Bill Russell and me

 

For two nights Rick and I have been watching the documentary about Bill Russell. There was a scene of the kitchen table in his unpretentious home along Route 28 near the Reading-North Reading border, where he lived. The house was the basic three-bedroom ranch.

"I sat there," I told Rick.

As a cub reporter for the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune I was assigned to do a story on Russell's miniature train collection. 

Probably every boy in my junior year of high school class would have offered their hearts and souls to be in my place. I wasn't a sports fan. (Later I would tell another Celtic player, Jungle Jim Luscutoff, when I was assigned to take his photo I didn't know much about BASEball.)

My hometown was not good to Russell as a neighbor. His home was subject to trash attacks and he was not allowed entrance to places that any one with white skin would have been welcomed. A petition was circulated to keep him from buying a house on the west side of town, a better address than where he was living.

One of the hardest parts of being a cub reporter at 89 pounds, I looked maybe 13. More than once I was told children wouldn't be allowed in to some event where I was assigned. It did teach me to push. My fear of failing my editor was greater than my fear of being embarrassed.

Russell seated me at the table and we talked as if I were a real grown up reporter. He took me to his basement where his train layout recreated a complete village. Switching it on, he ran his trains around the track. His face was as happy as it was after any win at the Garden.

A few years later when I was working at a dry cleaners to put my self through university, Russell would bring his clothes to be dry cleaned. His suit jackets were almost ankle length had I put one on. He was always more than pleasant exchanging a few niceties.  

I've had a chance over my career to interview a few world leaders. My early experience with Russell was probably why it never intimated me. I'm not name dropping. I suspect none of the world leaders would remember me. Maybe Vincente Fox when I tapped him on the elbow and said "down here." Fox is 6 inches shorter than Russell but still towered over me.

What really bothers me about the Russell documentary, that although progress has been made in race relations, there is still a divide. Despite Russell's efforts, not much progress has been made.