-NBA First Team selection, NBA Finals Most Valuable Player, and key protagonist in the NBA’s Greatest Game Ever Played. Havlicek, or “Hondo” to legions of adoring fans, will be forever immortalized by the most famous radio call in basketball history, but the most lasting image is that of an indefatigable small forward who, years before Boston Marathoner Bill Rodgers conjures legions of road racers, unbidden, out of the invisible fabric of the universe, runs an aging Oscar Robertson ragged on the way to the 1974 NBA Championship.

Havlicek’s story begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio, a small town on the West Virginia border. The son of Czechoslovakian immigrants becomes a three-sport star at Bridgeport High School, earning All-State honors in football, baseball, and basketball. Havlicek receives dozens of basketball scholarship offers. He chooses Ohio State, where he plays for the legendary Fred Taylor and teams with collegiate stars Jerry Lucas and Larry Siegfried, as well as with future coaching legend Bobby Knight. Havlicek’s time in Columbus is a fairy tale, as the Buckeyes roll to a 78–6 record over a three-season span and win the 1960 national championship.

Featuring six players drafted by the NBA, two future Hall of Famers in Lucas and Havlicek, and Knight, who goes on to become the winningest basketball coach in NCAA history, the Buckeyes lead the nation by averaging 90.4 points en route to the 1960 championship over California.

Ohio State reaches the title game the next two years, losing to Cincinnati in ’61 and ’62. Havlicek is selected by the Celtics in the first round of the 1962 NBA Draft. Boston, fresh off its fourth title in five seasons, is loaded with great players. It allows Havlicek time to assimilate. The unproven rookie finds his niche by bringing relentless energy to the court.

“Red loved defensive players,” Havlicek says. “At Ohio State, my role was to play hard-nosed defense. In Boston, I started out playing five minutes a game early in the season. My minutes increased as Red gained more confidence in me. I ended the year averaging 20 minutes per game, which was fourth best in the league for rookies.”

The Celtics capture their sixth NBA Championship, and Havlicek earns a spot on the All-Rookie Team. He puts in work during the summer, and then leads the team in scoring during the 1963–64 regular season. The Celtics, meanwhile, continue to roll, winning 59 games and easily defeating the San Francisco in the 1964 NBA Finals.

Havlicek’s signature moment comes during the 1965 Eastern Division Finals when the Celtics, winners of six consecutive NBA Championships, suddenly find themselves on the brink of elimination. Battling Chamberlain and the Philadelphia 76ers, and clinging to a 110–109 Game 7 lead, Bill Russell’s inbound pass hits the guide wire supporting the basket with less than five seconds left. Havlicek’s ensuing steal of Hal Greer’s inbound pass – arguably the most famous theft in NBA history – keeps the championship streak intact and sends the Celtics to the Finals. Fans all over New England hang on the words of Celtics radio broadcaster Johnny Most, whose call instantly becomes part of Celtics lore: “Havlicek steals it. Over to Sam Jones. Havlicek stole the ball! It’s all over! Johnny Havlicek stole the ball!”

Havlicek continues to reprise his role of Sixth Man through the end of the Bill Russell Era, winning championships in 1965, 1966, 1968, and 1969. With Russell’s retirement in ’69, Havlicek is not only starting for the first time in his professional career, but he’s also the unquestioned leader of the next generation of Boston Celtics. New head coach Tom Heinsohn installs an up-tempo offense, and Havlicek responds with the best statistical season of his career: 24 points, 7.8 rebounds, and 6.8 assists. But after winning six championships during the Sixties, the new-look Celtics are suddenly NBA bottom feeders.

It doesn’t take long for the Celtics to bounce back. With Cowens, White, and Havlicek forming the nucleus of a revamped roster, the 1972–73 Boston Celtics post the best regular season record in team history, going 68–14 and looking like a slam dunk to win the NBA Championship. All of that changes when Havlicek injures his shoulder during the Eastern Conference Finals against New York, allowing the Knicks to take the series in seven games. The loss puts the Celtics at a crossroads, but Boston rebounds the following season by winning 56 regular season games and saving their best effort for the playoffs. After dispatching the Buffalo Braves in the first round, Boston exacts revenge by beating the Knicks in the Eastern Conference Finals, 4–1.

Awaiting them are the Milwaukee Bucks, led by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Oscar Robertson. The series goes seven games, with neither team able to protect home court advantage. With the Celtics up 3–2 and returning to the Boston Garden, everyone in New England prepares to celebrate the team’s 12th championship banner and its first without Russell.

“Game 6 in the Garden,” Havlicek recalls. “We wanted to win the championship in front of our fans, and the Bucks wanted to have the same opportunity in Game 7 back in Milwaukee.”

Facing a do-or-die situation, the Bucks’ season comes down to one shot. Abdul-Jabbar’s baseline skyhook at the buzzer sends the Celtics back to Milwaukee for Game 7. Robertson plays 46 minutes on dead legs. Boston wins easily, 102–87, securing the team’s first championship of the post-Russell era.

The Celtics fail to repeat, falling to the Bullets in the ’75 Eastern Conference Finals, prompting Auerbach to trade Westphal for Scott. The transaction is made to counter Rick Barry’s Golden State Warriors, who sweep Washington in the Finals.

“Red wanted more backcourt speed,” Havlicek says. “Charlie was one of the fastest players in the league.”

On October 24, the Celtics open the season by running past the Houston Rockets, 109–94. Havlicek leads the way with 24, the first step in a journey that culminates with a championship over the Phoenix Suns. The ’76 Finals is best remembered for that triple-overtime classic in the old Boston Garden.

“I hit that running bank shot with two seconds left on the clock in double-overtime, and the Garden went crazy,” Havlicek says. “The crowd immediately stormed the floor, and we headed to the locker room thinking that we’d won the game. The refs put one second back on the clock, and pandemonium breaks out. The scorer’s tables were toppled over. Richie Powers—a referee—got into a fight with a fan. Then Gar Heard hits that long, turnaround jumper to put the game into triple-overtime. We were able to win it and then go to Phoenix and close it out.”

That 1976 title is the last time Havlicek walks off the court a champion. Havlicek retires in 1978, his 38-year-old body worn down from 16 seasons of NBA pounding. That the Celtics are in disarray doesn’t help; Havlicek, who plays the game at the highest standard, can’t stomach the new breed of selfish players like Curtis Rowe, who emerges from the shower after a humiliating 30-point defeat to announce, “What’s everybody upset about? The Ws and Ls don’t show up on the paychecks.” Ironic then that Havlicek—the Celtics’ unstoppable running man, and one of the best-conditioned ballers on the planet—simply decides he’s had enough and walks away.

“It was time,” he says, and then, without a hint of irony: “It didn’t end the way that I’d hoped, but it was a good run.”

You won a national championship while playing alongside four future NBA players:  Jerry Lucas, Larry Siegfried, Joe Roberts and Mel Nowell.  How were you able to put individual agendas aside and win it all?

We had a great head coach in Fred Taylor, and we played for a program that was known for its winning tradition.  Our team chemistry really fed off of those two things.  Red was able to accomplish this in Boston, while Fred created that same time of atmosphere at Ohio State.  Red had a theory that it’s not what statistics you have that measures your value to the team.  Everyone wants to score 25 or 30 points a game and grab 15 or 20 rebounds.  But you have to work together to be successful.  You have to make sacrifices in your game in order to make the team stronger.  That’s the same type of philosophy that Fred adhered to at Ohio State.  Sacrifice for the good of the team.  Put egos and agendas aside and do what’s necessary to be successful as a team.  And with a strong leader like Fred, it was easy for us to play as a cohesive unit.  So really, all of the credit goes to Fred for getting us to buy into that philosophy.


Looking back now, what do you remember most about winning the national championship against California?

Two days before the championship game I injured myself in the bathroom at Ohio State.  I cut myself on a paper towel dispenser, and I ended up with 10 stitches on the ends of my fingers on my shooting hands.  I remember being concerned about the injury and how it would affect my play in the game.  The other thing I remember was how good we shot the ball in the first half – I believe we only missed four shots and were up big at halftime.  We played extremely well in that game.  We were a sophomore dominated group, and many people didn’t think we would go very far that season, let alone reach the title game and then win big.


That 1960 championship team was also known for its academics.

The unusual thing about our team was that we were true student-athletes.  Everyone graduated.  We had seven guys get masters degrees.  Two received Ph. Ds and two received MDs.  There was one quarter during the school year that our team GPA was a 3.4.  That’s really hard to believe, but true, and I’ll bet that’s an NCAA record.  We considered ourselves students first and foremost, and we took a lot of pride in our accomplishments in the classroom.  And to a large degree, Fred [Taylor] was the architect of our academic success.  Fred told me when he was recruiting me that I was here for an education, and that was going to be number one on my list of priorities.  Number two was basketball.  Number three was a social life.  And after the first two, we all knew that there was not going to be much of a social life [laughs].


Please tell me a little about your coach at Ohio State, the legendary Fred Taylor.

Well, I don’t think I would have gotten anywhere without his tutelage. He shaped me tremendously, and I feel that he was the person most responsible for preparing me to play professional basketball.  He stressed the fundamentals, and he stressed defense.  Those were the things helped get me into the NBA, and those were the things that kept me there for all of those years.  The foundation of my professional basketball career was truly based on what I learned from Fred Taylor.


Coaching great Bob Knight was a teammate on that national championship team.  What kind of player was Coach Knight?

Let’s just say that Bobby wasn’t the quickest man on foot [laughs], but defensively he played hard.  When you got fouled by Bobby, you knew you had been fouled.  He definitely got his money’s worth [laughs].  Bobby played a reserve role and came off the bench quite a bit.  He was a shooter, but his calling card was defense.  If he’d been allowed to play more minutes he would have just fouled out, he was that aggressive [laughs].


Let’s talk Olympic basketball.  Many people were shocked when you failed to make the 1960 Olympic basketball team.  What happened?

That was probably the biggest disappointment of my athletic career.  I thought I played extremely well during the Olympic trials, and I felt that I deserved to be selected to play on that team.  The same argument could be made for my teammate, Larry Siegfried.  In my mind, he played well enough to be chosen for that team.  The system was a lot different back then.  The AAU and NCAA were feuding at the time, and it really became a big political thing after the first team was selected.


You were selected by the Celtics in the first round of the 1962 NBA Draft.  Boston had just won its fourth title in five seasons.

I was lucky to be drafted by the Celtics, no question about that.  I remember that when I learned that I was drafted by the Celtics, Bob Knight said that that was the greatest thing that could have happened to me because the Celtics played my style of basketball.  And like you just mentioned, I wasn’t forced to come in and be a savior or anything like that, because they had a lot of hall of fame players on that team.  You did have a Bill Russell, a Cooz, a Sharman, a Sam Jones.  You also had Heinsohn and KC [Jones].  You had Frank Ramsey.  It made my transition a lot smoother than had I been drafted to play elsewhere.  I was able to ease in.  I just sort of became a part of that process, where they were using me a little bit here and there, and whatever, and over time it evolved into a bigger and better leadership role for me.


What was it like adjusting to the pro game?

I think the people that you involve yourself with, and who help you along the way, these people all play a part in some sort of design or pattern in what you’re going to become.  The same was true with me when I joined the Celtics.  Looking back at when I was drafted, in my wildest dreams I didn’t think I’d be able to do what I did during my career with the Celtics.  I was able to learn from other people on that team, and you learn from winners like Bill Russell and KC and Sam and Cooz and Ramsey.


Hall of Famer Frank Ramsey was the team’s original Sixth Man.  Now here you come, competing for his job.  How did he handle that?

When I came to Boston, Ramsey could have felt threatened and could have made life hard on me, but he didn’t.  He was the opposite of that.  He said, ‘I’m so glad you’re here because you’re going to add two years to my life, because I can’t do it as much as I used to and I’m hoping you’ll step in and help me.’  That was totally different experience from what I expected as a rookie, because when you go to training camp everyone is working to protect their job.  They don’t want to see some guy come in and knock them off the team or take away their minutes.  It was totally different with the Celtics.  It was a secure team, and we embraced each other, and it was a great marriage.


As a rookie, how did you find your niche on team loaded with stars?

Well, one of the things that I knew about Red Auerbach was that he loved defensive players.  He understood that defense was what meant the difference between simply reaching the playoffs and winning a championship.  If you look at those early Celtics teams that he coached, they were very good on the offensive end but weren’t the best defensively.  All of that changed with Bill Russell.  When I arrived I knew that Tom Sanders, KC Jones, Russell and Sam Jones were all great defenders.  At Ohio State, that was basically my job – to be the defensive stopper.  So, I felt then and still feel today that the quickest way into the NBA is to play defense.  If you have NBA ability and can play defense you’ll have an opportunity to succeed, because great defenders are never a liability.  Offense is all about instinct, and with the great teams that I was on I had an opportunity to find my place on offense as well.  I had great hands, which really helped me, and I loved playing with Cousy that one year that we were together because the ball was going to be right where you needed it most of the time.  As I started out as a rookie I was playing maybe five minutes a game early in the season.  But as I gained more confidence, and as Auerbach gained more confidence in me, I ended the year with about twenty minutes per game, which was about fourth best in the league for rookies.  So, that’s how I fit in with the Celtics – I came in, played solid defense, and I worked hard on the offensive end to earn the trust of my coach and teammates.


Were you surprised to be selected by the Celtics?

No, not really.  It never hurts to be on a team that is successful, and I knew Red Auerbach often times would draft a person based on the type of program the person was involved with.  He was well aware of Ohio State’s program and the success that we’d enjoyed, and he knew the caliber of players we had on those teams.  He knew that we had won a national championship, and that we were competing for a championship every year.  So there were a lot of good things about me that he took into consideration based on the kind of program that I came from.  He knew that if I could contribute at a high level on such a successful team, he figured that I should be able to make the transition to the pros and be able to help the Celtics.


Your rookie season with the Celtics was also the final season for the incomparable Bob Cousy.  Even though you only played one season together, what were you able to learn from one of the greatest players in NBA history?

As a rookie, I quickly came to appreciate Cousy’s court vision.  I think that was the one thing that I learned from him, and I was able to develop it because Bob Cousy was such a visionary on the floor.  I think that you pick up a lot from your teammates. I was never a great ball handler or anything like that, but I tried to never lose sight of the ball at any time while I was on the basketball floor. The other thing is that I had a lot of movement to my game, a constant motion that really challenged defenders on a number of levels.  I was never standing around. And that creates a lot of opportunities.  Cousy always had the presence of mind to find me in situations where I was able to move and free myself for an open shot.  His court vision was unbelievable, and it helped me to see the court better – the passing lanes, the angles, things like that.  Those are the things that I took away from my rookie season with Bob Cousy.


