Monday, Jan. 19, 1959

The Young Pro

Not until he cradles the ball in his huge hands does the poker-faced Negro come alive. Then, graceful and cunning as a cougar, Elgin Baylor begins to roam for the Minneapolis Lakers. His hands flicker with the slick skill of a shell-game operator. His dribble is a rapid rat-a-tattoo inches off the floor. Smoothly, surely, Baylor prowls through the elbowing surge under the hoop to nail a Laker with a pinpoint pass, or rises from the floor as though projected to loop a lazy shot through the basket.

So well is 23-year-old Rookie Baylor handling the ball and himself this season in the National Basketball Association that his fellow pros already regard him with ungrudging admiration. "He has that ability to hang there in mid-air for a few seconds before making up his mind to shoot or pass," says St. Louis' Cliff Hagan. Rival coaches often pay Baylor the compliment of assigning him a taller man, try to block up the middle on his drives. Baylor has quickly adapted himself to the rough tactics of the pros. Says St. Louis Coach Ed Macauley: "When he's dribbling with his right hand, just watch his left hand. He uses it like a meat hook."

All-Round Record. Last week, while the lackluster Lakers were losing three out of five games and sinking lower into third place in the four-team Western Division, Baylor still managed to stay fourth in league scoring, kept his average at 23.4 points a game. His scoring would be even higher if he did not pass so often when free to shoot--he ranked seventh in playmaking assists at last week's tally. In addition, he was third in rebounds.

In large measure, Baylor's tremendous skill stems from his tremendous physique. He is 6 ft. 5 in. tall, weighs 230 lbs. He is strong enough to win the hip-cracking duels under the basket, yet nimble enough to outjump men half a foot taller, dodge around men half a foot shorter.

The son of a railroad worker in Washington, B.C.. Baylor learned his basketball playing settlement-house and playground ball ("I'd play anywhere to get a game"). When he graduated from high school in 1954, his marks were as bad as his basketball was good, but he landed a scholarship at tolerant College of Idaho. Freshman Baylor averaged 31 points a game, led the team to a 23-4 season, then transferred to Seattle University, where he really developed his talents. Last year Baylor trapped rebounds one-handed on the backboard, scored 32.5 points a game (second to Cincinnati's Oscar Robertson). Complained Coach Van Sweet of the College of the Pacific: "Baylor is too far advanced for the college game."

Baylor had one more year of college eligibility left, and he used it as a bargaining point with the Minneapolis Lakers. He had never given the showboating, all-Negro Globetrotters a serious thought ("I'm not a clown"). With a shaky franchise, the last-place Lakers needed Baylor this year to attract crowds, ended up paying him an estimated $20,000, one of the half-a-dozen highest salaries in the league. The money was well invested. The Lakers are still losing, but they are drawing twice as many fans as last year.

Turkey Trot. Married to a junior at the University of Minnesota, Elgin Baylor is a modest man who likes button-down collars and narrow, striped ties, never worries before a game, likes twelve hours' sleep a night, joshingly refers to teammates as "Turkey" or "Hamburg"--Laker jargon for a poor defensive player.

Until recently, Baylor was a bit of a turkey himself. But last week he startled Philadelphia's Paul Arizin by blocking four of his shots, held St. Louis' Bob Pettit--the league's leading scorer--to a paltry eleven points. "He jumps," moaned Pettit. "Gee, but he jumps."

The Celtics' Bill Russell is a better rebounder. Philadelphia's Paul Arizin is a better scorer. The Hawks' Pettit is better in both departments. Detroit's Dick McGuire is a better playmaker. But even in his rookie year, no single pro can match Baylor's combined skills in all of these three major phases of offensive basketball.

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