1974 Part Two: The end of the beginning

The extraordinary turmoil of 1974 began to push the ABA out of Utah. But in that very same year, unbeknownst to anyone at the time, the future of professional basketball in Utah was being born down in New Orleans. 

The valuable market was a highly coveted location for the ABA back in 1967, but they were unable to find any local buyers willing to invest. New Orleans had plenty of deep pockets at the time, but they were preoccupied with bringing professional football and baseball to the city. So out of desperation, the ABA agreed to a deal with seven investors — mostly from out of state — for the shockingly low entry price of $1,000. The ABA’s 10 other original teams each had to pay $30,000.

The New Orleans Buccaneers were actually a good basketball team that reached the first-ever ABA Finals (which they lost to the Pittsburgh Pipers). But the Buccaneers struggled financially, mainly because they really didn’t anywhere to play. They bounced around between the gyms at local colleges and various concert halls, before desperately exploring other options throughout the state of Louisiana. Ultimately, the team had to relocate to Memphis in 1970.

So why was the NBA so eager to swoop in just four years later? Well, for starters, the Oscar Robertson lawsuit was still ongoing, preventing any possibility of a merger with the ABA. (This didn’t stop the rumors from flying, though. In the spring of 1974, newspapers were reporting a proposed deal for the NBA to bring in most — but not all — of the ABA teams. The Utah Stars were notably left off that list, due to Bill Daniels’ inability to secure a stable buyer.) But the biggest reason the NBA was so gung-ho about New Orleans was the construction of the Louisiana Superdome — a massive structure designed to be versatile enough to accommodate football, baseball, and even basketball.

However, the NBA was also forced to turn to a group of out-of-state investors to fund this expansion team. Ultimately, nine men (mostly from California) agreed to pay more than $6 million for the franchise, which was approximately double the price Daniels had valued the Stars at. Fred Rosenfeld, the man in the middle of the photo at the top, was named the first president of the team. As a Southern California attorney, Rosenfeld had gained experience in the NBA by representing Laker stars Elgin Baylor and Gail Goodrich. But Rosenfeld was not the majority owner. That was another Southern California native, who was not pictured in the above photo.

Sam Battistone Jr. was the heir to a massive pancake restaurant that had locations in 47 states at its peak. Unfortunately, it had the racially insensitive name of Sambo’s. For those who don’t know, this is a reference to an old story that actually came from India, called Little Black Sambo. It’s about a boy who goes wandering through the jungle with his brand new clothes and umbrella. He encounters four hungry tigers and gives them his fancy clothes to dissuade them from eating him. The tigers then begin to argue about who looks better in their apparel and they chase each other until they … dissolve(?) into some of the base ingredients for pancakes. (Hey, it’s an old kids story!) Little Black Sambo then gets his clothes and umbrella back, and his mom cooks the tigers into pancakes.

At some point, when this story was brought to America, some illustrators decided that Little Black Sambo needed to be an African American and presented him in a stereotypical derogatory way. And it was that style of artwork that Sam Battistone Sr. used to decorate his pancake restaurants with. When the backlash to this racist depiction became insurmountable, Sam Sr. tried to argue that the word Sambo’s was merely a play on his own name. His reasonings didn’t work and his entire pancake empire eventually collapsed. This is something to keep in mind as we move forward in our story. But in 1974, Sambo’s was still going strong and Sam Jr. was quite wealthy.

Anyway, Battistone was initially pretty hands-off with his new investment, letting Rosenfeld call all the shots. And since Rosenfeld was a diehard Laker fan, he immediately began staffing the front office with as many former Lakers as possible — starting with the general manager.

Bill Bertka was a high school basketball star from Akron, Ohio, who played at Kent State after serving in the Army during World War II. After graduating college in 1951, he played for the Santa Maria Golden Dukes in the National Industrial Basketball League for two seasons while also coaching high school ball on the side. In 1954, he became the head coach of Santa Maria’s Hancock College, where he performed well enough to take over his alma mater. But he only stayed at Kent State for four years before returning to California in 1961.

While working as a community recreation director in Santa Barbara, Bertka developed a successful scouting program while also hosting his own radio show. At some point in time, he became friends with Rod Hundley (Jazz fans should know this name), who convinced the Lakers to officially hire Bertka as a scout in 1968 — something that was apparently unprecedented at the time. In 1971, Bill Sherman (remember him?) made Bertka an assistant coach. And that’s where he was when Rosenfeld offered him the general manager position for the brand new team in New Orleans. Bertka was so committed to this new venture, he even eventually purchased a small percentage of the team.

Scotty Robertson was one of the few Rosenfeld hires that didn’t have any connections to the Lakers. He was born in Arkansas, but moved to Shreveport, Louisiana, while in the sixth grade. Robertson became a star basketball and baseball player at his high school. After graduating from Louisiana Tech, he tried for a professional baseball career, but never could make the big leagues. So he turned to coaching high school basketball in 1952.

By 1963, Robertson had performed well enough to become an assistant at his alma mater and he quickly was promoted to Louisiana Tech’s head coaching position the next season. He guided the Bulldogs for 10 years, winning three conference championships and two coach of the year awards. So even though he didn’t have any previous experience at the professional level, he was a natural choice to be the first head coach of the NBA’s New Orleans team. On paper, at least, I think it’s a good idea to involve local talent whenever possible.

Elgin Baylor was by far the biggest name brought in by Rosenfeld, although he was given the lowly duty of assistant coach. Before Baylor became a Laker legend, he was a high school legend in Washington, D.C. But his poor grades prevented him from joining a major university. However, he happened to have a friend at the College of Idaho (how random can you get?), who bizarrely arranged for Baylor to join the school on a football scholarship. Baylor never played football in Idaho and was accepted onto the basketball team without trying out. Naturally he thrived in his first season there, but it ended up being his only season. The College of Idaho decided to fire their basketball coach and cut back on their scholarships, leaving Baylor out on his own.

However, a Seattle car dealer had learned how amazingly talented Baylor was and convinced him to join Seattle University. Baylor had to sit out a year due to the transfer, but he kept active by playing in the Amateur Athletic Union. The Minneapolis Lakers actually drafted Baylor in the 14th round in 1956, but he chose to honor his commitment to Seattle instead. Obviously, Baylor was overwhelmingly dominant in the NCAA and was drafted once again by the Lakers in 1958, this time with the No. 1 overall pick.

Baylor’s career with the Lakers was simply spectacular. Eleven All-Star appearances, 10 All-NBA First Team honors, and eight trips to the NBA Finals. Sadly, he never did earn that elusive championship ring, as a knee injury forced him to retire in 1971, right before Los Angeles claimed the 1971-72 title. Regardless, Baylor was and remains an all-time great, who was not only inducted into the Hall of Fame, but was a member of the NBA’s 35th, 50th, and 75th anniversary teams. In 1974, Baylor had expressed an interest to get into coaching, and his old pal Rosenfeld was more than happy to oblige.

Rodney Hundley had a rough childhood in West Virginia, moving from foster family to foster family, enduring abuse, neglect, and poverty. But as a 6-4 guard, he dazzled on the basketball court, earning the nickname “Hot Rod.” Despite receiving 100 scholarship offers, he chose to stay close to home, playing at West Virginia University and absolutely dominating. He drafted No. 1 overall in 1957 by the Cincinnati Royals, then immediately traded to the Lakers. 