You were such a great athlete that the Cleveland Browns also drafted you, intrigued by your potential as a wide receiver.  What was it like experimenting with a career in the NFL? 

I had decent speed, especially for that era, but it wasn’t great speed.  I believe I was timed at 4.6 in the 40-yard dash.  That’s slow by today’s standards.  Today you have plenty of defensive linemen who run faster than that.  But I could catch the ball.  I had really good hands.  That, and my height, were the things that really caught the Browns’ interest.


Please tell me a little about the Browns’ hall of fame head coach, the late Paul Brown. 

Interestingly enough, Paul Brown and I really liked each other.  I really appreciated  the way he ran things as a coach, the way everything was so precise.  He was very meticulous, very detail-oriented, which really matched who I was as a person, so Paul Brown was definitely my kind of coach.  I enjoyed my time in a Browns uniform, even though it became clear early on that football wasn’t my strong suit athletically – especially when compared to playing basketball.  Brown was very nice about it when he let me go.  He knew I had something to go to, that I had a future playing professional basketball.  So it really worked out best for everyone involved.


Were you really serious about playing football for the Browns? 

I was going to try and play both sports. But the good Lord has a way of playing a part in those types of decisions.  I think He made it pretty clear that I was cut out for basketball and not football.


You’ve mentioned the great Bill Russell, and what he meant to turning the Boston Celtics into world champions.  Please tell me what it was like to play with Russell.

There was no bigger winner, no better champion in basketball history, than my friend Bill Russell.  Russell was the kind of player who never concerned himself with personal goals – he put his team above all else, and in the process he made his teammates better players.  If you were a scorer, you were six-to-eight points better because Russell was around.  If you were a good defensive player you became a great defensive player, because with Russell hanging around you were able to do things that you weren’t ordinarily able to do.  You could take more chances, apply more pressure, knowing that Russell was back there protecting the basket. 

Obviously, playing with Russell for all of those years meant that you were going to be in the mix for a championship, and winning those titles were the most important things in my career.  Forget about the points, rebounds and assists or whatever, the championships are things that they can’t take away from you, and with Russell being involved, and being involved with him, you always knew that you had a chance.  And obviously, eleven championships in thirteen years is quite a remarkable feat, and that’s exactly what Russell accomplished during his career with the Celtics.  I was happy – and fortunate – to be on eight championships teams, six of them with Russell.


You followed Ramsey as the next great Sixth Man.

Coming off the bench never bothered me, because basketball is a team game.  It takes a total team effort, and it takes everyone buying into their role and playing it to the best of their ability.  The sixth man role is very important to a ball club – it was back then, and it is equally as important today.  I had confidence in my game, and I knew that I had the ability to start, which is something that evolved over time, but joining a team loaded with talent meant that I would have to wait my turn.  We had Tom Heinsohn, Satch Sanders, Frank Ramsey, Jim Loscutoff and Gene Guarilia.  All of these guys played the forward position, and all of them had the NBA experience that I lacked as a rookie.  So coming off the bench didn’t affect me in a negative way.  Like I said, I was confident in my ability to play the game of basketball.  Besides, one thing I learned from Red Auerbach was that it’s not who starts the game, but who finishes it, and I generally was around at the finish.


You were involved in one of the greatest plays in NBA history.  Take me back to that famous steal in the closing seconds of the 1965 NBA Eastern Conference Finals.

Well, it’s Game 7 against Wilt Chamberlain and the Philadelphia 76ers.  We’re up by a point with five seconds to play, 110-109, and we have possession of the basketball.  Bill Russell takes the ball out of bounds and hits the guide wire, and Philadelphia immediately regains possession.  At this point, everyone was concerned about the ruling because of the guide wire, but we quickly learned that Philadelphia was going to retain possession of the ball.

Red always said that you always needed to figure out some way to find an edge.  Some of the things he would come up with were just ridiculous [laughs], but he really drove that into us from the very beginning.  So, when I found myself on the court in that situation, I said to myself that the only thing that I could do to get a possible edge, is that when the ball is handed to Hal Greer, who was taking the ball out of bounds, I could actually try to time the pass and have a shot at deflecting or stealing the inbounds pass.  I knew that as soon as he was handed the ball that he had five seconds to put in in play.  So I counted.  One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…

Most of the time the ball is delivered within the first three seconds.  But I get to one thousand four, and the ball hasn’t been inbounded yet.  So at that point you’re trying to keep visual contact with the man out of bounds with the ball, and with the person that you’re defending.  When I got to four a gave a little look, and it allowed me to see the play develop a little better.  Had I had my back to the ball, Hal Greer would have lobbed the ball right over my head.  But that little look allowed me to get a better perspective, and it convinced me that I could get a hand on this one.  And I got up in front of the ball, and momentarily controlled it before kicking it out to Sam Jones.


Bill Russell acted as player/coach of the Boston Celtics following Red Auerbach’s retirement in 1966.  Were you ever interested in coaching?

No, not really.  I knew very early on that I wouldn’t enjoy coaching, in large part because I was such a disciplined player.  I felt that I was a very coachable player because of that, but that isn’t always the case when it comes to the relationship between the coach and the players.  Oftentimes, players don’t get on the same page as the coach, and I would have found that frustrating.  I would have been very hard on myself.

The Celtics used to call me about coaching, but they pretty much knew what the answer was going to be, so they finally stopped calling.  Whenever the Celtics were changing coaches in the 70’s and 80’s, Red Auerbach would call and say, ‘Okay, for the record, do you want to coach?’  I’d always say, ‘No,’ and then he’d say, ‘Goodbye.’  I think Red knew that coaching wasn’t for me, but he wanted to extend the offer anyway.  It was a show of respect on his part.  The Celtics were a family, and for the most part he looked within the family when hiring his coaches.  Russell, Heinsohn, Satch Sanders, Dave Cowens, KC Jones.  Red hired his guys because he trusted them, and he knew that they were going to do their best to help the Celtics win another championship.


You had an up-close view of those great battles between Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain.  What stands out in your mind?

It wasn’t a matter of Wilt-versus-Russell with Bill. He would let Wilt score 50 if we won, and there were times when that was the case.  The most important things to Bill were championships, rings and winning.  He was never after the personal stats.  Wilt could raise the level of his game, he could do things that were eye-popping when you reviewed the box score, but he could never figure out how to make his teammates around him better.  Bill was always there to win the important possessions, to grab the key rebounds, to make the key blocks, to trigger a key fast breaks.  He played a completely different game than Wilt.  It was a mental game, a psychological game.  And it was a big weapon whenever Bill went up against Wilt, because in Wilt’s mind, Bill already had Wilt’s number.  The battle was already won before it ever started.  Wilt would never admit it, but Bill knew he was in Wilt’s head.  And he used that to his advantage.


What makes the Lakers-Celtics rivalry so special? 

Well, it started in the 60s, with all of those great battles in the Finals.  Jerry West and all of those guys going up against Bill Russell, Sam Jones and the rest of us.  And then you had the Bird-Magic rivalry that increased the intensity to a completely different pitch, because you had two great players who basically saved the league from irrelevance and also took it to a new height.  In the nineties you had the Dream Team, with Larry and Magic on the same team, and that added something to it.  And then you had a renewal of the rivalry with Paul Pierce and Kobe Bryant going at each other in the Finals.  You had Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen going for their first title.  You had Paul injuring his knee in that first game, only to come back and win the MVP award while leading the Celtics back to the title.

Today everything has gotten so big.  There is some much media coverage, in so many forms.  Newspaper, radio, television, the Internet.  Those things all help fuel the fire when it comes to great rivalries.  I don’t even think there were people who traveled with us when we won some of those early championships [laughs].


The continuity of those great Celtics teams is truly remarkable. 

The Celtics always had an older, more experienced person to pass along the team philosophy.  Bob Cousy and Bill Sharman were a great backcourt tandem, and they passed that along to KC and Sam [Jones].  Frank Ramsey passed the Sixth Man role to me.   Russell retires, and along comes Cowens.  It’s just the way we did things, and it was a big part of our success.

With Red, he was very loyal to his players.  The first eight or nine years of my career we never even made a trade.  We picked people up off of waivers, but Red had this ability to see a player, and see the talent that he had, and basically mold that individuals talent into a team effort.  It wasn’t who scored the most points, or who did this or that.  He always said it was about your value to the team.  And everyone had a certain value.  As I mentioned before, Tom Sanders and KC Jones were great defensive players.  Of course there’s no one like Bill Russell.  He was the guy who made the Celtics great.


During your Celtics career you played for Red Auerbach, Bill Russell and Tom Heinsohn.  What did these men have in common, and how were they different?

Red Auerbach was a person who was able to motivate people, and I think that this was probably his strongest asset.  Red had a situation where he could yell at people a little bit and get away with it.  He was intense.  What made him so smart was that he knew which players he could yell at and which ones he shouldn’t.  He yelled at Tommy quite a bit, but you didn’t see him doing those types of things to Bob Cousy.

With Russ, I knew that we were going to have basically the same system, and also pretty much have the same core group of players.  I think Russ’s biggest adjustment as coach came with cutting players in training camp, because cutting players was something that he really didn’t like to do.

Tommy was totally different that Red and Russ – he was far more relational with his players.  When I was a player, Tommy and I were roommates, and we used to call him the social director because he knew where all of the good restaurants and movie houses were at the time.  Didn’t matter what city, Tommy always had those types of things figured out.  Suddenly I find him as my coach, and all of a sudden all of these things have restrictions and limits to them [laughs].  But Tommy was the right man for the job of rebuilding the Celtics after Russ and Sam Jones retired.  I think he was more patient than Russ or Red would have been, which was crucial since he inherited such a young club.


You won six championships playing alongside Bill Russell, and following his retirement the Celtics were in a rebuilding mode.  How difficult a period was this for you?

Well, it was really quite difficult for me, and I was short-tempered a lot of the time.  During my first seven seasons we had veteran teams, and I was really the kid on those teams.  Suddenly everything was flip-flopped; I was the old man on a team loaded with young players.  When all of the rookies came in, I can recall the first exhibition game we played in 1970.  You had Dave Cowens, Jo Jo White, Don Chaney and Garfield Smith on the court with me.  The referee turns and looks at me, and asks if this is really the Boston Celtics on the floor [laughs].

Rookies and younger players are going to go out there and make mistakes, and that’s exactly what happened.  I tried my best to help them get over these rough spots, but I really had a hard time with it.  That’s why I don’t think I could have ever been a coach.


The 1972-73 Boston Celtics posted the best regular season record in team history, going 68-14 and looking like a slam dunk to win the NBA Championship.  All of that changed during the Eastern Conference Finals against the New York Knicks.  What happened?

I thought all year long that we would win the championship.  We won 68 games during the regular season, had the best record in the NBA, and heading into the playoffs I thought we were playing with tremendous confidence and momentum.  We won our first round series against the Atlanta Hawks, and really didn’t have much trouble in that series against them.  Three of our wins were blowouts.  Unfortunately, I separated my  shoulder during the series with the Knicks, and it became an issue.  The injury kept me out of a key game that we lost in double overtime. I thought that ’72-’73 was going to be our year, but the shoulder injury just devastated the whole thing.  Injuries are an important factor in any championship run.  You have to be fortunate not to lose players or have people laid up, because if you do then it is going to take something away from the team.  Suddenly you’re not as deep, the rotation is different, the combinations aren’t the same, the chemistry might not be what is was before the injury.  That’s what happened to us.  We didn’t have the same confidence, and everything was suddenly a lot more difficult.  Credit goes to the Knicks for beating us.  They capitalized on the injury and beat us in seven games.


By 1974 the rebuilding was complete – the Boston Celtics were world champions once again, defeating the Milwaukee Bucks in a thrilling seven game series.

That particular championship was probably the one I enjoyed the most, because it was probably the one that I played the best in.  I can recall that double-overtime game when Don Chaney deflected the ball and I ran down the court – there were fifteen seconds left on the clock, and Heinsohn was calling timeout.  Well, I shot the ball, followed the miss and put it back up and in the basket as time expired.  That sent the game into double-overtime.  I hit three shots in the period, we were up 99-98, but then Mickey Davis hits a big shot to take the lead.  We ran a play with time winding down, and I make a shot on the baseline to put us back up by one.  The Bucks responded by running a play for Kareem [Abdul-Jabbar], and he hit that famous hook shoot along the baseline as time expired to beat us on our home floor.

Many people came up to my after the game and said that I didn’t look like the same person who started the game.  I can understand that, because I played 58 minutes, and it was a grueling experience.  But I was prepared to continue, and to play as long as it took to win that game.  Unfortunately we lost it, which meant that we had to travel to Milwaukee for Game 7.  We were determined to win that game, and that’s exactly what we did.  It was an unbelievable feeling.


That 1976 title would be your last, and the eighth time that you would walk off of the floor as an NBA champion.  Did winning ever get old for you?

Winning never gets old.  It only gets old if you lose, and that’s what made it so special to play for the Celtics.  The organization was committed to wining, and this started with [team founder and original owner] Walter Brown, and was reinforced daily by Red Auerbach.  Those two men created a winning atmosphere within the Celtics organization, and this made it easy for the players to put team success ahead of individual accomplishments.  If you look at any of those great championship teams, you’ll see players who could have easily put up big numbers on lesser teams elsewhere.  But we were interested in team goals.  Winning championships never got old to any of us.


Your career in Boston spanned two distinct eras – the Bill Russell Dynasty of the 1960s, and the Dave Cowens Era of the 1970s.  What was it like to be part of both periods in Boston Celtics history?

When you have the greatest defensive player in the history of basketball anchoring your team, everything is going to be predicated on defense.  Defensively, Russell revolutionized the game.  He could dominate without scoring a point.  You also had KC Jones on those teams, you had Satch Sanders.  Great defensive players.  But as we moved into the 70s, we shifted the emphasis from defense to offense. Again, Russell was the greatest defensive center the game has ever known.  Dave Cowens couldn’t come in and take the place of Russell, at least not by trying to imitate him.  Cowens had to play the game to his strengths.  He was a better shooter than Russell.  KC was a great defensive player.  Jo Jo White was a better shooter.  I was counted on more to carry the scoring burden on those later teams.  So we were much more offensively oriented during the 70s.  But make no mistake, those Russell teams could also score – as obvious as it sounds, you have to be able to outscore your opponent to win a game, and we won more than our share during the 60s.


Your conditioning and fitness levels were the stuff of legend.  Over the course of your career you ran countless defenders ragged trying to keep up with you.

