1976: The rise and fall of the Utah Rockies

Who wants pro basketball back in SLC? Well, I suppose there were quite a few people in early 1976 who would have loved to replace the recently folded Utah Stars. But Earl D. Walters was the only one trying to do something about it. Walters, the former president of the United States Ski Association, didn’t get involved in any of Bill Daniels’ attempts to sell the Stars in 1974 or 1975. But as soon as the merger between the Stars and the Spirits of St. Louis fell through, Walters began working to bring a different ABA team to Salt Lake City.

Walters first approached the financially struggling Virginia Squires. He helped cover their payroll one week and even arranged for Zelmo Beaty to become their new head coach. But he ultimately failed to convince the Squires to relocate to Salt Lake. So he turned his attention to the Spirits and their owners, brothers Daniel and Ozzie Silna.

One of the reasons why the Silnas refused to merge with the Stars was because the mayor of St. Louis had vowed to do everything in his power to keep the Spirits in Missouri. But it only took a few months for them to realize that the mayor’s promises were little more than empty words. Claiming to have lost $4 million during their tenure as the Spirits’ owners, the Silnas were now ready to do just about anything to try to recoup their losses. But they still weren’t entirely sold on the idea of actually running their team in Salt Lake.

Walters didn’t have enough money to purchase the Spirits outright, but he was able to put together a group of investors who cobbled together $600,000 to buy a sizable chunk of the franchise. Curiously, Walters never revealed the names of any of these investors. I would normally call that a pretty big red flag, but I know that it ultimately didn’t matter in the long run. I also find it somewhat amusing that none of the previous would-be buyers of the Stars were involved in this. James A. Collier, Snellen Johnson, and even the West Am corporation all completely disappeared from our story. In hindsight, had all these separate forces combined powers from the start, the Stars might have survived.

Anyway, the Silnas eventually agreed to move the Spirits to Salt Lake on the condition that this group of local investors would quickly assume full control of the team. Walters announced the good news at the end of March and the newspapers immediately praised him as the hero who would bring Ron Boone, Moses Malone, and all the fun of the ABA back to the Salt Palace. By May, the ABA officially approved the relocation and team president Harry Weltman held a joyous press conference in Salt Lake with his wife.

Weltman immediately announced a contest to pick a new name and logo for the Spirits. I guess he thought that Spirits was a name that only made sense in St. Louis, and the sting of the Stars’ demise was too fresh in everyone’s minds to consider reviving that name. Unfortunately, Utah’s joy was short-lived. 

In June, the long-awaited NBA-ABA merger was finally announced. Of course, “merger” isn’t quite the most accurate word here, as the NBA actually absorbed the ABA. But despite all the ABA’s efforts to carefully present a six-team package to the larger league, the NBA decided to only admit four teams. And the St. Louis/Utah franchise did not make the cut. Weltman hastily settled on the name Utah Rockies, but he never had a chance to design a logo. And most news outlets didn’t catch on to the name change, confusingly alternating between the Spirits of St. Louis and the Utah Rockies in all the stories that came out during this period.

There were quite a few people who tried to fight against the NBA’s exclusion of two ABA teams. The Silnas even proposed a complicated deal at the last minute wherein they would sell off the Rockies to local investors, then buy the Kentucky Colonels (the other excluded team), and move the Colonels to Buffalo to replace the Braves, who were threatening to move to Florida at this time. This desperate deal fell apart for three reasons: One, there weren’t any local investors who could actually afford the Rockies; Two, the Braves’ proposed move to Florida fell through; and Three, the NBA made it abundantly clear that they only wanted Indiana, San Antonio, Denver, and New York.

So the wonderfully named Utah Rockies folded just as quickly as they were formed. Ron Boone ended up in Kansas City, Moses Malone (eventually) landed in Houston, and the Silnas surprisingly came out as the ultimate winners in all this. Rather than accepting the initial $3.3 million buyout offer, the Silnas negotiated for $2.2 million up front plus a share of the four remaining ABA teams’ broadcast revenue in perpetuity. Apparently the Silna brothers had envisioned this deal initially as a way to fairly compensate the Virginia Squires when it looked like they’d be the only ABA team left out of the merger. But when the Squires folded in May, they became ineligible for any type of buyout from the NBA. So the Silnas used this unusual deal for themselves, which initially appeared to be a rather modest stipend that the NBA was willing to pay.

But then the NBA’s popularity exploded in the ‘80s and ‘90s, resulting in some massive broadcasting deals. And the Silnas’ contract was written broadly enough to ensure those checks kept coming in, even as the amount on them rose exponentially. The NBA tried to get out of the deal in the 1980s by offering a $6 million buyout, but the Silnas wisely refused. In 2012, the NBA tossed around another complex deal that would involving buying out the Silnas in exchange for the Spirits name to be used by the New Orleans Hornets (this happened around the same time that New Orleans had asked Utah for the Jazz name back). I don’t know how much money was on the table for this offer, but the Silnas again shot down the NBA.

By 2014, Ozzie and Daniel Silna had earned over $300 million for doing absolutely nothing. If it’s any consolation, they did lose a fair amount of that in the Bernie Madoff Ponzi scheme. And that fact may have been what enabled the NBA to finally work out a deal to end this ruinous contract. Granted, it cost the league over $500 million, but at least they didn’t have to keep sending checks to those Latvian-descended textile merchants. Ozzie passed away in 2016 at the age of 83, but his younger brother, Daniel, is still alive, presumably living very comfortably off his fortune.

And as for Earl D. Walters, the man who started this post? He retreated into obscurity, never again to enter the picture of professional basketball in Utah — just like James A. Collier, Snellen Johnson, and even Bill Daniels. And the poor people of Utah, who just had their hopes raised only to be dashed so quickly, had to keep waiting for a pro team to return.

Meanwhile, down in New Orleans …

Pete Maravich shaved off his goofy goatee and switched his number from 44 to 7, which may have brought him some good luck. Despite missing 20 games to injury, he brought his numbers back up to 25.9 points, 5.4 assists, and 1.4 steals per game. Although he missed the All-Star Game, he did earn a spot on the All-NBA First Team for the first time in his career and he finished 15th in MVP voting. He helped the Jazz improve to a 38-44 record, which was substantially better than Atlanta’s 29-53 mark. So yeah, I think we really need to squash that false narrative that the Hawks fleeced New Orleans in the Pistol Pete trade.

Nate Williams, the former Utah State Aggie, was second on the Jazz with 12.8 ppg and 1.3 spg. I’m a bit surprised that he didn’t step up more during Maravich’s extend absence — but then again, all these games were played long before I was born, so I don’t know exactly what went on.

Mel Counts joins the long list of people from the 1969 Laker team who ended up in New Orleans. Counts was a true 7-footer from Coos Bay, Oregon, who put together a solid career at Oregon State. In 1964, he helped Team USA take gold at the Tokyo Olympics before joining the Boston Celtics, who had drafted him with the No. 7 pick. Counts won two championships as Bill Russell’s backup, but then he was traded to Baltimore, who quickly sent him to the Lakers. Counts played the best basketball of his life behind Wilt Chamberlain. Remember that controversial Game 7 in 1969? Butch van Breda Kolff sat Chamberlain after he picked up his fifth foul and refused to put him back in the game. Partly because he didn’t like Chamberlain, but also partly because Counts was playing well enough to stay on the court. Of course, the Lakers lost by two points and van Breda Kolff resigned in disgrace, and Counts was traded to Phoenix for Gail Goodrich (remember that name).

Counts was later traded to Philadelphia, who promptly sent him back to L.A. In the 1974 expansion draft, the Jazz probably could have taken Counts, but instead opted for a Laker guard named Nate Hawthorne. He never played for New Orleans, as he was packaged in a disastrous trade that also sent the Jazz’s 1976 first-round pick to Phoenix for a big man named Neal Walk. Walk had averaged 20 and 12 in 1972-73, so it stands to reason that the Jazz had envisioned him as their starting center. And to acquire a solid backup for Walk, New Orleans simply purchased Counts’ contract from the Lakers.

