Karen Russell, Bill Russell's daughter, and Celtics legend Bob Cousy re-create the cover of "The Last Pass," a Cousy biography by Gary M. Pomerantz.
Karen Russell, Bill Russell's daughter, and Celtics legend Bob Cousy re-create the cover of "The Last Pass," a Cousy biography by Gary M. Pomerantz.Dan Shaughnessy/Globe Staff
WORCESTER — It’s Sunday morning in mid-October and Worcester is looking unusually colorful and picturesque.
I am driving Karen Kenyatta Russell to Bob Cousy’s home because we’re new social media friends, and she texted that she was going to be in town for the Celtics’ season opener, mentioning, “I am going to try to see Mr. Cousy.”
So, I am driving Ms. Russell to meet Mr. Cousy.
Russell and Cousy are New England sports royalty. Bill Russell and Bob Cousy were pillars of the greatest dynasty in American professional sports, built by Red Auerbach.
Karen Russell is the 63-year-old daughter of Bill Russell, who died three years ago at the age of 88, 53 years after winning his 11th championship in his 13th and final season with the Boston Celtics.
Bob Cousy is the 97-year-old last survivor of the first Celtics championship, won in 1956-57, which happens to be the year Russell brought his talents to Boston.
Cousy and Russell are NBA Hall of Famers, NBA MVPs (Russell five times!), Presidential Medal of Freedom recipients, have their own statues, and won six championships together before Cousy retired in 1963, one year after Karen Russell was born.
Karen Russell has never met “Mr. Cousy” but knows he’s been public about regrets for not doing more for her father when the two were teammates — back when Cousy was the celebrated veteran captain and Russell was the rookie making his way in a city that was not quite ready for a Black superstar. There’s well-worn ESPN video of Cousy weeping after saying, “I should have been much more sensitive to Russell’s anguish in those days . . .” and a 2018 Cousy biography (”The Last Pass”) put new light on Cousy’s longstanding guilt.
“I want peace for Bob Cousy,” Karen Russell says as we make our way toward Worcester. “I want Bob Cousy to spend his golden years with peace from the past.”
She’s greeted at the front door of Cousy’s sprawling brick home, which he has lived in since 1963, by 72-year-old Ticia Cousy, the younger of Cousy’s two daughters. Karen and Ticia have never met, but their mothers were close — much closer than their fathers — and Missie Cousy and Rose (Swisher) Russell both died a little more than a decade ago.
We are escorted into Cousy’s memorabilia-filled den. Karen goes to the bookshelves to discover black-and-white photos from more than a half-century ago, one of which might actually be a baby shower for Rose Russell back in the 1960s.
“Oh, my gosh,” says Karen. “Seeing this, I realize how much I look like my mom.”
Karen Russell points to a photo that includes her mother, displayed in Bob Cousy's home.
Karen Russell points to a photo that includes her mother, displayed in Bob Cousy's home.Dan Shaughnessy/Globe Staff
As Cousy is wheeled into the room (afflicted with neuropathy, he spends most of his day in a chair), 6-foot-2-inch Karen approaches, bends down, and smothers him in hugs.
Photos are taken, pleasantries exchanged. After a minute, Karen takes a seat on a green couch, facing Cousy.
“My dear bride bonded with your mom and was friends with her right up until she passed,” says Cousy. “We talked about how it wasn’t easy for a young Black wife to come into Boston back then. It probably still isn’t easy now.“
Cousy asks his daughter to get something from one of the shelves. It’s a dusty desk clock purchased by Bill Russell at Shreve, Crump & Lowe on Boylston Street in the spring of 1963, when Cousy was set to retire.
Ticia hands the clock to Karen.
“It’s getting old and battered like I am,” Cousy says.
“You are not old and battered, Mr. Cousy,” counters Karen. “My dad would say you do not look more than a day over 96½.”