Unfortunately, Hundley was a victim of his own success. He rarely trained and drank heavily, which caught up with him in the NBA. He did make two All-Star appearances, but he had to retire after just six seasons with bad knees. He immediately went into the broadcasting world, starting with the Phoenix Suns. After four years, he moved over to the Lakers, where he was mentored by legendary play-by-play man Chick Hearn. Hundley was a natural at broadcasting, and soon was calling games for CBS and NBC. Naturally, Rosenfeld had to have Hot Rod be the voice for his new team. The only question now was what to call this team.

There doesn’t appear to have been any desire to resurrect the Buccaneers name. The new owners held a name-that-team contest and received over 6,000 submissions. The runner-up choice was the Crescents, which I think would have absolutely stupid. The winner, though, was a name that I consider inspired.

And the logo was even more beautiful! Designer Jim Bohner artfully merged a basketball with a music note and used it as the letter J with some blocky, snazzy letters that match perfectly. And he wisely chose the Mardi Gras colors of purple, yellow, and green to create a brand identity that screamed New Orleans. I honestly think you’d be hard-pressed to find a sports logo that ties in better to its city than this one.

Naturally, the great logo brought some great uniforms along with it. Well … except for the road jerseys. For some strange reason, they decided to go with a purely traditional music note instead of the inspired basketball note. Maybe they did it because they thought the basketball would look weird if it wasn’t colored. But what they ended up with was something that was too thin to go along with the rest of the letters of the logo and it just didn’t look right. Luckily, they only used this jersey for one season. Much like how they only spent one season out of their intended home.

The Municipal Auditorium became the first official home of the New Orleans Jazz as the Louisiana Superdome wasn’t complete by 1974. Plans for the Superdome actually began at the end of 1966, but the project kept getting delayed and went way over budget. So the Jazz had to do with this multipurpose arena that was built in 1930 primarily for Mardi Gras balls. It could fit more than 7,000 people for basketball games, but I imagine it must have felt very dated and not terribly comfortable. It also was booked for so many other commitments that the Jazz couldn’t play all their home games there, being forced to follow the Buccaneers’ footsteps in visiting the local college arenas. And yes, one of those arenas apparently had to place a net around its raised court for the players’ safety. All in all, not the ideal situation for a brand-new NBA team.

And it wasn’t the ideal debut season for the Jazz, either. I’ll save my usual roster breakdown for next time because there are some fascinating stories there that I want to give justice to. But before I leave, I have a couple of more fun front office stories that happened before the calendar turned to 1975.

For whatever reason, Scotty Robertson got off to one of the worst starts in NBA history. In his first 15 games, he only won one game. And those 15 games turned out to be the only games he coached for the Jazz, as Fred Rosenfeld fired Robertson on November 17. Robertson took a few years off of coaching before becoming an assistant for Buffalo in 1977. He then spent the next 20 years bouncing around the NBA as an assistant coach, serving as a head coach briefly for Chicago and Detroit. He retired in 1998 and died of lung cancer in Ruston, Louisiana, at age 81 in 2011.

Elgin Baylor was named the interim head coach for the Jazz, but he only coached one game (which he lost). Baylor’s tenure was so incredibly brief because Rosenfeld already had the perfect former Laker waiting for him. (I wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually Rosenfeld’s original choice all along.)

Butch van Breda Kolff was born in New Jersey to a professional Dutch soccer player. Young Willem (sometimes called Bill, but almost always called Butch) attended Princeton University, where he played both soccer and basketball. After graduating in 1946, the 6-foot-3 guard signed with the New York Knicks, but had a relatively mediocre career and retired in 1950. He immediately dove into coaching, becoming the head coach of Pennsylvania’s Lafayette College in 1951. In 1955, he moved over to New York to take over Hofstra’s program. And in 1962, he experienced the same honor that Bill Bertka and Scotty Robertson had of coaching at his alma mater. Van Breda Kolff was so successful at Princeton that the Los Angeles Lakers hired him in 1967.

Led by Elgin Baylor, Jerry West, and Wilt Chamberlain, the Lakers reached the Finals in van Breda Kolff’s first NBA season. But they lost to the Celtics in six games. They returned to the Finals the next year, but lost in Game 7 by two points. Controversially, van Breda Kolff had refused to play Chamberlain for much of the fourth quarter, allegedly having told the all-time great that “we don’t need you.” Rather than suffer the embarrassment of being fired, van Breda Kolff decided to resign of his own volition.

Van Breda Kolff then took over the Detroit Pistons in 1969, but abruptly quit in 1971 because he was tired of being cursed at by the fans. In 1972, he was hired as head coach of the Phoenix Suns, but was fired after a mere seven games. In 1973, he moved over to the ABA to guide the Memphis Tams, and he managed to last a full season with them, but was fired after the franchise got new ownership and became the Sounds. That left van Breda Kolff completely free to join the New Orleans Jazz on November 18, 1974. 

Shockingly, on December 5, 1974, Fred Rosenfeld announced that he was stepping down as team president. He said that it was becoming too difficult for him to keep traveling back and forth between Louisiana and California, but the newspapers made it quite clear that he was being forced out for reckless spending. Another major factor was Rosenfeld’s controversial trade for Pete Maravich, which we will go into full detail next time. So the New Orleans Jazz went into 1975 with Sam Battistone Jr. firmly in charge.

Ironically, Rosenfeld actually ended up settling down in Baton Rogue, Louisiana. He got into hotels and restaurants and even had his own radio show before passing away in 2020 in Baton Rogue at the age of 86.

And that wraps up the incredibly monumental year of 1974. And 1975 looks like it’ll be a doozy, too, as we’ll have to untangle the messy collapse of the Utah Stars and take a look at who the New Orleans Jazz actually played in their inaugural season. Hope to see you there!

Before Watchmen: Is Ozymandias Alan Moore?

I don’t like the execution of this Jae Lee cover, but I really appreciate the concept of it. When Clark Kent rips open his shirt like this, he reveals his true, more powerful Superman self beneath. But when Ozymandias pulls off his costume, he reveals the much more powerful (and dangerous) Adrian Veidt. I think the message this image sends is perfectly fitting. I just wish someone other than Lee had drawn it.

I unfortunately find the variant cover by Jill Thompson rather off-putting. There’s something about this style that feels rather amateurish to me. Ozymandias appears slightly off model. And Bubastis isn’t even the right color. Was this a rush job? It’s a shame there isn’t any appealing art with this issue because I think Len Wein actually did something interesting here.

The issue begins with Adrian conceding that even though he’s the smartest man in the world, he’s not the most creative. He was convinced he had to do something dramatic to save the world, but he had absolutely no idea what to do. So he turned to the world of science fiction. Adrian assembled a massive collection of books, TV shows, and movies, which he spent several months consuming. But even after reading and watching everything he could get his hands on, he still lacked the inspiration he needed. So he went back through everything a second time. And then a third time.

Finally, something spoke to him. An episode of a 1960s show called The Outer Limits, which featured an elaborate plot to create a fake alien scare in order to unite the world divided by the Cold War. Adrian became obsessed with that episode, called The Architects of Fear, and watched it repeatedly for several days. Seeming to forget it was a work of fiction, he scrutinized every detail of the characters’ plans, determined to deduce why their plan had failed. Ultimately, Adrian decided they didn’t go big enough.