Well, that purchase may have been considered another bit of the reckless spending that forced team president Fred Rosenfeld out of the organization. Counts put up 6.9 points and 5.9 rebounds per game in his first season with the Jazz, then saw those numbers drop to just 3.0 ppg and 3.3 rpg in 1975-76. New Orleans waived him in February, after he had played in only 30 games. Counts retired and returned to his home in Oregon, where he became a real estate agent.

Louie Nelson was one of the few expansion draft picks that the Jazz kept for more than one season. Nelson was a 6-3 guard from Los Angeles, who attended the University of Washington. In 1973, he was drafted by the Bullets in the second round. After a quiet rookie season, he had a very solid debut for the Jazz with 11.2 points per game. In 1975-76, he became the team’s third-leading scorer with 12.5 ppg and 1.2 spg.

Sadly, that ended up being the highlight of his career. After this season, the Jazz waived Nelson to make room for Goodrich (more on him next time, I promise!) and Nelson failed to land a solid home in the NBA after that. He played sparingly for the Spurs, Kings, and Nets before falling out of the league in 1978. He later became a high school girls basketball coach, apparently.

Henry Bibby didn’t have much of an impact for the Jazz this season, but he is an interesting character in this story. The 6-1 point guard was born and raised in North Carolina, but chose to play college ball under legendary coach John Wooden at UCLA. After helping the Bruins win three NCAA titles, Bibby was drafted in the second round of the 1972 ABA draft by the Carolina Cougars. But he chose to play for the Knicks, who picked him in the fourth round. Bibby didn’t play much in New York, but he did pick up a shiny 1973 championship ring.

Now let’s briefly return to that disastrous Neal Walk trade. Despite being a well-rounded double-double machine in Phoenix, Walk struggled in New Orleans, putting up 9.9 ppg and 7.1 rpg. After just 37 games, the Jazz became so frustrated with Walk that they packaged him in a trade to New York for Bibby and a 1975 first-round pick. (Of course, New Orleans didn’t keep that pick, as they packaged it another trade to the Kings. I mean, why should this organization suddenly start caring about draft picks?)

Bibby only appeared in 28 games for the Jazz in 1974-75. In his first full season with New Orleans, he averaged 9.3 points per game, which was a career high for him at the time. And he did even better the next season after the Jazz sold his contract to the 76ers. Bibby played four years in Philadelphia and one in San Diego before he headed to the CBA, where he helped the Lancaster Lightning win the 1982 title. He was also an assistant coach for the Lightning, which helped him seamlessly transition into his new career.

Bibby spent three seasons as an assistant at Arizona State, then became head coach of the Baltimore Lightning and then the USBL’s, where he was named Coach of the Year. He kept bouncing around between various minor league teams — the New Jersey Jammers, the Savannah Spirits, the Tulsa Fast Breakers (where he won the 1989 CBA title), the Oklahoma City Cavalry, and the Winnipeg Thunder. He returned to college basketball in 1995, becoming first an assistant and then the head coach at USC.

Unfortunately, Bibby’s frequent moving was not easy on his family. He divorced his wife and became estranged from his son, Mike. This became rather awkward when Mike grew into a high school star and committed to one of USC’s rivals, Arizona. In 1997, Henry led the Trojans to a first-round exit from the NCAA Tournament, while Mike guided the Wildcats to win the championship. Mike went on to have a very solid NBA career, and he apparently reconciled with his dad in 2002.

Henry spent nine years as USC’s head coach, but only took them to the Big Dance three times, and he was fired in 2004. In 2005, he became the head coach of the WNBA’s Los Angeles Sparks, but was fired after just 28 games. From 2006 to 2014, he worked as an NBA assistant for Philadelphia, Memphis, and Detroit. After a six-year break, Bibby randomly became the head coach for the Tijuana Zonkeys in Mexico just for the 2020 season.

Anyway, it’s time for me to keep ranting about that Neal Walk trade. New Orleans’ big improvement earned them the No. 6 pick in the 1976 draft, which they had sent to Phoenix, who later moved it to Buffalo. The Braves used that pick on future Hall of Famer (and Jazz legend) Adrian Dantley. New Orleans’ second-round pick (No. 23 overall) belonged to Atlanta because of the Maravich trade. The Hawks later sent this pick to Milwaukee, who used it to draft another future Hall of Famer, Alex English.

Desperate to have at least one pick before the third round, the Jazz sent Portland their 1977 second-round pick for the 26th pick of this draft. And they used it on a 6-7 forward from Georgia.

Jacky Dorsey was born and raised in Atlanta and became a star player at the University of Georgia, averaging 23.7 points and 10.6 rebounds across his two seasons with the Bulldogs. However, he failed to make the Jazz roster and was relegated to the Hartford Downtowners of the Eastern Basketball Association. From 1977 to 1981, he bounced back and forth between the NBA and various minor leagues, ultimately finishing with 60 NBA games between the Nuggets, Blazers, Rockets, and Sonics. Dorsey died in Houston in 2022 at age 71.

So … it was another disappointing draft for the young Jazz. But things were looking up with the Superdome solidified as their home court, Pistol Pete playing up to his full potential, and the front office/ownership situation stabilized. Sadly, it will all start to go down next season. Of course, we should always keep in mind that any misery experienced in New Orleans only made future happiness in Utah possible.

Before Watchmen: Wait … did we just stick the landing?

Adams Hughes’ final cover for this Dr. Manhattan miniseries is well done, but it doesn’t really do anything for me. It dramatizes a climatic moment from Watchmen that actually wasn’t that climatic in the grand scheme of things, nor was it even a part of this issue. I kind of wish it had been, but this series only went four issues when it should have been six (and the Comedian went six when it should have been four).

Bill Sienkiewicz gave us the variant cover and it’s disappointingly bland and generic. I just feel like everyone gave up trying to make this Before Watchmen project work by this point. I mean, how excited could you really be to work on something that had already worn out its welcome to such an embarrassing degree?

That’s why I was shocked to see that I actually enjoyed this issue. It begins with Dr. Manhattan completing his work of destroying all the alternate realities he inadvertently created. Everything is back just as he remembered it … with one major exception. His future is obscured by static. So he decides to seek out the only person in the world he believes is capable of comprehending his plight: Ozymandias.

Dr. Manhattan visits Ozymandias shortly after he apprehended some burglars at a museum. Seeking a more private meeting place, Dr. Manhattan teleports the two of them to Adrian’s office, which brings up an interesting discussion on how his teleportation powers work. Naturally, Adrians is fishing for clues so he can unlock this unfathomable ability for himself, but he also learns something about Dr. Manhattan’s overall philosophy. Adrian asks if the teleportation involves disassembling molecules and reassembling them somewhere else, but Dr. Manhattan says he actually keeps the “teleportee” in one piece while warping space around them. Adrian suggests this means that it’s easier for Dr. Manhattan to move the universe than himself, but Dr. Manhattan counters that his method is simply less destructive to people like Adrian.

Dr. Manhattan then tells his story about the alternate realities to Adrian, who does his best to keep his face completely neutral. He only slips up for half a second, allowing a twitch that Dr. Manhattan interprets as fear. He takes pleasure in being able to catch the self-proclaimed world’s smartest man with his guard down, even for so brief a moment. Dr. Manhattan then concludes his story by revealing the only things he can glimpse through the static of his future are death, destruction, and the feeling of being responsible for it. He concedes that it’s likely this static was (or will be) caused by nuclear war, but he worries about causing even more damage by trying to prevent this unknown future. So Dr. Manhattan has decided that Adrian should make those choices for him.

