NY Times: "A Sudden, Violent Moment That Still Haunts a Life."

This from the New York Times... http://www.nytimes.com/library/sports/backtalk/051400back-kermit-washington.html

May 14, 2000

A Sudden, Violent Moment That Still Haunts a Life

By KERMIT WASHINGTON


Pro basketball is a different game these days, and it isn't simply what happens on the court. When I see the way Latrell Sprewell has turned around his image after the much-publicized confrontation with his coach, P. J. Carlesimo, it reinforces my belief that you can overcome something negative provided someone wants to help you.
Twenty-three years ago, it was very different. You didn't have the public relations machine you have now. Pete Newell and Red Auerbach stood up for me and helped me stay in the National Basketball Association as a player. But I was never able to live down the one mistake I made as a player, or even explain it so that people would understand I wasn't some kind of animal who would just turn around and hit someone for no reason.

Twenty-three years ago, it was very different. You didn't have the public relations machine you have now. Pete Newell and Red Auerbach stood up for me and helped me stay in the National Basketball Association as a player. But I was never able to live down the one mistake I made as a player, or even explain it so that people would understand I wasn't some kind of animal who would just turn around and hit someone for no reason.

The story began on Dec. 9, 1977. I was playing for the Los Angeles Lakers. We were in the middle of a game in Los Angeles against the Houston Rockets. It was your typical basketball game. I was checking Moses Malone, something I did regularly because we would always try to keep Kareem Abdul-Jabbar out of foul trouble. As a player, I was expendable and Kareem was not. This didn't bother me. It was an honor to play against one of the game's greatest players.

The situation started with a rebound that came off the board. It would have been an offensive rebound if I had gotten it, but I did not. There were two other people under the basket -- Kareem and Houston's Kevin Kunnert. I turned to get back on defense and tried to pull my way past Kevin. What I did would have been a foul if it were caught, but it wasn't. As I tried to pull my way past Kevin, he elbowed me in the face. For a second, I didn't know what had hit me. When I realized I had been elbowed, I turned to him thinking it had been an accident. His second reaction was not what I expected. He turned and hit me in the face.

I knew the first elbow was not unintentional. After he hit me, I heard Kareem say, "Oh no!" He knew a fight was about to ensue. Kevin and I scuffled, with not much damage to either side because people had jumped between us. While this was happening, I saw Rudy Tomjanovich running straight at me. After being attacked by Kunnert, I did not think Rudy's intentions were good either. I just saw someone running at me and reacted. My punch landed on his face and he fell. As Rudy Tomjanovich fell that night, so did my basketball career and a lot of the rest of my life.

After everything stopped and I realized Rudy was hurt, I was sorry I had hit him. Not knowing the extent of Rudy's injuries, I drove home after being thrown out of the game. I tried calling the hospital that night to apologize and check on him, but my calls were turned away. I did not expect the reactions that followed because I thought I had just been defending myself. Unfortunately, Kunnert's elbowing and hitting me were not on film. The only parts that were caught were Rudy running at me and my hitting him. I knew I was in trouble. The news reports of my attacking Rudy were everywhere, but there was no mention of Kunnert and his involvement.

I went to practice and played in the next game. The reports of the story and Rudy's condition worsened. (He eventually needed facial reconstruction surgery.) The clip of my turning and hitting Rudy was played continuously all over the nation. I was portrayed as an out-of-control player who attacked another player for no reason. I knew something bad was going to happen. It did. The press completely turned on me. I was fined $10,000 and suspended indefinitely for three months without pay, a large sum in those days of $100,000 annual salaries.

But my nightmare was just beginning. Besides having no money, I was public enemy No. 1. In 1977, racial diversity was almost nonexistent; racial slurs about me became everyone's favorite. I was humiliated. I was an embarrassment to myself and my family. Not even the university I attended wanted anything to do with me. Everyone who was once so proud of me now could not even say my name in public.

During my suspension, the Lakers never called me. My lawyer at the time, David Falk, advised me not to comment on anything about that night. I couldn't even defend myself to the public. A few days later, as a result of the fight, I was traded to the Boston Celtics with Don Chaney. Before I went to Boston, I had to meet with Commissioner Larry O'Brien in New York. O'Brien made it clear that I was not welcome anymore. His actual words were: "We don't need your kind in the league. You are not good for the league." I realized then that if I wanted to continue playing basketball, I would have to keep my mouth shut and not appeal my suspension or trade. For reasons I now regret, I chose to keep quiet.

In Boston, I had to have F.B.I. agents sit next to me at the games for fear of being attacked. I was warned not to order room service for fear of being poisoned. I finished the rest of my career without incident and retired in 1983.

Since then, I have applied for various coaching jobs from high school to the pro level, but have always been turned down because no one wanted to be associated with my reputation, or with me. My name stood for violence and bad publicity. I was blackballed everywhere. I've made it this far only because I have owned my own business, a restaurant. No one would hire me. I couldn't do summer camps because parents didn't want their kids around someone like me. Schools were hesitant to let me speak because all the kids ever wanted to hear about was the famous fight.

Over the last 23 years, the clip of my hitting Rudy is played every time there is any type of violence in sports. I can't count how many times it ran during the Sprewell incident and just recently with the Marty McSorley hockey incident. Everything I've ever accomplished in life is overshadowed by this incident. No one stops to ask me about my charities or the work I do in the community.

I can't come back and play and have someone like a sneaker company or the N.B.A. start a marketing campaign to help me overcome the one blemish on my résumé. After I quit playing, guys who were my best friends in the league would say, "Kermit, we can't hire you as an assistant coach because of the publicity it would get." I never drank, never did drugs, never got in trouble. I was an academic all-American at American University, started Pete Newell's camp for big men and helped run it for 10 years, started Project Contact and have been doing charity work in African countries.

I have nothing against the league. I understand that 23 years ago the N.B.A. had a reputation to protect and that it felt it had to sacrifice me. But all people are ever going to remember me for was this one blemish.

How do I make people believe that, yes, I did throw a punch that I sincerely regret, but that it was in a fight that I didn't start? How do I change the way people look at me every time there's a violent act in sports?

I took a lie detector test last month to prove I was telling the truth. The doctor who administered the test said it was two to three times higher than it needed to be to be an honest statement. I hope this is the first step in salvaging my name and reputation. When I die, I hope the legacy I leave behind is not one of violence.

 

Well said, Will.

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