Book Review: “Kings of the Garden” by Adam J. Criblez

Like many Knicks fans, author Adam J. Criblez has experienced a spiritual intertwining of NBA basketball and Black culture. His dates back to 1992, when he played Tecmo NBA Basketball while listening to Dr. Dre, which sounds eerily familiar to my childhood, although my jam was Public Enemy.

In his new book, released today, Criblez reflects upon the Knicks’ so-called Golden Age, which culminated in 1973, and what he deems the Silver Age (1973-1985), a period distinguished by player turnover and inconsistency. Criblez argues that “during this in-between, no NBA team better epitomized the struggles of a developing Black culture in the United States than these Knicks.”

From the preface:

While writing a book about the growth of the National Basketball Association during the 1970s, titled Tall Tales and Short Shorts, I stumbled across a 1979 column written by Peter Vecsey that used the term “N-----bocker” in reference to the 1979–80 Knicks, the league’s first all-Black team. I was shocked. But I also knew I had found the seeds of the next story I wanted to tell.

As a teenager, my first exposure to Black culture came by way of Dr. Dre and the NBA. But after reading Vecsey’s column and digging deeper into the history of rap, graffiti, and b-boying, I understood that this rise of intersecting Black culture—which included pro basketball and hip hop—in New York City during the late seventies and early eighties was so important to the history of both sport and America.

In writing this thoroughly researched and extensively footnoted volume, Criblez interviewed dozens of past Knicks players and executives. It’s a handsome book, illustrated by 15 or so black-and-white photos, and will fit perfectly on your Knicks shelf.

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After winning the NBA Finals in 1970 and 1973, the Knicks endured a rollercoaster ride from season to season. Like so:

The ‘70s started great for the Knicks, at least. A highlight was the Hall-of-Fame duo of Earl “The Pearl” Monroe and Walt “Clyde” Frazier, who formed the infamous Rolls-Royce Backcourt. Pearl possessed world-class skills, while the equally talented Frazier racked up seven straight All-Defense awards. After nine seasons with the Knicks, Monroe retired in 1980. His acrobatic style wore down his body, and his production declined in later years. As for Frazier, he was sent to the Cleveland Cavaliers as compensation for the Knicks signing Jim Cleamons as a free agent in 1977. (Clyde would go on to become a Hall-of-Fame broadcaster in an incredible second act.)

Criblez recounts chronologically New York’s many attempts to find a leader who could return them to glory. In 1975, New York traded with the Seattle Supersonics to acquire Olympian and multi-All-Star forward Spencer Haywood. Expected to be a savior, Haywood became a scapegoat for the Knicks’ woes and was traded to the New Orleans Jazz in 1979. Haywood subsequently suffered a dark, drug-fueled descent that included a plot to kill coach Paul Westhead. Haywood revealed to People magazine in 1988:

I left the Forum and drove off in my Rolls that night thinking one thought—that Westhead must die. I drove through the streets plotting the man’s murder. In the heat of anger and the daze of coke, I phoned an old friend of mine in Detroit, a guy named Gregory, a genuine certified gangster. I said, ‘’C’mon out here, buddy. I got someone I want you to take care of.’ He said, ‘No problem, Wood. Love to do that for you.’ The next day Greg and his partner flew to L.A., ready to go to work. We sat down and figured it out. Westhead lived in Palos Verdes, and we got his street address. We would sabotage his car, mess with his brake lining.

Wisely, Woody reconsidered. Of his 13-year, Hall-of-Fame career, Haywood played just four seasons with New York, but, as Criblez’s book shows, he left quite an imprint.

The book details New York’s failed attempts to land star players, from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and George McGinnis to Wilt Chamberlain (funny story, that…). The front office seemed to have struck gold in their 1976 trade for center Bob McAdoo, of whom Bill Russell said, “He’s the best shooting player at any position I’ve ever seen.” McAdoo helped to turn around flagging ticket sales and averaged 26.7 points and 12 rebounds in New York, but lasted only 171 games before being traded to the Celtics in 1979.

The next time you watch Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and cry out, “We picked Kevin Knox over him?”, remember that the Knicks have a history of draft whiffs. Criblez reminds us that they passed over Larry Bird to draft Micheal Ray Richardson. Like Haywood, Richardson comes across as a colorful character, full of antics and trade demands.

In 1979, New York drafted big center Bill Cartwright. “Medical” Bill started his career with a bang, but his numbers steadily declined and foot injuries sidelined him for long stretches.

The book presents a few anecdotes about famed Knicks’ coach Red Holzman (1967-77, 1978-82). It also covers the one season and change when Willis “The Captain” Reed—who was essential to those championship teams—helmed the ship. His tenure was marked by struggles to corral a wild roster and despite amassing a 49-47 record as the skipper, he was replaced by Holzman in 1978.