As Adrian accepts this offer, the comic book turns upside down and he becomes the narrator. We learn that Adrian’s little slip of emotion wasn’t that of fear, but excitement, which he hopes Dr. Manhattan didn’t notice. He works extra hard to control his pulse and facial expressions as he launches into his plan, believing (and praying) that the world’s most powerful man lacks the ability to recognize a lie. Adrian proposes that Dr. Manhattan’s staticky future may have been caused merely by an expansion of Dr. Manhattan’s own powers. He says that if they’re able to unlock the secrets of these abilities and spread them across Earth through various forms of technology, then that amount of energy at the same frequency could confuse Dr. Manhattan’s senses.

Dr. Manhattan agrees to help Adrian with whatever he requires, and we’re treated to a quick collage of Adrian’s master plan from Watchmen. Adrian believes he must destroy the village to save the village, and it all depends on him being able to maintain his lie to Dr. Manhattan. He acknowledges that there’s a high likelihood he’ll end up being killed by his manipulated collaborator, so he decides to take every precaution to preserve his own life — even while believing that it would be an honor to die for such a noble cause.

We then cut to my favorite part of the Watchmen story, where Adrian asks Dr. Manhattan if he did the right thing and it all worked out in the end. Dr. Manhattan only offers the vague answer that nothing ever ends as he teleports away, off to create his own world. Dr. Manhattan tells himself that death, life, and the universe itself are all just a matter of perspective. He travels to a strange, purplish world with two moons and he injects a little energy into some pond scum to get it to start combining proteins and accelerate evolution. He hopes this new life — and he, himself — will grow into something amazing together.

I really enjoyed this issue when I first read it. The upside down twist really surprised me, and it showcased the fun storytelling methods that are only possible in comic books — storytelling methods that this series should have been taking more advantage of from the beginning. I know Alan Moore’s Watchmen was devoted to the rigid nine-panel grid, but that doesn’t mean that this miniseries couldn’t have experimented with sideways, spiral, or backwards panels. Regardless, this tiny realization of this comic’s potential thrilled me. As well as the conversations about Dr. Manhattan’s teleporting and the idea that both he and Adrian were trying to manipulate each other.

Well … was Dr. Manhattan actually manipulating Adrian? It seemed like the comic implied that before the flip, but by the time it flipped back to his perspective, there wasn’t enough space left to explore his thoughts on how that whole relationship went down. And the more I think about it, the more I realize how much more I wanted out of this story. Yeah, it’s fine to portray Dr. Manhattan as a centipede frozen by the indecision of trying to figure out which leg it should move first. But that doesn’t really line up with the source material.

In Watchmen, Adrian’s plan hinged on the incredibly deep, yet buried emotional feelings that plagued Jon Osterman. To the world, Dr. Manhattan was a robotic, unfeeling creature devoid of all humanity. But Adrian’s careful study of his microexpressions revealed a world of profound love and pain. It was this buried emotion that caused Dr. Manhattan’s exile to Mars. And it was his genuine love for Laurie that convinced him to return. And it can be argued that the only reason Dr. Manhattan left to create a new world at the end was because he realized Laurie loved Dan more than him.

Unfortunately, J. Michael Straczynski completely ignored that aspect of Dr. Manhattan’s personality in this miniseries. I know he only had four issues to work with, but I felt like he wasted about half the pages he was given. Even in this one. Yeah, it’s always fun to dip into Ozymandias’ head to see what he’s thinking, but he was given his own miniseries for that — and that one had six issues! This is the Dr. Manhattan series, and I want to know what he is feeling. I also would have liked at least a little bit about his relationship with Laurie. I mean, it was kind of a big deal, right? Even the cover of this issue presented it as a big deal, making her front and center. But then Straczynski didn’t so much as mention her in the conclusion of this miniseries.

What a weird project this turned out to be.

1975 Part Two: Trading it all for a Pistol

I still find it eerily cosmic how the collapse of the Utah Stars perfectly coincided with the rise of the New Orleans Jazz. But we’re still quite a way from the Jazz coming to Salt Lake. First, we need to talk about the five most interesting players who shaped this franchise’s inaugural season.

Our story starts in the spring of 1974, before the New Orleans expansion team even had a name. Team president Fred Rosenfeld was bound and determined to build this franchise around a local superstar. And he was willing to pay any price to bring in the only player who fit that bill.

Pete Maravich was born in Aliquippa, Pennsylvania (a small town just outside of Pittsburgh), while his father was wrapping up his playing career with the Pittsburgh Ironmen of the Basketball Association of America. Pete was named after his dad, but everyone called him Press because of his boyhood job of selling the Pittsburgh Press newspapers on the street. Press wasn’t a particularly impressive player, but he had a deep love for the game and got into coaching right away, first as an assistant at Davis & Elkins College in West Virginia (where he had originally played in the 1930s).

Press got his first head coaching job in 1949 at West Virginia Wesleyan College. A year later, he took over Davis & Elkins, but only lasted two years before moving back to Aliquippa to coach high school. He only stayed there for two years before moving on to a different high school in Pittsburgh. Finally, in 1956, Press caught his big break and became the head coach at Clemson University in South Carolina. By this point, young Pete had demonstrated enough skills to begin playing for the high school team even though he was still in junior high.

In 1962, Press moved his family to Raleigh, so he could be an assistant at North Carolina State University. It was here that young Pete gained the nickname Pistol because he shot the ball from his hip, which made it look like he was drawing a pistol from a holder. Press became the head coach at North Carolina State in 1964, all while obsessively molding his son into a star. Some say that Press’ relationship with Pistol was borderline abusive. I don’t know much about that, but I do think it says something that Press never could seem to hold onto a job for more than a couple of years.

In 1966, Press became the head coach at Louisiana State University. Pistol was now finally eligible for college ball and he apparently had his heart set on West Virginia. But Press allegedly threatened to disown his son and/or bribed him with a new car to move down to Baton Rouge with him. 

Pistol Pete was an instant success at LSU, averaging an unthinkable 44.2 points per game over his three-year career and being named national player of the year in 1970. Wikipedia goes to great lengths to describe how difficult this feat was, considering Maravich was playing without a 3-point shot or a shot clock. But Wikipedia fails to mention one fact that made this feat a bit easier: Louisiana State played in a segregated conference at the time. This meant that Pistol Pete was going up against all-white teams on a night-to-night basis — not against the best available competition. It’s also worth pointing out that the LSU Tigers didn’t win very many games during Pistol’s record-setting tenure. The highest they ever got was a fourth-place finish in the NIT during Pistol’s senior year. But at least the coach’s son got to score as many points as possible.

In January 1970, Maravich was drafted by ABA’s Carolina Cougars with the No. 1 pick in the draft (although it was technically the second overall pick, as the New York Nets were awarded a territorial pick for Bob Lanier). But rather than signing with Carolina, Maravich decided to wait until the NBA draft in March and see who would make a better offer. This was quite common during the ABA era, especially in this draft, as Lanier did the same to the Nets and future NBA MVP Dave Cowens did with the Los Angeles Stars.

In the NBA draft, the Detroit Pistons took Lanier at No. 1, which was the sure thing to do. The big man went on to have a Hall of Fame career and was one of Detroit’s best players in franchise history. With the second pick, the San Diego Rockets surprisingly took Rudy Tomjanovich over Maravich. Rudy T also became a Hall of Famer — but as a coach, not a player. I can’t confirm this, but I suspect that San Diego passed on Maravich because they dreaded the inevitable bidding war with Carolina. The cash-strapped franchise was just one year away from being sold and relocated to Houston.

So Maravich fell to No. 3, where the Atlanta Hawks gladly picked him up. And they only had the third pick because of a trade they had made just a month before the draft that sent Zelmo Beaty’s contract to San Francisco (everything’s connected!). Anyway, the Hawks managed to secure their prize with a staggering $1.9 million contract. Carolina was furious, but had no way to retaliate. Maravich was thrilled to be able to stay in the South. But basketball fans from then to today mourned the lost opportunity of seeing Maravich play with a 3-point line.