So he quickly built a biolab and tried to genetically create the most hideous creature he could imagine. He ended up with an adorable kitten of a tiger/lynx hybrid. Adrian fell in love with his new pet, which he named Bubastis. However, he was once again forced to confront the limitations of his imagination, so he launched an elaborate plan that began with the purchase of an isolated island and taking every precaution to conceal it from all available public records. And then spend several years constructing all the necessary infrastructure on said island.

Time passes and Adrian is horrified to learn that President Nixon has sent Dr. Manhattan to Vietnam. Adrian is even more bothered by Nixon changing the Constitution so he can serve a third term. So he takes this moment to publicly reveal his secret identity, making the same striking pose he did on the cover. But when the police went on strike, and Nite Owl teamed up with Comedian, Adrian chose to put his costume back on and go out and help. However, he doesn’t really do much. He injures a kid who spray-painted “Who Watches the Watchmen” on a wall, then he beats up a guy who was stealing a TV. We later learn that Adrian was just hoping that enough people would see him in costume to spread rumors that would boost the sales of his Ozymandias action figures.

At the time of the Keene Act passing, Adrian is frustrated that all his years of working with Dr. Manhattan has yet to reveal the secret of teleportation to him. But he does take some comfort in observing the technological progress the two of them have brought to America with electric cars and affordable blimps.

So I had an epiphany while reading this. What if Len Wein had been writing Adrian Veidt as if he were Alan Moore all along? A genius, to be sure, but also a cocky, overly wordy one who is easily distracted and not necessarily the most creative. Think about it: Moore’s most celebrated works weren’t exactly original creations. V for Vendetta was a modernization of the Guy Fawkes legend. The League of Extraordinary Gentleman was a conglomeration of famous literary characters freely available in the public domain. And his original plan for Watchmen was to involve the group of characters DC had recently acquired from Charlton Comics. DC wouldn’t let Moore work with Blue Beetle, Captain Atom, and the rest, so Moore just barely tweaked those characters and left everything else the same.

And then there’s the ending. Moore really did steal his climax from The Outer Limits, but he didn’t tell anybody until Wein (the editor of the original series) discovered the connection while issue #10 was in production. Wein demanded that Moore change it, but Moore refused, choosing instead to randomly throw in a line of dialogue from The Architects of Fear episode as a tribute. Of course, this decision would have major ramifications for the film adaptation of Watchmen, as DC desperately sought to avoid a lawsuit. But Moore didn’t care about that.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but it really feels like Wein was making fun of Moore here. “Oh, sure, you need to read every single sci-fi book known to man and watch every TV show three times over for ‘research’ … yeah, right!” I don’t know if that was Wein’s intention, but this reading certainly made this series a lot more enjoyable to me. So that’s what I’m going to go with.

1974 Part One: The beginning of the end

What does it mean for your team when the owner decides to run for governor? Well, in the case of the Utah Stars, it meant nothing but bad news. The year of 1974 was the beginning of the end for the ABA in Utah. But it also was the beginning of the NBA’s arrival to Utah.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that the Stars had to spend most of the 1972-73 season knowing they’d soon lose their head coach, Utah then spent much of the 1973-74 season with the knowledge that owner Bill Daniels would be selling the team. In January 1974, Daniels announced his candidacy for the Colorado governorship. He promised to hold on to the Stars until the season ended, and he vowed to do everything he could to keep the team in Utah. Unfortunately, it proved enormously difficult for him to find someone willing and able to purchase the club.

And then in February, the Stars were hit with a bombshell. Their top player, Zelmo Beaty, had filed a lawsuit for more than $1 million. This all began in October 1973, with Beaty holding out of training camp to try to get a better contract. The Stars responded by suing him, but he quickly agreed to pay a fine and return to the team in order to have that lawsuit dropped. But a few months later, Beaty decided to sue his team partly for that training camp fine, but mostly for failing to honor all the terms of the contract he had originally signed with Jim Kirst back with the Los Angeles Stars. For better or worse, Beaty agreed to continue playing for Utah while the lawyers battled it out in the courts.

So with all that looming over Utah’s head, the players tried to stay focused on winning basketball games and the front office of Vince Boryla and Arnie Ferrin tried to prepare for the draft. Everybody apparently hated the ridiculous format of four separate drafts in 1973, so the ABA wisely pared it down to a more standardized system. Of course, they still continued their practice of beating the NBA to the punch, holding the first two rounds of their draft in March, then the next seven rounds in April. Neither of Utah’s first two picks — Joe C. Meriweather and Len Kosmalski — joined the team, which sadly was all too commonplace in the ABA.

Between the second and third rounds of the draft, Daniels finally ended his months-long search for a buyer. Daniels had allegedly asked for $2.5 million for anybody willing to keep the team in Salt Lake City and $3 million for out-of-state offers. On April 1, Daniels announced that a Salt Lake-based corporation called West Am agreed to purchase the Stars. (Is it really wise to make such important announcements on April Fools’ Day?)

Keith Howick, president of West Am, promised to not only keep the Stars in Salt Lake, but also to keep the team’s front office in place. Although the purchase of the team (which was scheduled to be finalized on August 1) included Vince Boryla’s minority share, Howick hoped to keep Boryla on board as team president for at least two more seasons. Daniels perhaps felt a little strange selling the team to a company, but he acknowledged that the prices of professional sports teams had risen to the point where individuals couldn’t afford them by themselves. But could West Am actually afford the Stars? The company owned a small ski resort, a motorhome manufacturer, and various real estate properties throughout the state. Nowadays, it doesn’t seem like too big of a hurdle for such a corporation to come up with $2.5 million. But back then? Well, I consider it a bit of a red flag that West Am immediately began calling on the government’s help to enable them to sell off 80% of the team as public stock options. West Am claimed this was because they wanted to let local Utahns have a more direct ownership in the team. But I (with the benefit of hindsight) can only see this as an admission that West Am did not have the required capital.

Regardless, this was an exciting time for the Stars. And it may have been the allure of new owners that prompted Boryla and Ferrin to make a massive gamble in the third round of the draft.

Moses Malone was a high schooler from Virginia, who had been considered by many to be the next Wilt Chamberlain. He was also intrigued by the idea of becoming the first basketball player since the 1940s to completely skip college and go straight to a professional league. The NBA forbade this, but the ABA was willing to set a new precedent. And the Stars were willing to take that risk. Of course, this pick was incredibly polarizing at the time, with many people — including in the local media — criticizing the Stars for seeking to exploit a teenager.

Of course, there was no guarantee that Malone would actually join the Stars. That saga would take months to resolve. In the meantime, there was still plenty of basketball left to play! So let’s take a look at the five most interesting players this season.

Zelmo Beaty’s legendary career had finally begun to approach its end. Although the 34-year-old managed to appear in 77 games, he only put up 13.4 points and 8.0 rebounds per game. And he missed the All-Star Game for the first time in his ABA career. But he was still regarded as the leader of the team and many envisioned him as the ideal mentor to young Moses Malone (should he choose to join the Stars).

Willie Wise once again was Utah’s best player, putting up 22.3 points, 7.6 rebounds, and 1.4 steals per game. He made his third straight All-Star Game and was on the All-Defensive First Team for the second year in a row.

