How's the Weather up There?

By Tom Callahan

On a reconstructed foot, Bill Walton is back in the game

"Pardon me, do you play basketball?" "No, I clean giraffes' ears."

Bill Walton has grown up to be a happy if infirm basketball player of 6 ft. 11 in. "What's it like being 7 ft. tall?" asks the usual sightseer passing by, and Walton replies genially, "How should I know? I'm only 6-11." At 30, he has learned to look on the bright side.

His left foot, the one made of bone china, that left him out of virtually all of the past four seasons, has been rebuilt. "Just being able to walk around is great," Walton rejoices. "To go outside and throw a football with my kids [four sons], to hit a tennis ball. Then, to top it all off, to play in the N.B.A. again." He started back this season playing first once, and then twice weekly for the San Diego Clippers, who won only 17 of 82 National Basketball Association games last year and welcomed even part-time help. The rest of the time, Walton traveled north to study law at Stanford, inspired by the spectral array of lawsuits surrounding him. They include former San Diego Owner Irv Levin's claim that Walton and his doctors should have warned Levin of the congenital foot problem in 1979. Only in spirit was Walton the freest free agent, leader of the champion Portland Trail Blazers of 1976-77, the N.B.A.'s most valuable player of 1977-78, the vegetarian center from U.C.L.A. who gave the Establishment such pluperfect hell in the early '70s.

Easily the most complex, probably the most vulnerable, creatures in sports stand around 7 ft. tall. Whimsically, Wilt Chamberlain measured himself at 7 ft. 1 1/16 in., though he was probably taller. From 1959 to 1973, his incredible strength and gentleness were the two pivotal forces in professional basketball, and the second probably confounded Chamberlain as much as the Boston Celtics' Bill Russell ever did. Of Chamberlain's many records (a 50-point average one season, 100 points one game), the most remarkable and descriptive was that in 1,218 career games he never once fouled out. The basket was Chamberlain's secondary goal; the primary one was not to be an ogre. His enduring wisdom: "Nobody loves Goliath."

Last month, when 7-ft. 4-in. Ralph Sampson of Virginia and 7-ft. Pat Ewing of Georgetown locked planes and angles for the first time, Celtics General Manager Red Auerbach observed, "These young guys actually love being tall." He sounded amazed. "I love it now," says Walton. "It took me a while to get used to standing out in the crowd, looking awkward, feeling uncomfortable. But I've grown into it." He has grown out of other things, condemning the Government, for instance, and has even developed some affection for meat. "I've matured a lot." This is his soft explanation for many changes. "There are still things I don't understand, but with experience, you get more relaxed." Quickly he adds, "I'm still a concerned citizen." But his voice is gentler.

Walton and his wife Susan and their boys have a house near the zoo, within delighted earshot of trumpeting elephants. On the court, Walton always expressed a peaceful joy. At its best, pro basketball is a lovely game, but it cannot be played all-out as often as the games are scheduled.

When Walton was at his best, he played it only all-out: a willowy orange-haired octopus with a delicate spiny-fingered touch and flowing style. "Basketball is the most beautiful game and the most fun," he says, "because everyone has to do everything. Players say they're happy with a win, but no one is really happy if it hasn't been a good style of a game. One guy can really have it going but be out of sync with the team and ruin it."

Walton's sunny San Diego childhood coincided with U.C.L.A. Coach John Wooden's great Los Angeles success, so Wooden's methods reached Walton long before Walton reached U.C.L.A. He already knew how to play. At 14, Walton had been a 6-1 guard; by 16, he was a 6-10 pivotman. In the N.B.A., where centers are apt to lope foul line to foul line, he ran base line to base line playing all the positions. "I love almost everything about the game," he says, "the life, the players, the crowds. Just being out there, the competition. I missed it."

It has hardly returned to him in full, but he has made a promising start. This week Walton will interrupt his law classes, and he appears ready to return full time to his sport. Clippers Coach Paul Silas insisted, frankly. At first Silas was convinced that "Walton once a week was better than no Walton at all," but he has reconsidered. "In any group situation, you can't make exceptions forever," Silas said. The first eight games Walton dropped in on all were lost, but against Portland two weeks ago he gathered 25 points, eight rebounds, seven blocked shots and his first victory in nearly three years. Since then, he scored 30 in a loss. "I'm sort of feeling my way around, just happy to be running without pain, not pushing the tempo yet. It's going to take time, hard work and luck. But I have a good feeling."

His estimated $750,000 base salary is guaranteed. Though there are other financial benefits involved in his comeback, and probably legal ones too, they are not what Walton talks about. "Movement is freedom," he says. "I love motion and speed, the glow around you and your teammates when you're going down the court, feeling good, communicating without words or even signals, just looking at each other. It's fun. You fit." No one should ever have to ask how the weather is up there.

--By Tom Callahan This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.