Running was a very important part of my game, no question about it.  And I knew from the first time I played a basketball game that the toughest guy to score on was the guy who kept after me all the time, nose-to-nose, basket-to-basket, on every single possession.  So I stayed in motion, and I used the constant movement to my advantage.  I also knew that the opposite was also true. The toughest guy to defend against was the guy who kept running. The guy who never let up, never stopped moving, never let you relax. I knew that I could be successful doing those types of things, and that over the course of a game it would wear down the guy guarding me and open up valuable scoring opportunities late in the fourth quarter.  Those were the types of advantages that I wanted to have, especially in the close games.  If you were in better shape than the man guarding you, you could take advantage of the fatigue factor.   That’s the edge I wanted to have.


Final Question:  If you could offer one piece of advice on life to others, what would that be?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Never give up.  I had hundreds of shots blocked during my career, but I always focused on making the next shot.  You’ve got to take chances, and you can’t dwell on the negatives.

Written By:  Michael D. McClellan |

It’s the same everywhere he goes. Not a day passes that Dee Brown isn’t asked about The Dunk, a spontaneous act of showmanship that makes him famous, draws Michael Jordan’s ire, and brings urban sneaker culture one step closer to the mainstream. Mistaken for Shawn Kemp’s little brother during the 1991 NBA Slam Dunk Contest, Brown, an unknown rookie out of Jacksonville, becomes a household name when he takes down Seattle’s “Reign Man” with a jam so original that it ushers in the contest’s prop era, replete with dunkers soaring over cars, teammates, and mascots. Sure, Brown only uses his arm, but when you close your eyes and dab in midair . . .

Pump the brakes: Dab? In midair?

The dunk contest, which begins in 1984, is still something of a novelty when Brown signs on as a late add. He’s 6-foot-1, rail-thin, practically a runt standing next to the muscular, 6-foot-10 Kemp. There are others in the contest—leapers like Blue Edwards, Kenny Smith, Kendall Gill, Otis Smith, Rex Chapman, and Kenny Williams—but the SuperSonics’ precocious man-child is the odds-on favorite. Kemp can leap like The Human Highlight Film and destroy the rim like Chocolate Thunder. Brown? He barely fills out his uniform.
Julius Erving is one of the judges on this night. A student of the game, Brown has Erving’s dossier memorized. He knows all about Rucker Park, the Virginia Squires, and the New Jersey Nets. He knows about that sick reverse layup against the Lakers in the 1980 NBA Finals, a scoop shot for the ages. He also understands that while Doc isn’t the first player to levitate, he’s the first to transform dunking into an art form. Erving is Jackson Pollock, the ball his brush, the court his canvas.

“A lot of guys can dunk. Very few leave their mark,” Brown says.

On this night all those years ago, Dee Brown decides to leave his mark.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Dee Brown’s story is bigger than the night he delivers that jam for the ages. The dunk makes him a star, but there’s more to the Dee Brown mosaic than a singular night in Charlotte midway through his rookie season. That doesn’t keep the haters from dissing Brown’s 12-year career—he doesn’t win a championship, his basketball résumé never fulfills the glitz promised by that dunk contest—but the critics who throw shade fail to grasp the NBA landscape onto which he lands. Everything starts to unravel in Boston when Auerbach’s maneuvering for Len Bias backfires and compounds a year later when the Celtics select Northeastern’s Reggie Lewis, two future cornerstones wiped out in tragic fashion. The C’s still have stars on the roster when Brown arrives via the nineteenth pick in the 1990 NBA Draft, but age and injury limit the effectiveness of all-time players Bird, McHale, and Parish. Brown can’t possibly fill their shoes.

In February 1991, Dee Brown inflated his Reebok Pumps in front of a national audience before scoring a title-winning dunk during the 1991 NBA Slam Dunk Contest.

“People forget what it was like back then,” Brown says. “Those teams in the ’90s struggled to recover from the deaths of Len Bias and Reggie Lewis. The Big Three were breaking down. The team was in decline.”

Welcome to the post-apocalyptic world that is Boston Celtics basketball through much of the ’90s—dark days fueled by tragedy, exacerbated by miserable ownership, and prolonged by a string of forgettable draft busts. Drop Dee Brown into a different era—when the Big Three were going gangbusters—and the Celtics might have another banner hanging from the rafters. That’s not meant to diminish Brown’s legacy in Boston. He epitomizes Celtic Pride during his time with the team, joining a list of uber-legends as team captain. He plays alongside the Big Three, and he’s on the floor during the last game in the Boston Garden. He represents the organization with class while bridging the chasm between Bird and Pierce. Get to know Brown for more than a dunk contest, and it’s easy to see why his light shines brightest during the team’s darkest days.

Jacksonville is hardly a basketball hotbed, but Jax is where this NBA-bound story starts. Brown grows up there auspiciously, which is to say that his isn’t a discourse on hood life.

“I was the oldest of three kids,” Brown begins. “My parents were young when they had me—my mom was 16 and my dad was 17—and they’re still together today. We weren’t from the ghetto, we weren’t hood. Both of my parents worked. I always had a roof over my head, and there was plenty of food to eat, so it wasn’t that story.”

The Browns are a sports family. His dad is a basketball junkie, a rec league baller with instincts he passes down to his son. Dee’s uncles aren’t much older than he is, so it’s like having a pack of big brothers around. They’re always at the park, where Dee learns to pitch, pass, and shoot. Soon he’s playing organized sports year-round.

Dee Brown, lightly recruited on the Division I level, played his college ball at Jacksonville

“Being from Florida, I played whatever sport was in season. I was really good at baseball and football, but basketball was something that I loved.”

Brown doesn’t hone his game on a Jacksonville equivalent to Rucker Park, and those looking to perpetuate the gangsta stereotype are sorely disappointed. He attends the Bolles School, a private college preparatory school with an international reputation for both academic and athletic excellence. More than 50 Olympic swimmers graduate from Bolles. Chipper Jones, the ’99 Major League Baseball MVP, is a freshman when Brown is a senior. Jackie Crosby and Kevin Sack, both Pulitzer Prize winners in journalism, are Bolles alums. Brown is the only African American in his graduating class.

“I got the chance to be around a lot of affluent people that weren’t my color,” he says. “It helped me to see things in a completely different light.”

For Brown, basketball isn’t his only passion.

“Break dancing was big during the ’80s, and I was a breaker,” Brown confesses with a laugh. “I had a cardboard box in my garage, and I had that big boom box with dual cassette decks. I remember taking it to the park and blasting the music as loud as we could, and those batteries would be dead within an hour.

Dee Brown

“Back then, hip-hop was just starting. My high school years were 1983 through 1986. I was listening to the Sugar Hill Gang, Kurtis Blow, and LL Cool J. For me, that whole period was really about the New York rappers because there really weren’t any Florida rappers or hip-hop artists. Heavy D & The Boyz had that album Big Tyme. I wore it out.
“We had a group, and we would go to these dance competitions at the local skating rink. We would play basketball all day and break dance at night. I’d listen to the New York rappers and various deejays like DJ Kid Capri. From there I started listening to acts like Public Enemy, Eric B. and Rakim, and Heavy D. Today they are considered old school, but to true fans like me, they are better known as the Godfathers of Rap.”

What the Bolles Experience doesn’t do is give Brown street cred with college recruiters.

“Not a single Division I college was interested in me,” Brown says. “Zero. I was 30th in my graduating class, I had a 3.7 GPA, and I scored 1200 on the SAT, so it wasn’t an academic thing. Florida is a football state, and there weren’t a lot of big-time basketball players coming out of Jacksonville. Bolles was a small, private school with an AA classification, and it was basically all-white, so even though I was one of the best players in the state, I wasn’t on anyone’s radar when Florida basketball prospects were discussed. I only had one scholarship offer coming out of high school. That was an NAIA school, Presbyterian College, in North Carolina.”

Brown decides on a local junior college instead. His plan is simple: Prove that he can play and hope that a D-I school offers him a scholarship. All of that changes late in the summer of ’86.

“Florida holds an annual Olympic-style festival called the Sunshine State Games,” Brown explains. “Other states do something similar—in New York, it’s called the Empire State Games. There are all kinds of events: track and field, swimming, boxing, basketball, and so forth. I went to Lakeland with my high school team and competed against all the top players, including Florida’s Mr. Basketball. I averaged 37 points-per-game and broke the scoring record.

Dee Brown pumps ’em up

“The Thursday before the tournament, I had one offer from an NAIA school. The following Monday, I had 15 Division I scholarship offers. Every major college in the South wanted me because I was still eligible to sign. School was starting in one week, so I had to make a snap decision. Since I was already mentally prepared to stay home and go to school, I signed with Jacksonville University.”

The Dolphins are D-I but barely a blip on the national hoops scene. The school’s most famous baller is Artis Gilmore, a Consensus First-Team All-American in 1971 and a Hall of Famer. Otis Smith (the same Otis Smith in that 1990 dunk contest) is a senior when Brown is a freshman. From 1987–90, Brown carves out his own legacy. He scores 1,503 points, sets the school’s single-season steals record, and leaves with zero regrets.

“Jacksonville was right for me,” he says. “It was a small school in the Sun Belt Conference, which had competitive programs like Virginia Commonwealth, South Alabama, and UNC Charlotte. And our non-conference schedule was tough—we played schools like Virginia and North Carolina, so I had experience going against some of the best competition in the country.”

Brown proves that he can ball with the best, but, in the pre-Internet world in which he lives, word is slow to spread. With the 1990 NBA Draft looming, Brown’s draft status is anything but a slam dunk.

“The draft was reduced to two rounds the year before I came out,” Brown says. “I had a great senior season, but I wasn’t an All-American so there was no guarantee that I’d get drafted. It was just like high school all over again—the Sun Belt Conference was inferior to the ACC, I hadn’t proved myself consistently against blue-chip schools, the NBA was too physical for me, and on and on.”

Reggie Lewis and Dee Brown

Determined to change minds, Dee Brown hits the road.

“There were all of these different camps during the summer,” he says. “My first camp was the Orlando Invitational. All of the top players played, except for guys like Derrick Coleman, Gary Payton, Dennis Scott, and Chris Jackson, who were already locked into the top five spots. I made the all-tournament team and showed what I could do against guys like Bimbo Coles and Travis Mays. That’s when I started moving up in the draft. I went from maybe being selected in the second round, to being a solid second round pick, or maybe even being picked early in the second round.

“The next camp was in Chicago. I played well there and impressed teams during the interview process, and all of a sudden there was talk about me being a high first-round pick. Those camps helped teams see me in a different light.”

The rest of the summer is a blur. Brown, no longer a fringe player, now has multiple suitors wanting closer looks.

“I visited three teams ahead of the draft,” Brown says. “I went to Detroit—they were still champions at that time—and I also visited Houston and Boston. Back then, there weren’t any rules. You could stay with a team for days on end. I went to Houston for a week and played pick-up ball with the veterans. That was how the coaching staff ran their pre-draft workout—no drills, no analytics, no scientific evaluation. Just go play. If the players like you, we like you. It was the same thing in Detroit. Boston was different. When I visited the Celtics, I had a very short workout. I figured they weren’t impressed with me.”

More memorable for Brown is what happens off the court.

“I had an interview with Red, in his office on Causeway Street. I was a basketball history buff anyway, so walking into his office was better than walking into the Hall of Fame. There was so much history on the walls, on his desk, everywhere you looked. I sat there, awestruck, unable to believe that I was having a face-to-face conversation with Red Auerbach. It was surreal. Me being a 20-year-old kid from Jacksonville, who’d never left home before, and suddenly I’m in Boston and talking to the man who’d started it all. I knew the history of the team; I’d watched so many Celtics games on CBS when Tommy Heinsohn was broadcasting. I’d been glued to the TV during all of those ’80s battles between the Lakers and the Celtics. To be in Red’s office was a life-changing experience. Even if I didn’t get drafted by Boston, I knew that I’d talked to one of the greatest basketball minds of all time.”

CHARLOTTE – FEBRUARY 9: Dee Brown #7 of the Boston Celtics attempts a dunk during the 1991 NBA Slam Dunk Contest as part of NBA All Star Weekend on February 9, 1991 at the Charlotte Coliseum in Charlotte, North Carolina. Copyright 1991 NBAE (Photo by NBA Photos/NBAE via Getty Images)

Brown’s dream comes true on June 27, 1990, when the Celtics select the athletic combo guard with the 19th pick in the first round.

“The best thing about being drafted by the Celtics is that Red Auerbach made the pick. People talk about the dunk contest, but the draft was the best moment of my life. Just to think about all of the other players he’s selected in the past—Russell, Havlicek, Cowens, Bird . . . for me to be put in that company is unbelievable. You couldn’t ask for a better feeling.”

Dee Brown plays nearly eight seasons in a Celtics uniform. The best days come early. The team sprints out to a 29–5 record to start the 1990–91 regular season, finishes 56–26, and falls to the hated Pistons in the Eastern Conference Semifinals. He lands on the ’91 NBA All-Rookie First Team.

“The Big Three were older when I got drafted, and the Celtics had started transitioning from a front court-oriented team to a team that featured the backcourt,” Brown says. “The offense featured younger, faster players like Brian Shaw, Reggie Lewis, Kevin Gamble, and myself. For the first time in a long time—or maybe ever—the Celtics were throwing down alley-oop dunks, running backdoor cuts, dunking on people, and doing windmill dunks during the game. The fans didn’t know what to think. They called us the ‘Zip Boys.’ Tommie Heinsohn gave us that nickname.”

Despite the injection of youth, the Boston Celtics are slowly crumbling when Dee Brown arrives, the fissures almost imperceptible at first.

“When I got there, Larry, Kevin, and Chief were still playing at a high level. This was before Larry got hurt, before Kevin got hurt again, and before Reggie passed. So even though we lost Lenny, we had an opportunity to be a great team. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

Dee Brown

“My first eight years in the league, there were only two NBA champions: Chicago and Houston. That was it. Like most players of that era, I came around at the wrong time because my career coincided with Jordan’s prime. But then again, Patrick Ewing, Karl Malone, Charles Barkley, and so many other great players could say the same thing. They just came around when the greatest player who ever lived happened to be playing basketball.”

Brown’s early years in Boston are spent balling in the game’s most storied venue.

“People talk about Chicago Stadium and Madison Square Garden, but the old Boston Garden was great,” Brown says, smiling. “It was all about one thing: Basketball without distractions. There were no cheerleaders. No dancers. You had the organ. You had the dead spots. You had the obstructed view seats. You had the conspiracy theories of Red turning off the hot water to the showers or turning off the air conditioning during the playoffs. It was pure basketball, played in front of the best fans in the world.”

