Until his cellphone decided it had other plans, a basketball lifer named Del Harris saved Moses Malone’s voicemails — the ones that always began with Malone identifying himself in his staccato bass (“Mo, Big Mo”) before getting to the heart of the matter.
“I’m kind of a sentimental sort of guy, I guess,” Harris told The Athletic recently over the phone.
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Not without reason. Harris coached Moses at the beginning, middle and end of his 21-year career. As an assistant for the Utah Stars of the old American Basketball Association in 1975, shortly after Malone became the first high school player to jump to pro ball. As the Houston Rockets’ head coach, when Moses was at the height of his powers, winning two MVP awards before jumping to the Sixers and powering them to the 1982-83 championship. And, briefly, as Milwaukee’s boss in ‘91, when Malone shrugged off a bad back to average a near-double-double in the twilight of his career.
Harris, who at 81 serves as vice president of the G League’s Texas Legends (a Dallas Mavericks affiliate), has no doubt that he owes his half-century in the game to Moses. He coached the guy more than anybody else, Harris pointed out, and never coached any player more often.
“It was a strong bond that we formed over a long period of time — from 1975 to the end,” Harris said, “because I spoke to him two days before he died.”
They found Moses in a room in the Marriott Waterside in Norfolk, Va., on the morning of Sunday, Sept. 13, 2015. Scheduled to appear in a charity golf tournament run by NBA referee Tony Brothers that day, he had succumbed to a heart ailment as he slept. Malone, just 60, was wearing a halter monitor, having visited a cardiologist only days before, complaining of an irregular heartbeat.
To say that Moses was an all-time player is to belabor the obvious. Selected to the Hall of Fame in 2001, he was honored as one of the top 50 players in NBA history four years earlier. In February, the Sixers became the second team, after Houston, to retire his number.
But Malone, who would have turned 64 this past Saturday, is also an enduring presence. That’s because of the way his career began, and the way his life ended. Because of what he did, and — perhaps surprisingly — what he said.
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Then again, he always was a persistent sort. His stock in trade, offensive rebounding, demanded that of him, but he took it to the nth degree. Mike Gminski — who played against Moses and would later be among those to follow him as the Sixers’ center — called him “a force of nature,” and the record book suggests as much: Malone inhaled 7,382 offensive boards in his career, most in pro history and 2,566 more than his next-closest pursuer, Artis Gilmore.
For context, consider how voracious Dennis Rodman and Charles Barkley were on the offensive glass. Both finished their careers more than 3,000 offensive rebounds behind Moses.
Harris pointed out that Moses’ approach was much more nuanced than it might have appeared — that he studied the shooters on his own team and knew how their misses might come off the rim, that he understood positioning as well as anyone and had an otherworldly second jump (and, because of the latter skill, would miss on purpose at times, Harris admitted — but not often and not to pad his stats, as some have contended, but because he found himself in an awkward position and knew he could beat his defender to the ball).
Seldom expansive with outsiders, Moses was not apt to share any of that. One-time Philadelphia Daily News sports columnist John Schulian once wrote about one of those “Red on Roundball” segments they ran years ago at halftime of televised NBA games, where Celtics czar Red Auerbach would hold forth on all manner of topics. Moses was his invited guest to discuss offensive rebounding, naturally, and he explained his craft this way: “I turn, and I go to the rack.”
Rinse, repeat.
“He never took a play off,” Gminski said.
Not over those 21 years, which (including playoffs) encompassed 1,555 games and 53,475 minutes. Particularly notable was his regular-season minute total: 49,444.
That’s right: fo’, nine, fo’, fo’, fo’.
Lefty Driesell still has Moses’ signed letter of intent to the University of Maryland. Long retired after a 40-year coaching career that included 17 seasons with the Terps, Driesell keeps the LOI, as well as those of maybe two dozen other high-profile recruits he attracted over the years — John Lucas, Len Elmore, et al. — in his Virginia Beach home.
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“Because,” Driesell told The Athletic, “you work hard to get their autograph.”
The left-hander had Moses, the best high school player he’s ever seen. Had him locked up, signed and sealed, after every college coach worth his sneaker deal had visited the rundown rowhouse in Petersburg, Va., that Malone shared with his mom, Mary.
Moses was going to be part of the Terps’ 1974-75 team, one that included Lucas, an eventual No. 1 overall pick, and another guy who played forever in the NBA, Brad Davis.