This is followed by a loud laugh from Karen Kenyatta Russell, who clearly inherited her father’s distinct cackle.
Ticia Cousy, Bob Cousy's daughter, shows Karen Russell a clock gifted to her parents by the Russells.
Ticia Cousy, Bob Cousy's daughter, shows Karen Russell a clock gifted to her parents by the Russells.Dan Shaughnessy/Globe Staff
Gazing at the inscription on the clock, she reads aloud: “May The Next Seventy Be As Pleasant As The Last Seven. From The Russells To The Cousys.”
Passage of time
More than 60 of those years have passed since the clock was gifted. In all those decades, Bob Cousy and Bill Russell had very little contact. They’d been little more than associates when they were teammates, and went on to lead separate lives on opposite coasts — Russell on Mercer Island near Seattle. In their retirements, there would be occasional charity golf events, ESPN tapings, and Celtic-themed reunions, but a closeness never developed.
As years passed, Cousy felt more guilt about not working harder to make Russell comfortable when the two played together. Russell encountered more than a small measure of racism during his Boston years, including a break-in of his Reading home in which the criminals defecated in Bill and Rose Russell’s bed.
In 2016, Cousy mailed Russell a letter in which he apologized for not being more sympathetic to Russell’s plight during their Celtic years. The letter went unanswered for months, then years, which agonized Cousy. He asked former teammates to give Russell a ring to learn if Russell had received his message.
Two and a half years after the letter was mailed, Russell called Cousy. According to Cousy, it was a short, awkward conversation. They talked about the recent death of beloved teammate Frank Ramsey. Cousy asked Russell if he’d received the letter. Russell said he had but did not elaborate.
Months later, Gary Pomerantz’s Cousy biography, “The Last Pass,” gave voice to Cousy’s feelings of guilt, and the unsatisfactory evolution of his relationship with Russell.
Karen Russell graduated from Harvard Law School in 1987. On her official X account, she identifies as “Bill Russell’s Kid, Harvard Lawyer, Community Organizer, Resistance Historian, Pet Photographer & Tech Strategist.”
As reported in “The Last Pass,” Karen and her brother Jacob (another brother, William Jr., died of cancer in 2016) filed a vulnerable adult protection action in 2015, alleging that Bill Russell, who had a small stroke that year, was being isolated from most everyone, including his family, and that his finances had been taken over. Their action was aimed at Russell’s caregiver and new romantic partner, Jeannine Fiorito, 32 years younger than Russell.
In the course of discovery, a court-assigned guardian wrote that Russell had “variable memory and cognitive issues,” but after a 16-month process, the sides settled. Fiorito and Russell married a few months later.
The last time Russell and Cousy saw one another was at John Havlicek’s memorial service at Trinity Church in Boston in May 2019. Cousy delivered a short eulogy and exchanged brief, halting hellos with Russell and Fiorito on his way out of the church. He was left unsettled by that encounter.
Bridging the gap
A half-hour into our visit, Karen hands the clock back to Ticia Cousy and talks about her recent (September) trip to Boston for the official dedication of the Bill Russell Bridge. Governor Maura Healy and Mayor Michelle Wu participated, as did Russell’s widow, Jeannine, his two surviving children, and four grandchildren.
Karen Russell had trepidation about the bridge dedication because of an unpleasant memory from earlier this year when Oakland’s McClymonds High School (Bill Russell’s alma mater) had a Russell-themed event during NBA All-Star Weekend.
“I was a little nervous showing up at the bridge event here,” Karen tells the Cousys. “Back in February, there was an event at the NBA All-Star Game in Oakland, during Black History Month, at the McClymonds gym. In addition to not being acknowledged at that event, security escorted me and my brother to the back of the gym. The Bill Russell Gym!”
Ticia asks Karen if Bill Russell suffered from dementia. Missie Cousy battled dementia over the final decade of her life.
“My dad had well-known cognitive issues,” says Karen. “He was also hard of hearing at the end of his life, which made it hard for everyone to be in contract with him.”
