Earl "The Pearl" Monroe's Sacrifice - From the Bullets to the Knicks

Coach Steve Finamore sent me an article written by Harvey Araton on Earl Monroe, the greatest basketball player that my father, Clarence "Big House" Gaines ever coached. The article is entitled "The Parable of the Pearl" and it's a great read. The article is excerpted from Araton's book, "When The Garden was Eden," and focuses on a trade that rocked the basketball world on November 11, 1971. On that date, Earl Monroe was traded by the Baltimore Bullets to the New York Knicks.

The central question that basketball fans and experts had on their minds after the trade was consummated was a simple one; could Walt Frazier and Earl Monroe coexist in the same backcourt?

Araton's article addresses the question in the first paragraph:

The trade was announced on November 11, stunning the basketball world. Imagine hearing in 1985 that Magic Johnson had been traded to the Celtics -- that's how unimaginable the dealing of Earl Monroe to the Knicks was in 1971. Even more incongruous was the notion that he and Walt Frazier could share a backcourt. Not only were they impassioned rivals, stars who both wore a perfect 10 on their jerseys, but their efficacy was predicated on control of the ball -- no one knew what would happen when they didn't have it in their hands.

Could they play together? Here's a sampling of opinions from players of that era.

Oscar Robertson argued with his teammates and told "them they were crazy to think Monroe wasn't good enough to adapt to the Knicks' style. A basketball player is a basketball player, and Earl Monroe was a great one. There was never any doubt in my mind that he would succeed."

Phil Jackson "doubted that the experiment would work."

Bill Bradley told Phil Jackson that "he was nuts," and that "Earl will fit right in, He's a hell of a player."

Walt Frazier had his doubts and thought he might be traded from the Knicks. "That's the only way the trade for Monroe makes sense. They don't need both him and me in the backcourt."

I'm not writing this blog to regurgitate the story. You can read the entire article by clicking on this link: "The Parable of the Pearl." I'm writing this article to give you my perspective of why one of the greatest showmen in the game was able to sublimate his game for the good of the team.

Earl Monroe was somewhat of a late bloomer in basketball. According to a NBA.com profile, Earl "was more interested in soccer and baseball than in basketball" as a youth. In Frank Deford's classic 1968 Sports Illustrated article on Earl, "The Doctor Works His Magic," Deford notes that Monroe was an all-public school player in soccer and was shamed into playing basketball at age 14 due to a growth spurt. Soccer is a great sport for teaching a player the importance and value of merging his individual skill set with those of his teammates to enable a team to achieve to its maximum potential.

Earl's foundation in team sports and the game of basketball at the youth level are key in understanding why he was able to coexist with Frazier and the Knicks. One of his strongest statements in Araton's book is the difference in style between a Philadelphia born and bred player versus a New Yorker:

Philadelphia's a different animal than New York," Monroe said. "In the playgrounds down there, we pride ourselves on teamwork, on passing the ball, whereas in New York, most of the guys made a move to the basket, one-on-one." The way Monroe saw it, Philly ball was really more Old Knicks than New York ball was. As Holzman had noted all those years ago in his scouting report, Monroe knew the game, but like a great jazz artist, he was blessed with the ability to riff. Joe Lapchick once remarked that if a deceased player could rise from the grave, he would think Monroe was playing a different sport.

My dad coached Earl in college. I think the readers of this blog should read all of Frank Deford's 1968 article on Earl, where then NBA player Ray "Chink" Scott, "Monroe's close friend on the Bullets today—remembers that he and other pros had long known about The Pearl. They had gone out of their way to see him play when he was still in high school. Of the multitude of players who have come out of  Philadelphia in recent years—Chamberlain included—it is doubtful that any has been held in such esteem at home as Monroe. He is sovereign in the all-pro Baker League, the toughest summer wheel in the country. The Baker floats to various locations, but no matter where it goes Monroe's fans follow it."

 My Dad & Earl Monroe - Earl's Rookie Year in Baltimore.

