Tuesday, Oct. 16, 2007 | 7:12 a.m.
What: Bill Russell and His Legendary Friends Camp
When: Wednesday through Sunday
Where: Tarkanian Basketball Academy
Cost: $15,500
Information: friendsofbillrussell.com or (888) 780-8882
Bill Russell timeline
1934 - Born Feb. 12 in Monroe, La.
1942 - Charles and Katie Russell, and their sons Bill and Charlie, move to Oakland, Calif.
1955 - Leads the University of San Francisco to NCAA basketball title
1956 - Rated as the seventh-best high jumper in the world. Leads the University of San Francisco to an NCAA basketball title. Wins gold as captain of Team USA at the Olympics in Melbourne, Australia.
1957 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics.
1959 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics; named league MVP.
1960 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics.
1961 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics; named league MVP.
1962 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics; named league MVP.
1963 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics; named league MVP.
1964 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics.
1965 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics; named league MVP.
1966 - Becomes the NBA's first black head coach, then wins the title with the Celtics.
1967 - Sits next to Muhammad Ali, among other prominent black athletes, to support Ali's protest of the Vietnam War draft.
1968 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics.
1969 - Wins an NBA title with the Boston Celtics.
1972 - The Celtics retire his No. 6 jersey, a ceremony that he does not attend. Serves as a pallbearer at Jackie Robinson's funeral.
1975 - Inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame; he does not attend the ceremony.
1980 - Named Greatest Player in the History of the NBA by the Professional Basketball Writers Association of America.
1998 - His daughter, Karen, and a business adviser persuade him to speak about his legacy, in speeches and media interviews.
1999 - The Celtics re-retire his jersey, and the ceremony and standing ovation bring Russell to tears.
2007 - Among the inaugural class inducted into the FIBA Hall of Fame in Madrid. Meets former South Africa President Nelson Mandela in Paris.
For one of the rare times in his life, Bill Russell met someone and was speechless. He was introduced to Brooklyn Dodgers star Jackie Robinson when he was in high school.
"What do you say to Jackie Robinson?" Russell says.
And what do you say to Robinson's widow when she asks you to be a pallbearer at her husband's funeral?
"Of course," Russell, in total shock, said to Rachel Robinson on Oct. 25, 1972. "But could I ask you one question? Why?"
Because you were his favorite athlete, she said.
"The only question I asked myself was, 'How do you get to be Jackie Robinson's hero?' " Russell says. "To this day, I still don't know."
Russell, 73, is uncomfortable talking about himself in terms of hero worship or idolatry.
"Legends are mostly dead," he says. "I'm here, you know?"
He unleashes his trademark cackle. That laugh, at least, is legendary. It explodes no fewer than two dozen times during an hourlong telephone interview from his home in Mercer Island, Wash.
It's a wail, as rambunctious as it is mischievous, from deep in Russell's soul. Its high pitch makes it seem as if he's back at McClymonds High in Oakland, Calif., trying to pass legendary baseball player Frank Robinson on the hoops depth chart.
Russell, the greatest American team champion - with 11 championship rings in 13 seasons with the Boston Celtics, doesn't view himself as a legend.
He showers his dearest friends with the label, though, and that's why he's in Las Vegas.
This weekend, Russell will host his first, and last, fantasy camp at the Tarkanian Basketball Academy. Close friends Jerry West, Oscar Robertson, John Havlicek, Larry Bird and others will work as camp counselors.
Russell admits the camp is for one special person.
"For me," he says. "I'll probably enjoy this more than anyone. I like all these guys. I mean really, seriously like them."
Russell admires the fact that none of them talks about himself or his accomplishments, or ponders who was the greatest player.
For the commoners who want to receive instruction from West or Bird, or hear Russell's rich cackle, the fee is $15,500. Russell and business partner Rich Altman set the figure high because it will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Russell says he doesn't know how many have registered for the camp.
He doesn't care.
"I guess maybe I'm a little too loose," says Russell, again unleashing the laugh-heard-round-the-world. Altman "probably doesn't want to hear that. It's always like I'm indulging myself, so I probably should be concerned."
Dramatic pause.
"But I ain't."
Cue the cackle that must shake his Mercer Island curtains.