James Jones also had another strong season with 16.8 points, 5.2 assists, and 1.9 steals per game, along with an ABA-high .884 free throw percentage. He made his second-straight All-Star appearance, which was his sixth overall.

Ron Boone continued to thrive in his starting role, averaging 17.6 points, 5.2 rebounds, 5.0 assists, and 1.5 steals per game. He also was named an All-Star for the second time of his career, his first time as a member of the Utah Stars.

Gerald Govan was acquired by the Stars in 1972, when Utah sent former Ute Merv Jackson to Memphis. Govan was a 6-10 center from Jersey City, who played college ball at St. Mary of the Plains in Kansas. He was drafted by the St. Louis Hawks in the 11th round in 1964, but he didn’t make the team. So he went to Italy until he signed with the New Orleans Buccaneers in 1967. In 1969, he made his first and only All-Star appearance. His numbers dipped by the time he reached Utah — just 7.0 points and 8.8 rebounds per game in 1973-74 — but he was a reliable player who helped ease the pressure off the oft-injured Beaty.

New coach John Mullaney kept the Stars on their winning ways, finishing with a 51-33 record to win the Western Division for the third-straight year. Utah needed six games to eliminate San Diego in the first round, before facing off against Indiana for the fifth consecutive season. Once again, the Western Division Finals went a full seven games. Fortunately, Game 7 was played in the Salt Palace. Unfortunately, Zelmo Beaty was unable to play.

However, James Jones stepped up big time with 29 points, nine assists, seven rebounds, and two steals as Utah cruised to a shocking 109-87 victory. This put the Stars back in the Finals for the third time in franchise history, this time pitting them against superstar Julius Erving and the New York Nets. Utah dropped the first two games in New York before returning to Salt Lake for Game 3. Despite Jones’ 28 points and Beaty’s 22 points with 16 rebounds, the Stars lost by three points in overtime. (Willie Wise’s 7-for-20 shooting performance certainly didn’t help matters.)

The Stars did avoid a sweep, thanks to Jones’ 24 points and Gerald Govan’s monster 23 rebounds in Game 4. But the Nets claimed the title with a 111-100 win in Game 5. Sadly, Zelmo Beaty (who apparently had the flu) only had four points and zero rebounds in what turned out to be his final game for the Utah Stars. It also ended up being the final game for Willie Wise and James Jones in Utah uniforms, though they both performed much better. Wise had 34 points and Jones scored 20. Whether anyone involved knew it at the time, it was the end of an era.

Just 11 days after losing the championship to the Nets, Bill Daniels was forced to make an unhappy announcement. The proposed deal with West Am Corporation had fallen through. Daniels refused to go into much detail of why the agreement was canceled or what happened to the down payment West Am had given him of more than $50,000 and 350 acres near Heber City. From what I can tell, it seems the biggest sticking point was West Am’s inability to guarantee a full sale of 80% of the team through stocks by September 1.

In a tense press conference, Daniels vowed to sell the Stars by August 1, saying that date would give the new owners time to relocate the franchise in time for the 1974-75 season, if necessary. Although he prioritized keeping the Stars in Salt Lake, Daniels did raise his asking price from $2.5 million to $2.8 million to offset the losses he had sustained since April. The sad fact was that the Stars were bleeding money. Despite being one of the winningest teams in the ABA, attendance at the Salt Palace had been in a steady decline since their 1971 championship. And nobody really knew why. Even the league’s biggest star, Dr. J, couldn’t sell out a Finals game in Salt Lake. Was it because the Stars didn’t have any local talent on the roster by this point? Was it because basketball fans had come to regard the ABA as an inferior product to the NBA? Was it because Ron Boone was so boring to watch?

Vince Boryla went on the offensive during the May 21 press conference. He placed all the blame on the media for driving fans away. He claimed the Stars only received negative attention from the papers — even after they reached the Finals. Daniels hastily distanced himself from Boryla’s remarks, and he put out another concrete number that would serve to guide the next potential buyer. He set the Stars’ break-even point at 5,000 season tickets, but in 1974, they had less than 3,500.

Enter financial consultant James A. Collier. He launched an ambitious “Save Our Stars” campaign to drive up season ticket sales. By July 24, the Stars had reached 5,000, but their goal was actually 7,000. Both he and the local government didn’t just want the Stars to break even — they wanted the team to actually be profitable. They worked out a complicated deal involving escrows and stock options and tax rates that went way above my head. But from what I can tell, that 7,000 goal was never met. But that didn’t stop Collier from trying to purchase the Stars. He spent all summer quietly negotiating with his team of 20 investors. That number soon dropped by half, then finally six by the time August rolled around. Which then set up a rather unusual press conference.

Without ever actually saying that he had purchased the Utah Stars, Collier indirectly implied that he and his five fellow investors were now in control of the franchise. If you think that sounds fishy, you’re not alone. One of the first people to jump ship at this news was head coach Joe Mullaney. In his lone season with the Stars, he not only took them to the Finals, but he was named co-Coach of the Year. But even though he had two years left on his contract, he decided he didn’t want to risk missing any paychecks (as so many people involved in the ABA did). So Mullaney went to Memphis, then St. Louis, before returning briefly to the NBA with Buffalo. But he was out of the big leagues by 1978, finding work in Italy, at Brown, and then finally back to Providence, where he retired in 1985. He eventually passed away in Providence, Rhode Island, in 2000 at the age of 75.

It was pretty much an open secret that Mullaney was headed out the door by the time Collier and associates held their odd press conference. So Collier came prepared, using the opportunity to announce the hiring of former Ute Bucky Buckwalter as director of player personnel. Although Collier didn’t explicitly say it, everybody naturally assumed that Buckwalter would also be named the head coach. Of course, the Stars did officially make an offer to Zelmo Beaty, who was still interested in becoming a player/coach. But he was insulted by their offer of $25,000 when the average salary for ABA coaches was $50,000.

Morris “Bucky” Buckwalter was born and raised in Oregon, but played for the University of Utah, leading them to the NCAA Tournament quarterfinals in 1956, only to lose to Bill Russell and the San Francisco Dons. Buckwalter wasn’t good enough to go pro, so he got involved in coaching, joining the Ute staff as an assistant in 1959. He served under the legendary Jack Gardner until 1967, when he got his first head coaching job at Seattle University. He stayed there until becoming an assistant for the NBA’s Seattle SuperSonics in 1972. In 1973, he was named the interim head coach to replace Tom Nissalke (remember that name). 

After a 13-24 record, Seattle wasn’t too interested in keeping Buckwalter, but the Utah Stars were happy to have him for two reasons. One, he was a connection to Utah — something the Stars hadn’t had since LaDell Andersen left. And two, he promised to play an up-tempo game. Even though Joe Mullaney’s slowed-down isolation offense worked well with Utah’s aging roster, the fans hated him for it. Apparently reaching the Finals didn’t matter if it wasn’t fun to watch. In any case, no one was too sad to see Mullaney leave.

And it seems like very few people lamented Vince Boryla’s departure, either. His shares in the team had (allegedly) been purchased by Collier and associates, and Collier himself had claimed Boryla’s position as team president. Boryla had been an effective general manager, making big, bold moves that helped the Stars win the 1971 title and remain a contender for the following three years. But he had also been a brash, contentious figure, constantly complaining about the media and the ABA’s ineffectual commissioners. 

