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Tommy Heinsohn: Remembering a class act, a colorful character who ‘bled Green’

By Dean Shalhoup - Senior Staff Writer | Nov 14, 2020

Photo by Elise Amendola/The Associated Press Giant cardboard cutouts of Mike Gorman and Tommy Heinsohn are propped up behind the longtime Celtics broadcast team as they get ready to call another game last year. Heinsohn, played for, coached and broadcast the Celtics for more than 60 years, died last week at age 86.

Upon being hit – blindsided, really – the other day with the sad news that we in Celtics Nation lost perhaps the most colorful, animated, often fiery, not to mention skilled and successful, man who ever wore the Green, a few thoughts came to mind.

Among them was my rather rueful realization of the inevitable, which I tried to temper by looking for that proverbial silver lining: “Well, we still have Cooz, Russ and Satch,” I reminded myself.

Tommy Heinsohn, a New Jersey native who came north to a stellar career at The College of the Holy Cross – several years after another future Celtic great by the name of Bob Cousy (the “Cooz” mentioned above), graced the Crusader hardwood – truly embodied the quintessential Celtic.

He began and finished his playing career with the C’s; began and finished his coaching career with the C’s; and began and finished his legendary broadcasting career with the C’s.

Heinsohn’s passing comes a year and a half after Celtics Nation lost another of its greats, forward John Havlicek, whom I wrote about at the time for the same reason I write today about Tommy Heinsohn.

Dean Shalhoup

Longtime reporter, columnist and photographer, is back doing what he does best ñ chronicling the people and history of Nashua. Reaching 40 years with The Telegraph in September, Deanís insights have a large, appreciative following.

“Hondo” and “Heiny,” along with guys like Bill Russell (the “Russ” mentioned above), Tom Sanders (the “Satch” mentioned above), Cousy, Sam Jones, KC Jones, “Jungle Jim” Loscutoff and a few others, along with their rolled-up-program-waving, cigar-smoking, sideline leader Arnold “Red” Auerbach, achieved hero status among us sports-minded baby boomers, helping us fill our elementary and middle school (we called them junior highs back then) winter evenings with something more fun than arithmetic and spelling homework.

And mind you this allegiance wasn’t by any stretch limited to our Greater Boston boomer friends: Indeed, the green wave of Celtic loyalty was just as powerful here in southern New Hampshire.

Now, it stands to reason there must have been a force of some type that propelled that wave from North Station across Route 128, over Route 495, and up Route 3 into these parts.

There was. It came to us in the form of a gravelly, raspy voice, honed by a five-pack-a-day habit, that could leap an octave higher to relay a great play by the Celtics or to put heavy emphasis on a “terrible call” by the refs – which meant just about every call against the Celtics.

“They call him ‘Johnny the Most,'” Pop once told an 8- or 10-year-old me with a laugh, when I insisted that two such different voices simply could not be coming from the same person.

Indeed, it fit perfectly that Johnny Most, the unapologetic homer with a remarkable knack for describing to his listeners dramatic scenarios that didn’t really exist, was the guy who one day took his seat “high above courtside” and began bringing into homes and cars and transistor radios the heroics and drama – real and embellished – of our beloved Celtics.

I can’t say I ever had the pleasure of hanging out for any measurable amount of time with “Tommy Gun,” a nickname Most came up with for the sharpshooting Celtics forward who scored a rare triple-crown of Celtics lore as a Hall of Fame player, championship coach and the most popular – second only to Most, of course – radio and TV broadcaster, a niche Heinsohn filled right up until the last “normal” NBA season.

But as a C’s devotee from the time I was able to pronounce “Celtics” (pronouncing “Heinsohn” took a bit longer), including three years as a season ticket-holder back in an era when simple, average wage-earners could actually afford that luxury, I had the good fortune of crossing paths with the big fella down at the old Garden from time to time.