The camp will wind down one of the most grueling six-month traveling grinds of Russell's life, more demanding than any stretch he endured as a Celtic.
He was inducted into the inaugural class of the FIBA Hall of Fame in Madrid, Spain, and he met Nelson Mandela - his family had been arranging the meeting for more than a year - in Paris.
After more than 27 years of incarceration, Mandela was released from a South African prison in 1990. He served as the president of South Africa from 1994 to 1999.
"No agenda. We just sat and talked," Russell says. "Two old guys talking. It was a real pleasure for me. I'm just a fortunate man."
Russell also received honorary degrees, from Harvard and Suffolk, this summer.
He's currently riding a wave of good will and gratitude that has lasted nearly 10 years, since his daughter, Karen, and business adviser Alan Hilburg persuaded him to be more open about his career.
Russell finally wound up on a Wheaties box, too. At the NBA All-Star Game in Atlanta in 2003, he was introduced to a General Mills executive who requested a photograph with Russell.
You guys make Wheaties, right? Yep. Breakfast of Champions? Yep. Well, I am the ultimate American champion and I've never been on a Wheaties box ... "I want to fix that," the executive said.
Russell, in a shot from his playing days in which he's attempting a left hook in his green Celtics uniform, appeared on the cereal box this year.
"I'm probably the oldest guy to be on a Wheaties box," he says.
As bright as his Celtics career was, it was sullied by racism. Vandals once broke into Russell's home and defecated in his bed. Boston Garden was barely half full during his fabulous run.
Local writers often didn't acknowledge his struggles.
He's more open than in the past, Havlicek told the Boston Globe. He's concluded that there's good and bad, Celtics teammate Bob Cousy told The New York Times, but you can't be consumed with the bad.
Russell bristles about being perceived as aloof, enigmatic or reclusive. He's married to a gourmet chef, so why would he need to go to a restaurant. When he does, he reads about a "Bill Russell sighting" soon after.
"Hey, you've been 'spotted,' " Russell says, laughing. "It's just, I live a very full life. I like to think that I have fun."
He recognizes that times have changed.
"It's different," Russell says. "People don't talk to me the way they did when I was young and active. People say I've changed. No. If you came at me with a hostile attitude, I'd say, 'Well, go (expletive) yourself.'"
The cackle, from the man whose ring on his cell phone is a loud rooster crow, roars from his spine.
"Now, people are genuinely nice," he says. "If I didn't respond to that, it wouldn't be very nice, would it? But I'm the same as I was yesterday, or 10 or 50 years ago."
Russell deeply admired late Minneapolis Lakers center George Mikan, who gave him a pivotal pep talk at an early age. Cleveland Browns running back Jim Brown and boxer Muhammad Ali have been confidants.
In June 1967, Russell sat next to Ali, Brown and other famous black athletes to support Ali's stance against the Vietnam War.
Russell and his peers did not want Ali to become another Paul Robeson, an All-America running back, actor, singer and civil rights activist whose passport was revoked because of his support of communism.
"From my research, the entire black community turned its back on him, too," Russell says. "He died with a very small number of friends (around him). We were determined that that would not happen to Ali."
Russell hesitates when asked about how he has influenced others.
"I've heard that I've read that," he says. "But seriously, I don't understand it. All I did was try to live a life that my father would be proud of. Know what I mean?"
Charles Russell was his younger son's first, and only, hero. The old man even had a richer cackle. He always conducted himself with dignity and grace.
Once, he was denied service at a Louisiana gas station until all the white customers were served. When he tried to find another station, the attendant stuck a shotgun in his face, threatening to pull the trigger if he didn't stay and wait his turn.
Charles moved his family to Oakland when Bill was 8.
"It was extraordinarily difficult for a black man to maintain his dignity in the pre-World War II South," Russell says. "My dad always did. We're talking life and death. I always thanked my father for that.
"He always made his sons proud of him."
Charles Russell died six years ago at age 91. Bill would trek down to a Berkeley nursing home and hold his father's hand for hours, saying nothing.
One day, in that nursing home, Charles looked Bill in the eyes and told his son how proud he was of him.
"My father and mother always told me to stand up for myself," Russell says. "Their phrase was, 'Don't let anyone run over you.' That's the way I conducted my career. My father taught me to be a man."
Gave him a Hall of Fame laugh, too, just for kicks.
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