For Bill Walton, Berkeley was his spiritual home
The world is sadder without him.
In a decade and a half of doing this, I’ve only conducted one sports interview in my life.
In 2013, before Cal played UCLA in Haas, the Pac-12 contacted me to interview Bill Walton.
While I pretty much mastered every other part of the sports media life, I did not like interviewing. I didn’t have the training for it, and at the time, definitely not the confidence for it.
But it’s Bill. And in classic Bill fashion, he wanted to talk to everyone.
It was not an interview that will go down in the history books. It was the last interview of about ten that day. And of course, the audio mic broke, the video camcorder stopped recording halfway through, so only a little bit of that interview will ever see the light of day (scroll to the end for a snippet of what remains).
In the end, it became a conversation between a fan and a legend.
He charted down what we all knew about him by now, but down many of the neural pathways of Bill, it was its own unique and special experience.
He loved Berkeley. He loved the Pac-12. He loved the West Coast.
Bill’s parents went to UC Berkeley, so he spent many a childhood day making the trek back to the foothills of the greatest university on the planet. He waxed poetically about what it meant to be part of that experience. His face lit up thinking of all the names and faces that have passed through our alma mater, to be able to walk right into the history of Telegraph Avenue, to think of how this place has changed so many lives.
To talk about THE University of California in such loving terms when you went to the other school was a reflection of how much Bill loved Berkeley. This, in many ways, was his spiritual home.
He spoke of the legendary concerts at the Greek Theatre, where he became a Deadhead for life. He reminisced fondly of the the Free Speech Movement movement that found its roots in UC Berkeley and eventually led him to protest the Vietnam War at UCLA. He was deep into the Berkeley counter-culture, knowing the students were staying aware of the issues of the day and the things that were most important in our world.
It’s well known that Bill could have ended up at Cal if the Bears had cared at all about basketball post-Pete Newell, and who knows how different our fortunes are if one of college basketball’s greatest titans led the Bears to a few deep NCAA tournament runs?
While Bill will always be defined as his time as a Bruin, Berkeley and the Bay Area always felt like the place he could be his truest self. Everytime Bill returned to Berkeley for a Cal game, particularly when the Haas was rocking, you could just feel his voice lighten and his spirit rise. He was happy when Cal succeeded, and loved to see the energy everytime he was in town.
I’m glad he was able to return just in time for Mark Madsen to get here. After years of desolation, his last memories of Berkeley were hopefully fond ones.
Plenty can be said about Bill Walton’s career as a UCLA legend, as the NBA’s biggest “what if” story, and his wild broadcasting career, and it’s been said eloquently elsewhere. But for us Cal fans, many of us here really got to know him in his final act, the guardian of the Pac-12.
There was no greater advocate for the Conference of Champions than Bill. Once he essentially became the Pac-12 basketball lead voice, he was the bully pulpit for the conference, advocating for its brilliance and supremacy in his usual stream-of-consciousness way. It wasn’t just the play on the court, but his travels to the forests of Oregon, the mountains of Washington, the music of the Bay Area, the arts of Hollywood, the biking trails everywhere and anywhere. One part Ric Flair, one part Rick Steves, Walton brought us into his mind and dumped his enthusiasm and knowledge on whatever subject mattered. And so much of that was steeped in his love of the West Coast, and the programs of the Pac-12.
But California is the place to be. Pac-12 is the place to be. As I go around this great conference, and see all the fantastic people, I'm just so privileged and honored and humbled to be a part of something so fantastic. I don't know about you, but nobody is calling me up with the news of, "Gosh, I'm so lucky, I'm moving to the Midwest!" or "Gosh, I can't wait, I'm moving to the South!" No!
For a conference that could barely get anything right marketing-wise, the Pac-12’s most unqualified success was the proselytizing of Bill Walton every late night. Even as ESPN pivoted hard on ending the Pac-12 as a relevant entity, he would spend most of his After Dark shenanigans defending his beloved Conference of Champions. The moniker “No Truckstops” became a battle cry meme for the defenders of a Pac-12 slowly eroding in relevance and attention the last decade, and he would continue to defend it until the bitter end.
It’s probably for the best Bill Walton won’t have to see a world without his beloved Conference of Champions, with the future of athletics in Berkeley is in deep question, with his alma mater making road trips to Rutgers and Purdue. This would never have been a sporting world for Bill to find peace in.
Bill Walton lived a full enough life, and he can now ride the rest of his life. His soul can live on in the Conference of Champions, within his beloved West Coast trips on the Walton Bus, within a Jerry Garcia guitar solo, his place among the basketball immortals, his bike rides, his dog, his family.
And a part of his spirit will always be in Berkeley. His heart beat for the capital of movers and changers, and he ended up emblemizing that spirit for the rest of his life. He was a talker, a thinker, a passionate person. He wanted to share his feelings and thoughts and did so at every chance he got. For everyone who was open to it, they enjoyed the waves he brought.
Bill Walton lived a full life, and was willing to share his time and space with everyone. May we all learn from his example.M ore of us can learn from that, and hopefully take that going forward.
He was a titan, and a great friend to Golden Bears everywhere. He will be missed.
One of my first thoughts besides the sadness was how poetically tragic that his passing coincides with the death of his beloved Pac-12 conference…
There will never be another Bill, a basketball legend who turned color commentary psychedelic. You didn't listen to hear his thoughts on the game; you listen to hear his thoughts, period. Both my parents overlapped with him at UCLA so he's always been esteemed in our household.
With the Pac-12 network now gone, I worried that we wouldn't hear him call another game. I did not know he had cancer but Bill must have known that his broadcast career would end alongside the conference. It's fitting, but sad that we won't have Bill's cosmic Zen perspective when we need it most, to reflect on a life well-lived and -loved, with travels of the body and mind that only Bill could comprehend. Even if you don't want Bill Walton to describe a basketball game, you'd want him describe the unknowable and incomprehensible.
Bon voyage, Space Cowboy, on your biggest journey yet.