Anyway, Maravich’s first four seasons with Atlanta were a little bit underwhelming. He did finish third for Rookie of the Year, then received some MVP votes in each of the next three years. He lost a little bit of time to an injury in his sophomore season, but managed to become an All-Star in his third and fourth years. He also made the All-NBA Second Team in his third year and led the league in field goals attempted in his fourth. But most frustratingly for Hawks fans was the lack of wins. Atlanta made the playoffs in Maravich’s first three years, but couldn’t get out of the first round. Then they missed the postseason entirely in Pistol’s fourth year.

So I don’t think the Hawks were too upset to part with Maravich when the unnamed New Orleans franchise came calling. But they still managed to extract a high price from the expansion team. In exchange for the two-time All-Star, the Jazz gave up two first-round picks (1974 and 1975), two second-round picks (1975 and 1976), a third-round pick (1980), the first two picks of the expansion draft, and a slightly underhanded agreement that Atlanta would choose which of their players New Orleans would take in the expansion draft. On paper, it kind of looks like Atlanta fleeced New Orleans. But at the end of the day, I think both teams ended up even.

Maravich actually struggled in his first year with the Jazz. His scoring fell from 27.7 points per game to 21.5. But he did also average 6.2 assists, 5.3 rebounds, and 1.5 steals, while leading the league with seven triple-doubles. There’s a chance he may have been injured, although he still appeared in 79 games. But I think it’s more likely that the very nature of this expansion team prevented him from getting into a good rhythm. The Jazz had 22 players suit up in the 1974-75 season, three head coaches, two team presidents, and two home arenas, including one with a raised court that required a net around the edges for player safety. Tumultuous, to say the least. So let’s take a look at some of Maravich’s less-than stellar supporting cast.

Walt Bellamy was the player the Atlanta Hawks demanded the Jazz take in their expansion draft. Which is really sad, because Bellamy had put together a Hall of Fame career up until this point. He was born and raised in North Carolina, but chose to play at Indiana University because his high school coach had played there and he felt Indiana was “the closest school to the South that would accept African-Americans.”

Bellamy dominated in college and helped lead Team USA to a gold medal in the 1960 Olympics in Rome. In 1961, was the No. 1 overall pick in the NBA draft, taken by the expansion team Chicago Packers. His team only won 18 games that season, but Bellamy did put up monster numbers — 31.6 points and 19.0 rebounds per game — which earned him a trip to the All-Star Game and the Rookie of the Year award. He ended up spending four seasons with that franchise (which became the Zephyrs then the Baltimore Bullets), making the All-Star Game each year.

In 1965, the Bullets got new owners who decided to reduce Bellamy’s salary because they believe he wasn’t trying as hard as he could be. So Bellamy held out of training camp until he got a new contract with a small raise and was traded to the New York Knicks as quickly as possible. Bellamy still played well for the Knicks, but saw a decline in his production as he had to share the frontcourt with another future Hall of Famer, Willis Reed. Bellamy unfortunately never was an All-Star again, and was later traded to Detroit and then Atlanta in 1970. 

Combing a slow, aging center with a quick, young guard was not a winning recipe (as I already pointed out above). By 1974, Bellamy had become a bit of a liability for Atlanta. His number had fallen to 13.1 points and 9.6 rebounds per game, younger players were running circles around him, and worst of all, he still had one more year on his contract. So Atlanta dumped him off on New Orleans, ironically bookending his professional career with two expansion teams.

Bellamy naturally felt betrayed by this whole situation and initially refused to report to New Orleans, complaining the “con men” in Atlanta had put him into a “forced retirement.” I don’t know when that team photo at the top of this post was taken, but you will note that Bellamy is not in the picture. But then, for some reason, Bellamy did agree to play in the Jazz’s first game. My limited research failed to turn up a reason for why this happened, but I suspect it may have had something to do with a clause in Bellamy’s contract.

In his only game for the New Orleans Jazz, Bellamy scored six points and pulled down five rebounds in 14 minutes of action. He didn’t miss a shot from the field or the free throw line, which sort of makes him the all-time franchise leader in field goal and free throw percentage. I did find a newspaper article about this game that was quick to point out how old and slow Bellamy was compared to his competition. The Jazz waived him shortly after, saying they wanted to give him the chance to sign with another team. Bellamy did try out with the Milwaukee Bucks, but they didn’t sign him, thus ending his once legendary career.

Bellamy settled down in Atlanta, which may be one reason why he felt so betrayed by the trade. He became active in the NAACP and local politics. In 1993, he was elected to the Hall of Fame as a player, and he was elected again in 2010 as a member of the 1960 Olympic team. He died in College Park, Georgia, in 2013 at age 74.

Aaron James became the first player officially drafted by the New Orleans Jazz when he was selected in the second round of the 1974 NBA Draft, which was held just a week after the expansion draft. Unlike the 1961 draft, where the NBA awarded the top pick to the expansion team, in this year, the league arbitrarily decided the Jazz should pick at No. 10. Of course, the Maravich trade meant that the No. 10 pick belonged to Atlanta, who used it on former Ute Mike Sojourner. He may have been an All-WAC player at Utah, but his professional career was nothing special and he was out of the NBA after just three years.

James seemed destined to join the Jazz. He was born and raised in New Orleans, but went to college at Grambling State in northern Louisiana. In 1974, he was also drafted by the Utah Stars, but wisely avoided that chaotic situation to play in his hometown. The 6-foot-8 small forward averaged 11.7 points per game in his rookie season.

Rick Adelma, like Walt Bellamy, was interesting not because of what he did for the Jazz, but for everything else in his career. Born and raised in Southern California, Adelman was a star at Loyola University at Los Angeles, but he wasn’t drafted until the seventh round of the 1968 NBA Draft, where the San Diego Rockets picked him up. The 6-1 point guard surprisingly made the roster, but was scooped up by the Portland Trail Blazers in their expansion draft of 1970.

Adelman enjoyed the best years of his career in Portland, putting up 12 points and two steals per game. But he was traded to Chicago in 1973. In November 1974, he was sent to the Jazz for John Block, a past-his-prime one-time All-Star that New Orleans had picked up in their expansion draft. Adelman averaged 6.3 ppg and 1.7 spg for the Jazz, but he was traded away after just 28 games. He played in 18 more games for the Kansas City-Omaha Kings before retiring.

But Adelman wasn’t done with basketball. In 1977, he became the head coach at Chemeketa Community College in Salem, Oregon. In 1983, he became an assistant for the Portland Trail Blazers and promoted to head coach in 1989. He took the Blazers to the Finals twice, but was never able to secure that elusive championship. He kept coaching in the NBA until 2014, bouncing around between Golden State, Sacramento, Houston, and Minnesota. In 2021, he was elected into the Hall of Fame as a coach. He recently passed away in June of 2026 in Portland at the age of 79.

Nate Williams was the guy the Jazz traded Adelman (and Ollie Johnson) for. Williams was born in Columbia, Louisiana (a small town in the north part of the state), but he grew up in Oakland, California. He didn’t really expect to go to college, so he jumped at the first offer given to him by Utah State when an assistant mistook the sophomore for a senior. Williams ended up having an excellent career for the Aggies, playing under LaDell Andersen for two seasons.

In 1971, not long after Andersen left to coach the Utah Stars, Williams accepted into the NBA’s Hardship Draft. This was a new experiment by the league to find a way to justifiably take underclassmen before the ABA snatched them up. There were certain financial requirements the players needed to meet, and Williams was allegedly living on just $15 a month. The 6-5 swingman was selected first in this draft by the Cincinnati Royals and he played fairly well for them over three seasons (and the odd move to both Kansas City and Omaha). Williams was traded to New Orleans in February, so he only played in 35 games for the Jazz this season, putting up 14.3 points and 1.3 steals per game.

So there you go. Five of the most interesting players on the 1974-75 New Orleans Jazz roster. And three of them ended up in the Hall of Fame. Of course, that didn’t help much back in 1975. The Jazz went 23-59, which was the worst record in the league. This meant that the Jazz earned the No. 1 pick in the 1975 draft. Unfortunately, that pick belonged to Atlanta because of the Maravich trade.

