My Moment With Legend Bill Walton

The late, great Bill Walton, the legendary college and pro basketball player who passed away from cancer in May 2024 at 71, was not known for his boating prowess. Instead, along with his accomplishments on the court – he was the national college player of the year three times and won two national championships at UCLA, collected two NBA professional championships, and was inducted into basketball’s Naismith Hall of Fame, the sport’s highest honor – he became equally well-known for his free-spirited zest for life. One example? He loved and befriended the Grateful Dead, attended over a thousand of their concerts, and had a full-sized drum kit from the band prominently displayed in his living room.

But Walton, who overcame a boyhood stutter to become a beloved broadcaster following his hoops career, was also known for his wide, curious intellect. And it turns out he followed sailing and voyaging a bit, as I learned in 2010 when I sailed into his hometown of San Diego, California. At his passing, the many, many remembrances bestowed upon him were fitting tributes for a legend. Here’s mine:

A year earlier, in 2009, I’d set sail from Seattle, Washington, as one of the core crew on a 64-foot sailboat called Ocean Watch as part of an expedition called “Around the Americas.” Sponsored by philanthropist David Rockefeller’s fledgling ocean-awareness organization, Sailors for the Sea, the premise of the 25,000 nautical-mile voyage – a clockwise circumnavigation of the continents of North and South America, from Seattle back to Seattle via the Northwest Passage and Cape Horn – was straightforward. We hoped to demonstrate that the two continents are, essentially, an interconnected isle surrounded by a singular body of water with common issues and solutions that linked everything together. It was reflected in the trip’s motto, which became the title of a book I later wrote about it: “One Island, One Ocean.”

When we pulled into San Diego with most of the long journey behind us, we were collectively startled to see an extremely tall fellow on the docks, who we soon learned had been closely following our adventures on the internet.

Bill. Walton.

In the ensuing days, Walton basically adopted us, hosting our team at a barbecue in his home and speaking on our behalf at a reception at the San Diego Maritime Museum. I have many cherished stories from our travels, including several great Walton memories. But my favorite will always be the very first.

Despite his recent back surgery – his long list of back, knee, and foot injuries allowed him to play just two full seasons in his 14-year pro career – he wanted a tour of our steel sailboat. Um … OK. The companionway steps down into Ocean Watch’s main cabin were steep and treacherous, but Walton and his 6-foot-11 frame somehow gingerly negotiated them. Whew.

I’m always a little disoriented after several days at sea, but suddenly and surprisingly, being in the unexpected presence of one of my sports heroes took it to a different level. I loved basketball, played in high school, and was a huge Boston Celtics fan. Walton was my favorite Celtic from the 1986 championship squad, teammates with other legends including Larry Bird and Kevin McHale, perhaps the greatest basketball team of all time. We talked about everything: basketball, music, life. And sailing! It was clear he’d been following our voyage very closely. It was all absolutely surreal.

But all good things eventually come to an end, and all too soon he had to go. Which meant a trip back up that precipitous stairway. “I’m going to need a little help here,” he said. “Anything,” I replied. “You tell me.”

“Get behind me. Like a bench press.” Duly instructed, I took my stance aft of the giant and planted one hand on his right cheek and the other on his left. I’d never before had another man’s rear end in my mitts. And now … Bill Walton’s?! For a brief moment I couldn’t quite determine if this was the best moment of my life or the worst. Thankfully, there wasn’t much time to think about it.

“Push!” he said. And push I did.