David Bragdon, a former chairman of Portland's Metro Council, is a public transportation consultant.
As tributes to Bill Walton flood the air — ranging from praise for his basketball skills to posthumous praise for his political activism to gratitude for his gift for words — I want to share with you one unique, vivid impression of him: Walton was polite to bus drivers.
In December 1977, as an aspiring college radio reporter, I boarded the Portland Trail Blazers' team bus for the short trip from Boston's Parker House Hotel to the legendary Boston Garden, where the team was holding a light morning practice. Walton slumped his lanky frame into the front seat, chatting with the driver as we made our way through the narrow downtown streets. The other players were spread out over the rest of the bus. By his seating position, his attitude and his title, Walton was captain of the team and the bus.
The team had won the NBA championship the previous season, and by that point had posted a 50-10 record and dominated the 1977-1978 season to that point. The bus dropped us off at a side entrance to the Garden, and we took an elevator up to the deserted arena. It was eight hours before that night's game against the Celtics. Even when they were walking, the Blazers moved with grace and confidence. Walton somehow seemed relaxed yet focused while all the players and head coach Jack Ramsay silently performed a series of stretches on the famous parquet floor. The only sound was the sound of brooms as the maintenance staff swept the stands of peanut shells and beer cups that had been discarded the night before. It felt like watching a ceremony at a temple. The Blazers exuded an aura of, “In this moment, however long or short, we are the best in the world at what we do.”
After some silent stretching, they played slowly and methodically, without breaking a sweat. Walton was always in the middle, making tiny gestures and corrections. Then they returned to the elevator and boarded the bus back to Parker House, where Walton again sat in the front seat. Back at the hotel, the NBA MVP stood and led the line to the exit, turned to the man at the wheel and said, “Thank you, chauffeur.”
Of all the memorable words Bill Walton uttered during his time as a player and as a television commentator, the one I remember most is, “Thanks, driver.”
That humility, combined with his humor and confidence, defined Walton's character on and off the court. His death leaves us with many lessons. Pay attention to what's going on around you, whether you're goofing around at Wallace Park in Portland or in the paint at Madison Square Garden. Look for open players. Find opportunities for your teammates. Bike to victory parades. If someone can take a better shot, give them the ball. If you can take the best shot, take it. When there's an unfair fight, speak out against it. When greedy owners want you to play through injuries, say no. If there's a good concert in Egypt or Eugene, Oregon, go to it.
And always thank the bus driver.