The Hawks chose future Hall of Famer David Thompson, but he surprisingly chose to sign with the ABA’s Denver Nuggets instead. The Hawks also had the third pick in the draft, which they used on Marvin Webster. But he also chose to play for Denver instead. So poor Atlanta came up with absolutely nothing from this draft. Suddenly, that Maravich trade didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Thanks to an October 1974 trade, the Jazz owned Milwaukee’s first-round pick, which ended up being No. 7. So New Orleans got to make its first-ever first-round pick.

Rich Kelley was born and raised in the Bay Area of California and enrolled at Stanford University, where he became a standout 7-foot center. In 1974, he was drafted by the ABA’s New York Nets, but he chose to stay with the Cardinal for another year. He also played for Team USA in the FIBA World Championship, earning a bronze medal in Puerto Rico. Kelley made the All-Pac-8 First Team in each of his three seasons at Stanford and graduated with career averages of 18.6 points and 12.4 rebounds per game.

All things considered, the Jazz actually had reason to be excited heading into the 1975-76 season. They had solidified the front office with Sam Battistone Jr. as team president. Butch van Breda Kolff had proven to be a better coach than Scotty Robertson. But the biggest news was the opening of the long-anticipated Louisiana Superdome.

The $134 million structure took four years to build and boasted a capacity of more than 73,000 seats. It was envisioned to be the home of NFL, NBA, and MLB teams, although New Orleans curiously was never able to land a major league baseball team. The NFL’s Saints were a natural fit from Day One, and they still call the place home (although it’s now called the Caesars Superdome). But the Jazz? Well … take a look at the setup their home games required.

That chunk of the football field creates a very awkward look. And the movable stands, while necessary, also appeared rather clunky. Worst of all, in my opinion, was the cavernous emptiness of the stadium. Basketball works best in compact arenas, where all the fans are stacked right on top of each other. And having too many seats can actually be a bad thing. Years later, the Jazz ownership would complain that nobody in New Orleans wanted to buy season tickets because they knew they could always show up on the day of the game and find a seat. I think the owners could have addressed this issue by blocking off sections of seating, but I will concede some truth to their complaint. But at the end of the day, I’m sure the Jazz players were quite happy to be in a more stable arrangement for their home games. And the fact that their facility was brand new and state-of-the-art certainly helped, too.

The Jazz also tweaked their uniforms for the 1975-76 season. They wisely dropped the boring, mismatched music note from the road jerseys, replacing it with all-white version of the inspired basketball music note. They also added that glorious J-note to their home shorts, but curiously omitted it from their road shorts. Regardless, I still absolutely love this look and I will never forgive this franchise for departing from it.

This is normally where I’d end this post, but something very unusual happened at the end of the year. With the ABA collapsing (partially intentionally to prepare for the merger), the NBA decided to try to poach some of the players they had missed out on. So in December 1975, they held a special draft just for the handful of players who had entered the ABA as underclassmen. Any team that chose to participate in this draft would have to forfeit their 1977 first-round pick. And since the Jazz had the worst record, they got to pick first. The ABA was absolutely furious about this, but completely powerless to prevent it. The only consolation they had was that these players were still under contract with their ABA teams, so all this draft could do was give these NBA teams the right to negotiate with the players.

Moses Malone was by far the best player available in this little draft, and the Jazz eagerly scooped him up. They readily admitted that his enormous contract would be a challenge, even going as far as to calculate that they’d need to sell an additional 3,000 season tickets to cover Malone’s salary. But New Orleans confidently believed that Malone would generate enough excitement in the team to cover that difference.

What happened next has become a bit of an NBA legend. Unfortunately, there has been some misinformation and misunderstandings that spread, while the complicated, boring truth gets buried. (Which I guess is the case for most things.) I was particularly disheartened to see a Wikipedia article citing Bill Simmons’ Book of Basketball as a source. As much as I enjoyed that book, Simmons’ primary focus was to be funny — not factual. So when Simmons says that van Breda Kolff single-handedly nixed the acquisition of Malone because he believed Malone was unintelligent, you should take that with a grain of salt. It’s funny to pick on a scapegoat for making a bone-headed mistake, but the contemporary newspapers I read don’t support that version of events.

In reality, Malone was still under contract with the Spirits of St. Louis and he was still being paid handsomely thanks to the contract James A. Collier had offered to lure him to the Utah Stars. New Orleans  knew going into negotiations that it would be a legal nightmare to untangle all the layers of his contract, not to mention incredibly expensive to put him in a Jazz uniform. But from what I can tell, they genuinely tried to make it work. Months and months went by, but no deal could be reached. Ultimately, the Jazz decided to relinquish Malone’s rights so they could regain their 1977 first-round pick.

Malone was entered into the 1976 dispersal draft that was part of the big NBA-ABA merger. Once again, Malone’s massive contract became nearly insurmountable for most teams. The Portland Trail Blazers took him with the fifth pick of that draft with no intention to play him, seeing him only as a valuable trade asset. They sent him to the Buffalo Braves, who apparently had the same idea as the Blazers, but took a little longer to pull off their deal, which forced Malone to awkwardly play two games of limited minutes in Buffalo. He was then sent to the Houston Rockets, where his career took off, winning him the MVP award in 1979 and 1982.

But shortly after winning his second MVP, the Rockets got new owners who bristled at the idea of paying Malone his salary, which had climbed to approximately $2 million per year by this point. So Houston traded Malone to the Philadelphia 76ers, where he won his third and final MVP and his only championship. A few years later, he began to slow down and bounced around the league, playing for Washington, Atlanta, Milwaukee, and finally San Antonio. He retired in 1995, a full 20 years after he began his professional career with the Utah Stars.

Malone was elected into the Hall of Fame and was a member of the NBA’s 50th and 75th anniversary teams. His jersey was retired by both Houston and Philadelphia. He dipped his toe into coaching in 2006 by becoming an assistant for the 76ers, but that stint only lasted for three years. In 2015, he suddenly died of a heart attack at a hotel in Virginia where he was set to participate in a charity golf tournament. He was only 60 years old.

It really is remarkable at how close he came to becoming a permanent fixture in Utah’s professional basketball scene — either as a member of the Stars or the Jazz. In an alternate world, I’m sure there’s a statue of Moses Malone in front of the Delta Center instead of Karl Malone. But I just want the record to show that it was merely financial ineptitude that prevented this from happening — not a failure to recognize talent.

Before Watchmen: What were we doing, again?

The Crimson Corsair backup may have ended, but the Comedian series picked up the slack in the grotesquely violent department. I also wonder if the creators of this miniseries were becoming annoyed by the hell they had locked themselves into and let their frustrations leak through onto the pages and covers. This haunting image by J.G. Jones certainly conveys the feelings of disgust and despair.

The variant cover by Gary Frank is frightfully bland. Ironically, Frank left a lot of empty space at the top, which would have been helpful had this issue’s title been stretched across the top — just like every other comic book. But the Before Watchmen project consistently put the titles down the side, which is something that Frank should have known by this point.

And this was a pretty rough point in the Before Watchmen timeline. Planned issues were being canceled, random fillers were being quickly thrown together, and the few remaining miniseries were dragging their feet. One of the most notorious miniseries was Comedian, which went from having the regular one month between issues, to two, then to three. I wonder how many readers back in 2012-13 had a hard time remembering what was going on in this story.

I also kind of feel like Brian Azzarello forgot what he was trying to say with this story. Because this issue really didn’t tell us anything we hadn’t heard already. Eddie Blake and his military handler both survived their fall from the helicopter, and Blake explains that his ultra-violent outburst was in response to the Viet Cong’s underhanded tactics. Once again, this issue is difficult to follow, as J.G. Jones refused to show any indication of what was a flashback and what was happening in present time.