A young Dee Brown loves talking shop with the Celtics’ aging patriarch. Auerbach takes an instant liking to the acrobatic dunker with the old school vibe and Pogo sticks for legs. The memories made are priceless.

“We were playing a home game, and I’m sitting in the locker room when Red walks in,” Brown says. “I think it was the year that Reggie Lewis had passed away, and I was playing close to 38 minutes a game. By this point in the season, I’m exhausted because I’m playing both guard positions. One game I’m guarding Mitch Richmond, the next game it’s Michael Jordan, and the next it’s Tim Hardaway. I’m guarding these guys, and I’m giving up 20 to 30 pounds. They’re bigger and stronger.


“So I’m sitting in the locker room and Red walks in. I never called him ‘Red.’ I always called him ‘Arnold.’ He loved it. I said, ‘Arnold, I’m exhausted, sore, and beat up.’ He looks at me and says, ‘Dee, let me tell you something. One year Bill Russell averaged 47 minutes per game for an entire season. And guess what? He owes me a minute. So you’d better never complain about playing all of these minutes because he played 47 and he owes me a minute, and until I get it from him, I’m going to keep chasing him.’”

Brown laughs at the retelling.

“I never complained about minutes again,” Brown says. “For him to be pissed off because Bill Russell didn’t play 48 minutes a game, the greatest Celtic of them all, who am I to complain [laughs]? Besides, playing 38 minutes a night was a lot better than sitting the bench. I loved Red. He always came into the locker room with a story.”

Away from the court, Brown soaks up Boston’s nightlife. His musical tastes continue to grow and evolve, but he’s still hooked on hip-hop.

“It was the early ’90s, so Biggie had just hit big. I listened to Busta Rhymes and EPMD, so I still liked the New York rap scene. There were a couple of Florida groups coming out of that time, like 2 Live Crew. People were like, ‘You can’t listen to that in Boston.’ But I was from Florida, so I had to represent. 69 Boyz were from Jacksonville. So was 95 South. They had a hit with ‘Whoot, There It Is.’ Living in Boston, I also go to see plenty of concerts. I was a Janet Jackson fan, a Faith Evans fan, a Stacy Lattisaw fan. Whitney Houston. I saw them all in Boston.”

If you’re a Boston Celtics fan during the ’90s, your allegiance to the team is sorely tested. Brown understands this perhaps better than anyone.

“A lot of people tend to dismiss that era of Celtics basketball,” Brown says. “They remember me winning the dunk contest, and then it jumps to Paul Pierce. The best years were early in the decade and were bookmarked by two tragedies that disrupted the future of the franchise. Len and Reggie weren’t lost due to injury. They weren’t traded away for other players. These were great talents who passed away tragically. You can’t plan for that.

“People forget that I joined the team just a few years after Lenny died, and I was part of the whole Reggie situation. I was there for eight years, and the Celtics were still trying to recover when I was traded to Toronto. We had some good players. Dominique Wilkins was there for a couple of years. Xavier McDaniel. Sherman Douglas. Dino Radja. Rick Fox was there before he went to Los Angeles. Chris Ford was one of the best coaches that I ever had.

“Nobody even talks about the ’90s, and nobody really brings up my career in Boston,” Brown continues. “That era has become a footnote in Celtics history. I consider myself lucky. I played in the last game in the old Boston Garden and the first game in the Fleet Center. I was the last person to play with the Big Three. I was the last of Red’s last picks to make significant contributions in a Celtics uniform. Those are the things I back on with pride.”

Brown understands that winning the ’91 NBA Slam Dunk Contest is a sexier headline and the thing people still remember most. But for him, being named Celtics captain is the ultimate honor.

Dee Brown

“They don’t give that title out every day, nor do they give it away lightly. You have to earn it. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I’d be a Celtic captain. It helped being around Larry, Kevin, Robert, and DJ on a daily basis. Through them, you learn that Celtic Pride isn’t a catchphrase. It’s a way of life.”

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Brown, who embraces his new role, quickly appreciates its burden.

“When I first became captain, I don’t think I fully grasped the magnitude,” Brown says. “It was great to be recognized as a leader, but I didn’t realize how difficult it was to be captain. It was a handful. And then, when you look at the list of captains that came before—Cousy, Russell, Havlicek, Cowens, Bird, Parish—you’re talking about some of the greatest players to pick up a basketball. That’s pressure. Just to be mentioned in the same breath with these guys is an honor. I didn’t have a career to match theirs, but I felt like I carried the same respect for what it means to be a Boston Celtic.”

As the team’s fortunes sag through the ’90s, Brown’s career stalls like a hurricane over the Florida coast. He battles a knee injury, watches legends retire, and endures a string of draft busts. There’s negativity at every turn.

“I was the biggest name on the roster at the time, but I was thrust into a situation that I really wasn’t prepared to handle. Reggie Lewis dies, and all of a sudden you go from being a complementary player to being the face of the franchise. There’s no way to prepare for that.”

The Dunk. It always comes back to The Dunk.

Funny thing is, Brown’s iconic sky dab almost never happens.

“I had a lot of dunks during my rookie year,” Brown says. “The All-Star Weekend was coming up, and Jon Jennings, a Celtics assistant coach at the time, was telling everybody that I needed to be included in the dunk contest. Thanks to his lobbying I was added as an alternate, and eventually slid into the lineup when one of the top guys pulled out.”

Shawn Kemp creates all of the buzz, while Brown arrives in Charlotte to little fanfare and even less recognition.

“It’s a few hours before the contest, and I’m sitting in the stands with Shawn Kemp and the rest of the guys,” he says. “We’re dressed in regular clothes, and I’m right beside Shawn, and this kid comes up and asks for his autograph. The kid points at me and says to Shawn, ‘Hey is that your little brother?’ I just looked at the kid and thought to myself, ‘You have no idea what I’m about to do in this contest.’”

Brown draws the seventh slot in the dunk order and wastes little time making an impression. Before his first dunk, he stands near mid-court, bends over and pumps the inflatable air bladders in his black Reebok Pump Omni Lite sneakers with both hands. The crowd, which includes an array of megastars like Will Smith, goes wild.

“I’d already signed a contract with Reebok, but pumping up my shoes before that first dunk wasn’t scripted,” he says. “I just said to myself, ‘This is for fun, you may never be in this situation again.’ I’d seen the contest on TV plenty of times, and I want to do something different. I want to get the crowd into it. Obviously, it worked.”

With that single act of showmanship, Brown accelerates the convergence between sneakers, hip-hop culture, and the American mainstream. An unknown wisp at 6-foot-2, 165 pounds just seconds before, the scrawny Boston rookie—Brown’s words—is suddenly the star of the NBA All-Star Weekend.

“People could relate to me,” he says. “I looked like an average guy, not a superhero in basketball shorts. There was an instant connection with the fans.”

Brown continues pumping before each subsequent dunk. After eliminating Kemp in the final round with a two-ball double-stuff that includes raking a ball placed on the back of the rim, followed by a 360 dunk off a bounce, Brown lines up for that final, iconic assault on the basket.

Celtics guard Dee Brown, pictured knocking the ball away from Bulls star Michael Jordan in a 1997 game.

“I’d never done that dunk before,” Brown says. “I literally made it up on the spot. I wanted to do something that everybody would remember, like Michael Jordan taking off and dunking from the free-throw line, or Dominique Wilkins throwing down a vicious windmill dunk. I wanted people to remember Dee Brown doing something that nobody had ever done before. All those thoughts ran through my mind as I started running from half-court. When I jumped, I closed my eyes and put my head in my elbow. I knew that I was either going to make it, and everybody would be talking about me 25 years later, or I was going to miss it, and everybody was going to be talking about it 25 years later [laughs].”

Even without social media, Brown’s spontaneous improvisation brings instant fame.

“Larry Bird said, ‘Before that dunk, everybody wanted to shoot like me, and now everybody wants to dunk like Dee.’ It was the first time since he’d been in Boston that people would run past Larry Bird to get someone else’s autograph. He thought it was funny, and he didn’t mind at all.

“Outside of Boston, nobody knew who I was before that dunk,” Brown continues. “Having somebody from the Boston Celtics in a dunk contest was kind of like it snowing in San Diego. I literally became a household name overnight. After the contest, I couldn’t go anywhere in New England without being recognized by people who didn’t even follow the Celtics that closely. I was on TV all the time; I was doing Dunkin’ Donuts commercials, Reebok commercials, car commercials, radio spots. I was doing appearances in Vermont, Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island. For a while, I was New England.”

Brown’s run in Boston ends with the arrival of Rick Pitino. Hailed as a savior when he arrives, Pitino trades away players at a dizzying rate, to his own detriment. Brown is a casualty of the house cleaning when he, along with Chauncey Billups, is traded to Toronto midway through the 1997–98 regular season.

“I was a bridge between the great Celtics teams of the ’80s and Rick Pitino’s Celtics,” Brown says. “I never thought I would leave Boston. I never asked for a trade from Boston. A new regime comes in and they want their own people, their own players. Pitino didn’t want the old Celtics there. He wanted his people there. I got it. Basketball’s a business. But I was very, very hurt.”

Iconic

They say you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone. It works both way for Dee Brown and the Boston Celtics fans he leaves behind, fans who watch Rick Pitino push the Celtics deeper into disrepair.

“My biggest regret is not enjoying it as much I should have. When you’re in the moment, sometimes you don’t appreciate where you are in life. Then when it’s over, you miss it. That was me. I wish I had enjoyed being an NBA basketball player and the captain of the Boston Celtics more than I did. Back then you were either in the NBA and had a job or you didn’t. There was no D-League to fall back on. I think that fear of losing my job took a lot of the fun and enjoyment away from it. I didn’t savor the good times as much as I should have. I wish I could change that.”

Today, Brown looks back on his career and the era of Celtics basketball in which he played with great fondness.

“My 12-year-old son searches for me on Google. He’ll watch old footage on YouTube, and he’ll say, ‘Dad, you were pretty good.’ It helps me appreciate my career. When you’re grinding, you lose track of the fact that you’re playing against some of the best athletes in the world. Look at the NBA’s 50 Greatest list, and 20 to 25 of those players played during my era. I played against them. In order to have a 12-year NBA career, you have to play at a very high level. I did that, and I got to spend most of those years playing for the Boston Celtics, the best organization in the NBA. I was twenty when I was drafted. The Celtics raised me. I have nothing but love for Boston. I’ll always be a Celtic.”

Written By: Michael D. McClellan |Victor Newman wasn’t supposed to hang around the fictional town of Genoa City, Wisconsin, this long. The conniving businessman first appeared on CBS’s The Young and the Restless way back in 1980, when he was written into the plot for an eight-to-twelve week run. That was more than long enough for Eric Braeden, who wasn’t convinced he wanted to make his living on a daytime soap opera, not when he’d been plenty busy in Hollywood since landing there in 1960 with $500 in his pocket and zero acting experience on his resumé. Tall, athletic, and unnervingly handsome, the German-born actor had racked up  120 TV and film credits during his first two decades in show business, appearing in everything from The Rat Patrol to Hawaii Five-O to Gunsmoke, so, for Braeden – born Hans Gudegast in Kiel, Germany, at the height of World War II – a short-term commitment was plenty long enough to test the waters. Talk about a plot twist: Turns out the despicable, contemptible, unfaithful wife abuser wasn’t killed off as originally scripted, not with a nationwide audience swooning over the show’s dangerous new character and CBS execs taking notice of the ratings spike. Producer William Joseph Bell promptly offered Braeden a role as a series regular, and Braeden has spent the past 40 years turning Victor Newman into soap opera’s leading male figure.

“What a ride it has been,” he says in his recognizable low-toned voice. “I am enormously grateful to the writers and my fellow actors, and most importantly, to Bill Bell.”

Since arriving in Genoa City, on business, Newman has formed his own worldwide conglomerate, forged a supercouple pairing with stripper Nikki Reed (Melody Scott Thomas), cheated on Nikki with Ashley Abbott (Eileen Marie Davidson), had a son who grew up without knowledge of Victor being his father (Adam Newman, played by Justin Hartley), and engaged in a long-running business rivalry with Jack Abbott (Peter Bergman). Forty years of twists and turns jump-started by a conversation that Braeden had with his tennis partner, comedic actor Dabney Coleman, who had logged a stint playing a doctor on the NBC soap Bright Promise from 1971-72.

Eric Braeden (far right) – “The Young and the Restless”

“He said, ‘Do it. You’ll love it,’” Braeden recalls. “Upon that advice, I agreed to come in for an interview.”

Braeden not only developed an instant rapport with Bell, he thrived on the grueling pace of soap opera production. After four-plus decades of working on a show that typically shoots 100 to 120 pages a day, Braeden can’t imagine toiling at the pace of what he calls “nighttime TV.”

“That would bore the shit out of me,” he says flatly. “I have no interest in it.”

Braeden’s character has since found himself entangled in hundreds of storylines, from amnesia, to near death experiences, to more than a dozen on-screen marriages. But it’s Victor’s layered backstory, as a child abandoned by his parents who rose to fortune and fame, that Braeden says makes the character so fulfilling to play.

“He’s on one hand tough, ruthless, does whatever he has to, but he’s also vulnerable. He wants to be loved and he wants to love, but he can’t really. He’s a loner. It’s a fantastic part.”

Eric Braeden as German Capt. Hans Dietrich in “The Rat Patrol”
Courtesy ABC-publicity

The odds of Braeden landing such a role in the first place – much less making it his own and turning it into one of the most iconic characters in the history of daytime television – were practically unfathomable as a young child growing up in war-torn Germany. His father’s death plunged the family into poverty, and the prospects of a prosperous future appeared dim. Braeden’s work ethic and athletic frame led to a track scholarship at the University of Montana, as well as an opportunity to conquer Idaho’s notorious Salmon River – otherwise known as ‘The River of No Return.’ The resulting documentary film delivered $500 and a bus ride to Los Angeles. Determined to stick, Braeden moved into a cheap hotel room and started parking cars.

“I knew nothing about how Hollywood worked, and I had no acting experience. The unknown was worth the risk to me – I had first dissected cadavers at the John Sealy Hospital in Galveston, Texas, where a German cousin of mine was a doctor. Then I ventured from that to Montana. I was a cowboy on a ranch outside of Missoula. I worked at a lumber mill. Trying my hand at acting was my ticket out.”

