[TimesPicayune] COMFORTS OF HOME
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COMFORTS OF HOME
New Hornets executive Willis Reed has experienced stardom
and the big-city spotlight, but he prefers nothing more
than the quiet country life and spending time with a
lifelong friend
Sunday, July 04, 2004
By William Kalec
Staff writer
RUSTON -- Where the bright lights and attention don't dare trespass,
Willis Reed bought land and built a house in the only place he could
ever call home.
On this 60-acre sanctuary, out of place compared to the humble
trailers and one-story residences from here to the freeway, are
three ponds -- the signature of the property and the inspiration in
naming the private drive leading to it. A novice fisherman should be
able to snag a decent-sized bass in the two ponds located left of
the whirling driveway, separated by a thin manmade dam. Catfish are
found in the other.
"I'm a Cancer," Reed says. "And Cancers like the water."
It's quiet this day, as it is most early evenings when the sun is
leaning on the ropes, close to throwing in the towel. A tiny rowboat
the 6-foot-10 former center somehow manages to fit into comfortably
is resting among the brush, the back end bobbing slightly in the
water. There is another one just like it down in the second bass
pond, but the tall weeds obstruct the view. Under a dying sky, it's
easy to forget that the world doesn't begin and end on this sliver of
seclusion.
"Yeah, it's peaceful," says Howard Brown, a friend. "But they still
come. Some people know Willis lives here and they stand over there
and take pictures of his house. They probably don't even realize
they're taking a picture of the back of his house. They probably don't
care, either. Sometimes, I guess, they just want a small part of what
they remember of him on the basketball court."
Because when someone says the name Willis Reed, northern Louisiana,
catfish, rowboats and the three ponds they're docked on never come to
mind. It's always Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals and from the Madison
Square Garden tunnel limps Reed, unknowingly creating the standard by
which all subsequent acts of athletic heroism will be compared and
measured. Like children playing telephone, facts from that night are
slightly fuzzy in most retellings. Reed says it wasn't "a knee"
hindering him but rather something much more complicated, a pain
shooting through his entire leg, particularly around the thigh.
We choose to forget the particulars that interfere with the story's
allure, whether it is a misdiagnosis, a Hall of Fame playing career,
a college and pro coaching tenure and finally a transition to the
front office, most recently as the Hornets' newly named vice
president of basketball operations. No, Willis Reed isn't all those
things to the people snapping photos from his drive. He's the guy
who played hurt. And this is where he lives.
But to the left, past one of the huge mobile meat smokers found on
the grounds, is another house -- smaller and on a slightly
less-elevated hill. Inside, Brown (always "Coach Brown" when
speaking to Reed, his longtime friend) is unwinding after catering
an event all afternoon, wondering whether to pour himself a glass
of wine while waiting for his wife, Cora, to return from Bible
study. The two friends live on the same private property.
Unlike the curious trespassers, Brown knows Reed -- the person, not
the moment. They grew up in the segregated South, meeting in high
school, winning a championship there and later at Grambling. Brown
understands that Reed's tolerance for pain is rooted in the long
summer hours spent working with his late father, in an unforgiving,
hot warehouse, used mainly for storing wheat and rice, and is further
strengthened by his mother, Inell, who continues to fight recent
health problems. And more than anything, Brown can tell you why this
isolated property is so important and so special to someone who
spends much of his life in the spotlight.
"You're talking about a guy who never sought the notoriety and glory,"
Brown said. "He's comfortable here. We're comfortable here. For me,
he's done so much. I don't know where I'd be without him."
A man of vision
If you believe the man dressed in the immaculate suit, with the
perfectly tied tie in this St. Charles Avenue members-only club,
he's still a hillbilly. Those are his words. It's hard to envision,
though, as Reed sits between Hornets owner George Shinn, General
Manager Allan Bristow and Coach Byron Scott for this forma!
The bright television lights follow Reed into the hallway where he
thoroughly explains the job description and eloquently dances around
inquiries involving Jamal Mashburn and other lingering question
marks. Each word is calculated. According to Brown, who wasn't in
New Orleans on Tuesday, that sounds a lot like Willis.
But when the crowd thins and the glare is lessened, Reed adapts to
his element -- propped up on a white-clothed table traditionally
used for serving, not sitting. He's talking about Grambling football,
trying to explain why recent exceptional seasons have been dampened
dramatically by losses to Southern in the Bayou Classic. Soon he's
speaking about hunting, about Howard and about home, smiling at the
mention of each.
The two friends met in high school, after Brown transferred from
Junction City High to Westside High in Lillie. Reed cracks that Brown
must have grown tired of getting blown out by Westside, kind of a
can't-beat-em-join-em situation. Brown dismisses such a notion.