I don’t think his criticisms of the sports reporters was warranted, but I do empathize with his complaints about the ABA. I find it completely outrageous that the league allowed another team to essentially steal Utah’s No. 1 draft pick. I also have a bit of sympathy for Boryla being forced to make all the hard decisions for the franchise. While Daniels seemed to do little more than write checks from Colorado, Boryla was the one dealing with Utah’s constantly rotating coaching carousel and the increasing cost of the players’ contracts. Yeah, Daniels did have deep pockets, but it became harder to justify his spending when the team kept losing more money each year.

Boryla kept busy by becoming the agent for his quarterback son, Mike, who was drafted in fourth round in 1974 by Cincinnati. Mike Boryla was a Pro Bowler in 1975, but a knee injury ended his career in 1978. Vince Boryla returned to the NBA as the general manager of the Denver Nuggets. In 1985, he was named Executive of the Year. In 2016, he died in Denver at the age of 89.

With Boryla and Mullaney out of the picture, that left Arnie Ferrin, James Collier, and Bucky Buckwalter to try to convince Moses Malone to sign with the Stars. Shortly after announcing his “takeover” of the team, Collier led the way of wooing the 19-year-old phenom. Wisely, Zelmo Beaty was not involved in these efforts. I imagine his frustrations with the Stars would have turned Malone away faster than Robert Parish. But convincing Malone to join still took an enormous amount of work, mainly because he had already signed a letter of intent with the University of Maryland. For one wild week in August, Malone dominated the headlines, seemingly changing his mind back and forth each day. And the amount of money Utah was offering him also varied widely. But finally, the intense negotiations paid off for the Stars’ new management. Partly because Malone was worried the NCAA would punish him for receiving money from college recruiters.

After initially seeking a 15-year contract worth over $3 million, the Stars signed Malone to a five-year deal worth approximately $1 million. The team was notoriously cagey about revealing any financial details, especially at this time, when Collier wouldn’t even explicitly say whether he purchased the team. Regardless, it was an enormous amount of money for a team with cash flow problems to dedicate toward one player. This deal reminds me eerily of the Los Angeles Stars signing Zelmo Beaty. It was the right move for the team, but the wrong move for the franchise.

This was supposed to be an exciting moment for the Stars. They had returned to the Finals, secured a new owner who would keep the team in Utah, and they added one of the nation’s top prospects. But everything continued to crumble down around the franchise. And for Bill Daniels, too. Despite pouring approximately $300,000 of his own funds into his political campaign, Daniels lost in September’s Republican primary to incumbent John Vanderhoof, who went on to lose to Democrat Richard Lamm in the general election. Perhaps he was distracted by endless negotiations of the sale of the Stars, or his still on-going lawsuit against his first coach, Bill Sharman.

The bad news continued when general manager Arnie Ferrin resigned just one week after Daniels’ gubernatorial defeat. Ferrin took a position in the University of Utah’s athletic department, but he made it clear that he was worried about the financial stability of the Stars and the ABA as a whole. He admitted that he (and perhaps others in Utah’s front office) had really been counting on the long-promised merger with the NBA. But that Oscar Robertson lawsuit still hadn’t been resolved, putting the future of the ABA in serious jeopardy. Ferrin quickly was promoted to athletic director for the Utes and held that position until 1985. In 2022, he died at age 97.

Just three days after Ferrin announced his resignation, the Stars released Zelmo Beaty, while Willie Wise and Jimmy Jones announced their intentions to hold out of training camp. Talk about everything happening at once! Of course, each of these decisions had slowly been building all summer long, so let’s break them down one at a time.

Despite Beaty’s frustration with the Stars, he insisted that he wanted to retire in Utah. He had received an offer from the Lakers in August, but decided to give the Stars a month to try to match it. In explaining how the negotiations broke down, Beaty casually dropped what I consider a huge bombshell: “I don’t think the fans are aware of the fact that Bill Daniels still owns the Utah Stars.” That’s right. Everyone had spent all summer referring to Collier as the owner, and Daniels and Collier played along with it, even though they both knew full well it wasn’t true.

This was particularly troubling for Beaty, who seemed like he had been hoping for a fresh start with Collier. Beaty realized he would never be able to get a fair deal from Daniels after he had sued his employer in February. So Utah decided to cut their losses with Beaty and allow him to reunite with Bill Sharman in Los Angeles. Beaty didn’t play particularly well in his lone season as a Laker and retired in 1975. He then finally fulfilled his dream of becoming a coach, by taking over the Virginia Squires. But he only put up a 9-33 record in that hectic final season of the ABA. 

Beaty never held another coaching job after that. And it seems like he largely disengaged from basketball, apart from a couple of brief gigs with the Utah Jazz broadcasting team. In 2013, he died of cancer at age 73. Three years later, he was posthumously enshrined into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame. His wife of 50 years, Ann, delivered an extremely brief prerecorded speech. She and her two children were then officially welcomed into the Hall of Fame by Lenny Wilkens, who had played with Zelmo on the St. Louis Hawks.

In an October press conference, Daniels sheepishly apologized for pretending he had sold the team. He also admitted that Collier had only sold 5,600 season tickets — well short of the promised 7,000. Even worse, many of the people who had purchased tickets had backed out. But Daniels remained adamant that Collier would still become the owner of the franchise by the end of October — they just needed to finalize the details, which apparently included a massive drop in price to $1.8 million. Unfortunately, Daniels chose to use Jones and Wise as scapegoats, arguing that the holdouts were preventing the sale.

While Beaty’s departure hurt, it wasn’t terribly surprising. Nor was Jimmy Jones’. Back in June, after his contract expired, Jones made it quite clear that he would leave unless he got a pay raise. Jones asked for a four-year deal worth $250,000. He said that Utah had offered him only $80,000, while Collier claimed the deal was for $150,000. In any case, Jones made the argument that because the new offer was more than 10% less than his current salary, he was now legally a free agent. This was another case where Utah’s secrecy with financials came back to hurt them.

In October, Jones signed with the NBA team that had originally drafted him back in 1967, the Washington Bullets. The Stars tried to prevent this with a legal injunction (not that they didn’t have enough lawsuits on their hands), but were ultimately unsuccessful. Unfortunately, Jones’ NBA career turned out to be a dud. He tore the ligaments in his knee in 1975 and had to retire in 1976. Sadly, he was recently seen working as an 81-year-old Uber driver in Las Vegas.

While the Stars had all summer to deal with Beaty and Jones, Willie Wise’s trade request caught them completely off guard. And they did not take it well. In addition to fining him $300 a day, Daniels refused to trade Wise or even sell his contract — even though he publicly admitted that seven other teams had made serious offers for the valuable two-way forward. Wise could have ended the standoff at any time by simply rejoining the Stars, but he was just as stubborn as Daniels, saying he’d rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable.

And why was Wise so miserable? He had learned that Vince Boryla (and/or Wise’s agent) had secretly altered his contract, which had included a substantial amount of money to be deferred until 1975. But without Wise’s consent, that deferment had been pushed back to 1979. With the turmoil of Daniels struggling to sell the Stars to Collier, Wise rightly worried that his contract would never be paid in full. He was also quite distressed with how the team treated Beaty and Jones. After spending years propping Beaty up as the face of the franchise and Jones as the best guard in the league, Utah was loath to pay them what they were worth and quick to demonize them as disloyal and selfish. 

