JOHN THOMPSON, BILL RUSSELL AND PROPOSITION 42

Proposition 42, adopted by NCAA Division I schools in 1989 for implementation during the 1990-’91 academic year, closed a loophole in Proposition 48, the rule that based freshman eligibility on standardized test scores, as well as high school grade-point-average.

Under Prop. 48, which went into effect in 1986, athletes who failed to meet certain minimums in two areas — a standardized test score of at least a combined 700 (out of a possible 1,600) on the SAT, or 15 on the ACT; and a GPA of at least 2.0 — would be required to sit out their freshman seasons.

However, by meeting NCAA standards in at least one of the two areas, athletes could receive athletic scholarships as freshmen.

Prop. 42 put the kibosh on that, by eliminating scholarships for — in NCAA terminology — these “partial qualifiers.”

Then, all hell broke loose.

The ink was barely dry on Prop. 42 before several prominent Black coaches vehemently objected, on the grounds that standardized tests discriminated against poor Blacks and Whites, by being racially and culturally biased.

Temple basketball coach John Chaney called Prop. 42 “a racist rule” approved by “racist (college) presidents.”

Georgetown coach John Thompson did Chaney one better; he boycotted Hoya games against Boston College and Providence during the 1989 season, in protest of the rule.

He walked off the court, his assistant coaches at the wheel.

The NCAA modified Proposition 42 on January 8, 1990 at their 84th Convention, by allowing their “partial qualifiers,” under Prop. 48, to receive need-based scholarship aid as freshmen, as long as the same aid was made available to non-athletes.

It was a half-victory; ultimately the rule was rescinded.

This was a feather in Thompson’s cap.

His highly publicized protest against 42 was encapsulated in a press release stating that he would “not be on the bench in an NCAA-sanctioned Georgetown basketball game until I am satisfied that something has been done to provide these student-athletes with appropriate opportunity and hope for access to a college education.”

“What I hope to do is to bring attention to the fact that [Prop. 42] is very much discriminatory,” Thompson expounded.

“I’m beginning to feel like the kid from the lower socio-economic background who was invited to dinner, had dessert, and now is being asked to leave.”

John Thompson and Bill Russell were Boston Celtic teammates from 1964–1966, the two championship seasons (1965; 1966) representing the duration of Thompson’s NBA career.

Nicknamed “The Caddy,” in acknowledgment of his back-up role to Russell, he averaged 3.5 points and 3.5 rebounds in 74 games played, and when Thompson was selected by the Chicago Bulls in the 1966 NBA expansion draft, he opted to retire instead.

Presumably by his own admission, he was better-suited to coaching than to playing.

His 27-year coaching record at Georgetown would bear this out, as it was the stuff of legend:

596–239 (.714); 24 postseason appearances — 20 in the NCAA tournament and 4 in the NIT; 3 NCAA Final Four appearances (1982; 1984; 1985); 2 NCAA Final appearances (1984; 1985); and 1 NCAA Championship (1984).

Perhaps even more impressive was the 97% graduation rate of his players.

He desperately wanted his players to succeed in life and supported them in every way.

And when he was crossed — and became cross — it wasn’t pretty.

A case in point occurred in the late-eighties when Thompson got word that several of his players were associating with a noted D.C. drug lord and avid Hoya fan, Rayful Edmond III, whose crew was connected to at least forty homicides.

Thompson, through his channels, summoned Edmond to his office at McDonough Gymnasium.

When Edmond arrived, Thompson was cordial at first, informing him that he was to cease all contact with his players, post-haste.

Edmond tried to explain that his players were not involved in anything illegal, and the story goes that Thompson went off.

He unfolded his 6’10” frame, stood up and pointed his index finger between Edmond’s eyes, unleashing a profanity-laced warning that he didn’t care about Edmond’s and his crew’s violent reputation or propensity to commit murder.

Edmond had crossed a line with Thompson’s players and the coach was not going to allow him — or anyone — to destroy their lives.

As might have been his wont, Thompson denied that the episode was as confrontational as believed.

“A myth has grown about me threatening Rayful and ordering him to stay away from my players. Some people like to say I stood over him and pointed my finger in his face. That’s nonsense. That myth is based on the perception of me as intimidating and a bully. Like when I argued with refs, I supposedly scared them.”

In the meantime, Edmond never again associated with another Hoya player on a personal level.

Thompson was thought to be the only person to stand up to Edmond without consequence, initially causing some shock and surprise that there was no reprisal.

Russell himself was no stranger to condemning social injustice and racism, and standing up for religious freedom.

When some of the greatest Black athletes in the country gathered in a nondescript office building in Cleveland on June 4, 1967 to lend their support to Muhammad Ali, Russell was front and center.

Ali had been stripped of his heavyweight title and faced charges of draft dodging for his refusal to serve in the Vietnam War.

Ever since he’d changed his name from Cassius Clay, joined the Nation of Islam (NOI) and refused to join the military, Ali had become one of the most reviled men in the country, hated by Black and White Americans alike.

Convening in support of Ali was significant and poignant; those who were present, including Jim Brown — the orchestrator — Lew Alcindor (Kareem Abdul-Jabbar), Russell and several other notables, were widely admired.

Athletes in solidarity, standing up to power; standing up to a government that seemed to be singling out Ali for punishment, because he was Black and outspoken.

(Never mind that just two weeks later, an all-White jury needed only 20 minutes to find Ali guilty of draft evasion. His exile from boxing would last for three years; the Supreme Court eventually reversed his conviction in 1971).

As for Russell, he envied Ali.

In an article written for Sports Illustrated after the Cleveland meeting, Russell remarked,

“He has something I have never been able to attain and something very few people I know possess. He has an absolute and sincere faith…I’m not worried about Muhammad Ali. He is better equipped than anyone I know to withstand the trials in store for him.

What I’m worried about is the rest of us.”

So was John Thompson.

[Editor’s Note: this piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in January 2021.]