West came into the NBA in 1960 with Oscar Robertson, the original triple-double king. Before his death at 86 on Wednesday, West served as a consultant for the Los Angeles Clippers, who signed Russell Westbrook, the modern triple-double king, last season.
Across the past 64 years, West battled Boston Celtics legends Bill Russell, Bob Cousy and John Havlicek and played alongside Wilt Chamberlain and Elgin Baylor on the Los Angeles Lakers. He coached Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, then moved into a front-office role that better fit his impeccable eye for talent as Magic Johnson’s “Showtime” run unfolded. Despite his central role in the ongoing rivalry between the Celtics and Lakers, West said in 1984 that Larry Bird, not Johnson, “best approaches the kind of game I would recommend a young player model himself after.”
Johnson didn’t let that assessment sour their relationship, writing Wednesday that he treasured West’s “golden nuggets” of advice during meetings throughout his career.
“He was there in my highest moments, winning five NBA Championships, and in my lowest moment when I announced my HIV diagnosis and we cried together for hours in his office,” Johnson said on social media. “Every time I achieved a goal or crossed a milestone, one of the first calls I received was from Jerry West.”
No basketball superstar was better at identifying other basketball superstars than “Mr. Clutch.” West famously traded for Kobe Bryant and signed Shaquille O’Neal, building a three-championship dynasty in one week flat. Michael Jordan said in a statement that the gentlemanly West had been “like an older brother,” while Lakers star LeBron James hailed West as a “mentor” and “friend.” Honesty was his calling card.
“The only thing I believe in when dealing with players: You cannot ever lie to a player,” West said. “Never.”
West, his hair and attire always immaculate in public, played life to the final buzzer and had a remarkable knack for staying on the sport’s cutting edge. When he was in his late 70s, he helped recruit Kevin Durant to team up with Stephen Curry on the Golden State Warriors in 2016. He then returned to Los Angeles, spending the past seven years with the Clippers, bending owner Steve Ballmer’s ear from his courtside seat and dropping by press row to swap zingers. One of his chief responsibilities for the Clippers was to promote the new Intuit Dome, a high-tech, billion-dollar arena built for the 22nd century.
“He was absolutely my basketball sage: wise, loyal and so much fun,” Ballmer said in a statement. “If you were in his presence, you felt his competitiveness and his drive. He cared about everything and everyone.”
West battled internal demons to the point of being suicidal, and he peppered conversations with a profane and cutting wit. In a back hallway in an arena this past winter, he gleefully took bets on how long the Detroit Pistons’ record losing streak would last. After going 1-8 in the Finals as a player before guiding eight championship teams as an executive, West never stopped keeping score. Wins and losses always mattered.
“With competitive people, the word ‘dog’ comes up a lot,” West said. “That guy’s a ‘dog.’ Well, I was a wolf. I used to eat dogs.”
What made West so revered by the greats that followed him was that he didn’t project his personal struggles or bitterness onto subsequent generations. Long before Taylor Swift, West understood eras: His time had been his time, and there was no turning back the clock. Respect, like honesty, was all important.
West left the hyperbolic excitement to Bill Walton — another Hall of Fame player turned basketball evangelist who died last month — but he clearly felt a kinship with the likes of Jordan, Bryant, James and Durant and was quick to publicly champion their games. That was especially true with Bryant, whom West scouted as a teenager and treated like a son. The world watched and listened as West grieved Bryant’s death in a 2020 helicopter crash.
“The thing that’s hardest for me is [remembering] the time I spent with him when he was 17 years old, at my house, constantly wanting me to go to the gym,” West said. “Having dinner at my house. My son Ryan was his first best friend in town. Drove him around. He always talked about this Mamba mentality. He didn’t have to create that; it was already there. … This is a sad city right now: One person with one name — Kobe. You don’t even have to really mention his last name. To see the pictures of him, with his daughter, sitting at games, hugging them. To get a Christmas card from them every year. To watch this incredible family grow and prosper, it’s the saddest day of my life.”
This was the natural order at work: The wolf bonded with the mamba. West, it must be noted, was uncomfortable with his role as the inspiration for the NBA’s logo and wanted the league to change it. The prestige and bragging rights of having his image circulated globally — and associated with the sport he loved — mattered less to him than his standing with his peers.
West knew he belonged to the exclusive club, but he seemed to take a special pride in opening the door to new members. Perhaps that’s why Jordan beelined across the court in Cleveland, during the NBA’s 75th anniversary celebration in 2022, to engulf a startled West with a bear hug from behind. On a night when Jordan’s presence prompted awed responses from fellow legends and current all-stars, West merely smiled and returned the warm embrace.
