Maurice Lucas was the reason Bo Ellis picked Marquette over the hundred colleges that coveted him. Surprisingly, Al McGuire, famed for selling himself and his school to the mothers of recruits, was nowhere in sight. Instead, starting guard Lloyd Walton showed up at his homie’s Chicago apartment with Jim Chones and Lucas in tow.
“Larry McNeill was leaving for the NBA and Maurice told me ‘you’re the final piece to our puzzle,'” Ellis recalled yesterday when reached at home in Chicago.”‘Come with me,’ he said ‘and we can win this whole thing.'”
Almost. The Marquette Warriors bathed in oils but were deprived from wearing crown jewels by David Thompson’s Wolfpack, 76-64. The season was 1973-74, the second year freshmen were allowed to play varsity, and the field was a fiercely competitive 25-strong. Marquette beat Kansas in the semis but North Carolina State, which had terminated UCLA’s streak (Bill Walton remains distraught) of seven straight championships, proved insurmountable playing (Greensboro Coliseum) in its home state.
Ellis and Lucas roomed together for the Final Four. “He had a great game against Kansas but hurt his hamstring and was icing down in the room when I nodded off,” Bo recounted. “Suddenly something woke me up. It was the sound of Luke munching on ice. He was eating the cubes right out of a big bucket. ‘I’m sorry, Slim, but I can’t sleep. This next game is the biggest of my life. This is where you make the money. I’m so uptight!'”
Years later, they’d laugh about that strange scene. But, at the time, nothing could’ve been more serious than the business on tap. Lucas was from the Pittsburgh projects and he couldn’t spare a dime or to have an off night. The 6-9, 240-pound junior was intent on going hardship and he needed to rhyme tight in the limelight or it was likely to cost him dearly on the NBA draft chart.
Throughout the tournament,” Ellis remembered, “McGuire admonished Lucas for thinking he was ready for the pros. They had a love-hate thing goin’ on, but coach wasn’t saying Luke wasn’t good enough. He fancied himself as a master psychologist. He was just trying to motivate Luke, push him to carry us over that hump and it almost worked to perfection; he got us to the Final Two”.
After Lucas applied for the draft he sought out Ellis, hugged him and apologized. “He said, ‘I know when I recruited you, Slim, I promised we’d hang for two years, but I just got to do this for my mother. I told him I appreciated him thinking of me that way but that he had to do what was best for him and his family. The way he came to me like that really meant something to me. We were close for the rest of his life.”
Sunday, Luke’s life mercifully ended following two years of a brutal battle with bladder canceraand acute mono previously that launched his downward spiralaand other related afflictions and complications between. He was 58.
McNeill, 53, died in late December ’04. Before that Bob Lackey passed while Pat Smith expired not long ago. All were Luke’s college teammates. Dean Meminger was a senior when the macho forward and McNeil arrived in 1970 when the freshman-can’t-play rule was still compulsory.
“You got to be courageous to see them disappear the way they do,” Meminger said from his Baltimore home, and he wasn’t just talking about former Marquette players; in the past year cancer has claimed his mother and wife. He, too, almost lost his life last November in a block-long Bronx blaze and, though not burned, he spent many months recovering in the hospital.
Shaken by the terrible news, the former Knicks’ guard on the team’s second and final (’73) title team said, “For someone who was so close to death I feel blessed I can still play, still laugh and still get out of the bed. You forget to be grateful for that until spit happens. You forget a lot of people didn’t get up this morning.”
Even at his strongest and healthiest, Luke had trouble getting out of bedaearly, anyway.
On the court the original “Enforcer” led the ABA and NBA in intimidation and filled up the stats sheet’s game-winning columns (one title, 5-time all-star) for 14 seasons.
Off the court, there was very little he was incapable of conquering (who would think he wore a tool belt at home and knew how to drop a ceiling as effectively as an opponent?) and nothing he wouldn’t do to benefit a charity, especially Emanuel Hospital where his daughter, Kristin, was born a preemie.
But Luke could not get rolling in the a.m. without help.
Back in the day, all games began at eight. Afterward players had to search out places that were open late to eat. And then there was the mandatory clubbing that needed to be done. By the time they got back to their rooms it was almost time to leave. No charters meant having to catch the first commercial plane out in the morning in order to get to the next city in plenty of time.
“I’m an early riser so I’d be at Luke’s door at 4:15, pounding away until he opened it,” said Lionel Hollins, the first Blazer to greet him when he was acquired (along with Moses Malone, traded to Buffalo before the ’76 season a No. 1 pick because he made too much; 350G) following the NBA-ABA consolidation and its ensuing dispersal draft.
One of the first things I learned covering the pros was to pack the night before and sleep in the clothes you’re going to wear the next day. Luke learned neither. Hollins inevitably had to help him pack.