No one mentions the awkward final phone call between Cousy and Russell. It hangs in the air like a shot waiting to be blocked.
Cousy tells a sweet story about meeting Russell at the White House during the Eisenhower administration, when Cousy was an NBA All-Star and Russell was busy winning back-to-back NCAA championships at the University of San Francisco. This reminds him of Russell’s first game with Boston in December 1956, when he went straight to the Garden parquet after winning gold for the United States at the Melbourne Olympics.
Cousy also talks about his scant exposure to Black families while growing up in New York, playing college ball at whiter-than-white Holy Cross, then for the Celtics. As a professional athlete in 1950, Cousy roomed with fellow rookie Chuck Cooper, the first Black player ever drafted by an NBA team.
“I bonded with Chuck,” says Cousy. “I never experienced racism of any kind and always sympathized with those who did.”
Turning toward Karen, Cousy says, “Your father was a complicated guy. He and I never bonded, really. We played successfully and effectively with each other. I was the captain of those teams, but he was The Man, and we won six championships together.
“I think Russ always knew that within the team structure, we, the white players, had his back. We demonstrated that over the years. St. Louis at the time was the most racist city we’d go to. I remember one time there was a greasy spoon restaurant across from our hotel and they refused to serve us, and we just said, ‘We shouldn’t be eating the crap you serve anyway.’ ”
Hearing this, Karen sits up, looks directly at “Mr. Cousy,” and says, “I’m not here to relitigate the past in any way. I’m here because I respect you and admire you and I wanted to meet you.”
“And I’m here to tell you that your dad and I didn’t bond the way we should have,” says Cousy. “Or the way I did with Chuck, but that was completely my fault. I was the senior by six years and I should have reached out to him. I should have felt his pain more. I was involved in other things, Big Brother, Big Sister … I guess I’ve had some laid-up guilt for all these years.”
“You guys were co-workers,” says Karen. “I was with Chuck’s son at [a Celtics preseason gala at Omni Hotel] Friday night. We love you. He loves you and what you did for him. I’m so glad to capture these stories while we can. It’s so wonderful to be reunited with people who have this unique experience. Even though we’re all very different, and lived all over the country, there’s this bond because our parents were pals and part of this family.
“I love that your Missie took care of my mom. My parents were so young and they needed Missie. Now that we’re connected, this will not be my only visit, I hope. I just wanted to tell you I love you and respect you.”
Karen Russell showered Bob Cousy with hugs when the two met at Cousy's home in Worcester recently.
Karen Russell showered Bob Cousy with hugs when the two met at Cousy's home in Worcester recently.Dan Shaughnessy/Globe Staff
Time for us to make our way back to Boston.
“I’m glad you took the time,” Cousy says softly.
Before final hugs and heading for the door, Karen Russell asks Bob Cousy to sign a couple of books. Irony. Bill Russell famously would not sign autographs, not even for teammates. Cousy complies, even offering to personalize the mementos.
One of Karen Russell’s newly signed books is “The Last Pass,” featuring a cover photo of 28-year-old Cousy, wearing his satin Celtic warm-up, holding a basketball, looking straight into the camera. Over his left shoulder stands a 23-year-old Bill Russell. The photo was taken in the tunnel that connected the Celtics’ locker room to the parquet floor at the Old Boston Garden — April 9, 1957, moments before Game 5 of the Celtics-Hawks NBA Finals. It was four days before the Celtics would win the first of their NBA-best 18 championship banners.
Karen wants to recreate the cover, and Cousy agrees, so she stands behind him, over his left shoulder, crouching forward, holding a copy of the cover shot from 68 years ago.
Cousy raises his right hand, flashing the “V” sign.
“V” for victory.
Or maybe just “peace.”
Dan Shaughnessy is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at daniel.shaughnessy@globe.com. Follow him @dan_shaughnessy.