That Greyhound bus ride came during the fall of 1960. A year later he landed his first uncredited role in something called Operation Eichmann, a fictional hunt for the architect of Hitler’s atrocities. From there, Braeden kept working and never looked back, scoring roles in Mission: Impossible, Marcus Welby, M.D., Barnaby Jones, CHiPs, Kojak, Cannon, Mannix, and The Six Million Dollar Man. At one point, Braeden was even a serious candidate to replace Sean Connery as James Bond. He’s acted in James Cameron’s Titanic, and produced and starred in his own feature film, The Man Who Came Back. He’s been honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. A decorated career by any measure, and one capped by that 40-year run as Victor Newman – a role for which Braeden is eternally grateful.

Eric Braeden (left) as John Jacob Astor in “Titanic”
Courtesy Twentieth-Century-Fox

“The fans have been tremendous,” he says. “Their support over the years has been the one constant that makes playing the role of Victor Newman so rewarding, and the big reason it has been so easy to stick around for so long.”

With that, the legendary actor with the charming-but-despicable alter-ego settles in for the interview, and the stories pour out – tales of playing tennis with princes, of making movies with Brando and Brynner, and of sharing the silver screen with a young Leonardo DiCaprio. All of them connected to those forty years of scripted ruthlessness and bound together by a lifetime of hard work.

Eric Braeden might be an acting legend, but he’s earned it every step of the way.

There’s nothing despicable about that.

I hope you’re staying safe during this coronavirus pandemic. How do you occupy your time?

All of the studios are either closed or locked down. I don’t mind it, to be honest with you, I really don’t. I get to read a lot, and I love that. I read five publications a day – newspapers from Germany, The Guardian, The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Wall Street Journal – not from front to back, obviously, but I do read the opinion sections and the most important articles. I work out a lot. I talk to my family. It makes time go by very fast. It really is not that difficult right now, as long as one stays away from that virus.


Did you ever envision a world like the COVID-19 world we’re living in today?

I live in a beautiful area, so I’m very fortunate that way. My heart goes out to those that don’t know where their next meal is coming from, or how to pay their rent. That bothers me a great deal, because I have been there. I have felt that pain, you know? There’s nothing worse than being in financial need. It’s the worst. It’s a killer. I lived through those times after the war in Germany, and I’ve seen what it did to the people that fell victim to it. We didn’t have hot running water. We had an outhouse. My first years over here were not easy either, so I know what it means to wonder whether you can pay your rent or not. It’s not a good feeling. Anyway, I feel for those people who are suffering because they’ve lost their jobs…waitresses, people in the service industry…it’s tough man. It’s awful.

Eric Braeden as Dr. Otto Hasslein in “Escape from the Planet of the Apes” (1971)
Courtesy Twentieth Century Fox

Take me back to the beginning. You were born in Germany, at the height of World War II.

I was born in Kiel, Germany, during World War II. The city was bombed heavily during that time. In fact, the Allies dropped about 500,000 bombs on Kiel between 1941 and the end of the war in 1945, during which time 90% of the city was destroyed. There were 200 women giving birth in the basement of the hospital because of the bombing, and we barely made it out alive.


You are no stranger to hard times. Please tell me about your childhood.

I grew up in the German village of Bredenbek, which was the kind of farm country where all you saw was people working from sun up to sun down. My father had a trucking business, and he used his trucks to build roads and oil bunkers and all kinds of stuff. He had four or five drivers. I remember them starting very early in the morning and working all day. We wound up with nothing when my father died, and we plunged into poverty. At that point I started working on the farms around the village, so I’ve made my own money since I was 12 years old. I never got a penny from anyone. I don’t know any differently. It was hard work. During harvest time, I cleaned out horse stalls. By the way, horse manure smells good compared to cow manure, compared to pig manure, compared to chicken manure. I am very grateful to my childhood in many ways, although, to be frank with you, I can do without the poverty. Sometimes people romanticize poverty. My ass. Poverty is terrible. It’s the worst.

Eric Braeden (left) as Von Klemme in “100 Rifles” (1969)
Courtesy Twentieth Century Fox

There’s an old African proverb that it takes a village to raise a child.

The great thing about growing up in a small village is that everybody knows you, so that adage is very true in my case. People looked out for you. They made sure you stayed out of trouble, and they were always there when you needed them. So yes, the village did help raise me to a certain extent. For that I’m thankful. Those were tough times after my father died. That stayed with me for decades. I was close to my dad. We were four boys at home and he was a man’s man, and a goodhearted man. I miss him to this day.


What was school like for a young Eric Braeden?

We had fights at school almost every day. It wasn’t this politically correct bullshit that prevails in schools today where they have fights, and it’s like, “Oh my God, call the parents, and call the school psychologist.” No, we fought it out. Boom. End of story.

Funny thing about those schoolyard fights. The teacher would come out, and everyone would make a circle around us and watch. If the fight got too bad, the teacher would say, “Okay, that’s enough.” That was it. Then when you went off into the school and went to class. If the score was unsettled then you waited for that guy outside of school, in some lonely country park, and you beat the shit out of him.


You’re world renowned for portraying Victor Newman in The Young and the Restless, but you were also an outstanding athlete.

I grew up in track and field in Germany, and I won the junior youth championship with my team. My disciplines were discus, javelin, and shot put. We won the German championship, and a year later I came to America. I had a scholarship in track and field, at the University of Montana in Missoula.

Eric Braeden in “Colossus The Forbin Project”
Courtesy Universal-Pictures

Please tell me about your track and field career at the University of Montana.

It was a very demanding period in my life. My scholarship only covered tuition and didn’t cover living expenses, so I got a job and worked from six in the evening until two in the morning in a lumber mill outside of Missoula. I worked on the green chain, pulling lumber for those eight hours. My first lecture was at eight in the morning, and I didn’t arrive home until 3 a.m., so you can imagine how many hours one slept. Then I had classes all morning, followed by track and field practice in the afternoon. I would try to sleep for an hour before I went back to work, so it was not a very good time, to be quite frank with you.


How hard was it for you to leave your homeland and move to the United States?

It was hard in that Germany is where I was born and raised, but I’ve been in awe of this country from the very beginning. I must say, one of the pleasant surprises about coming to America was how welcoming the people were. I didn’t go anywhere that I wasn’t welcomed. I can honestly say that America has been wonderful and very hospitable in that way. I think Americans, in their DNA, remember that their forefathers were immigrants as well, you know? It’s basically a welcoming and openhearted country. There are no two ways about that.

I also have to say that Americans appreciate it if you are good at something. It doesn’t make any difference where you came from or what you had done before. If you are good, bingo. It’s different than Europe in that sense. This is truly a country of unlimited possibilities. All of those clichés are true. It’s tough, no question. I am deeply grateful to this country.

Eric Braeden as Jack Sinclair in “Gunsmoke” (1971)
Courtesy CBS Television Network

How did you end up in Hollywood?

I had a girlfriend, and her girlfriend’s boyfriend wanted to make a documentary film about a river trip on the Salmon River in Idaho. The Salmon River is known as ‘The River of No Return.’ Well, he was something of a tough, adventurous guy, and he couldn’t find anyone to go with him. I asked, “What’s the upshot?” He said that no one had ever gone up and down the Salmon River because everyone knew how dangerous it was, and that we could be the first – and we would have a documentary film that we could then take with us to California. I said, flatly, “I’m in.” Anything to get the hell out of Montana. Montana might have been beautiful, but to me it was working at a lumber mill from 6 p.m. to 2 a.m.

It was an experience of a lifetime. The Salmon River is full of rapids, hence the name, ‘The River of No Return.’ Going down the river is one thing, but going down and up is a completely different story. Try to imagine going up those rapids, and fighting through them in a 50-foot aluminum Crestline boat with a 40-horsepower Johnson motor outside. When you’d hit the rapids you’d just you inch along, and then, if you hit the wrong spot, you’d lose power. You were always in danger of flipping over. It was damned dangerous.

Well, we made that river trip and we were successful. We took the film with us on a Greyhound bus and went to Los Angeles, where we did a press conference arranged by Johnson Motors and Alcoa. We each got 500 bucks. He went back to his fiancée, who was pregnant at the time, and I stayed. I didn’t know a soul here. It didn’t matter. I had 500 bucks in my pocket, so I rented a room in a cheap hotel and started parking cars. Then I worked for a furniture moving company. That’s how I came to LA.


Take me back to those early years in Hollywood. Was it hard breaking into acting?

You hear all of the stories about how hard it is to work as a professional actor in Hollywood. This is largely true. It’s a cutthroat business, and the odds are not in your favor. For me, coming from war-torn Germany, those obstacles weren’t something that I really dwelled on. I pushed on and I persevered.

Starting out, my first role was playing a Nazi in a television series called Combat!. Then I played a Nazi in The Rat Patrol. I used to play all kinds of heavies – a Russian heavy, a French heavy, an English heavy, whatever…as long as they paid, I didn’t give a damn. I was one of the few people working. I must say the business has been very good to me. I was rarely turned down. That rarely happened, except for James Bond.

Eric Braeden as Victor Newman in “The Young and the Restless”
Courtesy CBS Television Network

Eric Braeden as James Bond?

They found out that I was German, so that was the end of that. But they were interested. When Sean Connery said no for the first time, they were looking for another one. The producer, Cubby Broccoli, had seen me in a film called Colossus, and he was interested. We had lunch and he asked if I still had a British passport. I learned British English and German in high school, and every so often I fall back into that, so when they found out that I was German that was the end of that story.


The Rat Patrol was a hit. Please tell me about this experience.

We did the pilot in Yuma, Arizona, and filmed the first 16 segments in Almería, which is located in the South of Spain. This was 1966. We filmed in Almería because they have desert-like areas there. It’s a fascinating area with a mixture of cultures. In the midst of all that, you had the Gypsies – they were called Gitanos – who lived in mountain caves. They sang beautiful, heartfelt songs. Because I played soccer with most of them in-between scenes, and because they liked that I spoke some Spanish, they invited me and my wife to the cuevas – the caves – at night to list to the music.

Francisco Franco was still the dictator in Spain at the time we were filming The Rat Patrol, so everything was hush-hush. You didn’t talk politics. The South of Spain held out the longest against Franco during the Spanish Civil War – in Almería, particularly. They called Almería “el culo del mundo” – the asshole of the world – because it had held out so long against Franco. I remember seeing all of these destroyed buildings and houses with bullet holes, all of it from the revolution in 1936. It was a fascinating time to be there. You had this present-day dictatorship, and then you had this medieval Catholicism that had taken root when King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella came to power in the 1400s. They were the ones who sponsored Columbus’s trip to the Americas. Until then, much of Spain was under Muslim rule. When they came to power, they threw out the Muslims.

Eric Braeden as German Capt. Hans Dietrich in “The Rat Patrol”
Courtesy ABC-publicity

The Rat Patrol wasn’t the only time you filmed in the South of Spain.

I went back there two years later and did a film called 100 Rifles with Jim Brown, Burt Reynolds, and Raquel Welch. We actually filmed in the same area. When we did The Rat Patrol, Clint Eastwood was doing one of those Spaghetti Westerns in the same area.


You have acted with a Who’s Who of Hollywood royalty, including the late, great Marlon Brando. What was that like?

To be frank with you, I’m just very fortunate. I’ve worked with a lot of fantastic people. One of my first films was a film called Morituri, starring Marlon Brando and Yul Brynner. We filmed onboard a ship off Catalina Island. I think the captain was from New Zealand and the crew was Chinese.

Marlon and I did a scene together, and afterwards we starting talking and became friendly. We talked about politics and history, mostly. He was interested in German history, especially recent German history, and Nazi history in particular. He was also very concerned with civil rights and Native Americans at the time, so we had some interesting conversations. He was an interesting character. And let me tell you, Marlon Brando was a damned good athlete. He was a stocky guy, and strong. We used to throw the football outside on the stages of 20th Century Fox between scenes and talk history. He had a good arm.

Yul Brynner was one of the greatest storytellers of all time. Truly, that guy could tell stories in five languages. Most people say, “I can speak a second language,” or, “I can speak in several languages.” Bullshit. They speak a little bit of something. Yul Brynner was fluent in five languages. He was a genuinely bright guy and one of the best raconteurs that I think I’ve ever met.

Interestingly, Yul and Marlon didn’t like each other. They were both tough guys.


As an actor, did you learn anything from your side jobs that you were able to take with you to the studio?

I learned how to curse in English, and I will tell you how. I was working for a furniture moving company in Los Angeles. I was working a job in West Los Angeles with an old geezer – and old American guy – and we were carrying a refrigerator up a flight of stairs for an old lady. He was on the top of the fridge and I was on the bottom. The old lady was telling us not to hit this and that, not to damage the wall, not to bump the handrail. Well, we’re barely holding onto this fridge and doing our best to make it up these creaky stairs. Finally, my partner says, “Lady, will you shut the fuck up?” I will never forget that moment. I love the expression. It’s imprinted in my mind. I remember being in that moment and trying to translate that expression into German. Shut the fuck up. And I thought to myself, “Wait a minute – he’s turning a verb into a noun!” I will never forget the moment. I remember the time of day, I remember where on the steps I was when he said it. I loved it. It sounded wonderful. Shut the fuck up.


Let’s talk about The Young and the Restless. Congratulations on 40 years as part of the cast!

First of all, the fact that one has been steadily employed for 40 years is a luxury one can really only appreciate when you work in this business. Because, I’ve been working more or less steadily since 1962, long before I joined Y&R. I’ve acted in The Rat Patrol, Mission: Impossible, Mannix…the list goes on and on. So I’ve just been very fortunate in that I’ve never really been unemployed for a long time. That is not the typical life of an actor.

Y&R of course, has been a blessing. There are so many fond memories, such as Victor Newman meeting his mother for the first time, played by Dorothy McGuire, and, of course, Victor meeting his father, played by George Kennedy. What a wonderful man, George Kennedy. He subsequently did a film of mine called The Man Who Came Back. I have the deepest respect for George Kennedy. He was a big man, about 6-foot-4 and 300 pounds, and just the nicest human being. Tough guy. Very smart. A wonderful actor. A gentleman of the old school. Sean Young used to set almost by his feet in between scenes, and he would tell her stories of Hollywood. I was greatly saddened by his passing.

I’ve done some very memorable scenes with Jack Abbott and Peter Bergman. They were also wonderful actors to work with. And also Melody Thomas Scott, who plays Nikki. Our characters have had our ups and downs on the show, and I love working with her. I adore her as a human being.

Eric Braeden as Victor Newman in “The Young and the Restless”
Courtesy WATCH

You played a friendly tennis match with fellow actor Dabney Coleman in the late 1970s. That match helped you land the iconic role as conniving business mogul Victor Newman.

