Wilt Chamberlain gets a stamp in his honor
By Scott Ostler
Updated 6:41 pm, Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Photo: Joe Rosenthal, The Chronicle
San Francisco Warriors Wilt Chamberlain playing in the USF gym against the Detroit Pistons. Feb. 4, 1964.
Image3of4
Wilt Chamberlain lays the ball in over Bill Russell during a game between the San Francisco Warriors and Boston Celtics. Feb. 21, 1963. At the Cow Palace.
It’s fitting that the U.S. Postal Service is issuing a Wilt Chamberlain stamp, making him the first NBA player so honored.
It’s also fitting that the stamp is so long (just over 2 inches) that maybe it’s not fitting on your envelope.
But Chamberlain wasn’t so big in size — just a shade over 7 feet — as much as he was big in life.
There is a class of athletes above all others. Babe Ruth, Satchell Paige, Muhammad Aliand Wilt. They made their own rules, and broke ’em. They lived bigger and had more fun.
Jordan, Tiger, Jeter, guys like that are second-tier. It’s not all about fame and athletic ability. It’s about going through life like the grand marshal of your own parade.
I was a big Wilt fan, then got to know him a bit, post-career. In honor of his stamp, I’m jotting down some random notes and memories.
Chamberlain blazed through the Bay Area, playing two-plus seasons for the San Francisco Warriors. He came here just after his 50.4 points-per-game season, but he dialed back his offense, averaging a mere 44.8 in 1962-63.
I went to Wilt’s mansion in Los Angeles a few times to interview him, but the interviews never happened. They became conversations. Sure, a lot of the conversations centered on Chamberlain, but he loved to discuss, debate, argue, pontificate and philosophize.
Chamberlain was a pioneer. He was the first real NBA dunker. He was the first black NBA player to assume a superstar offensive role. He was the first player to leave college early to go pro, skipping his senior year at Kansas to play for the Harlem Globetrotters.
Some players went clubbing. Wilt had his own. He bought a nightclub in Harlem, Small’s Paradise and renamed it Big Wilt’s Small’s Paradise.
Chamberlain enjoyed bragging. It wasn’t enough that he scored 100 points in an NBA game, he bragged that he warmed up that night in Hershey, Pa., by breaking the record on a pinball game in the arena lobby.
When Shaquille O’Neal was a rookie, I phoned Chamberlain, who barked, “Don’t ask me to compare myself with Shaq. I’m not going to do that.” Then he spent an hour comparing himself with Shaq. Shaq lost.
It might not have been 20,000, but Chamberlain had a lot of lady companions. He must have been a gentleman, because there was not one hint of scandal or mistreatment.
Chamberlain was a big champion of women’s sports, sponsoring and coaching volleyball and track teams.
He hated the nickname “Wilt the Stilt” because it implied he was good only because he was tall. He preferred “The Big Dipper.” Chamberlain’s home in L.A. was named Ursa Major. It was the only place on Earth where a young woman could enter the gates of Ursa Major and roll back the master-bedroom moonroof to gaze up at Ursa Major while snuggling with Ursa Major.
Friends and family called him Dipper, or Dippy.
Wilt recognized that his size was a big help in the dating arena. He explained to me, “What attracts men and women to each other is their differences, and my differences are more pronounced.”
Many of his friends were commoners. When Chamberlain played in San Francisco, he befriended a hotel bellman named Jeff Trager. They’d play H-O-R-S-E at Sunset Playground. “I never got past H,” says Trager, who became a successful music/events producer.
Wilt didn’t like Walt Bellamy, and once told Trager, “I’m going to block Bellamy’s first eight shots tonight.” Says Trager, “He blocked the first six, Bellamy went to the bench, Wilt looked up and winked. Bellamy came back in and Wilt volleyballed two more.”
Chamberlain was frugal. He lived in Grace Slick’s neighborhood and had a nice pool, but didn’t heat it. Once when Wilt went out of town, Trager, who lived nearby, heated the pool. A month later Wilt pounded on Trager’s door, demanding an explanation for an outrageous $100 PG&E bill.
Chamberlain drove Bentleys. They were identical to Rolls Royces (except for the grill), but less expensive.
Wilt was generous. Trager says Chamberlain would be offered $500 to speak at an inner-city high school, would demand $1,000, then donate the check to the athletic department.
Chamberlain had a portion of every paycheck deducted to assist Maurice Stokes, an NBA player who suffered a head injury in 1958 and became paralyzed.
Chamberlain loved to perform odd feats. Arms extended to the sides, he would palm two 16-pound bowling balls, without using the holes. He would flagpole himself, grabbing onto a pole and holding himself parallel to the ground.
He fancied himself a gourmet chef and would host large dinner parties.
Chamberlain was criticized for not being big in the Civil Rights movement. But at theUniversity of Kansas, he helped integrate Lawrence. His fame helped break barriers for other black athletes. Wilt was probably the first black athlete to be a high-profile endorser, appearing in magazine ads and TV commercials for the Volkswagen beetle.
Wilt once complained to me about a TV announcer who cited Bill Russell as the greatest shot-blocker. I said, “You’re recognized for what you did in basketball, you’ve got fame and money and girls, why are you still worried about what someone says about Bill Russell?”
“There wasn’t much TV when I played, and no highlight videos,” Chamberlain said. “Most people now don’t realize what I could do on the court. I just want my due.”
There it is, Dipper, on the envelope.