Anyway, after many pages of disgustingly grotesque art, Eddie’s handler is killed right before the two of them were to be rescued. The most important part of this story is at the very end when Richard Nixon learns that Eddie had basically slaughtered an entire village and he decides to pass that information on to Eddie’s old friend, Robert Kennedy.

Even though it took J.G. Jones three months to complete this issue, the artwork still felt rushed and sloppy. I don’t know if he struggled with the excessively gory scenes or if Azzarello made a bunch of late changes to the script. Or maybe both of these creators were just worn out by this point. The tide had turned on the whole Before Watchmen enterprise and I doubt anyone involved was having fun anymore.

1975 Part One: No miracles for this Moses

Here it is, folks. The end of the Utah Stars. The Deseret News headline, “Stars perish in sea of red ink,” is a nice reference to Moses Malone and the incredible debt the franchise had racked up by the end of 1975. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, we need to go back to the start of the 1974-75 season.

After sheepishly admitting that he had lied about having sold the Stars, Bill Daniels committed to keeping the franchise in Salt Lake for at least one more season. James A. Collier was quietly phased out of his role as team president. (Sadly, Collier died of leukemia in 1980 at age 48.) With Arnie Ferrin also out of the picture, the Stars began the season without a general manager. Daniels quickly realized that he wasn’t up to handling the day-to-day business his basketball team, which was apparently bleeding money. It took a couple of months for Daniels to find his man, and in January 1975, he finally announced his new GM.

Bill Orwig Jr. was the son of a former basketball and football star, who had a long career in coaching and sports administration. Orwig Sr. was serving as the athletic director at Indiana when the ABA was formed, and it seems like his connections enabled his 29-year-old son to become an assistant manager for the Pacers. Orwig Jr. helped build the Pacers into the ABA’s best team, which won three championships between 1970 and 1973. However, he failed to convince his team to draft Moses Malone — which turned out to be the main selling point for him to take the Utah Stars job.

In announcing Orwig, Daniels reiterated that he owned the Stars 100%. He claimed that he was no longer actively seeking any buyers and that he was committed to keeping the team in Salt Lake beyond the 1974-75 season. Of course, he did quickly add the caveat that an amazing offer could change his mind. It’s hard for me to tell if Daniels was being completely honest here since I know how this story ends. I also have evidence of him being dishonest in 1974. But I will concede that everything about the Stars and the ABA drastically changed month to month. So the only tangible thing we can take away from this was that Orwig was now in control of the Stars.

The first thing Orwig did was convince Daniels to finally sell off Willie Wise’s contract. Despite all the legal threats and fines, Wise held true to his philosophy of seeking happiness over wealth, and refused to play for Utah. Although Daniels had developed a reputation as being incredibly kind and generous, he notoriously hated the idea of anyone failing to live up to their contract (which is why he spent years dragging Bill Sharman through the courts). But Orwig brought Daniels to his senses that it would be much better to cut their losses than to stubbornly hang on to try to prove a point. So in the end of January, Orwig began negotiating a deal with the Virginia Squires to buy out Wise’s contract.

The deal hit an unexpected snag. According to the Stars, Wise refused to go to Virginia. But Wise denied the claim, saying he was happy to play anywhere outside of Utah. I suspect the real holdup may have been on Virginia’s side, as the Squires were also struggling financially at the time. Ultimately, Wise did become a Squire at the end of February, and he stayed with them until they folded in 1976. Unfortunately, his holdout seemed to hurt his career, as he was never again able to recapture his All-Star form. After the ABA-NBA merger, Wise played one season in a reserve role for the Nuggets before being traded to Seattle in 1977. Sadly, he only appeared in two games for the Sonics before he suffered a career-ending knee injury.

Orwig’s second big move was nowhere near as sensible. In fact, it was downright controversial. Disgusted by Utah’s lackluster record at the time (24-32), Orwig decided that Bucky Buckwalter should not be the head coach anymore. After spending more than a week in secret discussions, Orwig announced Utah’s new head coach, who just happened to be Buckwalter’s old boss.

Tom Nissalke was born in Wisconsin but went to college at Florida State. After graduating in 1957, he became the coach of a high school in Wisconsin called Wayland Academy. In 1962, he became an assistant at the University of Wisconsin, then took that same role at Tulane a year later. In 1968, he upgraded to the professional level by becoming an assistant with the Milwaukee Bucks. In 1971, he finally became a head coach again by taking over the ABA’s Dallas Chaparrals. After winning the 1972 ABA Coach of the Year award, he jumped ship to the NBA’s Seattle SuperSonics. But Nissalke was fired after just one year and was replaced by his assistant, Buckwalter.

So in 1973, Nissalke returned to his old ABA franchise, which was now the San Antonio Spurs. But they fired him in December 1974. I don’t know why Orwig was so keen to hire Nissalke, and it apparently wasn’t easy. Nissalke had turned down the head coaching job at San Diego, choosing instead to become a scout for the Houston Rockets. He was in the process of planning a trip to Portugal when Orwig (and apparently Daniels) began wooing Nissalke. After 10 days of secret discussions, Nissalke said he was finally won over by Orwig and Daniels (which indicates that Daniels was taking a more hands-on approach than he had in previous years). Nissalke was naturally worried about being unable to install his system this late into the season, and he was a bit dismayed that he didn’t get a chance to talk to his friend Buckwalter before the announcement.

Insultingly, Orwig offered Buckwalter a spot as an assistant coach. Buckwalter naturally refused. He was equally furious with Orwig’s insistence that the Stars were not living up to the potential of their roster. Buckwalter pointed out that Orwig had only observed two practices before reaching this conclusion, and never stayed for more than 30 minutes. Left unsaid was the obvious fact that no one should have expected the Stars to win as many games as they had in years past after losing Zelmo Beaty, Jimmy Jones, and Willie Wise.

Buckwalter was a former Ute and was rather popular in Utah. The local columnists decried his firing, saying Daniels and Orwig were being unfair and underhanded. I almost wonder if this was part of a greater ploy to intentionally weaken the Stars in order to justify folding or moving the team. Or maybe it was just a byproduct of 35-year-old Orwig’s inexperience and a good demonstration of why Daniels had always had a hands-off role in the past. Anyway, Buckwalter later became an assistant coach for the Portland Trail Blazers in 1979 before taking a job in their front office in 1986. In 1991, he was named NBA Executive of the Year and retired in 1997. As painful as it was to be pushed out of Utah, I think it served him better in the long run.

In the meantime, Nissalke did help the Stars … a little bit. He went 14-14 for the rest of the season and helped Utah limp into the playoffs. But Utah was soundly defeated by Denver 4-2 in the opening round. The one bright spot was Moses Malone’s monster 30-point, 32-rebound performance in Utah’s Game 3 victory. Speaking of which, let’s take a look at the five most interesting players this season.

Ron Boone thrived in his role as the new team leader, putting up a career-high 25.2 points per game, as well as 1.5 steals per game. He returned to the All-Star Game for the third time and maintained his impressive streak of consecutive games played. Of course, he was nowhere near enough to fill the void left by Beaty, Wise, and Jones, but he tried his best.

Moses Malone proved to be every bit worth the hype he received in the offseason. He put up 18.8 points per game, 14.6 rebounds per game (including a league-high 5.5 offensive rebounds), 1.5 blocks, and 1.0 steals. He was Utah’s only other All-Star this season, and he finished third in voting for Rookie of the Year. Unfortunately, he was unable to pull off the miracle needed to keep the Stars in Utah. For example, his remarkable Game 3 performance was witnessed by about 5,600 people in the Salt Palace (less than 50% of capacity).

Jim Eakins was Utah’s other big offseason acquisition. The 6-11 center was born and raised in Sacramento and then played at BYU. He was drafted by the Oakland Oaks in 1968 and signed with them about a week before the San Francisco Warriors picked him in the fifth round. After helping the Oaks win the 1969 ABA championship, Eakins followed the franchise to Washington, D.C., where it became the Washington Caps and then the Virginia Squires.

