COLUMN LIKE I SEE ‘EM: Had you heard of John Johnson?

Posted 1/14/16

Very few of those people actually knew Bowie, the man, but all had long admired and respected his unparalleled work as an artist.

To remember someone you never personally knew is one thing, but to remember someone you never knew of is …

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COLUMN LIKE I SEE ‘EM: Had you heard of John Johnson?

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Shortly after news broke that David Bowie had died Sunday night, an outpouring of love could be read, watched, heard and felt from thousands of people across many mediums.

Very few of those people actually knew Bowie, the man, but all had long admired and respected his unparalleled work as an artist.

To remember someone you never personally knew is one thing, but to remember someone you never knew of is impossible.

Former Northwest College basketball player John Johnson was brought to my attention on Friday via a tweet directed to the Powell Tribune.

The tweet included a photo of Johnson on a basketball card along with the caption, “The best basketball player in @NWC Wyo history.” It also shared the news that Johnson had died at the age of 68.

I’m in and around Northwest’s Cabre Gym quite often, and I’ve never heard nor seen anything about a John Johnson. Greatest player in Northwest history? I had my doubts.

What made him so great? One click of the mouse supplied me with an answer far more thorough and convincing than I ever could have expected.

As you probably don’t know, because it seems like no one does, Johnson was a two-time NBA All-Star for the Cleveland Cavaliers (the first ever such selection for the franchise) and was a member of the 1979 NBA Champion Seattle SuperSonics.

Woah, woah woah. OK. Stop right there. An NBA champion played for Northwest? Is this the right John Johnson? Was that Twitter user talking about the right Northwest? Am I the only one not aware of this?

An article in Friday’s Milwaukee Journal Sentinel confirmed all of those facts, and shared quotes from teammates, coaches and Johnson himself.

Bob Neja, Johnson’s coach at Messmer High School, described the versatile big man as a player who always cared about the greater good.

“He was always an unselfish player. He could have scored a lot more than he did, but he was always content to play for the team ... He’s not flashy, but he gets the job done,” Neja said.

Sounds like the type of guy NWC head coach Brian Erickson would like on his team.

Erickson, by the way, learned of Johnson last year, when he read about him in a book on the history of Northwest basketball.

It’s a shame if the memory of Johnson’s time in Powell is confined to a history book.

A coworker of mine, born and raised in Powell, who attended Northwest College and is no slouch as a sports fan, was just as surprised as I was to hear that someone with Johnson’s NBA success had Powell ties.

It would be one thing if Johnson was a guy just lucky to be born tall (he was listed at 6-7, 200 pounds) with a modicum of coordination, and rode the coattails of the true stars from the end of the bench. But a brief look at his page on basketball-reference.com shows that was not the case.

Johnson played in all 82 regular season games and 17 playoff games that championship season for the SuperSonics. He averaged 11 points, seven rebounds and 4.4 assists during the regular season and upped his output to 12.4 points, 6.8 rebounds and 5.7 assists in their run to the title.

Johnson scored in double figures in all but one game during Seattle’s 4-1 victory over the Washington Bullets in the NBA Finals.

So, at what point did John Johnson fade from the oral history of Northwest basketball? I understand that it’s been nearly 50 years since Johnson transfered from Northwest to the University of Iowa, but you’d think that at some point in that half-century, someone would think to recognize — promote, even — the caliber of player Johnson was.

If, when I arrived in Powell in 2012, I was told the Trappers play in Johnson Arena because once, long ago, a future NBA All-Star played in that gym, I would have accepted that without a second thought.

If, the day after I learned of Johnson’s former existence, I came across the bust of his likeness I was so hoping to find in Cabre’s lobby, I’d think, “What a proper sign of respect for a former Trapper whose legacy extended further than any other before or after him.”

If I read on the plaque mounted in Johnson’s honor that the Milwaukee native averaged 27 points per game at the University of Iowa, prompting the Cavaliers to draft him seventh overall in the 1970 NBA draft, I’d think, “Wow, what an extraordinary confidence boost this must give to every Northwest player with a dream who steps into this gym.”

But the bust doesn’t exist. The plaque is nowhere to be found. Johnson’s name or likeness isn’t displayed anywhere.

I’m not sure what the proper gesture is for a man, a player, like Johnson. He didn’t coach 500 wins like Ken Rochlitz. He didn’t dedicate 33 years to Wyoming basketball like Hank Cabre, who coached Johnson in 1967, when the Trappers finished fourth at nationals. He wasn’t a Powell kid. He wasn’t even from Wyoming.

But he was a Trapper. And he deserves to be remembered.

And we deserve to remember him.

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