They roomed together at Grambling -- Reed, Brown and two other
basketball players, crammed into a dormitory. Both majored in physical
education and intended to coach basketball and teach. Reed suggests
that their lives could have easily paralleled. Brown knew it would
never happen.
"We all knew Willis was a special player," Brown said. "He had a
vision. He had one since I knew him. But he just didn't have a vision
for himself. He had a vision for others. He had a vision for me."
Comfortable living on an educator's income coupled with performing odd
jobs here or there -- causing Reed to gushingly refer to his friend as
a "hustler" -- Brown had keys made for his famous friend. It wasn't
uncommon for Reed to split offseason time between his parents' place
in Bernice and Brown's house on the south side of Grambling. Reed --
an NBA superstar -- stayed in the guest room.
For the longest time, Reed suggested Brown return to college for his
master's degree -- a no-brainer in his opinion that would allow his
former teammate and roommate to maximize his earning potential and
explore alternative career opportunities within public education.
Brown balked. He had everything, right here -- a job, a home. It had
been nearly a decade since college. Go back, now? He couldn't imagine
it.
So the suggestion slowly transformed into harassment then finally a
near-order as Reed tirelessly attempted to convey that Brown would
earn more money for the same job if he had an advanced degree.
"He finally got the message," Reed said.
In 1975, Brown received his master's from Northwestern State. In the
audience, Reed watched his friend walk across the stage. Reed never
thought to be anywhere else but Natchitoches that night. Brown would
later become a principal. The promotion would have been impossible
without more schooling.
They've always been there for each other -- good, bad or indifferent.
When Reed's Manhattan restaurant folded, Brown bought many of the
kitchen supplies. Even now, lying on Brown's kitchen counter is the
local sports section from Wednesday, the banner headline reading,
"Reed returns home to work."
The new post will involve some involvement in personnel decisions,
but more so, Reed serves as the Hornets' link to the community.
Everyone knows his name, knows of his defining moment. He won't really
shake hands but rather swallow them in his huge grip. His imposing
figure is softened by his warm face and hair whisked with white and
gray, as Reed hopes to recapture local interest after the Hornets
enjoyed a brief honeymoon with the city. He claims this will be his
last job -- the closest he can get to home before retiring there.
"Willis has some unfinished business," Brown said. "Something big."
A friend for life
When the phone rings, Brown is cutting through the garage to grab a
soda. The caller ID reads a New Orleans number. On the fourth ring,
the machine picks up.
It's Willis, leaving his new cell phone and office numbers. Rushing
back in after hearing the familiar voice, Brown answers the phone
while Reed is in mid-message.
They don't talk long; knowing they have tentative plans to get
together in Ruston this weekend. Brown is prepared but wonders if
two cans of baked beans are enough to last through the holiday.
They'll eat catfish. Fresh not frozen. Reed always tells Brown to
never place fish in the freezer. Keep 'em on ice, he says, but not
frozen. This is routine but Reed always reminds him anyway.
Just a five-hour drive away, Brown suspects Reed will spend much more
time on the property, originally purchased in 1989. This weekend
should be the first of many reunions between friends.
Expect Reed to wheel across the dam on an ATV, like he always does,
looking for Brown to go fishing. The boat will be equipped and packed,
thanks to Reed's meticulous manner. On the water, they might talk
about the time Willis almost missed the bus to a game in high school
to the dismay of assistant coach/driver Duke Fields, about playing
college games in New Orleans and the pretty girls from Xavier in
attendance, about future hunting plans, about nothing of absolute
importance but still significant enough to listen to every word.
"I don't think Willis and I can picture our lives without each other,"
Brown said. "His wife Gale is like a sister with my wife and we're
like brothers. I think, somehow, we always knew that our ending place
was right here. That we'd be doing the same things we've always done
in the places we've always done them."
Like so many 62-year-old men, Reed is near obsessed with his lawn and
landscape. Brown says his friend's garage looks like a home improvement
store -- seed, fertilizer and every instrument imaginable to disperse
it. He'll spend two days at a time, caring for his seemingly endless
yard. Red clay collects on his shoes -- as much a nuisance as it is
nostalgia. You don't find this clay, this particular color, anywhere
else.
Reed's lived in cities with a racing pulse but finds comfort in the
country where life moves so slowly you can count the heartbeats. While
in New York, he had an escape residence an hour-and-a-half away. Nice
place. Next to a lake. He could have retired there someday, and maybe
the thought popped in his head once or twice. But, as hard as this is
to explain and comprehend, it wasn't home.
"This is where I belong," Reed said. "I'm that northern hillbilly, up
in the hills with all those Baptist folks. I'm glad to be back in the
state of Louisiana. This is a great time in my life. . . . when it was
all over, I wanted to go home."
. . . . . . .
William Kalec can be reached at wkalec@timespicayune.com or (504) 826-3413.
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