Dabney and I met through acting and shared a love of tennis. Do you know Alex Olmedo, who won Wimbledon in 1959? Alex and Dabney used to play tennis regularly, and I would play with them on occasion. Well, we were playing tennis one afternoon, and I had recently learned that this role on a daytime soap had opened up. Dabney had done a soap at one time or another, so I asked him what it was all about. He said, “Do it. You’ll love it.” I didn’t watch daytime television, so I didn’t even know that they had that kind of stuff on daytime television. I didn’t know what the hell it was. I had no clue. But Dabney is a serious actor and I trusted him. Had I not gotten that recommendation, I wouldn’t have gone to the casting call. The rest is a 40 year history.


The Young and the Restless is a big part of people’s lives.

What has really impressed me as an actor – and this has only happened because of Y&R – is the enormous influence one has on people’s lives. I never realized that until I became Victor Newman. I’ve done more than 120 guest shots over the years, appearing on everything from Hawaii Five-O to Gunsmoke to The F.B.I. and on and on, but I never realized what an effect we have on people just by doing what we do. Y&R taught me that.

Before Y&R, I had never gone out and done a public appearance on behalf of a show. Never. Then Doug Davidson and I, who plays Detective Paul Williams, went to a huge market just outside of Toronto, the biggest market in North America. I will never forget it. There were 15,000 people crammed into a little area in that big market, and all of them were there just to see us. I looked at Doug and said, “Are you serious?” But that’s example of the impact that we have on people’s lives. We reach between four and five million people every week. It’s just extraordinary.

Eric Braeden as Victor Newman in “The Young and the Restless”
Courtesy CBS Television Network

You’ve been playing Victor Newman since 1980. There have been fans who’ve been there with you every step of the way.

I really, really appreciate the fans, to be honest with you. Other than the income we make, which is nice, the most satisfying thing is to know that you impact people’s lives. Wherever I’ve gone, I’ve had such wonderful experiences with the fans. I’ve made two appearances in Charleston, West Virginia over the years, in the middle of one of your malls. I will never forget that, for example.


Victor Newman is an iconic character. Are you ever surprised by the fame that has come along with it?

It has been enormously humbling. There are several examples that come to mind. I remember playing in a tennis tournament in Monte Carlo. I’m sitting with my wife and son at a table, and Harry Belafonte, who was part of the whole thing, walked over and said, “Would you mind saying hello to the people at the table over there? They would love to meet you.” I said that it would be my pleasure, so I got up and walked over and shook hands. They were very nice. They spoke French, and a little English, so we made small talk, bah-bah-bah, and then Harry took me back to my table. I politely asked him who they were, and he a very surprised look on his face. He said, “You don’t know who they are?” I said that I had no idea. He said, “That was President Habib Bourguiba of Tunisia. He and his family watch the show.”

Another time I was in Istanbul with some of the cast, and we were invited to appear on TV by a station there. Tansu Çiller, the Prime Minister of Turkey, was throwing a big party later that evening. Melody Thomas Scoot, who plays Nikki, went to the party with me. We were treated like rock stars. And I thought, “You must be kidding. This can’t be true.”

 In Israel I was invited to the Knesset, the Israeli parliament, and had conversations with Shimon Peres about politics. So it has been wonderful in that sense.


In your critically acclaimed autobiography, I’ll Be Damned: How My Young and Restless Life Led Me to America’s #1 Daytime Drama, you write about Mikhail Gorbachev and President Ronald Reagan. Tell me about that.

I was able to give a speech for Mikhail Gorbachev when he was here in Los Angeles and, afterwards, Nancy Reagan invited me to give a similar speech for Ronald Reagan. It was a tremendous honor, because both men were such historically significant personalities. Growing up in a small German village, I never dreamed that one day I might be giving speeches to two of the most powerful people on earth.

In terms of their historical significance, I call Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev the two most important men in the second half of the 20th century. People always look at me and say, “Why is that?” and I say that it’s because they prevented a third world war. People forget how close we were to a war with Russia. Whatever I think of Mikhail Gorbachev and Ronald Reagan politically or otherwise is beside the point. That is an extraordinary accomplishment. Think about it. Two people met from two different philosophies, one being a harsh capitalist the other being a hardline communist, but they found something in common as human beings. I will never forget it. People have no clue as to how close we were to war, and how important it was that Ronald Reagan was willing to reach out to Gorbachev as a human being. I think Nancy had a lot to do with it, and her contributions were absolutely critical.


We could use some of that to help heal the divisions in the United States today.

This whole rift between liberals and conservatives in America, and all of this ideological bullshit going back and forth…you know, if you just got to know each other a little bit more, and you sat down somewhere and had a beer and a tequila and began to shoot the shit, you would begin to like each other as human beings.


I’ve heard that a soap opera averages 80 pages of script per day. How does that compare to an evening drama, or even a feature film?

Eighty pages is the low end. There are some days that go up to 100-to-120 pages. It’s insane. The great thing about daytime is that I come in, I concentrate like crazy, focus like crazy, learn that stuff, and then I make it as real as I can. The most I’ve ever done personally is 62 pages in one day. Many of us routinely do 20, 30, 40 pages a day.

A feature film is nothing compared to that. Unless I starred in it, I would not be interested in films anymore because they are too boring. You spend most of your time sitting around on the set waiting for other people to do their job. If I had continued doing nighttime television or film, I would have been directing by now. Daytime television is what keeps you on your toes. You’ve got to cram that shit and make it your own.


You played the character John Jacob Astor IV in James Cameron’s Titanic. There were a lot of people who thought that movie was going to flop, but it became both a critical success and one of the highest-grossing movies of all time.

James Cameron is a genius – an extremely bright guy with balls of steel. While we were doing that movie, both 20th Century Fox and Paramount Pictures were scared shitless that they would lose their shirts. They thought they would go broke, because the budget ballooned over $100 million, and it had never been done before. My God, did he prove them wrong.

Eric Braeden as Victor Newman in “The Young and the Restless”
Courtesy CBS Television Network

James Cameron must have been under enormous pressure.

We were filming near in Rosarito, Mexico, which is near Tijuana, and also in Baja, California. The studio brass would sometimes come down at lunch and sit there in their suits, because they wanted to exert pressure on him. I’ll never forget, I was standing behind him in the lunch line and his assistant came up to him and says, “Well, the suits are here,” meaning the executives from the studios. And he says, “Fuck ‘em. Just bring my food to the dressing room. I don’t want anything to do with them right now.” It was a tense time, because the cost overrun reminded them of Cleopatra, and Cleopatra had nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox. They were afraid the same thing would happen with this film, which was not only expensive, it didn’t have the star power of actors like Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. James Cameron was making this film with relatively unknown actors – [Leonardo] DiCaprio was not really known at the time. So I’m sure the executives thought, “What are we doing? We’re making Titanic, and we may go down with the Titanic.”


Did you think that Titanic would become a massive hit?

I have to say, I’m probably one of the few people who predicted that James Cameron would be very successful with that film. I was interviewed by a beat writer from The Hollywood Reporter, and he says, “You’re the only one who keeps saying that is going to be successful.” I replied, “Well, I’m in the top-rated soap opera on television,” and he says, “What does that have to do with Titanic?” And I just smiled and said, “This movie is a soap opera – albeit, a very expensive one. It’s going to make a fortune.”

Eric Braeden as John Jacob Astor in “Titanic”
Courtesy Twentieth-Century-Fox

What was it like watching Titanic for the first time?

James Cameron was a big fan of the film Colossus, which I did at Universal Studios in the late ‘60s, so he couldn’t have been nicer. We had finished filming my scenes around Christmas, and afterwards I called him up and asked if I could come down for a visit with my son, who was then a film student at UCLA, my wife, and my future daughter-in-law. He was absolutely fine with that, so we drove down to the set. He stopped shooting when we got there, and he took us into his trailer and showed us the first cut of the first five minutes of Titanic. He had already played Céline Dion’s beautiful song, My Heart Will Go On, for us. I got goosebumps watching it. I said, “You are going to make a fucking fortune on this.” And he did.


What was it like to be part of something like Titanic?

The acting was superb. Leo [Leonardo DiCaprio] is a wonderful actor. He continues to turn in amazing performances and make great films. What some don’t see is that he works incredibly hard at his craft. Billy Zane is another fine actor. Billy acted in my film, The Man Who Came Back. I knew Kathy Bates, and I knew what kind of an actor she was. Being a part of Titanic was just a remarkable experience, I must say, and then to see the success of that film…whoa…incredible.


In 2008, you executive-produced and starred in The Man Who Came Back. A wonderful film with an all-star cast.

To be honest with you, it was the best experience of my career. I’ve never enjoyed anything as much as doing that film, in large part because I had decision-making powers as to who we were hiring for the roles. All of the actors who were on will tell you that they had a hell of a time. Billy Zane was part of it, from Titanic. Great actor. Peter Jason is a wonderful actor. Armand Asante, fabulous character actor. We also had George Kennedy, Sean Young, and Carol Alt. We also had former heavyweight champion Kenny Norton – my God, what an honor it was to have him in this film. I have such respect for the man, God rest his soul. It just so happened that we worked out and boxed at the same gym in Watts. Bill Slayton was his trainer, one of the best. Kenny, when we worked on the film together, every so often I would slap him on the shoulder, and Jesus Christ, it was like hitting rock. Even at that age. Wonderful man.

Eric Braeden in “The Man Who Came Back” (2008)
Courtesy Eric Braeden

How did this project come together?

Chuck Walker, who boxed on the 1976 Olympic boxing team in Montréal with Sugar Ray Leonard, is an old friend of mine, and he came to me with the story. I liked it enough to see if we could get the money together and all of that. As it became clear that we were going to make it, I said that we need something that is more than just a revenge story. So it takes place in the latter part of the Reconstruction era in the South. Slavery was officially over with, but in reality it was not. The director, Glen Pitre, was doing some research on this when he came upon a labor strike in 1887, in Thibodaux, Louisiana. He learned that the plantation workers and the railroad workers got together and decided to strike. They wanted to be paid at least a dollar a day. This was especially important to the freed slaves, because many of them had continued working on the big plantations, but they were paid in company scrip – currency that they could only exchange on the company plantation. Because the scrip wasn’t good anywhere outside of the plantation they continued to be in bondage, so they had a strike in Thibodaux. Well, the strikers were mowed down by militia from New Orleans and Lafayette who came with the first Gatling machine guns. They murdered 300 strikers one night. I said, “That’s it. Now we have a story. Let’s go.”


What was it like wearing some many different hats in making The Man Who Came Back?

It was totally satisfying. My only regret is that we admittedly had a little bit too much violence in it. That was my insistence, and I take responsibility for it, because I wanted things to be real. When my character’s wife gets raped and murdered and all of that, I said “Make that as real as possible.” That was a decision I should not have made because it turned off a lot of people. It’s pretty brutal. But beyond that, I absolutely loved doing that film. I’m still friends with all of them. When I had my Y&R 40th anniversary party, all of the actors from that film came, except the ones who had passed away.


How hard was it getting this independent film made?

The bane of the existence of independent producers is that you’ve got to find a distributor. As an independent filmmaker, when you go through a distributor, you get fucked. Meaning, you really have no choice in the matter. They give you a certain amount of money, and that’s the last thing you will ever see. The only way around that is if you’re part of a big studio, or a big company that makes a lot of films. In those cases they can’t screw with you. But if you are an independent film producer, they will take you. They’ll say, “We’ll do this, this, and this,” and then they pay you some money. That’s the last penny you will ever see. And then, try to sue them. You take them to court, and it costs you at least $100,000. And then, if the judgment is in your favor, try to collect it. It’s an old story in Hollywood. They have three books – one for the IRS, one for the studio, and one for the people who own a percentage in the film. They cook the books. They can always say, “We had so many expenses – look at the books, we had this, this, and this.” Sadly, that was our experience. Otherwise, I would have made two or three other films already. I never enjoyed anything as much. Never.

Eric Braeden (left) in “The Man Who Came Back” (2008)
Courtesy Eric Braeden

Let’s talk sports. Tell me about your friendship with Muhammad Ali.

Muhammad Ali was a big fan of Y&R! He invited me to his 50th birthday party at Chasen’s Restaurant in Beverly Hills. My son and I went, and I will never forget it. Another time, I sat beside Ali on a plane ride from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. When we landed he said, “Go my way.” It wasn’t the official way to make it through LAX, the staff took us through all kinds of freight elevators and back hallways off limits to the public, but it was how he could avoid being mobbed by all of his fans. He knew that I was a boxer, so we started shadowboxing in one of the freight elevators. It was a bucket list moment for me.


You love tennis. You’ve played in a lot of celebrity tournaments all over the world.

The last one I played in was with the Ilie Năstase, in Bucharest, Romania. I had been invited to appear on a television show there, and he approached me and I was more than happy to play. Nadia Comaneci got us together, she is a big fan of Y&R. Ilie and I played against too young pros in Bucharest, and we beat them. I’ve played tennis with Chrissy Everett. I played in a tournament with Johan Kriek, against John McEnroe and Chevy Chase. I played an exhibition match in Central Park with Goran Ivanišević, we played against Andrei Chesnokov and Marc Rosset, another tall Swiss guy. Chesnokov was a fantastic athlete. I’ve played with Monica Seles and Tracy Austin quite a bit.

Funny story – I played in a celebrity tournament in Monte Carlo, with Prince Albert as my partner. The first two sets were tight, which we split, and then we were down 4 to 1 in the third set. His father, Prince Rainier, had come in with his entourage and sat down in one of the booths, and you see that he was visibly nervous. The errors started to pile up, and suddenly we were down 4 to 1. I said to myself, “Shit, he’s intimidated by his father.” So I turned to him and said, “Fuck it, Prince. Let’s go.” His eyes light up and he smiles and says, “Yes, fuck it.” We won the third set, and we went on to win the whole thing. I will never forget that moment. Actually, it was very telling about the relationship between father and son.

I’ve also played tennis with a few NBA players as well, but most of them were not that good. The exception to that was Rick Barry. Rick and I played a lot, and Rick was very good. He is 6-foot-7 and had an overpowering serve. What a fantastic athlete.

Steffi Graf and Eric Braeden enjoy a moment on the tennis court

You were also one hell of a soccer player. Tell me about winning a national championship as part of the Los Angeles Maccabees.

When I arrived in Los Angeles, I looked into playing soccer at UCLA, but the school had awarded all of its scholarships that year. Instead, I played for a team that was owned by a restaurant in Beverly Hills called La Scala. The owner, Jean Leon, brought together retired soccer players or players in their early 30s who had finished playing competitively all over the world – in the English First Division, which is known as the English Premiere League today, in the German Division, all over South America.