Scott Ostler is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. E-mail: sostler@sfchronicle.com; Twitter @scottostler
By Scott Ostler
Updated 6:41 pm, Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Photo: Joe Rosenthal, The Chronicle
San Francisco Warriors Wilt Chamberlain playing in the USF gym against the Detroit Pistons. Feb. 4, 1964.
Image3of4
Wilt Chamberlain lays the ball in over Bill Russell during a game between the San Francisco Warriors and Boston Celtics. Feb. 21, 1963. At the Cow Palace.
It’s fitting that the U.S. Postal Service is issuing a Wilt Chamberlain stamp, making him the first NBA player so honored.
It’s also fitting that the stamp is so long (just over 2 inches) that maybe it’s not fitting on your envelope.
But Chamberlain wasn’t so big in size — just a shade over 7 feet — as much as he was big in life.
There is a class of athletes above all others. Babe Ruth, Satchell Paige, Muhammad Aliand Wilt. They made their own rules, and broke ’em. They lived bigger and had more fun.
Jordan, Tiger, Jeter, guys like that are second-tier. It’s not all about fame and athletic ability. It’s about going through life like the grand marshal of your own parade.
I was a big Wilt fan, then got to know him a bit, post-career. In honor of his stamp, I’m jotting down some random notes and memories.
Chamberlain blazed through the Bay Area, playing two-plus seasons for the San Francisco Warriors. He came here just after his 50.4 points-per-game season, but he dialed back his offense, averaging a mere 44.8 in 1962-63.
I went to Wilt’s mansion in Los Angeles a few times to interview him, but the interviews never happened. They became conversations. Sure, a lot of the conversations centered on Chamberlain, but he loved to discuss, debate, argue, pontificate and philosophize.
Chamberlain was a pioneer. He was the first real NBA dunker. He was the first black NBA player to assume a superstar offensive role. He was the first player to leave college early to go pro, skipping his senior year at Kansas to play for the Harlem Globetrotters.
Some players went clubbing. Wilt had his own. He bought a nightclub in Harlem, Small’s Paradise and renamed it Big Wilt’s Small’s Paradise.
Chamberlain enjoyed bragging. It wasn’t enough that he scored 100 points in an NBA game, he bragged that he warmed up that night in Hershey, Pa., by breaking the record on a pinball game in the arena lobby.
When Shaquille O’Neal was a rookie, I phoned Chamberlain, who barked, “Don’t ask me to compare myself with Shaq. I’m not going to do that.” Then he spent an hour comparing himself with Shaq. Shaq lost.
It might not have been 20,000, but Chamberlain had a lot of lady companions. He must have been a gentleman, because there was not one hint of scandal or mistreatment.
Chamberlain was a big champion of women’s sports, sponsoring and coaching volleyball and track teams.
He hated the nickname “Wilt the Stilt” because it implied he was good only because he was tall. He preferred “The Big Dipper.” Chamberlain’s home in L.A. was named Ursa Major. It was the only place on Earth where a young woman could enter the gates of Ursa Major and roll back the master-bedroom moonroof to gaze up at Ursa Major while snuggling with Ursa Major.
Friends and family called him Dipper, or Dippy.
Wilt recognized that his size was a big help in the dating arena. He explained to me, “What attracts men and women to each other is their differences, and my differences are more pronounced.”
Many of his friends were commoners. When Chamberlain played in San Francisco, he befriended a hotel bellman named Jeff Trager. They’d play H-O-R-S-E at Sunset Playground. “I never got past H,” says Trager, who became a successful music/events producer.
Wilt didn’t like Walt Bellamy, and once told Trager, “I’m going to block Bellamy’s first eight shots tonight.” Says Trager, “He blocked the first six, Bellamy went to the bench, Wilt looked up and winked. Bellamy came back in and Wilt volleyballed two more.”
Chamberlain was frugal. He lived in Grace Slick’s neighborhood and had a nice pool, but didn’t heat it. Once when Wilt went out of town, Trager, who lived nearby, heated the pool. A month later Wilt pounded on Trager’s door, demanding an explanation for an outrageous $100 PG&E bill.
Chamberlain drove Bentleys. They were identical to Rolls Royces (except for the grill), but less expensive.
Wilt was generous. Trager says Chamberlain would be offered $500 to speak at an inner-city high school, would demand $1,000, then donate the check to the athletic department.
Chamberlain had a portion of every paycheck deducted to assist Maurice Stokes, an NBA player who suffered a head injury in 1958 and became paralyzed.
Chamberlain loved to perform odd feats. Arms extended to the sides, he would palm two 16-pound bowling balls, without using the holes. He would flagpole himself, grabbing onto a pole and holding himself parallel to the ground.
He fancied himself a gourmet chef and would host large dinner parties.
Chamberlain was criticized for not being big in the Civil Rights movement. But at theUniversity of Kansas, he helped integrate Lawrence. His fame helped break barriers for other black athletes. Wilt was probably the first black athlete to be a high-profile endorser, appearing in magazine ads and TV commercials for the Volkswagen beetle.
Wilt once complained to me about a TV announcer who cited Bill Russell as the greatest shot-blocker. I said, “You’re recognized for what you did in basketball, you’ve got fame and money and girls, why are you still worried about what someone says about Bill Russell?”
“There wasn’t much TV when I played, and no highlight videos,” Chamberlain said. “Most people now don’t realize what I could do on the court. I just want my due.”
There it is, Dipper, on the envelope.
Scott Ostler is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. E-mail: sostler@sfchronicle.com; Twitter @scottostler
