I met Bill Russell once. I was bold and brave, and one had to be.
The stories about Russell being reserved and private were very true. I knew that as I approached him.
It was in an airport, I forget which one: They all blended together after a while. I want to say Oakland, but it might have been Orlando, on one of my NEA junkets to a meeting or conference or something. No matter. He seemed to be trying to make a connection. I saw that I had one moment to move in, and I took it.
Like so many others of our generation, I revered Russell. Who didn't? His basketball success with the Boston Celtics, unequalled then and now, and willingness to take his notoriety a step farther on social issues had made him an American icon.
He gave interviews sparingly, not to just anyone. He did a personal reflection article for Sports Illustrated, back in the day when it was taken far more seriously, saying that, for example, he didn't give autographs because he believed it was far more important to shake hands with someone to show by touching them that he cared about them.
He also collaborated with Taylor Branch, the author of a famous trilogy of the civil rights movement, for a book called Second Wind. It was a memoir, a reflection, and a way of telling the world that life goes on for athletes who are no longer competing. It was very personal, unique and stated very eloquently at times. I thought it was excellent and inspirational.
And I thought it might be a good moment to tell him that some white guy had read it. It was one of those times when one gets into the amazingly right place at the right moment. Had I stopped to stare and admire him, that moment would have been gone.
The hell with it, I thought, not the first time I had said that to myself, taken a risk, and succeeded beyond what I had imagined. Sometimes, said Tom Cruise in the film "Risky Business," you just gotta say "What the fuck!" and make your move.
So as Russell started up some ramp on the way to his gate, I walked up to him. He hesitated but did not stop walking. I'm sure he was suspicious. He sure looked it.
"Mr. Russell?" I said. He looked at me, deadpanned. Some white guy he didn't know. Swell.
He was not pleased. Didn't I know? Nobody else had stopped him. I found it difficult to believe that nobody else knew that here was Bill Russell, for heaven's sake, the winner of all winners, crusader for civil rights, and not a soul seemed to know it. But maybe everyone else knew their boundaries better than I did. His dignity surrounded him like cellophane. But I had made up my mind to take the once-in-a-lifetime chance.
I introduced myself, as if he would remember, offering my hand. I said I was from Wisconsin. I told him that I had read Second Wind and thought it was a great book. I thanked him.
He raised his hand slowly and took mine, though not strongly. Perhaps it would have been more appropriate for him to offer his first. But I had remembered what he had said about the importance of shaking hands, and to overlook that would be perhaps insulting.
He must have sensed the respect. "Thank you," he said. He sounded sincere. I bothered him no more. He walked on.
I thought that that was a lot to get out of him. I thought I had accomplished a great deal in that single minute. I had met one of the great legends of sport, of America. By sheer chutzpah, by friendly ambush, I had met Bill Russell.
He actually spoke to me, too. Wow. I was proud of myself: I hadn't frozen up. I've met ex-presidents, and I hadn't been so nervous.
He is gone now, having left his enormous legacy that will only grow with time and tide. I admired the way he lived his life, aware of his celebrity status, at times eager to utilize it but unafraid to draw lines to keep away unwanted annoyances. In a way, I crossed that line that day, but he knew that I had done it with the best of intentions, a true admirer who just wanted to touch him for a moment.
We need, and have needed for some time, more Bill Russells. We need people who transcend the present, clashing moment and show us a way past it. By standing among us, this proud black man exuded the fierce determination of trying to find somehow, some way, for others not black to recognize latent equality--not just in the law, but in our hearts. If we do not see his equal for a while, it wouldn't surprise me in the least.
Be well, Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.
Mister Mark
