But I found that out a lot earlier than in college. Back when I was in the eighth grade in French Lick, I used to get on a bus after school and go to the West Baden courts, because all the guys that worked over at the hotel played there on their breaks. They always let me play. They were big guys, in their twenties, most of them, and they were all waiters. They let me play because I was good enough, even though I wasn’t as big as them. Getting on that bus was a total joy for me. It was pure enjoyment. I couldn’t wait to get over there. As soon as I got off the bus, these guys would say, “Hey Larry, hurry up, come on over here, you’re on our team.” That was the first time I ever really played with any black players. It wasn’t even an issue to me at all, really, because all I knew was these guys were big and strong, and I could learn from them, so I wanted to be around them.
I’m not naive. I know some fans loved me even more because of the color of my skin. They can think what they want. My main concern was to make sure it was never an issue with my teammates, and as far as I can tell, it never was. We never had one problem like that in our locker room during the thirteen years I was with the Celtics.
As much as I loved Boston, I know it could be a tough place for black players. Robert Parish and D. J. and those guys would never say anything to me directly, but you could hear them talking in the locker room once in a while. They’d be talking about how they were stopped by the police for no reason, or how they’d be walking through the North End after having dinner and they’d hear comments. I remember Ed Pinckney coming in all upset once. Ed is one of the greatest guys you’ll ever meet, and he had been stopped by the police, with his kids in the car. That kind of stuff is horrible. I really felt for those guys. It makes you sick.
When I came to Boston to play for the Celtics, I called myself the Hick from French Lick. It’s just something I said, but before I knew it, that’s who people wanted me to be. The reason I said that was I was coming from the country, and I had never lived in a big city, and I felt out of place at first. I was wondering about it the whole time I drove from French Lick to Boston. I had no idea what to expect, and it made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t worried about the basketball. I was worried about everything else.
But once I got there it was fine. I lived on the outskirts of the city, which I think was a good idea, so I didn’t have to deal with the everyday hustle and bustle. Before long I was finding my way around and getting more familiar with the roads and stuff. It certainly helped that everyone was so excited about the Celtics. People made me feel welcome right away. The Boston fans were the best. Maybe that’s because we were winning.
After being in Boston a couple of years, we had already won a championship, and I was getting my fair share of attention. The only problem with that was they forgot you were human after a while. They expected you to be perfect every night, and that’s hard to do. That’s the one thing I didn’t like as a player. Sometimes I’d get off to a slow start, and the fans would get impatient. They expect greatness all the time. I expect it too, but some nights it’s slow developing, and some nights it’s not there at all. On those nights, you know what’s coming. You know they’re going to get on your case and tell you, “Wake up!” or “Hey Larry, get moving!” It’s the nature of the business.
The other thing I always thought was kind of funny is how people think that just because you are famous you must know everyone else who is famous. That’s ridiculous when you think about it, but somehow that’s how it turns out. I’ll never forget the time John Cougar Mellencamp came to Boston for a concert. I love his music—he’s an Indiana guy, and everyone from Indiana loves him—so I told the guys on the team I was going to the concert. My teammate Jerry Sichting, who is also from Indiana, went to the show too. The next day we were talking about how great Mellencamp was, and Jerry said to me, “He stayed at your house, didn’t he?” That wasn’t true at all, but I couldn’t resist. I told him, “Yeah, Jerry, you found out. He stayed with me.” Next thing you know, Jerry told the whole team. He must have told some reporters too, because it was in the paper a couple of days later. Amazing.
When I do have some free time, one of the things I enjoy most is fishing. I love to fish for bass. I prefer freshwater fishing, because I have problems when I go out into the Gulf and the water gets rough. I’ve never been able to handle it. I get seasick when I’m out there—probably half the time. It’s just a bad feeling. I’ve always been a little leery of water anyway, especially out in the Gulf, or in the Atlantic, because storms can blow up so fast, and you wouldn’t believe it if you were ever in one, how dangerous it can be. You just get this feeling that there’s no way you are ever going to make it. The farthest Conner and I have ever been is twenty miles out, and I don’t even like that. I have a real fast boat, but if we go out in the Gulf we’ll go in something bigger, like a Boston Whaler.