Wise aptly put it thusly: “They say they are tired of players who don’t live up to their contracts, but why can’t we get tired of them making promises and not living up to them or fulfilling clauses in specific times? Or doing things underhanded that we’re not aware of? We have no recourse? We have to take it and the abuse dished out in the papers?”

Can you believe that Zelmo Beaty was named president of the players union ahead of this guy? Seriously, every interview I’ve watched or read from Willie Wise has blown me away with how articulate and thoughtful he was. Anyway, Wise’s contract was eventually sold to Virginia, but not until January 30, 1975. Wise spent two seasons with the Squires, which meant that he was coached by Beaty, but only for a little bit. Beaty wasn’t hired until January 26, 1976, and Wise went down with a season-ending injury on February 24. After the ABA collapsed, Wise signed with the Denver Nuggets, but was limited to a reserve role. The next year, he joined the Seattle SuperSonics, but only appeared in two games before another injury forced his retirement. Today, Wise is working with Jimmy Jones to advocate for higher pensions of former ABA players.

So, to recap, in one year, Bill Daniels …

• Spent months negotiating a sale of the Utah Stars to West Am Corporation, which ultimately fell through

• Spent even more months negotiating a sale to James A. Collier and his associates, which never fully materialized

• Spent a sizable chunk of his personal fortune on a failed run for governor of Colorado

• Spent quite a bit of time and money in court, battling lawsuits against his former coach and two of his players

• Lost his current coach, team president, and general manager

• Lost the three best players of his team

But he did gain Moses Malone … a transaction that only cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars that he didn’t really have. As October turned into November and then December, Daniels was forced to finally admit that Collier would never be able to purchase the Stars. Daniels promised to keep the team in Salt Lake through the 1974-75 season, but beyond that was anyone’s guess. For the first time all year, he actually publicly began musing about moving the team to Cincinnati, Toronto, or even back to Los Angeles and Anaheim. He also expressed interest in owning the Denver Nuggets, since their owner lived in San Diego and would have rather owned the Conquistadors. The only thing snagging up this potential trade of franchises was Daniels’ inability to sell the Stars.

So, things were looking pretty grim at the end of 1974. But I’ll leave on a high note. One good thing brought about by James Collier was the introduction of fresh new jerseys.

Collier replaced that obnoxious giant star in the middle of the jersey with a fun, dramatic swoop, reminiscent of the controversial Atlanta Hawks jerseys of the day. Obviously these new uniforms weren’t enough to save the Stars, but they were a welcome change of pace.

I had originally planned on adding the formation of the New Orleans Jazz to this post, but I decided it was already long enough. (There was just so much drama this year!) So next time, we’ll explore the origin of the franchise that eventually became Utah’s preeminent professional basketball team.

Before Watchmen: A little coordination would have helped

At last, we come to the end of Darwyn Cooke’s amazing Minutemen series, which has by far been the most consistent and engaging product of the cash-grab bonanza from DC. Cooke concludes his miniseries with a haunting image of the Hooded Justice, who was by far the most mysterious and enigmatic character in Alan Moore’s Watchmen. The Hooded Justice presented the most world-building, story-writing opportunities, as he’s essentially a blank slate. But Cooke resisted that temptation so strongly, he even refused to give us a clear look at him on his cover. Of course, as the story will soon reveal, this may not even be the real Hooded Justice …

The variant cover by Becky Cloonan is underwhelmingly mediocre. It’s your basic collage of the Minutemen, with Hooded Justice looming large over everyone. But there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the staging of these characters or the expressions on their faces. Some are happy, some are stern, and I have no idea why.

Last issue ended with the cliffhanger of Nite Owl being knocked out by the Hooded Justice while trying to rescue a young boy. This issue jumped ahead so abruptly, I thought I had missed something. Nite Owl is being given a key to the city at an event attended by Marilyn Monroe, Joe DiMaggio, and many of the people who had been rescued by Nite Owl, including the boy who had been kidnapped by Hooded Justice. However, even though Nite Owl had saved the boy, he had failed to catch Hooded Justice.

After the ceremony, Nite Owl teamed up with Mothman one last time to try to find Hooded Justice. First they visit Nelson Gardner, who admits he hasn’t seen Hooded Justice in years. But as the three talk, they simultaneously realize that Hooded Justice’s most likely hiding place is their old headquarters. So Nite Owl and Mothman storm the tower and, sure enough, Hooded Justice is there waiting for them. He greets his visitors by throwing a large box at them, which severely injures Mothman. Hooded Justice then threatens to kill both of them if they don’t leave. Instead, Nite Owl attacks, brutally murdering his former teammate. Hollis Mason later wrote that he wishes he could say it was an accident, or that his rage had blinded him, but he knew full well what he was doing the whole time.

Nelson arrived shortly after Hooded Justice’s death and he screeched at Hollis to not touch or unmask Hooded Justice. But Hollis didn’t care about that. He helped the injured Byron Lewis limp away, while Nelson burned down the entire tower to bury his former lover. Believing he had avenged the deaths of countless innocent boys over the past few decades, Hollis slept like a baby that night.

The years passed, and Hollis gradually realized it was time for him to retire. In one of his last moments of lucidity, Byron purchased him the car shop he would end up operating for the rest of his life. As Hollis got closer to publishing his book, he was suddenly visited by the Comedian. Eddie Blake warns Hollis not to print the book, but Hollis stubbornly insists it only contains the truth. So Eddie decides to reveal the real story about the Hooded Justice.

When Hooded Justice refused to testify before Congress, J. Edgar Hoover ordered the Comedian to track him down. So Eddie decided to start by following Hollis, which led him to the Silhouette’s apartment. Eddie combed through all the material Ursula Zandt had collected on the case of the disappearing boys. Ursula had identified a circus strongman and former Nazi as the key suspect, who Eddie naturally supposed to also be the Hooded Justice. With some help from the FBI, Eddie found the strongman and killed him. Although he immediately realized that this man was too old to be Hooded Justice. However, he did give him an idea of how to attract the attention of Nite Owl.

Eddie disguised himself as Hooded Justice when he abducted the boy. Eddie bound and gagged the child, but otherwise didn’t harm him, simply using him as bait for Nite Owl. Eddie made sure that Hollis got a good glimpse of his Hooded Justice costume before he knocked him out and ran away. Eddie’s plan worked, as this encounter provided Hollis with the motivation to finally track down the Hooded Justice. Although Eddie admits he never expected Hollis to kill the man.

Eddie then left the stunned Hollis with another threat to not publish his book. Hollis ultimately decided to print it anyway, with major exception. He cut out the part about him killing the wrong man and all the controversial bits that J. Edgar Hoover wouldn’t have approved of — I’m assuming the attack on the Statue of Liberty, the firework warehouse, much of the stuff with Silhouette and Silk Spectre, etc. (basically all the new stuff that Cooke added). Hollis did, however, choose to keep the part of Eddie’s attempted rape, sort of like one final middle finger to the man. The rest of the pages were burned, with Hollis choosing to burden himself with the truth of Hooded Justice to his grave.

