Pat Riley & KC Jones: How They Rose to the Tops of their Profession

June 1984

BOSTON

One looks like an actor, the other sings in public for recreation. Yet there is very little show biz about the two recent assistant coaches who were paired against each other in last night's National Basketball Association showdown.

K. C. Jones, whose Boston Celtics defeated the Los Angeles Lakers, 111- 102, to win the title, and Pat Riley, the Laker coach, are both pure basketball men, who have played on championship teams in this league, but they had vastly different experiences when they were one seat from their current head coaching jobs.



Jones had been treated as a threat by Bill Fitch, the coach of the Celtics until this season, whereas Riley is a friend and confidant of Paul Westhead, the previous Laker coach. Jones had been a head coach in Washington; Riley had never handled his own team until two seasons ago.

With their different preparations for their current jobs, both Jones and Riley had shown inner direction, a confidence in themselves and respect for their players in leading two poised teams into a packed Boston Garden last night.

Jones did not need to look far for confirmation of his value to the Celtics. Hanging above his head, in the rafters of the ancient barn, is a banner with all 13 retired uniform numbers. The highest, No. 25, was his, worn proudly in nine seasons, eight of them championship ones.

Jones was a quiet guard who threw efficient, unspectacular passes to Bill Russell on two national collegiate championship teams at the University of San Francisco, on the gold- medal team at the 1956 Olympics, and with the Celtics.

After his playing days, Jones became one of the first black coaches at a major nonblack university, Brandeis, before joining another former teammate, Bill Sharman, as an assistant with the 1972 champions, the Lakers. He took his first head pro job with San Diego of the old American Basketball Association and later coached the Washington Bullets for three seasons, winning 155 games and losing 91, the best record in the league for that period, after which he was dismissed for not winning the championship.

He became an assistant for Tom Sanders, Dave Cowens and Fitch in his old arena, feeling the adoration from the Boston fans and the respect of the new Celtic players. Jones is a quiet man, a secure man who can quietly commandeer a microphone in a club in the wee small hours of the morning and sing a ballad or two, not for pay but for fun.

However, his sense of self was a threat to Fitch, the first outsider ever hired as coach by the Celtics. Fitch, now at Houston, is a knowledgeable coach who wanted total control. Once in an airport, Jones consoled Gerald Henderson, who was brooding after a bad game, but Fitch complained that Jones was trying to take over the players.

Things got so bad that Jones sometimes did not know when practices were being held or what the thinking was on draft choices. It was a dreadful waste of his talent, and a blow to his pride. Still, he was home in Boston, he was one of the Celtics and, according to people who know him, he rarely showed the pain of being ignored.

When Fitch left for bigger money and more autonomy in Houston this season, the Celtics had one of their own, waiting one seat away. Strong in the forecourt and relatively weaker in the backcourt, he let Larry Bird do much of the thinking and passing of the point guard, and coaxed the best record in the league, 62 victories, 20 losses, from his squad.

In the final round of the playoffs, 6-foot-9-inch Magic Johnson was dominating the Celtics' smaller guards well into the fourth game, when 6-foot-4-inch Dennis Johnson began guarding him, taking over for the 6-foot-2-inch Henderson. The Celtics then won the fourth and fifth games and Jones was given the credit for the switch.

However, Jones said softly: "They wanted to do it," meaning Henderson and Dennis Johnson had agreed on the switch on the court. Jones was wise enough to know that if it seemed right to the two main guards, it probably was right.

Pat Riley of the Lakers had the opposite problem of K. C. Jones. He had been so closely identified with the previous coaching regime of Paul Westhead that he had to prove himself as a coach for the first time. Riley is a journeyman guard from Schenectady, N.Y., and the University of Kentucky who played much of his pro career with the Lakers. When he was dropped as a player, he went into a period of "mourning," as his wife, a counselor, put it, before he accepted life beyond playing.

Riley became a radio broadcaster and then an assistant to Westhead, a former English teacher who specialized in Shakespeare and taught the players by the book, with dozens of set plays. Riley was just learning to be an assistant coach with Westhead, who had won the championship as a rookie coach in 1980, but lost the players' loyalty early in the 1981-82 season and was dropped after Magic Johnson had publicly criticized him.

Jerry Buss, the owner, wanted Jerry West, the general manager, to coach, but West saw something spontaneous and open in Riley,and turned the job over to him.

"I just jumped into it," Riley once said. "I couldn't figure out why they fired Paul, still can't. The entire thing is a mystery to me. To be honest, everything I learned to do as a coach is from Paul Westhead."

He continued to learn, calling for a half-court trap defense that helped defeat the Philadelphia 76ers in the final round of 1982. Last year the Lakers were injured, but Riley also acknowledged that his players had lost their "razor edge" in losing to the 76ers. This season Riley worked his team so hard in practice that even Hubie Brown, the Knicks' coach, was impressed with their work habits.

With slicked-back hair, designer suits and smooth delivery, Riley could play the lead role in any midday soap opera, but his focus is Inglewood, not Hollywood. He treats his players as adults, designating his 12th man, Larry Spriggs, to run the "bed checks" for him. ("Every night he checks, and tells me they're still there," Riley once quipped, meaning the beds, not necessarily the players.)

The Lakers praise Pat Riley, just as the Celtics praise K. C. Jones, for much the same reason: a blend of freedom, security and discipline. Only one coach could win, but for the moment both former assistants seemed to have the respect of their squads. It isn't always that way.