After reading Deford's article, I suggest you read the following excerpt from Chapter 14, "I Stumble onto Earl Monroe," from my father's book, "They Call Me Big House," about the recruitment of Vernon Earl Monroe and his freshman year at the college that is now known as Winston-Salem State University. The main thing that I hope you'll learn from reading the excerpt is that Earl was not coddled by my dad, and I think that fact also helped him in making a smooth transition to the Knicks.

In the early fall of 1963, after recruiting Teddy Blunt for me in 1962, Leon Whitley in Philadelphia shifted his attention to an athlete who had played against Teddy in high school. What caught Leon's eye was that, under this kid's leadership, his high school had beaten Teddy's high-school team when it was at its very best.

I usually trusted Leon's judgment without question because he was not that far removed from his own playing days. He knew about the rigors of balancing college coursework, basketball practice, and being on the road for several months. These playground ballplayers may have had the skills, but they did not have a sense of the environment into which they would be going if they were selected for a college team. 

Leon was only 10 years older than Teddy's generation, so the kids he was talking to on the playground seemed to relate to him. He was not some old-man recreation director employed by the city to pass out basketballs and restring hoop nets. Leon would get out on the playground and play basketball with these guys, so he could judge their skills himself. And since he had served as a point guard on the 1953 ClAA championship team, they respected his skills as well. The CIAA, even though it was a conference of small black colleges in the South, was well known among the black teenagers in the Northeast. 

This athlete that Leon was watching now had amazing basketball skills and was well mannered to adults, but he was also somewhat shy. The biggest negative in Leon's eyes was that he was indifferent -- or, in Leon's words, "lackadaisical"-- in his attitude toward school and his future. Like too many of the kids Leon saw from the inner city, the kid did not have a sense of what he could do to shape his own future. He was growing out of his teenage years, and he had no idea what he was going to do with his life. 

Leon called me several times as he watched the teenager play summertime ball to tell me how good he was. While Leon was surprised at how good the kid was, he was also honest with me that the young man seemed uninterested in preparing for much of anything in his future. 

What troubled me most about this prospect was that he had already graduated from high school and had come home from a college preparatory school, apparently deciding that he either could not or would not do college-level coursework. That was in the front of my mind whenever Leon called to push him. The kid had already turned his back on one college, so what would stop him from doing the same with Winston-Salem Teachers College? I didn't want to waste my time on a quitter.

Instead of going on to college, the kid had gone to work as a shipping clerk in a paper-plate factory. For fun, he played pickup playground ball at Leon's recreation center, just as he had done during his high school years. That was all basketball seemed to be to him -- something to do for fun, rather than something to get  him to a higher level of education and a professional career that would come only with a college degree.

All that was true, Leon admitted in his phone calls. But Leon said this kid could play basketball like no one he had ever seen. When Leon first contacted me, he had a hard time describing the player's talents, other than saying they were amazing to see. He seemed to be able to adjust to his opponents' body language and to exploit any slight mistake into a major advantage. It was as if the teenager was anticipating what the defending player was going to do in response to his attack-before he even attacked. By the time the defending player had figured out what the kid was going to do, he had already done it. The basket had been made, and the kid was on his way back to set up his defense, while the defenders were still standing around trying to figure out what had just happened to them.

The teenager's athletic background made me curious and also a little concerned. When Leon had asked the kid how long he had been playing, he was shocked to hear how he had not even picked up a basketball until he was 14 years old. He had grown up more interested in baseball and soccer. He had gone out for basketball only when a junior-high coach demanded that any 14-year-old who was already six foot-three had to play junior-high ball.

By the time he reached high school, the kid had grown only to six foot-four, a common size among ballplayers, and certainly not a size that would make coaches take notice. Because he had started playing so late in his youth, his high-school coaches had not even picked him to start on the varsity team until midway through his junior year. That was far too late for any of those coaches to have a chance to develop his skills beyond what he already brought to the team. Most of the skills he was showing now on Leon's playground had been developed on that same playground. He polished those skills by playing in the Baker League, a playground league in South Philadelphia similar to the Rucker tournaments in New York City. While he had a good, if short, high-school career, most of the kid's reputation among other players had been made on the playground.

It was during one phone call from Leon that I laughed out loud when he made a statement that I did not think could ever possibly work out to be true.

"Mr. Gaines, this kid could turn out to be your next Cleo Hill," Leon said.