And then he wasn’t.
Unlike the NBA, the ABA had no restrictions on wooing high school players. In fact, the ABA had no hard and fast rules on anything, and if they did, wait a sec … they would change them in order to boost their struggling league. The Utah Stars had been wooing Moses, and as has been widely reported over the years — notably by Jonathan Abrams in his 2016 book “Boys Among Men: How the Prep-to-Pro Generation Redefined the NBA and Sparked a Basketball Revolution.” The turning point came when coach Bucky Buckwalter fanned out $25,000 in cash before Moses and his mom. No way would the halls of academe trump that.
The ‘74-75 Terps went 24-5 and reached the Elite Eight — good, but not what they could have been.
“I wish I could have kept Moses for a year, because I would have had one sure national championship,” said the 87-year-old Driesell, who never did win one. “I wish they had the rule they have now, that he had to go to college for a year. But personally, I feel that’s a stupid rule. You can’t make a guy go to college.”
Ah yes, the one-and-done rule — in place since 2005, but forever under scrutiny, most recently when Duke freshman Zion Williamson, who is clearly NBA-ready right now, injured his knee Feb. 20 against North Carolina. He missed six games before returning for the ACC Tournament, his explosiveness very much intact, but Driesell is quite certain Williamson never should have been fooling around with college ball to begin with.
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“I consider him to be like Moses,” Driesell said. “I said the good Lord put Moses on Earth to be a basketball player, and I’d say the same thing about Zion Williamson. … His ability is a lot like Moses’. Zion Williamson is about the best freshman I’ve ever seen play. They’re just naturals or something, I don’t know.”
For the time being, Sixers backup center Amir Johnson (drafted by Detroit out of Los Angeles’ Westchester High in 2005) is the last guy to make the prep-to-pro jump. But Moses will always be the first.
Far from being “Big Mo” in the beginning — he carried 215 pounds on his 6-10 frame, some 40 fewer than he would weigh during most of his career — he nonetheless averaged a double-double his first season, and 15 of his first 16. His career norms were 20.3 points and 12.3 boards, making him one of only seven players in history to average at least 20 and 12.
Along the way, there were six rebounding titles. The MVPs came in ‘79 and ‘82, with the Rockets, and while leading the Sixers to that memorable ‘82-83 championship. His teammates came to appreciate his savvy and his sense of humor, which, as mentioned, he shielded from public view. But in the inner sanctum, he needled others about their wardrobes and their cars and who-knows-what, and was so astute, Julius Erving told the crowd at Malone’s Hall of Fame induction, that he dissected everything every teammate did in a given game, night after night.
Funny thing, too — for all his reticence, he is known for two of the most famous quotes in NBA history: “Fo’, fo’, fo’,” of course, but also his claim while with Houston that he could take “four guys off the street from Petersburg” and beat the Celtics in the 1981 NBA Finals. (He could not do so with four Rockets. Boston won in six.)
Asked about the latter, Harris said, “I wasn’t real fond of it, to tell you the truth. But you know, nobody could beat those guys, and he may have been right. They may have had as good a chance as anybody.”
As for “fo’, fo’, fo’,” there is some dispute as to whether he said it at all, or whether it might have been the creation of the late Stan Hochman, a columnist with the Daily News. No matter. It lives on in legend, and nearly reality: The Sixers lost just one of 13 playoff games in marauding to the ‘83 title, the only blemish a Game Four loss to Milwaukee in the Eastern Finals.
And engraved on the side of every championship ring was “fo’, five, fo’.”
Moses Malone was late for breakfast on the morning of Sept. 13, 2015, but his friend Kevin Vergara wasn’t worried. He figured Moses had hit the Marriott Waterfront’s exercise room before joining him. Malone was assiduous about his workouts, seldom missing a day.
When he finally made it down, they would head out to the course for Tony Brothers’ tournament, golf having become another one of Malone’s passions. And later in the day, they were supposed to meet Driesell for dinner; he and Moses had remained close over the years, despite the long-ago decision to spurn Maryland.
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After a while, a tournament official asked after Moses, so Vergara called his cell. Nothing.
They went up to his room and knocked on the door. No answer.
The manager of the place came up with a master key, but the door was latched on the inside. After they jimmied their way in, they found Moses.