“Luke always had our back on the court and I had his back in the hotel,” said the Grizzlies coach. “How can you let your teammate be late? Today players laugh when teammates are late for the bus or whatever. And they have cell phones. We had each other.”
According to Hollins, Johnny Davis and Dave Twardzik, the Blazers cared more about each other than any team they ever played on or were associated with, before or after. Caring that never stopped. From coach Jack Ramsay to Bill Walton to 12th man Wally Walker who hardly played on the ’77 title team. They can be out of touch for months, even years, and pick up right where they left off the moment they’re together again with no hard feelings there was no love or letter.
Immediately following the late April conclusion of the Grizzlies’ season, Hollins and Davis, an assistant, went to Portland to visit Luke. Bob Gross and Lloyd Neal joined them at the hospital. While he’d turned gray and his weight was way down the situation was not hopeless.
“There were still ways to go, treatments to undergo, new medicine to try,” Hollins said.
Luke knew the score, though, and never played dumb.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I just want you to know I love you guys.”
“I got the feeling he felt it might be the last time he saw us,” Hollins said.
Davis was 20 when the Blazers drafted him in ’76, the league’s youngest player that season. Luke sat him down and explained the facts of NBA life. His interest in the newcomer and persistent positive approach grab Davis to this day.
“He would’ve given me the shirt off his back. What he did give me was confidence. He was forever pumping me up. He told me I was faster than anyone in the league so use that speed to blow by people and don’t worry about anything else. He told me all season to stay ready. When Dave (Twardzik) got hurt in the Denver playoff series and I was put into the starting lineup he met at the locker room door and said this is what you’ve been waiting for, rookie, this is going to be your coming out party.”
Davis said he had a good game and the Blazers won. Late in the fourth quarter a Denver player was shooting a free throw and Luke had inside position. Davis was on the same side with a Nugget between them.
“Luke reached behind the guy and tapped me, smiled and winked, as if to say ‘I told you this would be your coming out party.’ I’ll never forget that or what he did for me.
“Our team’s chemistry and camaraderie was forever. We froze that (championship) moment and it only belongs to us. We cared about each other. He cared about us. We cared about him. His friendship was unconditional. I texted him regularly. A week or so ago he didn’t text back. I knew that couldn’t be good.”
Twardzik, the Magic’s assistant GM, visited Portland in May, a trip partly to scout, mostly to visit Luke who was home. They spent three hours talking about the past, the present, the Blazers, the Magic, the future and life. Death was eavesdropping.
“Luke stayed in bed the whole time I was there, covers pulled up to his neck. It was a reality check for me. I left there and drove around Portland, all the old familiar places, my old neighborhood, my old house and wondered where the years went. It was so long ago. Time goes so quickly. I just turned 60 and I tell everyone it seems like birthdays now come twice a year.”
Unlike any other Blazer, Twardzik had two viewpoints of Luke, one as an ABA opponent for two seasons, the other as a teammate.
“As an opponent, he was really nasty. You couldn’t run by him through the lane without getting whacked in the ribs or in the head. He’d tag you and then stare you down, like ‘what are you gonna do about it?’
“When I became his teammate I questioned how that was going to work out. What I found out is that he was the best teammate because of that stuff. If someone did something dirty to you he’d say, ‘Bring him over here and we’ll straighten him out, not maliciously, just a jolt to let the guy know payback was a bitch.
“Luke was the perfect complement to Bill who was a finesse player. He had his back and everyone else’s too. We were very young when we won it all. Imagine how many titles we would’ve won had Bill stayed healthy, or we hadn’t traded Moses.”
Rod Thorn also had two perspectives on Luke. He coached him for 28 games for the Spirits of St. Louis and against him with the Nets as Kevin Loughery’s one and only assistant.
In ’75, the Nets beat the Spirits ten straight during the regular season and won their playoff opener as well. St. Louis broke serve in Game 2, winning by a lean and mean margin, and the series switched to St. Louis.
Late in the third quarter of another close one, the Nets had possession and Julius Erving set a pick on Luke who ran right over him. His teammates jumped and jawed, and then jawed and jumped some more, but never moved a muscle to retaliate.
Basically, the Nets could not believe an opponent had leveled Dr. J. as opposed to what usually happened . . . a request for his signed sneakers. Very few refused to defer to the Doctor — Bob Dandridge, M.L. Carr, Johnny Johnson and Luke who told his teammates to shut the bleep up.
That was pretty much that. The Nets were done. St. Louis won that game and the next one, and closed out the series at the Nassau Coliseum.
“Not that Luke was a good practice player, but he was a delight to coach,” Thorn said, an opinion not shared by Hubie Brown.
At Kentucky things had gotten way out of hand between the two. Luke felt he’d been degraded at practice and manhandled Brown, grabbing him by the shirt. He was traded to the Spirits soon after (the Colonels win the title behind Artis Gilmore and Dan Issel) and didn’t last a New York second once Brown became coach in ’82.