I remember that his tone of voice was very serious, and stayed serious even when I laughed back into his ear.

I did not see how it was possible that I could luck into finding another player who was as blessed with talent as Cleo had been. I had coached scores of basketball players since 1946, when I started, and more than a dozen since Cleo had graduated in 1961. Many of them had been great, wonderful players who had helped Winston-Salem Teachers College win ClAA championships, but only one of them had been a Cleo Hill.

Cleo had been able to shoot any kind of shot from any place on the court. He had proven to be easy to coach and easy for the other kids to like and follow. He had been a superstar on a team that was not jealous that he got that kind of superstar attention from me, the newspapers, the referees, and eventually NBA scouts. And Cleo made sure his teammates got their share of the credit. He might have been my superstar, but he never took the label seriously, and he never let me take it seriously either. I did not see how finding such a player again just two years after Cleo had graduated was possible.

Once again. I was wrong. Once again, I stumbled onto a great player. Once again, my bumper-car philosophy of moving along in the direction in which I was bumped would prove to be a benefit to me and Winston-Salem Teachers College, which would change its name to Winston-Salern State College this year.

The promising athlete's name was Vernon Earl Monroe. The newspapers would call him Vernon for the first year, but they would start using Earl in his second. By his senior year, the name the newspaper and fans would call him was "the Pearl."

I finally gave in to Leon's phone calls and told him to go ahead and send Earl down in the fall of 1963. I might have guessed that there would be a catch. and there was. Leon said Earl had a friend named Steve Smith (Sahib Abdul Kharir), who would have to come along, too. As best buddies, they wanted to go to the same college.

I had heard this demand. once before. It was the same one Cleo had demanded with his best buddy, Artie Johnson. I could take both of them or neither of them.

When Leon told me Steve was only five-foot-ten, I cringed. He was bigger than five-foot-seven Artie Johnson, but smallish players were not what I needed.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I could hear Leon whispering over the phone. "Cleo, Cleo."

Finally, I agreed to take both Earl and Steve, sight unseen, and unsure what I would do with both of them. Just as with most players I recruited. I had never met either recruit in person, had never seen either of them play, had never seen a scouting report on them, and had never met their parents.  I just trusted Leon Whitley that these kids could be college basketball players and, more importantly to them, that they could become college graduates on their way to professional careers in education.

It would be nearly 25 years before I would finally admit to Leon that he was right, that the player he had found was a match for Cleo Hill.

Actually, Earl was not raring to become a teacher. The college preparatory school he had attended was affiliated with Temple University, but I don't think he ever got an idea of what he might major in before he quit school. Instead of thinking about trying another college, he contemplated skipping college completely and entering the American Basketball League.

The ABL was a league that Harlem Globetrotters owner Abe Saperstein had created in 1961, when he thought he had been cheated out of the NBA franchise for Los Angeles. Saperstein's Globetrotters used to open for NBA games in order to attract crowds. When he was passed over for the franchise, which was given to the owner of the Minneapolis Lakers, an angry Saperstein jumped into financing the ABL. He apparently jumped too fast before realizing how expensive it was to create a league from scratch. The ABL lasted only two years, just long enough to attract the attention of players like Earl -- who knew that the NBA would not take anyone who did not have a college degree -- but not long enough that Earl could actually play for any of the teams.

With the folding of the ABL, Earl was left with the choices of staying at his dead-end job, playing for the Globetrotters, or coming to Winston-Salem. After some more urging from Leon, Earl decided to try college once more."

Before Earl could change his mind, Leon loaded him and Steve on the train and sent them south. I don't think either one of them had been more than 100 miles from home.


Between the two of them, Steve and Earl had one overcoat. When I climbed up in the train car late at night to find my new recruits, I found them huddled together under that one coat. As I gathered up their meager belongings and we headed for the car to take them to their dorm, one of them asked why the "local" trains were not running. These Philadelphia natives assumed that every town had a subway. Just like my kids from New York City, these Philadelphians would be in for culture shock when they discovered what living in a small Southern city really meant.