When I was a kid we used to fish in little rivers or streams, or in the little ponds around town. We used to get up real early, because someone told us once that’s when the fish are biting, but as I got older I realized it doesn’t make any difference. What matters is you find a little peace and quiet.
I don’t have stuffed fish hanging on my walls. I’ve never caught anything all that big, and besides, it’s not really my style. I don’t have my basketball trophies all over the house either. They’re nice, and I’m glad I have them, but that was never what was important to me.
Let me tell you a story about when I played in the World University Games in the summer of 1977. It was a great experience. The team was made up of guys like Jeff Judkins, who played for the University of Utah and then went on to play a couple years with the Celtics; Dave Corzine, the center from DePaul who played for the Bulls in the pros; Darrell Griffith, who played his college ball for Louisville and went on to be a star for the Utah Jazz; and Sid Moncrief, who starred for Arkansas and later Milwaukee in the NBA. I had just finished my sophomore year at Indiana State, and we went down to Louisville to try out for two weeks. Denny Crum was the coach, and if he put your name up on the board, you made the team and got to go to Europe for a month. I made the team, and we played all over the place—Italy, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria. We traveled all over the countryside in a bus, and there were crowds everywhere we went. Everyone wanted to see the Americans play. Darrell Griffith and Freeman Williams were two of the bigger names on that team, as well as James Bailey, who was a big scorer from Rutgers. I hung around a lot with Jeff Judkins. He was my roommate, a real friendly guy, and we hit it off right away. After a couple of weeks of training, Jeff said to me, “Hey, you’re the best player I’ve ever seen. You are so much better than all these other guys with the bigger names.” I just said, “Yeah, yeah, Jeff, right.” So we get on the bus a couple of days later, and everyone is talking about college players and who thinks who is the best, and Jeff says, “Hey, Larry is the best player in college right now.” The other guys start saying, “C’mon, Jeff, you’re just saying that because he’s your roommate.” Now Jeff is all fired up. He’s really getting into it. He said, “I guarantee you one thing. If you play team ball in these tournaments, Larry will be the MVP in every game. He’s just better than all of you.” I’m sitting on the bus, ready to die. Talk about pressure!
We get to our first pre-tournament venue, and it was absolutely fantastic. It was in Palermo, Italy, and it was an outdoor basketball court, a wooden court with glass backboards. When you walk in, there’s a big concrete wall around the court, and they had armed guards standing up against the wall. They had about 10,000 people in the bleachers, and it was as calm as could be outside. The wall was about eight feet high, with apartment buildings all around it. It was unbelievable. People were hanging out their windows, or sitting on their balconies, watching us play. It was one of the greatest places I’ve ever seen for a basketball game.
It was a round robin tournament, with four teams. We won all four games, and I was named MVP. The next tournament I was MVP again. At this point, we’re traveling all through Europe by bus, train, plane, and boat, and I’m carrying these trophies along with my luggage. I never knew how to pack, so I just took everything, and it was getting hard to lug all this stuff around. The trophies were just so darn big. One of them looked like an ashtray with some kind of strobe sticking out. We got to yet another train station, and I turned to Jeff and said, “You know what? I’ve carried these things for two weeks. I’ve had enough.” So I told Jeff, “Watch this.” I opened the lid of a trash can and threw the trophies in there. I said, “I’m not carrying these things anymore.” Then I got on the train. A few hours later we got to our next city, and the team is doing a head count, and they’re looking for Judkins. He shouts out, “Here I am!” I turn around, and he’s staggering off the train with the trophies. He looked like a pack mule. He came up to me and said, “I’ll carry these the rest of the way for you. You gotta take them home. They’ll mean something to you someday.” Every time I look at those trophies, I just start laughing, and think about how Jeff Judkins carried those things all over Europe.
Back then I was still someone who could get around without being noticed all the time. Those days are long gone. I guess I won’t ever quite get used to people looking at me all the time, watching every move I make. I knew it would happen when I was a player, but I’m surprised that some of it has carried over to the coaching. Like the first real game I coached, at the Atlanta summer league in July of 1997. I walked out there for the first time and I could feel all the eyes on me. It’s uncomfortable for me. Always has been.
