In the outpouring of eulogies to Bill Walton — ranging from hagiography of his basketball skills to posthumous plaudits for his political activism to appreciation for his colorful verbal wit — I want to share a singular, vivid impression of him: Walton was polite to bus drivers.
In December 1977, as an aspiring reporter at a college radio station, I wangled my way aboard the Portland Trail Blazers’ team bus, for the short ride from Boston’s Parker House Hotel to the legendary Boston Garden, where the team would take a light morning practice. Walton plunked his lanky frame in the front seat and kibitzed with the driver as we navigated the narrow downtown streets. The other players spread out through the rest of the bus. By seating position, bearing and title, Walton was the captain of the team, and of the bus.
The team had won the NBA championship the prior season, and at that point was in the midst of what would be a 50-10 run, so far dominating the 1977-1978 season. The bus dropped us at a side entrance to the Garden and we rode an elevator up to the deserted arena, a good eight hours before that evening’s contest with the Celtics.
The Blazers moved with grace and confidence, even while walking. Walton was somehow both loose and focused as all the players and coach Jack Ramsay silently went through a series of stretches on the famous parquet floor. The only sound was the brooms of the maintenance staff, sweeping the grandstands of the peanut shells and discarded beer cups from the night before.
I felt like I was in a temple, watching a ritual. The Blazers exuded an aura that conveyed “at this very moment — for however long or briefly it may last — we are the best people in the world at what we do.”
After the silent stretching, they slowly and methodically walked through plays, never breaking a sweat, Walton always in the middle, making slight gestures and corrections with each meticulous step.
Then it was back in the elevator, and back on the bus, for the return to the Parker House, Walton again in the front seat. When we arrived back at the hotel, the MVP in the NBA stood and stepped toward the exit, first in line to get off, then turned to the man behind the wheel and said, “Thank you, driver.”
Of all the memorable phrases Bill Walton uttered in his years as a player and a TV commentator, that’s the one I will always remember the best: “Thank you, driver.”
That humility, matched with good humor and confidence, was an expression of Walton’s character, on and off the court.
His death leaves us with many lessons to live by: Be aware of what’s going on around you, whether you’re goofing around in Portland’s Wallace Park or in the paint at Madison Square Garden.
Look for the open man. Find opportunities for your teammates. Ride your bike to the victory parade. If someone has a better shot, pass him the ball; if you have the best shot, take it. When there’s an unjust war, speak out against it. When greedy owners want athletes to play hurt, say no. If there’s a good concert in Egypt or in Eugene, Ore., be there.
And always thank your bus driver.
About the author: David Bragdon, a former president of Portland’s Metro Council, is a public transportation consultant.