Although ostensibly about New York City, the locus of the book’s focus is the South Bronx. At the time, this area was considered the epicenter of poverty and skyrocketing unemployment. Criblez writes:

By the time the Knicks made their title runs in the early seventies, residents of the South Bronx earned half of what other New Yorkers made, suffered disproportionately from malnutrition and infant mortality, and witnessed a resurgence in gang activity that was, at least in part, race-based: Black gangs battled their Latinx counterparts for racial supremacy and street credibility.

Throughout the period discussed in the book, NYC suffered one misery after another. Teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, the city’s murder and crime rates climbed steadily and its subways were notoriously dangerous. The ‘77 blackout and subsequent looting are discussed by Criblez, as is the period when Times Square was an “erogenous zone” for lurid delights and depravity. When Ronald Reagan, who railed against “welfare queens”, visited the South Bronx in 1980, he compared it to “London after the Blitz.”

During the period of the book’s interest, the mayors of New York City were Jack Lindsay, Abe Beame, and Ed Koch, each with their own dubious distinctions. For instance: “In the summer of ‘75, Beame laid off nearly 50,000 municipal employees,” writes Criblez, “including 20% of the police force and elementary school teachers.” Residents from that period will remember the nicknames “Fear City”, “Stink City”, and “Stupid City”. Somehow Cleveland never sued for copyright infringement.

The city also endured an escalation of racial tensions during this period. After Willie Turks was dragged from his car and murdered in 1982, Justice Sybil Hart Kooper said, “There was a lynch mob on Avenue X that night.” Criblez explains: “Six white men were charged and four convicted (by a jury consisting of eleven white men and women and one Latino) of manslaughter but found not guilty of murder.”

A central interest of the book is the historical significance of the Knicks fielding the NBA’s first all-Black team in 1979. As Criblez writes:

Maintaining a roster composed entirely of Black players meant more than just wins or losses. The eyes of the nation would be on these Knicks, tracking every win as not only a victory against another NBA team, but as a triumph for the Black race.

Not everyone welcomed the change. In a newspaper article, local sportswriter Peter Vecsey quoted an unnamed source who called the all-Black Knicks a racial slur. Vecsey, in particular, comes across as obsessed with the subject, repeatedly writing about how the predominance of Black NBA athletes caused grievous distress to anonymous fans with “pale faces”.

NBA team owners held conflicting opinions about fielding mostly Black rosters, and many pursued Caucasian players to appease their fairer-skinned patrons. From the book:

It was no secret that NBA executives searched high and low for the next Great White Hope. In the early seventies, Pete Maravich was that guy; then it was Bill Walton, maybe Jack Sikma, and then Larry Bird and maybe even [Kiki] Vandeweghe. Every team wanted a white superstar because, as they reasoned, most of their fans were white and would relate more easily to a white player than a Black player. Unsurprisingly, then, the Sports Illustrated cover athlete for the 1980–81 pro basketball preview issue was the newest Seattle SuperSonic, Paul Westphal, a white guard.

And this quote sears the page that it sits on:

“White people have to have white heroes,” Cavaliers owner Ted Stepien told reporters. “I myself can’t relate to black heroes, I’ll be truthful—I respect them, but I need white people.”

Marge Schott, anyone? Over time, the NBA and hip hop would become the primary source of “cross-racial interaction” for young fans like Criblez and little Russell, but clearly there were many hurdles of prejudice to overcome first.

When the book turns its attention to graffiti, it credits TAKI 183 and PHASE 2 as early practitioners (if not originators) of the form. Although some saw spraypainting subway cars as the artistic expression of impoverished youth, others considered it flagrant vandalism. No target was sacred and even the Bronx County Courthouse suffered a tagging.

Indeed, racial tensions simmered when graffiti infiltrated white neighborhoods. In response, Ed Koch enacted anti-graffiti measures, because he viewed the art as “troubling signs of juvenile delinquency.” For good reason, the book draws comparisons between Koch and TV’s Archie Bunker, and he shoulders additional criticism for his handling of the AIDS epidemic in the early 1980s.

In 1973, Clyde Frazier fan Kool Herc introduced the world to his dual turntable technique, and soon the city saw the rise of rap as a vital musical form. It wasn’t until 1979 that rap gained national exposure, however, with the success of The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight”. Despite being an important milestone for the genre, the song is given short shrift in the book, seen as an ersatz version of the more authentic rap performed on the streets and at the city playgrounds of its day. I dunno . . . I still know most of the words.

Two monumental events occurred in 1982: Bernard King joined the Knicks, and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five released “The Message” to the world. Famous for its powerful commentary on urban poverty and inner-city life, this track is presented as a more representative work than Sugarhill’s manufactured ditty.

