He's about 6'3" and walks with a limp. Fifty five years old. He was ahead of me in line at the Shell station near my house around 11:50 p.m. on Friday night. He wore a Dallas Mavericks sweatshirt (it was 45 degrees outside) and smelled like a BBQ Pit. He was enjoying his conversation with "Ish," the young man behind the counter, oblivious to the line behind him, the line of Very Important People With Things To Do Who Wanted To Hurry Up and Buy Their Items And Go Home-you know, that line. I was a part of that line.
A kid behind me was wearing a Dallas Mavericks hat. The kid was probably 20. He speaks loudly to the older man: "Yo man...you a Mavs fan too?" The Line of Important People did not like this development, because we had Very Important Things to do and besides, it was late and cold outside. We wanted "Ish" to hurry up. The line was growing. Last minute beer runners were looking at their watches. One man said, "Come on man, Ish only got 10 minutes." He was referring to time running out to buy the twelve pack he had. "Yeah, I'm a Mavs fan. Not a lot of us around here," the gentle giant in front of me said to the kid.
Then Ish blew his cover. Ish said, "Don't know why you wear their stuff when you played for Phoenix." Suddenly I left the line of Very Important People (well, figuratively) because I was intrigued. Now I joined the conversation, asking him The All Too Important Question: "You played in the NBA?" I must admit, my interest in him prior to this possibility was shamefully low.
He stepped aside and Ish scanned my gatorades and peanut M&M's (the gatorade was necessary for the kids competitions the next day-the M&M's just a guilty treat) while the man started telling his story. The Line of Very Important People grew restless. I'm pretty sure most were looking at the clock or their watches. Midnight approacheth.
The man and I walked outside and he was eager to tell me his story. He explained he had been cooking out on the pit all day and would be until around 3:00 a.m. for an event he was catering the next day. Ribs, Brisket, Chicken, Pork...I suddenly had a desire for BBQ as he described it all. I wanted to get back to his story. Granted, there was a part of me that was skeptical-how many former NBA players do you bump in to in the middle of the night? I knew my B-ball history, so I asked a few questions and all my questions faded away as he talked about Mr. Colangelo (still the owner), and Coach McCloud (whom I remember as a kid), and playing with guys whose names I remembered from my younger days.
I asked if Connie Hawkins was playing with him at the time, and he said, "Naw, the Hawk was gone a few years before I got there." We stood outside for 45 minutes. I was not dressed for the cold, but my fascination with his story was greater than my desire to get into my heated car.
He told me about his brother, an older brother who was in Viet Nam with him. "Man, he was better than me in everything. He could do this thing...we'd take the net off the rim...and he'd jump up and with two hands lightly dunk the ball, catch it and then throw it down hard again...serious hang time....man he was something. Got shot up bad in Nam. Army let me out to take care of him. He could have been something..." his voice faded. I learned about his biological father-another incredible athlete, but also a violent man who left the family when he was a young boy. He told me about growing up with nothing but being happy "cuz back in the day, you didn't need all this stuff these kids got to make you happy." He talked about going back to college after the military let him go home, of playing in the Alaska Shootout, a big NCAA tournament to start the season, and averaging 41 points over 5 games. "That rim looked ten feet wide that tournament" he said.
He told me about his first game in the NBA-coming off the bench as a shooting guard against the Boston Celtics, "It was the year before Bird and Magic came into the league, but Boston had Dave Cowens and Jo Jo White...and I dropped 22 points in 18 minutes on them. I got this video tape at home...Brent Musberger saying, "Sweet Lou Hightower...remember this young man. He could be something special. Brent Musberger man!" He laughed...That's how I learned his name. "Sweet Lou."
Back in the day, everyone had their nicknames: "Downtown Freddy Brown," "Dr. J," "Chocolate Thunder," "Special K," "Black Jesus," and so on. He told me about the knee injury towards the end of his first season, an injury today (because of medical advancements) that might put him out of commission for maybe half a season and after rehab, he'd be as good as new. But then, well, the technology wasn't there. He had the surgery, but lost a step. Came back and played a half a season and was soon waived.
"Mr. Colangelo was a good man. He wanted to keep me. Coach McCloud said, "but he can't cover anyone any more. Mr. Colangelo said, 'but he can still shoot!' he laughed. "That was it for me. Ended up playing in Italy for four years. That's all they wanted me to do. Just shoot. Didn't play defense. But that was a tough time. Got some bad habits over there-all that money, so far from family. Lost my way."
He told me about Jesus Christ finding him. About life changing. About having it all and losing it-only to find something, or someone greater, and finding something more significant. We talked a long time, me and "Sweet Lou." Exchanged phone numbers. He said he'd love to meet me and my son at the gym. "It's all form, form and repetition..form and repetition...show him how to hit from anywhere...I can't shoot too far from outside 20 because of this surgery on my back...but I can still hit anything from 20 on in...still got that..."
I told him I enjoyed his story and his time. I said, "And Lou-man, one and a half years in the NBA-no one can take that from you." His response told me I hit a wound," Man...sometimes that still hurts. Just a step. Maybe a half step. But I couldn't get it back...I had a future there," his voice trailed. He gathered himself and said, "But God is good and this old man got more cookin to do."
We shook hands. He gave me a hug. I'm sure that looked odd to anyone watching. I walked back to my car, processing the conversation.Then something hit me: Would I have talked with this man for so long if he hadn't been in the NBA? I'd like to think I would. But honestly, at that time of night, I just wanted my gatorades and peanut M&M's. I was among the Very Important People who were in a rush.
Made me think. Sweet Lou just needed someone to talk to. I'm guessing there are a lot of Sweet Lou's out there. And as for me, maybe I don't need to always be in that line of Very Important People. Everything is too fast, and in the "fastness" of life-we miss out on a lot of potentially wonderful moments, and people, and opportunities...and handshakes and bear hugs and stories like Sweet Lou's.
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