We played in something called the Greater Los Angeles Soccer League, which was founded in 1903 and is the oldest organized sports league in Los Angeles. Long story short, the Maccabees offered $20 a game. Being a starving student at the time, I jumped at the opportunity. I was a token German on a Jewish team – we had seven Israelis from the Israeli national team, two Ethiopians from the Ethiopian national team, two guys from South America…Brazil and Mexico…also from the first division. So, we had a good team. We made it all the way to the National Cup in 1973 against the Cleveland International Italians, or whatever they were called, and won the national championship.

Eric Braeden (second from left) and his LA Maccabees teammates

Do you have a soccer tip you’d like to share?

I never missed a penalty kick in five years. I would tell the goalies I was going for the corners, and then I would hammer the shit out of the ball. You can do that and still put slice on it. The top pros today try to finesse the ball into the net and all of that kind of stuff, but that’s all bullshit. Just hammer the ball. You can look directly at the goalie, but you just hammer it and put spin on it, and it spins away from him. And from that distance, if you hit it hard, I don’t care how fast he is, he may get a finger on it but he’s not going to stop the ball.


Your son, Christian Gudegast, wrote and directed the STX feature film Den of Thieves. You must be proud that he’s followed in your footsteps.

Immensely proud. One of the greatest joys in my life was to raise him. In a sense it’s a father-son relationship that a lot of people dream about. I was tough with him, but he was tough himself. He has my competitive spirit. I took him to the kettle gyms when he was seven and eight years old, and he learned of boxing from early on. He is a black belt in Brazilian jujitsu. He worked with Rob Kaman, the world champion in Muay Thai boxing. He worked with Rickson Gracie, the tough guy in Brazilian jujitsu. He graduated at the top of his class at UCLA. He writes and directs, which is something I would have loved to have done if I’d only had the guts.

Father and Son: Eric Braeden (right) shares a moment with his son, filmmaker Christian Gudegast

It must have been a thrill for you to act in Den of Thieves. What was that experience like for you?

That acting was superb. Gerard Butler and Pablo Schreiber both did wonderful jobs. Christian casts people very carefully. He divided the cast and had them train in the use of weapons weeks before filming began, with the bad guys and the sheriffs training separately. He insisted that they were proficient in the weapons they had to use, because he can’t stand phoniness. He’s like me in that regard. Make it as real as you can. Christian has finished writing the sequel, which he hopes to get made as soon as this coronavirus thing is over with. It’s a waiting game in that regard, because they can’t shoot anywhere in the world now.


Unlike your soap opera character, you have been married to the same woman since 1966. What is the secret to a successful relationship?

It’s tough to be married to an actor. My wife grew up in this town, and she went to school with Frank Sinatra’s daughters. She knew Mia Farrow and all of that. So she is used to that side of the business. It doesn’t impress her. So, she knows what the real story is all about.

I think the important thing is that you have to basically like the other person. You should respect the woman that you are with, or in her case, the man. That “being in love” thing, at some point a metamorphosis takes place and it transforms into the two of you liking each other. There is a lot of forgiveness along the way. People get divorced because sometimes the relationship becomes untenable. They aren’t willing to work through the adversity. It gets tough, but you stick it out.

Eric Braeden – Daytime Emmy Award Winner

In 2007, you received what is arguably Hollywood’s highest honor – a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Coming from such a humble upbringing in a small German village, what does this honor mean to you?

It was arguably one of the most important moments in my life. It moved me deeply. Having come to this country as a 18-year-old, with 50 bucks in my pocket and all of that shit, and overcoming all of the hardships along the way…that was one of the most moving experiences in my life.

Written By:  Michael D. McClellan | His NBA journey begins during the US Bicentennial and ends 21 seasons later, during Bill Clinton’s second term as President.  He arrives as disco is heating up, plays through the Michael Jackson-dominated ‘80s, and is still balling when Tupac is gunned down on the Vegas Strip in ‘96, winning a swansong championship during Michael Jordan’s Second Coming with the Chicago Bulls.  Jordan might take time off to chill with Bugs Bunny and star in Space Jam, but it’s the quiet Louisianan who spaces out his own jams, a seven-foot wonder who runs the court for four teams over three decades of uninterrupted excellence.

All told, Robert Lee Parish plays fourteen of those twenty-one memorable seasons in a Celtic uniform.  He arrives, along with rookie Kevin McHale, as part of Red Auerbach’s famous heist job on the Golden State Warriors, teaming with Larry Bird to lift Boston among the league’s elite.  The move fuels the Celtics’ magical seven year run, a stretch that produces five trips to the NBA Finals, three NBA titles, and countless signature moments by Boston’s talented trio of big men.  Nicknamed “Chief” by teammate Cedric Maxwell, Parish quietly suppresses his own considerable game for the overall good of the team.  While Bird and McHale get most of the touches, he’s content to labor in the shadows of their out sized personas.

“Robert was special because he knew his place on the team,” says his former head coach, KC Jones.  “He knew that there were only so many basketballs to go around.  Robert embraced his role on the team, which was to rebound, play tough defense, and to be a force in the middle.  This isn’t to say that Robert wasn’t a great offensive player; he could have put up big numbers on other teams.  He just understood what was expected from him and he went out and did his job.”

Robert Parish – a.k.a., “Chief”

Born in Shreveport, a teenage Robert Parish grows faster than Louisiana kudzu and begins a mesmerizing transformation.  He enters the desegregated world of Woodlawn High School unsure of his basketball potential, but exits as the best player in school history.  With Parish dominating in the paint, Woodlawn reaches the state finals two years running.  As a senior, he leads Woodlawn to a state championship, capping his 1972 dream season by being named Louisiana’s Player of the Year.  With nearly 400 scholarship offers to choose from, he decides to play his collegiate basketball at tiny Centenary College – a mere six miles away from home.

The decision is tested shortly after Parish commits, when Centenary is placed on probation for various rules violations.  To make matters worse, the school is banned from tournament play the entire four years he’s at the school.  With all of its basketball players free to transfer elsewhere, he decides to remain in Shreveport.

Parish stands out on the campus of this predominantly white, Methodist school in more ways than one, but because Centenary is a small independent with no conference tie-ins, he quickly disappears from the nation’s basketball landscape.  There is no social media in 1972.  The school’s games aren’t on TV.  Parish toils in relative anonymity, quietly averaging 21.6 points and 16.9 rebounds during his collegiate career, leading the nation in rebounding twice, and being named to The Sporting News All-America first team as a senior.

The highly-coveted Parish charted his own course, choosing tiny Centenary over elite programs like UCLA and Kentucky

Despite the low profile, the Golden State Warriors select Parish with the 8th overall pick in the 1976 NBA Draft.  Stoic and dignified, the rookie joins a veteran team fresh off a championship in ‘75.  He averages 9.1 points and 7.1 rebounds as a rookie, impressive numbers for a young center logging just under 18 minutes-per-game.

The honeymoon is short-lived; Golden State’s win totals decline each season, bottoming out with a 24-58 record in 1979-80.  Players like Rick Barry are kept past their primes and young talent like Jamaal Wilkes and Gus Williams are traded before reaching their full potential.  Parish continues to improve – he becomes a starter, and by his third season is averaging 17.2 points and 12.1 rebounds – but the losing trumps anything Parish does on the court.

The Celtics possess the top pick in the 1980 NBA Draft, two spots ahead of Golden State.  Auerbach offers to trade picks with Warriors, on the condition that Parish is included as part of the trade.  Parish, now in a Celtics uniform, responds by averaging 18.9 points and 9.5 rebounds, earning his first All-Star Game appearance.  The Celtics roll to a 62-20 record and a date with the Philadelphia 76ers in the 1981 Eastern Conference Finals.  In an historic series, the Sixers – led by the incomparable Julius Erving – forge a seemingly insurmountable 3-1 series lead.  Yet the Celtics are able to fight their way back, winning three consecutive nail biters to advance.  The Celtics then defeat the Houston Rockets in the 1981 NBA Finals, 4-2, winning the team’s 14th championship.

Parish played his first four years for Golden State

Parish continues to blossom.  He registers 21 points on 9-of-12 shooting in the ‘82 All-Star Game, and earns a spot on the All-NBA Second Team, but a Game 7 loss to the Sixers in the ‘82 Eastern Conference Finals, followed by a four-game sweep by the Milwaukee Bucks in the 1983 playoffs, leaves a bitter taste.  With the team regressing, Auerbach responds with two shrewd moves:  He names KC Jones as the team’s head coach, and trades for defensive stopper Dennis Johnson.  The Celtics respond, winning the 1984 NBA Championship in a classic seven game thriller.

Los Angeles exorcises its demons a year later, beating the Celtics in six games.  It’s a bitter pill to swallow, especially for a Boston team storms to a 63-19 regular season record, tops in the league.  Parish averages 17.6 points and 10.6 rebounds, but finds himself drained from playing heavy minutes.  Help arrives when Auerbach swings a major deal during the off-season, trading away the popular Maxwell for Bill Walton, a former superstar center with a history of foot problems.

It’s a risky move that pays off handsomely; the Celtics go 67-15 and beat the Rockets in the 1986 NBA Finals.  The ‘86 title is the high point for Parish and the Celtics.  A slow descent follows the tragic death of Len Bias, who succumbs to a cocaine overdose just two days after the 1986 NBA Draft.

** FILE ** Boston Celtics, from left, Robert Parish, Larry Bird, and Kevin McHale watch their team win over the Washington Bullets at the Boston Garden, in Boston, in this Nov. 30, 1991, file photo. (AP Photo/Stephan Savoia, File)

Parish averages 17.5 points and 10.6 rebounds in his 11th season, which includes his lone career triple-double, recorded on March 29 against the Philadelphia 76ers.  He hobbles through much of the 1987 NBA Playoffs, missing a second-round game against Milwaukee and repeatedly willing himself up the court against the young, hungry Detroit Pistons.  That series remains best-known for Bird’s last-second steal of Isiah Thomas’ inbounds pass, but few can forget the sight of a courageous Robert Parish limping into battle.

By the 1990s, Boston is a solid playoff team, but the new decade is a dark time for a team with such a storied past.  Bird’s back is so bad that he often lays prone on the floor when not in the game.  McHale, who guts out the ‘87 playoffs on a broken foot, becomes a shell of his former self.  Both are in retirement by 1993, the same year that Reggie Lewis dies while shooting baskets at Brandeis College.

Through it all, Parish remains a significant and viable piece of the Celtics’ rebuilding process.  At age 40, he averages 11.7 points and 7.3 rebounds, and logs 51 minutes in a 104-94 overtime Celtics win over the defending champion Bulls.  He is the team’s elder statesman, the last link to its championship past, his tenure exceed only by the man who traded for him all those ago.

Parish’s next two seasons are spent as a reserve with the Charlotte Hornets, where he becomes the NBA’s all-time leader in games played, passing Abdul-Jabbar’s total of 1,560 on April 6, 1996 in a game at Cleveland.

BOSTON – 1981: Robert Parish #00 of the Boston Celtics looks to rebound against Bob Lanier #16 of the Milwaukee Bucks during a game played in 1981 at the Boston Garden in Boston, Massachusetts. Copyright 1981 NBAE (Photo by Dick Raphael/NBAE via Getty Images)

On October 29th, 1996 – more than twenty years after Parish takes the court as a Golden State rookie, and less than two months after Tupac is gunned down on the Vegas Strip – the player known as “Chief” is recognized by the league as one of the NBA’s 50 Greatest.  He spends that final season in Chicago, winning a fourth NBA championship and walking away with an armful of records, among them:  Most seasons played all-time (21); most games played all-time (1,611); most offensive rebounds in the NBA Playoffs (571); and most defensive rebounds all-time (10,117).

The records are impressive, but Parish doesn’t spend much time reliving them.  Still, he doesn’t waste an opportunity to let that wicked sense of humor shine.

“With Larry and Kevin around, I didn’t get much credit for my offensive skills – but that’s because they took all of the shots,” he says, laughing heartily.  “Be sure to let them know I said that.”

You were born on October 30, 1953, in Shreveport, Louisiana.  Take me back to your childhood.

We were a close-knit, happy family, and this closeness was fostered mainly by my mother.  She was a religious woman.  She taught us the fundamental beliefs from the bible.  She taught us the importance of faith and religion, and also the importance of being respectful.  We learned courtesy at a very early age.  My parents worked hard to provide for us – there were four children, and I was the oldest, with one brother and two sisters – and they always stressed the value of a good work ethic.  They also wanted us to get an education.  They knew how important a degree would be when it came time to find work.  A degree meant the difference between a career and a life of hard work.


You credit your junior high school coach, Coleman Kidd, with spurring your interest in basketball.  Please tell me about Mr. Kidd.

Coleman Kidd deserves all the credit for the things that led up to me playing basketball.  I had never played basketball until I was in junior high school.  He was persistent; he saw the potential in me, even when I didn’t see it myself, and he kept after me to pick up a ball and play competitively.  I showed very little interest initially, but he stayed with me, kept encouraging me, and kept me positive – even though I wasn’t showing a desire to play the game of basketball.  So if I had to pick one factor that left me to the basketball court, it would have to be Coleman Kidd.  If it weren’t for him, I would have been just another tall kid walking around the streets of Shreveport [laughs].


You led Woodlawn to the state finals two straight years, winning a state championship along the way.  In 1972, you were named Louisiana’s Player of the Year.  Why did you choose tiny Centenary College?

It’s very interesting, because I never dreamed that I would be the player that I was at that particular time.  Like I said earlier, I didn’t show promise initially.  The process was a lot easier on me because of my parents.  The gathered all of the information together, made a list of the pros and cons of each college, and helped me to make a sound decision about where I wanted to go.  The reason I went to a small college – Centenary College – is because I didn’t want to be compared to other greats that had played before me. If I had gone to UCLA, for example, I would have faced constant comparisons to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.  If I had chosen Kansas, I would have played in the shadow of Wilt Chamberlain.  So one of the big reasons I chose Centenary was because I wanted to carve out my own identity, and not get caught up in that comparison thing.  Also, I liked the coaches at that time – Larry Little and Rodney Wallace.  They put a lot of emphasis on education first, and athletics second – and not the other way around.  That impressed me a great deal, but it really impressed my parents.  It was important for them to hear that education was the number one priority, because I was the first one in my family to get a college education.

Robert Parish – Woodlawn High School

Centenary was placed on probation for various rules violations, where it would remain during your entire four years at the school.  With all basketball players free to transfer elsewhere, why did you decide to stay in Shreveport?