What security there was at the original Garden back then didn’t seem to pay a lot of attention to a couple of kids walking alongside players coming or going at halftime or game’s end.

Saying “hi” to a player and being acknowledged with a nod was pretty cool, but getting a “hey, fellas, how’s it going?” made our day. And the small handful of times a player might add, “enjoy the game?” or “great game huh?” were extra-special.

Tommy Heinsohn was one of those guys, the ones who almost always had a smile and greeting. But some years later, when Auerbach (wisely) hired Heinsohn as coach in 1969 to succeed the retiring Russell, I remember watching him on the sidelines and thinking, jeez, is this the same guy with the big friendly smile?

He was, but Heiny had adapted to coaching, a different animal than playing. The hard-nosed competitor running up and down the parquay, who rarely passed up a chance to stop, pop and fire his patented right-hand jump shot at the rim, was now tasked with counseling, instructing, motivating and inspiring the next generation of Celtics stars in order to keep those NBA championship banners and rings coming Boston’s way.

Borrowing a couple of pages from Auerbach’s book, Heinsohn focused more than most of his peers on “keeping in line” the referees, sometimes by sharing a few suggestions on deciding how to call, or not to call, personal fouls against his Celtics.

His friend calling the game from high above courtside shared Heiny’s philosophy that anyone on the court with a whistle around his neck is probably an enemy of the Celtics.

“And … they call a foul on (any Celtic)!” Johnny Most fairly shouted into his mic more times than anyone could count. “Heinsohn is incensed … and now they call a technical foul!” Most might bellow, stretching the limits of that iconic raspy voice.

The spectacle, viewed on TV – or ideally, in person – only tightened our embrace of Celtics Nation, as we gleefully watched a giant of a man at 6 feet 7 inches and well north of 250 pounds waving his arms, verbalizing his opinion without mincing words, then stepping back into the “legal” coaches’ box, where he either folded his arms across his chest or put his hands on his hips – while shooting his famous death stare at the offending man with the whistle.

One of my favorite Heiny tirades actually had less to do with the referees than with a more traditional foe: Someone on the other team.

The Celts were playing the New York Knicks, coached at the time by Red Holzman, a fairly excitable, diminutive man, especially compared to Heinsohn.

I remember the refs, back before there were video replays, discussing some rule or something that they ultimately decided in favor of the Celtics. Holzman took a nutty, going all apoplectic on the sidelines and holding up the game.

Heiny watched him for maybe 15-20 seconds before he strolled over to the Knicks’ bench, got in Holzman’s face and bellowed, simply, “sit down!” Everyone in earshot, which was about three-quarters of the crowd, broke out laughing. A bewildered Holzman spun a couple of circles, threw up his hands and stalked back to the bench.

Once playing and coaching was behind him, Heiny did a couple years worth of color-commentator gigs with the networks, then did games for an unforgettable couple more years with – no kidding – Red Auerbach.

Talk about open season on referees. Heiny was the play-by-play man with Auerbach doing commentary, also called color commentary. And colorful it was.

“Hey, Mendy! What was that?” I recall Auerbach hollering as veteran ref Mendy Rudolph jogged past the courtside broadcast table.

“Richie, you’re killing us!” Auerbach similarly bellowed at least once at another NBA veteran ref, Richie Powers. Best thing was Auerbach never bothered muting his mic beforehand.

For more than 60 of his 86 years on earth, Tommy Heinsohn was a Celtic through and through, one of a select few who truly “bled Green” from the day in 1956 he was named the NBA’s Rookie of the Year until he slipped away last week.

Upon learning of Heiny’s passing, Bill Russell, another class act of Celtics lore who’s among the handful of greats who survive Heiny, spoke volumes about his longtime friend in just a few words.

“We were rookies together and friends for life. In life there are a limited number of true friends. Today, I lost one.”

Dean Shalhoup’s column appears weekly in The Sunday Telegraph. He may be reached at 594-1256 or dshalhoup@nashuatelegraph.com.

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