That was a pretty neat twist at the end. But what, exactly, was the point? Beyond, of course, making Hollis Mason more of a hypocrite with deeper dark secrets (which I fully support). I’m mostly asking about Hooded Justice. Because Cooke didn’t dare to delve into any specifics of Hooded Justice’s identity and backstory, all of his actions came across as irrational and rather random. I mean, I can understand refusing to testify before the House of Un-American Activities Committee. But why did he keep wearing his costume in complete solitude at the abandoned Minutemen headquarters? And why did he want to kill Nite Owl and Mothman? I suppose there comes a point where you can keep a character so shrouded in mystery that they can’t even be considered a character at all.

All in all, I loved Cooke’s Minutemen series. I believe DC should have given him 12 issues to fully encapsulate all their Before Watchmen ideas. That way, we would have had a punchier story with clean, exceptional art. And we would have had more consistency. Reading this issue immediately after Nite Owl #4 really makes me wonder what was the difference between the papers locked in Hollis’ safe and the papers that he burned. I suppose they could tell the same story, but it doesn’t make much sense for Hollis to dramatically burn the pages and then retype them all up and show them to his protege. I think a little bit of coordination between these two titles would have gone a long way. Same thing with the Ozymandias series, which also briefly explored the disappearance of Hooded Justice (before the book got bored). In hindsight, it seems kind of obvious that everyone should have begun their search at the Minutemen tower — and that includes the Comedian, the FBI, Nelson, Nite Owl, and the world’s smartest man, Ozymandias. Do you really expect me to believe that not a single one of those people thought to investigate literally the only place in the world that the Hooded Justice was known to stay at?

Oh well. This was still a good six-issue run from one of the greatest comic book creators of his time. He did his best with the source material, but I still kind of think that he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. According to legend, DC had asked Alan Moore to write a 12-issue prequel to Watchmen and he had actually agreed to do it … only if DC gave him the rights to Watchmen. I don’t know how much of that is true, but I do know that DC ended up creating a bloated, mostly unsatisfying prequel project that I still haven’t finished.

1973: All-Stars on Stars Avenue

On Feb. 6, 1973, Salt Lake City hosted the ABA’s 6th Annual All-Star Game. But before I can get to that, I have to talk about the 1973 ABA Draft, which was more complicated than ever before!

This year, the ABA decided to hold four separate drafts spread out from January to May — a Special Circumstances Draft, a Senior Draft, an Undergraduate Draft, and a Supplemental Draft. I suspect the ABA may have created this Special Circumstances Draft to avoid missing out on the next Julius Erving, who wasn’t drafted by the ABA because the league didn’t know he wanted to leave college early. Regardless, the ABA selected a pool of players they believed needed to be picked in January and couldn’t wait till the main draft. Some of these players were seniors, some were underclassmen. I don’t know why. The ABA was quite weird. Anyway, the Stars had the eighth pick in this draft, and while they foolishly passed on George Gervin, they did actually pick a future Hall of Famer.

Robert Parish was a 7-1 center from Shreveport, Louisiana. When he enrolled at Centenary College in 1972, he was one of several players who submitted an ACT score instead of an SAT score. The NCAA accused Centenary of using an illegal test score conversion formula to land the star freshman and they placed the college on probation for six years — barring them from postseason play and refusing to acknowledge their records or statistics during that time.

Naturally, the ABA and the Utah Stars felt that Parish would not want to continue playing college ball under such harsh restrictions. But, as was always the case in the ABA, drafting the player was only half the battle. To convince Parish to sign with the Stars, general manager Arnie Ferrin flew to Parish’s home with Utah’s best player, Zelmo Beaty. This was Ferrin’s first big test and … he blew it. From the way Parish told the story, it almost sounds like Beaty actually discouraged Parish from joining the ABA. I wonder if Beaty was secretly seeking to sabotage the Stars at this point. You see, by the time he and Ferrin made this trip out to Louisiana in May, Beaty had been denied the chance to become a player-coach for the Stars (more on that later) and he was having issues with his contract (more on that much later).

Anyway, Parish felt that Centenary did nothing wrong and he chose to stay with them for all four years and appeal the NCAA’s decision. The court ruled against the small college, but that didn’t prevent Parish from becoming a top NBA prospect. He eventually put together a remarkable career that included nine All-Star appearances, four championships, and a new record for most games played (LeBron James has since passed him).

Now it’s time to put that heartbreaking draft behind us and focus on the fun part of 1973 — the All-Star Game! The ABA hadn’t invented the dunk contest or anything like that yet, so the All-Star “weekend” only consisted of a Bill Cosby appearance the night before the game. The game itself was naturally held in the Salt Palace. LaDell Andersen coached the West, which had three Utah players on its roster: Zelmo Beaty, Willie Wise, and James Jones. (He’s listed pretty much everywhere these days as Jimmy Jones, but the newspapers I read from 1973 called him James.)

Andersen did everything he could to let his players shine, giving Wise and Jones the most minutes on the team. (Beaty was already beginning to succumb to his old age and only played 15 minutes.) Wise arguably had the best game on the West’s winning squad, putting up a game-high 26 points and six rebounds. Shockingly, he was not chosen as the game’s MVP. That honor instead went to Denver’s Warren Jabali, who had 16 points and seven assists. The sold-out Salt Palace booed as Jabali was named the winner of a free trip to Europe instead of Wise. Ironically, Jabali didn’t even want to go to Europe, saying he much rather would have preferred a cash prize.

Even though Wise got robbed of the game MVP, the All-Star Game was still a special moment for Salt Lake City. Now let’s take a quick look at the five most interesting players for Utah this season.

Zelmo Beaty did make his third-straight ABA All-Star team and he only missed two games in the regular season. But his bad knees had begun to catch up to him. His production level had dipped down to 16.4 points and 9.8 rebounds per game. And for the first time since joining the ABA, Beaty did not receive any MVP votes. Luckily, the Stars had someone else ready to pick up the slack.

Willie Wise had a career year with 22.0 points and 8.2 rebounds per game. Not only was he an All-Star, but he also earned a spot on the ABA All-Defensive First Team and received an MVP vote for the first time since his rookie season. Wise stepped up even more in the playoffs, raising his scoring to 25.0 ppg.

James Jones made the All-Star Game for the first time as a member of the Utah Stars, but it was his fifth All-Star appearance overall. He put up 16.7 points and 5.6 assists per game, but saw his numbers dip slightly in the playoffs.

Glen Combs led the ABA in 3-point percentage for the second-straight season, making 38.1% of his long-distance shots. Unfortunately, he suffered a career-altering injury that limited him to 50 games. He finished the regular season with a 13.2 ppg average, but he was a shell of his former self by the time the playoffs began. Combs could only play 6.7 minutes per game in the postseason, averaging a dismal 2.7 ppg. Utah would trade him away partly through the 1973-74 season and he retired in 1975.

Ron Boone was the greatest beneficiary of Combs’ injury. He put. Up 18.5 points and 5.1 rebounds per games and even received a vote for MVP (for the first and only time of his career). Unfortunately, Utah really needed Boone to also step up in the playoffs, but his scoring dipped to 16.9 ppg.

The Stars went 55-29, claiming their second-consecutive Western Division title. After sweeping the San Diego Conquistadors in the first round, Utah faced the Indiana Pacers in the Western Division Finals for the third-straight year. This time, the Pacers won in six games. Perhaps the most painful loss was Game 5 in Salt Lake City. Willie Wise scored 34 points, but Zelmo Beaty only had nine, and the Stars lost 104-102. Indiana then cruised to a decisive 107-98 win in Game 6, as Wise was held to just 17 points. Former Star Donnie Freeman came up big for the Pacers, filling in nicely for the aging Roger Brown.

