Body & Soul

Sweeping down court on the attack, the University of Utah's heron-legged Bill ("The Hill") McGill is one of the basketball phenomena of the year--a 6-ft. 9-in., 215-lb. giant who can nevertheless dribble with the slick speed of a sawed-off backcourt man and get off every shot in the book, ranging from arching hooks to driving layups. Last week McGill's average was up to 28.7 points a game, the fourth highest in the nation. Shrugged the University of Denver's Coach Hoyt Brawner after losing to Utah 95-82: "We did great--we held McGill to 41 points." But the most remarkable fact about Bill McGill was not how well he was doing for Utah but that he was at Utah at all.

The Critics' Committee. Brought up in Los Angeles, the son of an impoverished Negro family, McGill blossomed into the best big basketball player ever developed in a California high school. But to the anguish of the University of California's Coach Pete Newell, McGill's high school grades were as bad as his basketball was good. To better the chances of shoe-horning Billy into Cal, Newell imported him to San Francisco for his last high school term. McGill's grades rose, but not enough. When he found that he would have to prep at a junior college before Cal would touch him, McGill began shopping elsewhere, was sold on Utah by an alumnus friend. After much debate, Utah's admissions committee accepted him on probation, citing his improved marks in San Francisco as justification. Admits Faculty Admissions Committee Chairman Harold H. Cutler: "The fact that he was a basketball player didn't hurt him in my eyes."

But it did hurt McGill badly in the eyes of many other faculty members, who were convinced the university had sold its soul to buy a basketball star. The faculty remained hostile even after McGill was refused a scholarship and had to sell his secondhand car to help pay his way to Utah. Says one Utah professor: "I know for a fact that in the English department every paper McGill wrote was passed around for inspection to as many as seven different instructors." The uproar grew so loud that the university finally raised its admissions standards for out-of-state students to help keep out future McGills.

No Hunting. Despite the faculty cabal, McGill grimly hung on, working harder at his desk than he did on the practice court. By last week McGill, now a junior, had absorbed enough tutoring and put out enough effort to raise his grades to a C+ average--a level sufficiently elevated to allow him time to work on his defensive game, which by his own admission still needs improvement. Impressed by his earnestness, most faculty members have stopped hunting for flaws in McGill's performance, whether on the court or in the classroom. But Bill the Hill is under no illusion that he can relax in either place. Says he: "I've got to be good."

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