Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here) and orderable at all bookshops.
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Two phone calls, bookends separated by a handful of years, have been on my mind, and in my heart, ever since my birthday two weeks ago—not because it was my birthday, but because May 27 was the deathday of basketball legend Bill Walton. At age 71, insidious cancer did what few defenders on the hardwood ever accomplished when he was young: stop him.
One of the phone calls echoed what myriad tributes to Walton have expressed since his passing, that he truly put into practice the life lessons his college coach and lifelong mentor John Wooden taught him, such as “You can’t live a perfect day until you do something for someone who will never be able to repay you.”
Twenty years past, perhaps a full quarter-century, I was working on a column about the upcoming NCAA Tournament but had been unable to reach Walton for a quote I desperately desired. Turned out the phone number I had was wrong, a single digit off as I recall, probably my error writing it down without heeding the Wooden-ism to “be quick, but don’t hurry.”
With my deadline approaching at the Peregrine falcon-like speed of a 1973 UCLA Bruins’ fastbreak, I phoned Coach Wooden to ask his favor in calling Walton on my behalf and asking Bill to call me. A short moment later my phone rang and it was Walton and here is the remarkable thing: he was, right then, boarding an airplane but in “making friendship a fine art” to Coach he reached out, despite the inconvenience, to give me a rushed interview.
The second phone call also involved Coach Wooden. On this occasion we were sitting in his living room, chatting, during one of my pinch-me-I-can’t-believe-this-is-really-happening visits. Likely, I was prompting him to share basketball stories while he was more interested in steering the conversation back to me and my family, especially the “Little Ones” as he affectionately called my daughter and son.
Then the phone rang and Coach let it go through to the answering machine. The lesson here, for Coach was always teaching, was that I was his guest and thus merited his undivided attention. This unspoken kindness took on greater import seconds after the “Beep!” when a very familiar voice could be heard leaving a message.
“That’s Bill Walton!!!” I said with three exclamation marks of enthusiasm. “You’d better answer it!”
Coach, not moving towards the phone across the room, replied with an impish smile: “Heavens no! Bill calls me all the time. If I pick up he’ll talk my ear off for an hour—and you and I won’t get to visit. No, I’ll talk with Bill later.”
Thus our visit continued uninterrupted, the message delivered being if Coach had picked up and talked to Bill it would have been rude to me. Moreover, answering it would have also been unkind to Bill, whose former bright-red hair and current loquaciousness both suggested he had once kissed the Blarney Stone, because Coach would have had to cut their conversation shorter than usual in order to return his attention to me.
Despite a leaden heart over Walton’s passing, these two phone calls have buoyed me to smile and laugh. One more laugh: When I thanked Coach for his help, telling him about Walton calling me from the airport even though he only had a quick moment, Coach replied in a playful tone, “I wish he’d call me when he’s boarding a plane.”
Far beyond where jetliners soar, I happily imagine Bill Walton is talking Coach Wooden’s ear off right about now.
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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn
Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.
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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.