But the one thing I noticed in my first coaching season—and it’s completely different than what I expected—is how fans treat you differently than when you were playing. They actually holler and say hi. When I was playing, I never had a guy from Philadelphia saying, “Hey Larry, how are you doing?” But now it happens. I was expecting all the usual, the wisecracking and the smart-mouth stuff, but it really hasn’t turned out that way. The only thing I hear is, “Hey Larry, you better take off your suit and get in the game.” I’m not sure why they laid off me. Maybe it’s some form of respect. I know they give other coaches hell, because I can hear them.
I do sometimes wonder what it would be like to be just another person. Most of my close friends aren’t famous at all. They’re working people, and they enjoy life as much as I do. There’s a part of me that wishes I never became famous. Maybe that’s why I enjoy the private time I have.
I’ve got this idea in my head now that I want to move to Montana. I’ve never been there. I don’t like horses, and I don’t do any hiking. I’d just like to have a thousand acres with a cabin on it. But it’s got to be a cabin with a garage. That way I can go down to the garage and sit there all day and think about nothing.
Sounds perfect to me.
On My First Year As Coach
O
nce I took the Pacers job, I couldn’t wait to get going. But there were a few things I needed to figure out. My first day of work, I showed up at the office before eight o’clock in the morning and the doors were locked. I had to hang around for almost an hour before anyone showed up. That afternoon I asked Donnie Walsh for my own set of keys. My second problem was I didn’t have my assistants yet. Both Dick and Rick had said yes, but they had things to finish up in Portland, and I was on my own. I’d come in, and I used to go right to Donnie’s office. After about three weeks I said, “Maybe this guy has other things to do besides having me sitting here looking at him.” I asked him, “Donnie, when are you going to show me the coaches’ office?” He said, “We don’t have a coaches’ office.” I said, “Why not?” He said, “We never had coaches that ever came in the office.” I said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. I know when Dick and Rick get here, we’re gonna need an office.” Donnie thought about it for a minute, then he took me to this room that had all sorts of equipment and papers and stuff in it. It’s where the Pacers put all their interns. “How big do you want this office of yours?” Donnie asked me. I said, “This is plenty big enough.”
I couldn’t wait until Dick and Rick showed up. I was really chomping at the bit to get started. If there was one thing I was concerned about with my coaching, it was drawing up plays. For one thing, I didn’t like to draw, so I knew that would be a problem. But I don’t worry about it at all anymore, because I’ve got the guy that’s the best I’ve ever seen. We were sitting in our new office before the season, and Rick was showing me how to draw up these plays when I said, “Listen, you’re really good at this. You should do this for our team.” I could tell Rick wasn’t sure if I was serious or not. I told him, “Look, I’ll do it, but I don’t have a problem if you do. If you think it will hurt you, by people asking, ‘Why is Rick drawing all the plays,’ guess what? I don’t care. My main goal is to get this team to win. I want to win this whole thing.” The only other worry we had, I guess, was how the players would react to it. As far as I knew, there was no other assistant coach in the league drawing up the plays in the huddle. But why would I insist on doing it when I knew someone else right next to me who was better at it? The players understood that. They didn’t care.
I knew I was giving my assistants more authority than anyone else in the league, but I was proud of that. Dick and Rick were two intelligent guys who lived for the game of basketball. Why wouldn’t I give them input? That’s not to say we didn’t have a difference of opinion now and then. A lot of those differences would present themselves in the middle of a game. For instance, if a defensive player had three fouls on him, Dick was always saying, “Hey, he’s got three. Let’s go right at him. We’ve got to run a play.” You can run one at him, but if you don’t score, why keep hammering away at it? I think it makes your offense get out of sync if you do that. The truth is, most fouls are picked up off the ball anyway, or from a guy coming over to help out. In that situation, I have to make a quick decision on how I want to go for that particular moment, in that particular game, but then it’s something that Dick and I will go back and talk about later.