Left to Right: Shaun Powell, Bill Russell, Lenny Wilkins and Jamal Crawford
Photo: Huntz Photograph
By Shaun Powell
“Bill Russell was a complicated man, and truthfully, we all have our complications. He has roots in the Deep South, raised in Oakland, became famous in Boston, and was a product of his turbulent era of the ’50s and ’60s. He stood for something, demanded respect, was a fierce competitor and had a strong sense of pride that was unshakable. He was fantastic to his teammates but aloof and moody and often standoffish in public. He couldn’t be explained, not really, because unless you walked in his shoes — which was obviously impossible — you simply didn’t know, as an outsider, what made him be who he was. All you could do was savor any fleeting moment you spent with him, if you were lucky enough to do so, and count your blessings.
Five years ago, I was in Seattle to catch Jamal Crawford’s Pro-Am basketball games, which I’ve done for the last several summers. Well, I chose the right weekend: Bill Russell, who lived in Seattle, was in the gym. He sat with his wife at court side, by the scorer’s table, and people left him alone as they began filing through the doors. Also, there that day was Lenny Wilkens, the great coach, whom I’ve known for a while, so Lenny and I struck up a conversation. “Hey Lenny,” I said, “how about I get a picture of you and Jamal with Bill?” Lenny looked at me like I asked to borrow a million dollars. “You know what Bill’s like,” Lenny said, shaking his head. “And I’m not going to be the one to ask him. But I’ll stand over here and see what happens when you ask.”
Wisely, right before the games began, I went to his wife, told her the plan. She whispered something to Bill, and he grumbled, then she shook her head to me at first. Then she said, “well, I suppose it’ll be OK if you just get the photographer to stand in front of Bill while he’s sitting down.” Basically, Bill Russell, the man who stood for something, wasn’t standing for nobody. Then, I overheard her say to Bill, a bit sternly: “Oh, Bill, get up!”
So, the greatest winner in sports history stood up, a bit gingerly, and walked over to the empty bleachers a few feet behind him. I motioned to Lenny, who was amused by it all. Jamal came over. And I signaled for a photographer. Before the guy snapped the picture, he motioned for me to stand next to Bill. I guess the guy thought I was somebody. But it was the best advice I ever took.
And so that’s the story of this photo. But the story of William Felton Russell, to be honest, can never be written. He was too great, too iconic, too complicated, too massive to fit in a book. RIP to a player I wish I had the chance to see.”
Shaun Powell is a guest writer for the New York Beacon as well as senior writer/reporter at NBA.com TV.
“Bill Russell was a complicated man, and truthfully, we all have our complications. He has roots in the Deep South, raised in Oakland, became famous in Boston, and was a product of his turbulent era of the ’50s and ’60s. He stood for something, demanded respect, was a fierce competitor and had a strong sense of pride that was unshakable. He was fantastic to his teammates but aloof and moody and often standoffish in public. He couldn’t be explained, not really, because unless you walked in his shoes — which was obviously impossible — you simply didn’t know, as an outsider, what made him be who he was. All you could do was savor any fleeting moment you spent with him, if you were lucky enough to do so, and count your blessings.
Five years ago, I was in Seattle to catch Jamal Crawford’s Pro-Am basketball games, which I’ve done for the last several summers. Well, I chose the right weekend: Bill Russell, who lived in Seattle, was in the gym. He sat with his wife at court side, by the scorer’s table, and people left him alone as they began filing through the doors. Also, there that day was Lenny Wilkens, the great coach, whom I’ve known for a while, so Lenny and I struck up a conversation. “Hey Lenny,” I said, “how about I get a picture of you and Jamal with Bill?” Lenny looked at me like I asked to borrow a million dollars. “You know what Bill’s like,” Lenny said, shaking his head. “And I’m not going to be the one to ask him. But I’ll stand over here and see what happens when you ask.”
Wisely, right before the games began, I went to his wife, told her the plan. She whispered something to Bill, and he grumbled, then she shook her head to me at first. Then she said, “well, I suppose it’ll be OK if you just get the photographer to stand in front of Bill while he’s sitting down.” Basically, Bill Russell, the man who stood for something, wasn’t standing for nobody. Then, I overheard her say to Bill, a bit sternly: “Oh, Bill, get up!”
So, the greatest winner in sports history stood up, a bit gingerly, and walked over to the empty bleachers a few feet behind him. I motioned to Lenny, who was amused by it all. Jamal came over. And I signaled for a photographer. Before the guy snapped the picture, he motioned for me to stand next to Bill. I guess the guy thought I was somebody. But it was the best advice I ever took.
And so that’s the story of this photo. But the story of William Felton Russell, to be honest, can never be written. He was too great, too iconic, too complicated, too massive to fit in a book. RIP to a player I wish I had the chance to see.”
Shaun Powell is a guest writer for the New York Beacon as well as senior writer/reporter at NBA.com TV.
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