This column, by Pro Basketball Insider Jim O'Brien, first appeared in the March 27, 1976, issue of The Sporting News under the headline "Unseld Offers Off-Court Assists" as Washington icon Wes Unseld's impact off the court was measured by his treatment of a severely injured college player from the D.C. area.
NEW YORK — Anyone who's watched Wes Unseld play basketball for the Washington Bullets — they were on national TV on two consecutive Sundays recently — knows he's one of the best competitors in the business.
He's a brute of a center at 6-6, 245. He seldom takes a bad shot, which is why he's second in the NBA in shooting percentage behind Buffalo's John Shumate. He grabs a lot of rebounds. Only L.A.'s Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Boston's Dave Cowens claim more.
He's a terrific passer and can make the play from the pivot as well as anybody. He has nearly as many assists a game as guard Dave Bing, the Bullets' quarterback. And no one in basketball has a better outlet pass to get a fast break underway.
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THAT'S ONE side of Unseld, the statistical side, the basketball side. But there's much more to this man, a human side we seldom hear about. Unseld is as unselfish off the court as he is on it. He cares about people, and his concern is genuine. His name should be Wes Unselfish.
Listening to George Lighty talking about Unseld on the telephone recently, I learned about that other side.
Lighty is a 21-year-old junior at Fairleigh-Dickinson University in Rutherford, N.J. He's from Washington, where he first became a fan of Unseld, and had been averaging about 18 points a game until he suffered a severe leg injury in an auto accident on January 8. Lighty was lucky. He nearly lost his leg, but his good friend and teammate, Ben Johnson, lost his life in the same crash.
LIGHTY, WHO'S presently confined to his dormitory room, learning to walk again, has been depressed since the accident. He's had constant nightmares about it. He wanted to be a pro basketball player. He's crippled right now, though, and cripples can't play pro basketball. He's given up trying from time to time.
That's where Unseld came in. Unseld only recently heard about what had happened to Lighty, a young man who'd been a counselor for a week at Wes' summer basketball camp last year. The Bullets were here at Madison Square Garden to play the Knicks, and Unseld telephoned Lighty and spoke to him for a half-hour.
"He took the time," said Lighty later, "to talk to me, and boost my morale, when most professional athletes don't have the time to come back to the level where they once were.
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"He's a great basketball player as well as a great human being. At camp, he treated everyone so nice. He's a gentle giant. When I received the telephone call, it gave me a tremendous boost. I was really down.
"HE TOLD ME he had three operations on his left knee, and that some people felt he was finished as a professional basketball player, but he came back — and look at him now.
"You know, I'm still pessimistic about the whole thing," said Lighty. "My leg's in real bad shape. But I talked to Wes, and I'm taking his advice above everyone else. He told me when I'm ready that I can call the Bullets' trainer (Bill Ford) so I can get a rehabilitation program underway.
"But it's up to me to get going again. I haven't been trying to walk as much as I'm supposed to.
"Wes gave me a real boost. I'll try harder."
It's nice and reassuring to hear that sort of thing about a professional basketball player.
MORE OFTEN we hear about basketball players who're complaining about this and that aspect of their profession, who feel they're getting ripped off and exploited. So they come off as self-centered, thankless goons.
Unseld, on the other hand, is unselfish, satisfied with the good life pro ball has brought him and his family, soft-spoken, and has long been active in civic affairs.
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When the Bullets were in Baltimore, Unseld served as commissioner of the first inner-city summer basketball league. And he appeared at many games involving ghetto youth.
In 1972, he was a winner of the Big Brothers of Maryland Award. A citation read: "Through your athletic career, you embody the spirit of sportsmanship to countless boys ... your selfless investment of time, money, personal concern for the healthy growth and character development of boys serves as an example to men throughout the country."
LATER, THE Maryland Jaycees cited him as one of the finest young men in the state. Last year, the Pro Basketball Writers Association gave him their first Citizenship Award.
So Unseld's civic contributions haven't gone unnoticed. Kevin Loughery, the coach of the ABA's New York Nets, knew long ago that Unseld was an exceptional guy.
"I was in Baltimore when Wes Unseld got there," recalled Kevin recently. "It didn't take the players long to figure out that on top of being a great player, Wes is a great man. He turned the Bullets' whole attitude around by just being there."
And after the Bullets bumped the Knicks out of the NBA playoffs in 1971, Willis Reed said of Unseld, "He's the player who holds them together. He's their MVP."
DURING THAT same period, Unseld used to pay regular visits to Baltimore's Kernan Hospital for Crippled Children. He even was named to the hospital board.
So it's not surprising that when he learned about George Lighty’s dilemma, he contacted the young man, and the call couldn't have come at a better time.
He still doesn't know if he'll be able to play basketball again. He also recognizes that a pep talk from Unseld won't heal him. But the words from Wes have given him confidence. He knows that the only way he'll find out what he can do is to try.
Unseld said something else two years ago that is worth keeping in mind.
"I'm going to play as long as this thing lets me, but I'm not going to cripple myself," he said. "I feel as long as I can walk around, I can make a living."