After finally reaching the All-Star Game for the first (and only) time of his career in 1973-74, Virginia packaged him in a trade to Utah in the 1974 offseason. Stars fans were thrilled to see a former BYU Cougar on their roster, but Eakins only put up an average 12.5 points, 7.2 rebounds, and 1.0 blocks per game. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say he struggled finding a role in the front court next to Malone.

Larry Miller was a familiar face (of sorts) to be included in the Eakins trade. The former North Carolina standout had been drafted by the Anaheim Amigos and put together an impressive rookie season for the Los Angeles Stars before being traded to Carolina. He had a couple of strong years for the Cougars, but suddenly saw a steep decline in his production once he turned 27. Perhaps there was an injury involved? In any case, he was picked by the San Diego Conquistadors in their expansion draft, then traded to Virginia a year later. And a year after that, he was sent to Utah.

In the turmoil of the 1974 offseason, Miller was initially another one of the holdouts for training camp. But he soon realized that he didn’t have any leverage, so he obediently reported for duty. However, he quickly realized that all of his athleticism was gone by this point. After just five games with averages of 5.2 minutes and 1.8 points per game, Miller retired from basketball. He returned home to Pennsylvania, where he found work in real estate construction. And he died there in 2025 at the age of 79.

 Roger Brown was signed by the Stars on the same day Miller announced his retirement. The 6-5 small forward from Brooklyn was unfortunately banned by the NCAA and NBA in 1960 for associating with a known gambler and point-shaver. Even though there was never any evidence that Brown himself engaged in point-shaving, he had to wait seven long years of working at General Motors and playing amateur basketball before he became the first member of the brand-new Indiana Pacers. 

As a member of the Pacers, Brown was a four-time All-Star and a frequent thorn in Utah’s side. In addition to winning three championships, Brown was named the 1970 Playoffs MVP. But knee and back injuries left him a shadow of his former self by 1974 and he was traded to the Memphis Sounds. Seven games later, the Stars bought out his contract. I don’t know if this was done by Collier, Daniels, or even Buckwalter, but I think it’s safe to say that Utah was a bit underwhelmed by Brown’s production. In just 39 games, Brown only put up 9.2 points per game. Orwig eventually released Brown, enabling him to finish out the season in Indiana and retire as a Pacer.

Interestingly enough, Brown managed to serve on the Indianapolis city council from 1972 to 1976. In 1985, he coached in the Continental Basketball Association for two seasons. In 1996, he died of colon cancer at age 54. In 2013, he was posthumously inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.

So yeah … it wasn’t the best season for the Stars. In fact, it was the worst. Which is a shame because Moses Malone had shown such tremendous potential. But after the chaos of 1974, there really was no redeeming this franchise. The fans had pretty much turned against the team and Bill Daniels was losing money like crazy. By the spring of 1975, Utah needed a miracle to keep its professional basketball team.

Snellen Johnson and his brother, Lyle, suddenly swooped in to save the Stars in June. The brothers were local businessmen in their 30s, who dabbled in a wide variety of ventures including a satellite system for the navigation of ships and a real estate company targeted toward helping German investors set up tax shelters. I find that one ironic, as most ABA owners, including Daniels, primarily used their teams as tax shelters, as well. Anyway, the Johnsons had been asked to join Collier’s group of investors in 1974, but they were unwilling and/or unable to at the time. But in 1975, their navigation satellite had just signed a huge deal, promising a massive windfall for the Johnsons, who agreed to purchase the Utah Stars for approximately $2 million. Plus, they promised some of their German investor buddies would also buy a piece of the franchise.

Obviously this purported price was less than the $3 million Daniels was asking for in 1974. So despite all his promises of being here to stay unless an amazing offer knocked his socks off, the evidence suggests that Daniels was actually quite desperate to offload this money-loser. Especially when you consider just how shady the Johnsons were right from the beginning. By the age of 35, Snellen Johnson already had a checkered past of bankruptcies and lawsuits. So it should be no surprise that the negotiations for this sale dragged on all summer.

And, as to be expected, the new prospective owners brought all the usual bold promises along with them. My personal favorite was how Snellen Johnson mocked Collier’s failed “Save Our Stars” effort. Snellen’s grand plan was to literally go door to door to sell season tickets. I don’t know how much door-knocking the Johnsons actually did, but I do know that the Stars didn’t gain any new season-ticket holders.

It was a relatively quiet offseason for Utah this year, as there weren’t any high-profile rookies to woo or holdouts to negotiate with. But an air uncertainty hung over everything as weeks turned into months without any official agreement from the Johnsons or approval from the ABA. And the ABA was dealing with its own issues. The Memphis Sounds had relocated to Baltimore, but promptly folded before it could get up and running. The San Diego Sails were on the brink of collapse, and the Virginia Squires weren’t looking so hot, either. In other words, the Stars wouldn’t be able to count on any help from the league.

Suddenly, the 1975-76 season was about to begin. Even though the ownership situation hadn’t been resolved, the team still had a contract with the Salt Palace, Tom Nissalke was still the head coach, and Bill Orwig was still the general manager and team president. So they suited everybody up to play one more season with the hope and prayer that the Johnsons could cobble together enough cash quickly enough. Oh, and for some reason they brought in new uniforms.

I do miss the daring swoop, but it looked really bad in the back with the player’s name awkwardly patched over it. Those jerseys were also a little too similar to Utah’s rivals, the Pacers. So we got brand new uniforms for the last hurrah of this franchise. And I think they are the most solid, classic look the team ever had. One little tweak I would have made would be to extend those red stripes on the side of the shorts all the way up. Sadly, one of Utah’s best players never got to wear these fancy jerseys.

Moses Malone broke his foot in September, essentially leaving Ron Boone all alone. Boone did increase his scoring up to 26.2 ppg, but it wasn’t near enough. The Stars were downright dismal, racking up loss after loss. Including the bombshell news on November 11 that the Johnsons’ deal had fallen through. Their satellite navigation system had collapsed and none of their promised German investors showed up. Making matters worse, Daniels announced that he would not continue to operate the franchise, no matter what. He was done.

By this point, the San Diego Sails had already folded after playing just 11 games of the season. And rumors of an NBA-ABA merger were stronger than ever, even though the Oscar Robertson lawsuit was still a year away. ABA officials began enacting a plan to whittle down their league to just six teams, believing that would increase their chances of merging with the NBA. With that in mind, a wild, last-ditch scheme was hatched between Daniels and Ozzie Silna, owner of the Spirits of St. Louis.

For about two weeks in November, Daniels and Silna discussed an unusual merger of the two teams. Silna would own 70% of the team, Daniels 20%, and the remaining 10% would go to local investors in Salt Lake. Silna was upset that the NHL’s St. Louis Blues got all the best dates over his Spirits, which apparently had lost $1 million last season and were on pace to lose $2 million this season. Likewise, Daniels claimed that he had lost over $3 million during the time he owned the Stars. So a consolidation of resources seemed like a logical — if unique — move. Even with the slightly awkward outcome of needing to release 11 players, several coaches, and who knows how many staff in the front offices.

However, this plan died almost as soon as it began. Daniels couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason for Silna backing out of talks. He speculated Silna may have felt Salt Lake was too small a market, or that he realized it would have been too costly to break his contract with his arena in St. Louis. Others reported that the mayor of St. Louis had pledged to give the Spirits everything they needed to stay in Missouri. Daniels, meanwhile, was bemoaning the lack of local support. He did appreciate the $100,000 offer from Bonneville Corp. (owned by the LDS Church), but that figure was only a fraction of what he needed. 

On the first day of December 1975, Daniels found himself unable to cover payroll for the team. With no other options available to him, he uttered these dire words: “It would take a miracle to keep us from going down the tube.”

That miracle didn’t come.