There were several factors.  One, I was a father in college.  I wanted my child to be close to family, and the college was very close to home.  Two, it was group decision made by those of us who had the opportunity to leave.  There were six or seven of us that could have transferred.  We all decided to stay, so it was a group decision to stay on at Centenary College.


You averaged 21.6 points and 16.9 rebounds in college, and were named to The Sporting News All-America First Team as a senior.  Did you think your skills would translate at the NBA level?

I had great confidence in myself, and I knew that I could compete.  It was just a matter of getting the opportunity and making the most of it.


The Golden State Warriors selected you with the 8th overall pick in the 1976 NBA Draft.

It was an exciting time time for me.  It was also a learning experience.  I was fortunate to have a mentor in Clifford Ray, who took me under his wings and taught me all about being a professional athlete.  He stressed the importance of things like work ethic, nutrition, and fitness – both mentally and physically.  That really made a big difference in me, because the only thing I had to do was concentrate on basketball.

Tough times in Oakland – Parish and the Warriors failed to live up to the hype

Please tell me a little about your four seasons as a Warrior.

The team was going through a transition.  Golden State has won the championship in ’75, sweeping the Washington Bullets, and that team had been led by Rick Barry.  They reached the Western Conference Finals the next season.  Then they drafted me, and we were beat by the Lakers in the ’77 Western Conference Semifinals.  The next three seasons we failed to make the playoffs, and there were a lot of disgruntled people – the fans, management, and players included.  It wasn’t the best of times to be a Warrior.  I considered cutting my career short before the trade because I was being blamed for the Warriors’ demise.  I understood that I was the team’s top pick, and that a lot of pressure comes along with that.  But basketball isn’t an individual sport.  I just felt like the Warriors at that time were an assembly of misfit pieces.  Guys were thinking about their own agendas as opposed to that of the team.


What was it like finding out that you’d been traded from Golden State to Boston?

It was like going from the outhouse to the penthouse in one phone call [laughs].  I’d taken a lot of the blame for the Warriors’ problems, but there was plenty of blame to go around.  When I found out I’d been traded, I poured myself a stiff drink and celebrated.


Sounds like you were happy with the change in scenery.

The trade gave me incentive, and I was motivated to play basketball again because I was finally surrounded by the talent that I played with in college.  I mean that in relative terms, of course.  In other words, in college we had a front line that was very dominant at that level, and we played very well together.  Everyone understood their role, and they went out and did their job.  It was the same with the three of us in Boston.  We all understood what our roles were going to be, and we understood this from a very early point in time.  There was no jealousy.  We fit together very well, and complimented each other perfectly.


What was that first Celtics training camp like?

The first day of training camp was very intense, very focused.  There was complete dedication on the part of everyone.  It was like a playoff-type atmosphere in terms of intensity.  All of the practices, in fact, felt like playoff-type games.  Just from seeing that, and being exposed to that, I knew very quickly that we could be very special.


How long did it take for you to realize that the Big Three of Robert Parish, Kevin McHale and Larry Bird was destined for greatness?

Initially, I didn’t realize that myself, Larry and Kevin was going to turn out to be such a respected front line.  It didn’t really sink in until after Dave Cowens retired.  I had all intentions of going into it as being a backup to Dave.  I had no idea that Dave was going to step down so abruptly.  And then, once we started playing together on a consistent basis, I realized that we had the capacity to be something special.


Cedric Maxwell nicknamed you “Chief.”

Cedric nicknamed me Chief because when I came to Boston I was always talking about this movie, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.  I’m a big fan of Jack Nicholson, and I finally convinced Cedric to see the movie.  He said that I had similar characteristics to Chief Bromden – mainly because Chief had ‘em all fooled.  He couldn’t talk – he was a mute – and then it turns out that there wasn’t anything wrong with the Chief.  He was just there, in that insane asylum, relaxing and taking it easy.  And because I was so quiet, I think I had a lot of people fooled.  So that’s how I came about that nickname.  Oh, and I have a wicked sense of humor [laughs].  Only people who are in my inner circle know that, though.

Robert Parish – Sports Illustrated Cover Story

The Celtics and the 76ers waged some great battles in the early 80s, none better than the 1981 Eastern Conference Finals.  Down 3-1, you were able to win three consecutive games and reach the Finals against Houston.  What was the key to your comeback?

I would have to credit our coach at the time, Bill Fitch, for us staying determined and focused, and for us not giving up.  He instilled a physical toughness in us, but he also instilled a mental toughness that helped carry us even when things looked to be hopeless.  Even though we were down 3-1, he never let us doubt ourselves.  He always preached that we could come back and win the series.  He said that it’s not over until it’s over.  And that attitude really started from the first day of training camp.  I think that was one of the big reasons we were able to prevail in that series.

Bill Fitch was the perfect coach for us at the time.  We were young, and he had a lifetime of coaching experience to share with us.  He was a great Xs and Os coach, as well as a great tactician.  He really understood the game.  And as I’ve said, he instilled a great sense of belief in ourselves.  We had the physical tools to succeed at the NBA level, but he helped give us the mental toughness that can help carry us through all types of adversity.  He also taught us structure and discipline.  He helped us to stay focused.  I have a tremendous amount of respect for Bill Fitch.


What was it like beating Houston to win the ’81 NBA Championship?

Greatest feeling in the world.  For it to all come together so quickly in Boston was something special.


Your Celtics came up short in the two seasons following that championship.  Getting swept by the Milwaukee Bucks in the ’83 NBA Playoffs may have been the low point.  What did the acquisition of Dennis Johnson mean in terms of winning another title?

He fortified our defensive presence, for one thing.  Also, he gave us another point guard after Tiny Archibald retired.  People don’t realize just how talented Dennis Johnson was, because he made the transition from off guard to point guard appear so seamless.  That’s a hell of a transition, I think, and he did it comfortably.  Dennis was just exactly what we needed at that time to solidify our backcourt.  He gave us the defensive presence that we needed back there, and he complimented our front-court players.

Robert Parish

Bill Fitch was fired, and replaced by KC Jones.  Please tell me a little about KC.

I’ve always felt like KC was one of the better coaches in the league.  Personally, I would rank him among the top coaches ever in the NBA, because of his uncanny ability to relate to his players.  KC knew his Xs and Os, don’t get me wrong, but the way that he understood his players was the thing that really set him apart.  He was like Red Auerbach in that respect.  The one thing that I always admired about KC – and there a lot of things to admire – was his ability to make that eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh and twelfth guy on the team feel like his role and his input was just as important as one through six or seven.  I think that was one of the reasons why we were so successful.  He made everyone feel important, no matter how big or how small their role was with the Boston Celtics.  Two other coaches come to mind who were like that – Phil Jackson and Chuck Daly.  They were very similar in that regard, and I think that is what made each of those coaches so successful.  In the NBA, it’s so important to understand the personalities of the players, and how to get the best out of them.  It takes a special talent to do that, and those three guys all had that ability.


KC speaks very highly of you.

KC always appreciated they sacrifices that I made on the offensive end.  There were only so many balls to go around, which meant that someone had to make some adjustments to make it all work.  I’m a low-key guy who doesn’t need the limelight, and for me it was never about putting up stats.  With Larry and Kevin playing at such high levels, I didn’t get much credit for my offensive skills – that’s because they shot all the balls [laughs].  I don’t mean that in a negative way – I can’t complain about the formula, because it certainly worked.  We were very successful.


Who is the best player you’ve ever gone up against, and why?

Kareem is the best player I ever played against, period.  The best thing I could ever say about Kareem, is that no one ever devised a defense that could stop him.  He figured out a way to exploit every defensive scheme ever thrown at him.  He was so smart and so intelligent, and such an extremely gifted athlete.  I couldn’t change his shot; Kareem was the only player that I ever played against like that.  I think the reason Kareem was so effective with the hook shot was that he was able to shoot it the same way every time.  It was automatic.  Wilt Chamberlain was the only player that I saw who could make Kareem alter his hook shot.  He’s the only one.  Other than that, Kareem was able to shoot it the same way time after time.  That’s the way he was able to become so proficient.  Nobody ever got close to that shot, except for Wilt Chamberlain.


The 1984 NBA Finals remains one of the most-watched of all-time.  Take me back.

That series against the Lakers was a war.  Every game was a battle.  Every possession was a battle.  You had Michael Cooper guarding Larry.  Cooper was one of the few players alive who could guard Larry and consistently cause him problems.  He would blanket Larry and make it hard for him to take that quick first step to the basket.  He would contest every jump shot.  Larry would still put up great numbers, but he had to work much harder at it with Cooper guarding him.  I remember Gerald Henderson stealing the ball to save us in Game 2.  If he hadn’t come up with that steal, we would have gone to Los Angeles in an 0-2 hole.  It was big.  I remember getting blown out in Game 3 – we were embarrassed.  Magic [Johnson] and James Worthy just killed us in that game – we were behind from the opening tip, and we couldn’t do anything to turn it around.  That’s when Larry took his frustrations public.  He challenged the team in the paper, and it motivated everyone to play harder.  That next game was one of the most physical that I’ve ever played in – Kevin gave Kurt Rambis that clothesline, and Larry was going jaw-to-jaw with Kareem.  Nobody backed down.  We won that game, and then two of the next three to win the championship.  Dennis played great defense on Magic the whole series, but he was especially good against him in those last three games.  It was a classic series, and one that I’m glad we were able to win.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Robert Parish – As good as it gets

The Celtics won it all again in 1986.  Where does this team rank among the all-time greats?

In my opinion, I would have to say that it was in the top five teams of all-time.


Bill Walton’s play pushed that team to another level.  Tell me about Bill.

What Bill brought to the Celtics was his toughness.  He brought his knowledge of what it takes to win it all, because he was a huge part of that championship team in Portland.  He was a former All-Star, a former NBA Most Valuable Player, and one of the best passing big men of all-time.  And what made him so special that year was his humility. He had been one of the league’s greatest players, and yet he was willing to come off the bench and provide the punch that we needed.  He set a great example for that second unit.  He was willing to put his ego aside for the good of the team.  Forget about basketball; how many athletes of his stature would be willing to take a lesser role for the overall good of the team?

I remember when the Celtics traded for Bill.  We had to give up Cedric Maxwell, a good friend and a very good player, and suddenly we have another quality center on the team.  Bill didn’t hesitate to call me as soon as the trade was announced.  He wanted me to know that I was still the starting center, and that he wasn’t coming to Boston to take my job.  He said that he was coming to help.  It was a class move on his part, making that call.  He didn’t have to do that, either – that was something that he did on his own.  He was not asked to call me, or encouraged to call me.  That was something that he wanted to do, out of respect for me.  And I’ll never forget that.  And Bill was always a player that I respected and admired from afar, because I always liked the way he played the game on both ends of the floor.  And that’s how I prided myself – I wanted to be consistent on both ends, and not just be a one-dimensional player.  And that’s the same way that Bill Walton played the game.  He excelled on both ends, and he was probably the best passing big man that I’d ever seen.


Where were you when you heard the news that Len Bias had died?  And what effect did it have on the future of the Boston Celtics?

Riding down the highway.  Actually I was going down the Mass Pike [Massachusetts Turnpike] and I heard it on the radio.  I thought it was the station’s way of telling some sort of cruel joke.  I didn’t want to believe it.  I had to think twice about what I’d just heard.  I was like, “Man, they’ve got a weird sense of humor.”  That’s what I said to myself, because it wasn’t funny at all.  And then it turned out to be true.  It broke my heart.

Bias’ death hurt the team in a big way, because he was going to be the next big star.  The heir apparent to Larry Bird.  But let’s not forget about Reggie Lewis.  Think how good the Celtics would have been with those two players.  They were going to be the future cornerstones of the Boston Celtics.  In my opinion, we would have won at least – at least – one more championship if we had both Reggie Lewis and Len Bias.

Robert Parish

The Celtics and Pistons waged war on the hardwood.  What stands out in your mind about those physical games with Detroit’s Bad Boys?

The intensity.  The competitiveness.  The adjustments made by both coaching staffs.  I thought it was two great teams battling one another – one of them was on the decline, and the other team was on its way up.  It was a classic rivalry – I liken it to the Celtics’ rivalry between teams like the Philadelphia 76ers and Los Angeles Lakers.  That’s how intense it was.  It was a war.  I respect those guys and what they accomplished, and how competitive they were.  They were finally able to get by the Celtics and win a couple of championships of their own.  Whether or not you liked the Detroit Pistons, you had to respect them for the way they played the game.


Everyone, it seems, has a favorite Red Auerbach story.  Do you have one that stands out?

One thing I always respected about Red was his honesty.  He was always honest.  If Red told you something, you could believe him.  He never lied.  He was never full of pretense.  Red was all about the business of winning championships.  Which brings me to another thing I admired and respected about Red; whatever we needed, Red always seemed able to find that one particular player to put us back on top.  When we needed someone to put the clamps on Magic Johnson, Red went out and traded for Dennis.  We won the championship that next season.  When we needed someone to provide a spark off of the bench, Red traded for Bill Walton.  We won the championship that next season.  He could always find that player to make us a better team, and I respected him greatly for that.

That’s the thing I respected about the Lakers, too.  They would always go out and get what they needed, whether it was a coach or a player.  I liked that about L.A. Hopefully the Celtics will get it back.  They’re definitely headed in the right direction, that’s for sure.

Robert Parish

Of your time spent with the Boston Celtics, do you have a fond memory or an amusing story that stands out most?

Yes.  This has something to do with Johnny Most, our radio announcer.  I don’t know if you know this or not, but Johnny was a chain smoker.  I can’t remember for sure, but it was either Danny Ainge or Kevin McHale who replaced some of Johnny’s cigarettes with some of those party poppers.  Those are cigarettes that explode when you light the tip.  So, they replaced about five or six of Johnny’s cigarettes.  He would light one after another and they would explode.  Well, after about the third one he caught on that someone had tampered with his cigarettes.  He got so mad!  He went on this swearing rampage – he broke out swear words I’d never heard of before [laughs].  Talk about a colorful delivery!  It was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen in my life.

One time, Johnny fell asleep and somebody tied his shoelaces together.  He got up to go to the bathroom and stumbled.  I think KC caught him – he didn’t hit the floor – and he went on another one of those swearing tirades.  We couldn’t stop laughing, and the harder we laughed the madder he got.  Johnny Most had that distinctive voice, and as he got madder his voice got higher.  It was unbelievable [laughs].


Final Question:  If you could offer one piece of advice on life to others, what would that be?

Believe in yourself, no matter what.  If you believe in yourself, and have confidence in yourself, then you can accomplish anything.