The book surprised me, as I did not know about Earl Monroe’s forays into hip hop music production and promotion. Further connecting sport and music, Criblez touches upon groups like Run DMC and makes passing mention of Charles Oakley’s friendship with rap stars, from Tupac Shakur and Kid ’n Play to Chuck D and LL Cool J (for whom Anthony Mason once served as a bodyguard).

This era saw the advent of B-Boy and B-Girl dancing in the city (“B” for break or beat, depending on who you asked). Street kids weren’t the only ones busting a move, however; Criblez describes the emergence of disco and the indulgences of Knickerbockers on the loose in clubs like Studio 54.

Arguably, Black culture achieved its fullest expression in NYC parks. Per Wikipedia, “Rucker Park is a basketball court at the border of Harlem and the Coogan’s Bluff section of Washington Heights neighborhoods of Manhattan, at 155th Street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard.” It is also the crown jewel of city basketball. At Rucker, explains Criblez, city kids enjoyed hip hop music and witnessed god-level hooping, from All-City players to NBA stars. The book discusses the Rucker Tournament and its legacy of phenomenal streetball players, including Julius Erving, Earl Monroe, Hawthorne Wingo (eventually a Knick), Connie Hawkins, and Bernard’s little brother, Albert King.

Meanwhile, Hubie Brown became coach of the Knicks in 1982 and would remain so until 1987. Criblez interviewed Brown for the book and describes him in Thibsian terms, with his “type” of player being team-first, accountable, disciplined, and holding a high IQ, and his reputation for hounding players to achieve his desired results.

In 1982, New York traded Richardson to the Golden State Warriors in exchange for Bernard King. In one revealing anecdote, King nips his new coach’s verbal abuse in the bud:

As King wrote in his autobiography, Hubie decided to take out his frustrations on the team’s new superstar. “You worthless piece of shit!” Hubie allegedly yelled at King in the locker room after the game. “You’re no fuckin’ All-Star! You’re no All-Pro! You ain’t shit! You’re a dog!” Two days later, King wrote, he confronted Hubie about the incident. “Don’t you ever, under any circumstances, dare to speak to me in the manner you did again. Do you understand?” King remembered that Hubie paused and then told him, “It will never happen again.” “And it didn’t,” King wrote. “Not with me. But he continued talking to my teammates like that. He saw nothing wrong with it. To him, it was perfectly acceptable.”

The book addresses King’s turbulent history before joining the Knicks, complete with alcohol abuse, multiple arrests, attempted forced sexual abuse, and cocaine possession. During his time playing in the Big Apple, Bernard seems to have kept his demons at bay. While here, King was justifiably regarded as one of the league’s elite; sadly, as the book explains, a knee injury would compromise his Knickerbocker career.

Criblez provides a brief history of Madison Square Garden, through its first three iterations to its current location. (Fun Fact: Clyde scored the first points in the current Mecca.) During the late 70s, attendance at MSG plummeted. One could, like Vecsey, suggest that the diminished interest pertained to the color of the players; on the other hand, it is more likely that declining ticket sales were the result of a poor winning percentage. Criblez’s book lets you draw your own conclusions. Historically, when the Knicks win, they pack the house, no matter the shade of their starters.

The Garden can be a difficult place to play. Former Knick Raymond Felton said recently on the Run Your Race podcast, “If you ain’t mentally strong, you can’t play for the Knicks.” New York fans are not abashed about sharing their feelings, cheering and booing with equal ferocity. Even the great Knick Bob McAdoo heard the boo birds’ song. The book quotes him as saying, “We’re out there trying to play and you can’t shut out the booing. We go on the road and you don’t hear the fans booing home teams. It’s just here.” Later, guard Randy Smith complained, “The fans are down on us. [...] I hope they would give us a little longer to prove ourselves.”

Reading about the rough treatment of Knicks fans on their team reminded me of Julius Randle’s sometimes contentious relationship with the crowd. Many previous Knickerbockers could sympathize with Randle’s experience. As Butch Beard puts it in the book, “I’d rather play on the road [...] If that’s the way they treat us, then we’re better off playing without the people here.”

A new era of Knicks’ basketball began on June 18, 1985, when they drafted Patrick Ewing with the first pick. The book discusses at length the controversy around the NBA’s first draft lottery and the urban legend of a “frozen envelope,” and it closes on Patrick’s second season and the drafting of Mark Jackson. As such, Kings of the Garden is an ideal companion piece to Chris Herring’s outstanding, Blood in the Garden. The two books combine to provide a comprehensive history of Knicks basketball spanning three decades, and with the former, you’ll learn how Black culture and the Knicks interlock perfectly like a DNA strand.