Oddly, Stars coach LaDell Andersen seemed almost relieved by the loss, simply saying, “Now we don’t have to try to win on Saturday.” You see, he had spent most of this season knowing it would be his last. In January, Utah State had offered him their Athletics Director job, and he agreed to take it as soon as the Stars season ended. Andersen admitted that he had always wanted to be Utah State’s AD, but he had originally planned on staying with the Stars for five years. He went out of his way to praise the team’s front office, and conceded that he liked “most of the players.” Which, to me, means that he didn’t quite like all the players. I know it was quite common in this era for college coaches to struggle with professional players’ desire to make money and maximize their earnings. I’m not certain if that was Andersen’s problem with the ABA, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it played a factor in his early departure.

While Andersen appeared to be at peace with his decision, he created a cloud of uncertainty that hung over the Stars for most of the season. And it took Vince Boryla and Arnie Ferrin quite a long time to find a new head coach, which is rather odd, considering how they literally had people begging for the job. Zelmo Beaty, entering the final years of his career, asked to be the player-coach. Tom Nissalke, who had recently been fired from Seattle after he foolishly traded away Lenny Wilkens, also asked for the Utah. But Boryla turned them both down. A full eight months passed from Andersen’s announcement before Boryla’s ideal candidate fell into his lap.

Joe Mullaney was a 6-0 guard from New York, who helped Bob Cousy and Holy Cross win the 1947 NCAA Championship. He was drafted in the third round by the Boston Celtics in 1949, but he only played 37 games for them. After working with the FBI for a while, Mullaney got into coaching at Norwich University in 1954. The next season, he joined Providence College, where he thrived, winning two NIT Championships. In 1969, he took the leap to the professional world, taking over none other than the Los Angeles Lakers. In his first season, he guided Los Angeles to the NBA Finals, only to lose to New York in seven games. After failing to return to the Finals the next season, the Lakers fired Mullaney in 1971 and replaced him with Utah’s Bill Sharman.

Ironically, Vince Boryla initially wanted Mullaney to replace Sharman, which would have basically ended up as a funny inter-league coaching swap. But as Utah’s lawsuit against Sharman drug out, Mullaney chose instead to coach the Kentucky Colonels. He took the Colonels to the 1973 ABA Finals, but lost to Indiana in seven games. He probably would have stayed in Kentucky had the franchise not gained a new owner, who clashed with Mullaney and threatened to move the team to Cincinnati. Mullaney strongly considered returning to Providence, but Boryla quickly swooped in and convinced him to lead one of the ABA’s best teams.

Could this new coach help the Stars continue their winning ways despite their aging and disgruntled captain, their injured sharpshooter, and their continued streak of bad luck in the draft? We’ll find out next time.

Before Watchmen: The show must go on?

Andy Kubert’s final cover for Nite Owl confirms that this really was a Rorschach story all along. Here he is, front and center, taking up most of the cover, leaving Nite Owl a mere afterthought. Yeah, he’s on fire, but is anyone really worried? We all know Rorschach will be perfectly fine by the time the main Watchmen series begins. That’s the problem with prequels. It’s really hard to create tension.

Our lackluster variant cover is by Ethan Van Sciver, who also chose to minimize Nite Owl’s presence on the finale of his own series. I’m not fond of this art, and I’m less fond of this artist. So I’ll just move on to my review.

The Nite Owl series was delayed by the sudden passing of 85-year-old comics legend Joe Kubert. Of course, he was just the inker over his son’s pencils, so this issue was virtually indistinguishable from the previous three. I suspect the delay was mostly to allow Andy time to grieve, which was completely understandable. To fill in the gap in production time, DC hastily cobbled together two Moloch issues … with mixed results. So was this issue worth the prolonged wait?

The first half of the issue details Rorschach nearly being burned alive by the crazed reverend. A little bit of lip service is paid to how Nite Owl tracked down the reverend through his fingerprints, and he arrives just in time to save Rorschach. Rorschach then kills the reverend by stabbing him in the back with his “The End is Nigh” sign (even though its stick wasn’t sharpened or anything).

Dan then confronts Hollis over his deepest, darkest secrets that allegedly proved he wasn’t really a hero. Dan begs Hollis not to print this confessional, saying that he prefers to maintain the idealized version of his father figure alive. Hollis agrees to put the manuscript in his safe, urging Dan to revisit them after he dies.

Nite Owl then confronts Rorschach over his fatal tactics, and the conversation doesn’t really go anywhere. But we do get a flashback showing that a young Walter Kovacs killed one of his mother’s more aggressive clients by placing a tripwire at the top of the stairs. We then find out that Dan lied about the Twilight Lady in the main Watchmen series. He actually was deeply in love with her and dated her for some time before she broke up with him over the phone. And the miniseries closes on a shot of Walter walking down the street with his sign.

I guess I’ll start with the best part: Hollis Mason’s secret. I really like the idea of Hollis holding back the worst things about himself in his tell-all book. I’m a firm believer that Alan Moore intended to tell a story without any heroes, and that certainly includes Hollis. This bit felt in line with that vision and, although it was brief, the moments of Dan wrestling with that legacy were nice. Would this story have benefitted from actually revealing Hollis’ secret? I’m not sure. But I certainly think it should have had a lot more of Hollis in it. After all, this miniseries was called Nite Owl and there were two Nite Owls in Watchmen. I would have preferred to have had J. Michael Straczynski split his story between them and not devote so much of it to Rorschach.

From the cover to the final image, this issue made it clear that Straczynski really wanted to write about Rorschach all along. It’s kind of funny how he kept being given assignments in Before Watchmen that he seemingly didn’t want. He turned Nite Owl’s story into Rorschach’s and Moloch’s into Ozymandias’. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he insisted on revising the history of the main story. Instead of young Walter being a strange and timid child until some schoolyard bullies caused him to snap, Straczynski felt it would be better if he had always been devious, cunning, and overtly violent from the beginning.

And then there’s the bit with the Twilight Lady. Straczynski fell into the same trap Darwyn Cooke did by throwing in a genuinely good hero. Not only do I believe this conflicts with Moore’s intentions, but I really don’t appreciate how Straczynski basically said that Moore was wrong. Moore didn’t just show that none of his characters were good guys — he also went out of his way to make almost all the costumed individuals (heroes and villains alike) sexual deviants of some sort. In Moore’s mind, this life of costumed adventuring would most appeal to homosexuals, prostitutes, or people with strange kinks. Like the guy who got a sexual thrill from being beaten up. Or even Nite Owl, himself, who could only become aroused when wearing his mask. I felt that Moore deliberately placed the Twilight Lady in that same category and never wanted her to become the cliched “prostitute with a heart of gold.”

Even though I never really enjoyed the backup pirate tale, I must confess that this issue felt strangely empty without it. I’d wager that everyone involved in this bloated Before Watchmen project had lost their appetite for it by this point. DC abruptly ended the Crimson Corsair without bothering to wrap up its story in a coherent manner. And they quietly canceled the planned Epilogue issue, choosing to focus on finishing the rest of the miniseries. Nite Owl’s delay was understandable. But for the others? I’d wager that exhaustion and ennui had set in. The show must go on, right? By any means necessary.