When I had Earl and Steve tryout, I was pleased at what I saw. Both of them could play basketball, just as Leon had promised. I don't remember sensing any greatness in Earl during those practices. but I could see that he could play. Teddy Blunt, Earl's old high-school rival, assured me that Earl would be cool as a cucumber on the floor when we faced opponents.

Teddy also told me about the nicknames that Earl had back on the playgrounds of Philadelphia: "Black Jesus" and "Magic." I guess the "Black Jesus" nickname came from his performing miracles on the court. "Magic" must have referred to the same thing.

That Earl did not immediately shine in college and live up to his teenage nicknames -- and that I did not recognize his "magical" skills right away -- may surprise some people. I saw those spinning moves he had perfected on the playgrounds, but I had seen similar moves from my New York playground players. I was more interested in seeing if Earl fit in well with the team, or if he would be a showboater who I would have to control.

Earl did fit in with the team, but he was just another freshman to me. Freshmen did not normally start on my teams unless my older, experienced players got into foul trouble. Even though Earl was obviously talented. I still had better players on the team who had already proven to me that they could play well under pressure during big games. I was not about to pull them out of the starting lineup just to make space for an unproven freshman, even if Earl had undeniable potential.

In most of the games in Earl's freshman year, I simply did not need his services because not many of my players got in foul trouble. That Earl Monroe sat on the bench during most of his freshman year may sound surprising for a man who is on the list of the NBA's all-time top 50 players, but it is true. I played him only enough in his freshman year that he averaged around seven points a game. He made only 163 points that year.

But I knew what I had and who I had. There were several times during his freshman year that I put Earl in during tightly contested games, just to see how he would perform under pressure. He always did well, always surprised the opposition, and always pleased his coach and his teammates. I just did not need him in the games all of the time.

At one point in Earl's freshman year, he decided that he wanted more playing time. He demanded that he get more minutes or he would go home. I knew how to handle that kind of talk from a freshman, I called his mother and his sister, perhaps the only two people in the world who Earl trusted to help him make decisions. They called him and convinced him that I recognized his value and that his time would come.

It was during his sophomore year that Earl had enough playing time to begin to incorporate his playground skills into his college game. He would spin; he would move in and out; he would dribble with his back to the basket, then spin around to send the ball sailing toward the rim that had been out of his sight just moments earlier. It was as if he could see the goal from the back of his head and could make any necessary adjustments once he had spun around and was in the air taking his shot.

Whenever anyone would ask him how he developed the moves, Earl would shrug and say, "I don't know what I am going to do next, so how can a defender know what I am going to do next? I only know what I am going to do when I do it, so it is hard to defend me."

Some of his explanations of his "shake-and-bake" moves, as he called them, made no sense to anyone who was not a playground player. In one article, he was quoted as saying, "I had to develop flukey-dukey shots, hesitating in the air as long as possible before shooting."

And that is all the answer that Earl has ever given anyone about the way he played the game, both as a college student and as a professional star.

Great players can do whatever they want to do, whenever they want to do it in the game of basketball. They dictate the terms of the game to their opponent, whether it's a great scorer like Earl, a great play maker like Magic Johnson or a great defender like Bill Russell.  Those who doubted this quality in Earl and his willingness to sacrifice his game for the good of the team needed to understand the foundational bricks that his personality and game were built on. In 1971, they only needed to read Deford's Sports Illustrated 1968 article to understand how Earl would add to the Knicks' synergy.

"He will occasionally sneak a quick, but deadpan, look over to the press—the critics—after a particularly good pass to see how well the play registered. When he was playing a day-night tournament in Chicago in his senior year his old Philadelphia friend Guy Rodgers visited Monroe after the afternoon game and informed him that the pro scouts watching had been impressed with his shooting—he had made about 55 points—but still had some doubts about his passing ability. Monroe nodded."

"Well," says Chicago Bull Scout Jerry Krause, who was then with the Bullets, "after his 15th or 20th assist that night he kind of cocked his head and looked up to where we were sitting—just sort of asking if that was enough. He also went for 45 or 50 points."

I rest my case!

 
Bonus Suggestion: Read the late, great Ralph Wiley's article on Earl Monroe:
"Seeing the Game Through Pearl Vision."

BLACK MAGIC - EARL MONROE - COLLEGE YEARS