News reports at the time said the cause of death was hypertensive and atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease.
“It was like losing a son,” Driesell said.
Vergara had known Moses for years, having met him through his youth basketball coach, Ed Gholson, who played against Malone in high school. Over the years, Gholson and Vergara looked after Mary, who died in 2012, and visited Moses when he was still playing, particularly when he was with Washington or Atlanta. Later, the three of them would make regular visits to the Final Four or the NBA All-Star Game.
Now, Vergara found himself calling Moses’ family members — he had two sons by his ex-wife Alfreda, another by his girlfriend at the time of his passing, Leah Nash — and, really, just trying to make sense of it all. Moses, he said, didn’t smoke or drink. He ate right. He took care of himself.
And now he was gone.
The funeral was in Houston, where Charles Barkley eulogized a guy he referred to as “Dad” for the way he mentored him early in his career. There was also a memorial service in Petersburg, at which Driesell spoke, and Vergara was among those to start a scholarship in Moses’ honor at his alma mater, Petersburg High School.
But the greater part of Malone’s legacy might be the way his death raised awareness of the health problems faced by former players, especially big men. Scarcely two weeks before he passed another retired Sixers center, the irrepressible Darryl Dawkins, died. The year before, yet another, Caldwell Jones, succumbed. They died of heart attacks, at ages 58 and 64, respectively.
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Even before that, the NBA Players Association had plans in the works to conduct health screenings for retired players. But Joe Rogowski, the NBPA’s Director of Sports Medicine and Research, told The Athletic that the passing of guys like Malone “just sort of expedited it a little bit more.”
Six times per year over the last three years, the NBPA has staged these screenings around the country at teams’ arenas and practice facilities. They are free of charge, and Rogowski said more than 500 ex-players have participated. According to an ESPN.com report, these examinations have revealed that 20 percent of those older than 60 had diabetes, more than 30 percent were obese and more than 35 percent of those between 40 and 59 had high blood pressure.
They have also saved at least one life. Hall of Fame guard Tiny Archibald — a contemporary of Malone, Jones and Dawkins — was found in 2016 to be in need of a heart transplant, which he has since received.
While Rogowski said it is not yet possible to fully interpret the information these screenings have provided, he emphasized that big guys’ heart problems are not simply the result of a genetic disorder known as Marfan syndrome, as many people assume. That disease took the life of a women’s volleyball player named Flo Hyman in 1986, and in 2014 scuttled the NBA aspirations of former Baylor basketball player Isaiah Austin (who has gone on to play in China). Other factors are in play now, Rogowski said, not the least of which are orthopedic issues that prevent ex-players from being as active as they should be.
Mark McNamara is fully cognizant of all of this. A rookie center on the Sixers’ ‘82-83 team, he grew close to Malone from the minute he walked up to him early in his first training camp and announced in no uncertain terms that he was never, ever going to let McNamara score in practice.
It did not prove to be literally true, but it was educational. McNamara had always heard that NBA stars take it easy in practice. But not Moses. And not that team.
“I was like, ‘Cross that one myth off the list, the first day of practice,’ ” McNamara said in a phone interview.
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McNamara wound up playing eight years, then did some coaching before health problems — including, yes, heart issues — caused him to give that up. He lived for a time in a cabin in the Sierra Nevada, in his native California, working for the ski patrol. In 2005, he decided to move to Alaska, a place he had visited and loved.
“I said, ‘OK, I better do this now, before it’s too late,’” he said.
Since moving there — specifically to the town of Haines, in the state’s southeastern corner — he has been diagnosed with Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency, a genetic disorder that thwarts the immune system. That, he learned, had been the reason respiratory conditions had knocked him flat throughout life.
His heart, particularly the aortic root, also remains a concern. He knows it’s larger than that of an average person, and through his twice-yearly visits to Los Angeles’ Cedar Sinai Hospital understands he might one day need surgery.
Yet at 59, he’s content, appreciating everything and every experience. Including his time with Moses.
“I was so fortunate to have him adopt me,” McNamara said. “Whether I was the foster child at times or the adoption, I couldn’t have gotten more lucky than to have him as my friend and mentor. I will forever remember him, that’s for sure.”
He’s far from alone.
Top photo: Moses Malone at a celebrity golf tournament in Charlotte in July 2013. (Jeff Siner/Charlotte Observer/MCT via Getty Images)