I really appreciate the Salt Lake Tribune’s coverage of this disastrous event. From the emotional photo of a distraught Bill Orwig to the heart-breaking stories of the lowly staffers who had to hastily clean out their office just two hours after learning the news. As inconceivable as it sounds, the Utah Stars, one of the ABA’s best teams, had folded after just 16 games into the 1975-75 season. They had a 4-12 record.

Most of Utah’s players were sold off to other ABA teams, with the Spirits acquiring the top four, including Ron Boone and Moses Malone. So in the end, Silna did sort of get his merger — he just had to stay in St. Louis. Boone’s scoring dipped to 21.0 ppg, but he still made the All-Star Game (for the fourth and final time of his career). Malone managed to play in 43 games for St. Louis, putting up 14.3 ppg and 9.6 rpg. Ironically, former Stars coach Joe Mullaney was brought in for the Spirits’ final 37 games, but he was unable to lead them to the playoffs.

As Utah sorted through the emotions of losing their first professional basketball team, the newspaper writers seemed to direct most of the blame on Bill Daniels. Some joked that he had spent millions of his own money to become Colorado’s governor and came in fourth place in a race of four people. Others mocked Daniels for saying his proudest accomplishment during his tenure with the Stars was winning his lawsuit against Bill Sharman. This tidbit became even funnier a year or so later when a higher court actually reversed the ruling, giving Sharman the victory over Daniels.

I find myself agreeing with the complaints against Daniels. His run for governor was ill-timed and ill-conceived. At the very least, he should have tried to sell the team long before he announced his intentions to run. Because the way he handled it only created an inordinate amount of uncertainty that turned fans against the franchise and compounded every problem it had exponentially. I’m also completely baffled by how he struck out three times in two years. Did he just not do his due diligence before entering an agreement? Was he the victim of conmen? Or was he truly so desperate that he just chose to ignore all the red flags?

In later years, Daniels was able to not only reclaim his fortune, but also his reputation as a kindly, generous businessman. In 1980, he returned to Utah to repay more than 3,000 former season ticket holders the money they had lost plus interest. Daniels continued expanding his business empire, purchasing a chunk of the Los Angeles Lakers at one point and becoming an investor in the United States Football League. He seemed to have learned his lessons from his time in the ABA, as he managed to cash out on his USFL stock of over $8 million before that league collapsed. Daniels also wisely refrained from seeking public office for the rest of his life, which ended in 2000 at the age of 79.

The Daniels Fund has assets of over $1 billion and is still providing scholarships to kids in Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico. The Utah Stars 1971 ABA championship trophy still resides in their Denver office, far from the city that earned that title. Salt Lake City quietly removed the street signs for “Stars Avenue” and the championship eventually disappeared after the Utah Jazz felt silly honoring a team it had no connection to. But the Stars were never quite forgotten. And as we all know, professional basketball would return to Utah before too long.

Before Watchmen: The one-shot nobody asked for

The Before Watchmen project really started to unravel as it reached the end. The Rorschach, Comedian, and Dr. Manhattan series started missing their deadlines. The Crimson Corsair backup was abruptly canceled, as well as the planned Epilogue issue. This meant that DC not only needed something quick to hit the stands while waiting for the other issues to come out, but they also needed something to help even out the collected trades that would be released once this whole thing had ended. The solution DC came up for both these problems was to rush out a random one-shot. Why they chose Dollar Bill will forever remain a perplexing mystery.

Our main cover is by Steve Rude, pulling off a very convincing Alex Ross impersonation. In hindsight, it is kind of surprising that Ross wasn’t involved in Before Watchmen. Anyway, I really enjoy this cover. It has a lot of energy and color, perfectly capturing the over-the-top Golden Age optimism of superheroes, fueled with an unhealthy dose of corporate greed.

Darwyn Cooke did this variant cover, which is perfectly adequate. Kind of an obvious metaphor, but at least it was done competently.

To my surprise, Jim Lee decided to “grace” this one-shot with another variant cover of his own, making a complete round of all the Before Watchmen miniseries. This one is quite ridiculous (as most of them are). Dollar Bill’s arms are too big and his head is too small. And all the extra space above his head makes him look real short. He actually reminds me of that weird anti-drug Robin knockoff from the ‘80s. Look, I’m not saying I dislike Jim Lee. I’m just saying there’s a time and a place for his style. And Watchmen isn’t it.

I think one reason why DC chose Dollar Bill for this extra one-shot was because he had the simplest, most straightforward story for Len Wein to rapidly crank out with little thought or effort. Making Wein’s job even easier was how Cooke had already told us all anyone would ever want to know about Dollar Bill in the Minutemen series. So let’s take a quick look at what Wein decided to add.

William Brady was a legendary high school athlete, who received a scholarship to play baseball and football at Dartmouth. But a nasty knee injury in 1938 killed his dreams of having a professional career. Instead of going into coaching or broadcasting like any sensible former athlete would, William decided he wanted to be an actor. He tried to get on Broadway, but bombed his audition. However, a job listing in the classifieds caught his eye.

National Bank — led by four identical annoying businessmen, who were a cross between Woody Allen and the Three Stooges — decided to hire its own superhero. William was initially concerned that the costume would make him look gay, and he was worried about the safety hazards that cape would pose right from the beginning. But he was desperate enough to take the job. The National Bank PR team soon had Dollar Bill starring in promotional films and turned him into a real-life celebrity. The Bank then convinced William to try out for the Minutemen, believing it would add more legitimacy to this publicity stunt.

The Minutemen realized that Dollar Bill was more of a movie star than a superhero, but they decided to admit him anyway, believing his celebrity would help improve the team’s reputation. William soon found himself in the middle of the firework factory raid that Cooke created for his Minutemen series. Just like Nite Owl, Dollar Bill was initially impressed by the might of this coordinated team, but quickly dismayed to learn the whole thing had essentially been a hoax set up by Captain Metropolis. However, William joined Hollis Mason in keeping his mouth quiet as the Minutemen’s popularity began to soar.

Dollar Bill and the Minutemen did actually engage in a few real missions, however, including foiling a robbery at Dollar Bill’s own National Bank. Slowly but surely, William realized he was actually becoming the hero he had been pretending to be. But that wasn’t enough for William. He flew out to Hollywood, only to find out that all the studios could only see him as Dollar Bill and refused to cast him in anything. (Apparently he didn’t have a secret identity?)

So William kept working for National Bank and earned enough money to buy an upscale apartment. When Silhouette was killed, William was almost sad, but mostly comforted by the thought of God punishing her for her “deviant lifestyle.” Then came the day that William died. His bank was attacked once again by a group of armed robbers, who apparently didn’t believe that Dollar Bill was a real person, even though everybody in Hollywood and everywhere else knew full well about him. Anyway, Dollar Bill got off to a good start preventing this robbery until he became oddly distracted by one of the robbers, who looked a lot like the TCU player who had injured William during his football career.

We never find out if that man was actually the same player. The story keeps moving at its brisk pace, showing Dollar Bill’s cape getting caught in the revolving door and the other gunmen shooting him down. The Minutemen attended William’s funeral in full costume, giving the highest honor they could to their slain colleague. After the services, Mothman bemoaned the pointlessness of everything, saying in six months that nobody will even remember Dollar Bill. But Captain Metropolis laughed him off, pointing to a group of kids playing “Dollar Bill” in the streets.

Coming right after Ozymandias #5, I can’t help but wonder if Wein was intentionally mocking DC and this whole Before Watchmen enterprise. This was a story about a cash grab told inside a very large cash grab that had worn out its welcome by this point. And to put the spotlight on this incredibly obscure, joke of a character was downright ludicrous. Dollar Bill mostly lives in the supplemental material of Alan Moore’s Watchmen (which most people skip). Cooke wisely portrayed Dollar Bill as an unlikable character by making him homophobic. Wein followed suit perfectly — so much so that I can’t help but wonder if he wasn’t openly mocking DC with that ending. There never has, and never will be a group of children playing “Dollar Bill” in the streets. Mothman was right. Dollar Bill was instantly forgotten.