Thorn liked Luke because he was an “officially tough” and cared. “There was no Fugazy in him. He took no bleep from anybody.” At the same time, Luke went out of his way to avoid confrontations with Lonnie Shelton and Mel Bennett, another Pittsburgh product.
Marvin Barnes, on the other hand, said Thorn, was a coach’s nightmare, summarily ending my innocence.
They got along OK, but Luke never respected Barnes because he of all the talent he wasted by not training or taking anything serious other than partying. Fed up with News’ innumerable discretions, Thorn suspended him for one game. Unfortunately, his timing was horrid; the Spirits lost before a packed house that largely got in for free.
“That did not go over big with the owners [the Silna brothers],” the 76ers team president. “I understood why they were unhappy. It was an impetuous decision.”
Luke was the lone hombre who had Thorn’s back. “He stuck around until everyone had left the locker room and told me, ‘You did the right thing.’
“I kept up with him and he had a wonderful career (15.2 points and 10 rebounds his two red, white and blue years; 14.4 and 8.9 the dozen years thereafter for six teams). For 1 ½ years (50-10, actually in the second when Medical Bill got hurt) he and Walton were as good a tandem as you could get. They could make shot and dominate you on the boards.”
“When Bill went down,” said Hollins, attesting to Luke’s legendary leadership, “Maurice addressed the team and growled, ‘If there’s anyone in this room who doesn’t think we can win a championship without him you should get on a plane right now.’ ”
Under that rough menacing exterior was a soft-shelled scamp with a kind heart and incandescent intelligence. Having studied under master McGuire, Luke was a whiz at playing mind games.
“I knew what was going on,” Thorn said. Much of what he did was a put-on for his own amusement and edification. “He’d see a new guy and he’d test him, hit him in the chest for no reason other than to find out what he was made ofaand then he’d look at him real mean.”
Among the many that Luke tested was Willie Wisea.long after he’d established himself (19 & 9 in seven seasons) as the ABA’s maximum security forward.
“I was playing for the Squires and Luke was with the Spirits,” Wise e-mailed from the Philippines where he’s doing church work. Al Bianchi had a play ‘one down and Twardzik called it. I was to give the ball back to him, peel over the top of our center, guarded by Maurice, and take a lobfrom Dave. As I peeled over, Maurice stepped out, hit me with such avicious forearm, I thought my head literally was going to come off myshoulders. He then recovered to his position on our center as ifnothing happened!
“I was hot, scared and provoked all at the same time. I told Dave tocall the play again. When he did, I was ready for Maurice to dothe same thing, which he surely intended to do! But this time, I hit him first when he stepped out, and thought I would soon see my maker!
“The ref called a double foul. And while running back down the floor to the other end, he caught up and patted me on the backside and said,’ Good play, baby'”
Paul Westphal teamed up twice with Luke, briefly in New York and later in Phoenix for a season. Asked if he might have an exclusive story to share, the Kings coach e-mailed:
“Everyone will recall Luke’s toughness, competitiveness and his strengths as a teammate and competitor. No argument from me on all of the above. But he could surprise you with aspects of himself that defied easy assumptions.
“In the late ’70s, we were both participants in the old ‘Superstars’ competition on ABC. We could pick seven of a possible ten events. I grew up by the ocean in Redondo Beach, and noticed that Maurice, a 6-9 power forward from Pittsburgh was signed up for the swimming event. Even though we were required to wear Speedos to participate, I signed up anyway. After all, a win would put me in the finals, and this HAD to be a sure win!
“Exempting one minor detail; Luke failed to mention he had been the Pennsylvania state swim champion. He swam like a dolphin, and was already being interviewed by the great Bill Russell about his win as I was being pulled from the pool, gasping for air in my Speedo!”
Ellis and Luke kept their lines of communication open almost to the end. Maurice told Bo he was glad he checked on him all the time. When texting brought no response a week ago, Ellis sensed the gravity of the omen. Having lost a daughter seven years ago–Nicole was 24–to liver cancer, he understood there comes a time when a person cuts off the world except those in the immediate family.
Last week Luke left the hospital to die at home with his wife, Pamela, David, Maurice Jr.and Kristin.
“I’ll never forget the first time I played against Luke when Portland came to Denver,” Ellis said, chuckling at the memory. “I was 6-9 and 200 pounds. Even though I’d averaged almost ten rebounds a game alongside Luke who averaged 11, my skills were more suited to play small forward, but my height made me a power forward for that era.
“Here I am on the wing early on and I catch the ball, look in, give it up, make my cut and WHOP, Luke stands me up with a forearm and knocks me backward. I balled up my fist and tried to hit him on the arm but missed.
“He knew I was mad. He just sneered and said with a laugh, “Welcome to the NBA, Slim.”