Unveiling the Legend: Julius Erving and Joe “The Destroyer” Hammond at Rucker Park

This is how Julius Erving, the unforgettable Doctor J, tells it in the first person in his memoirs (“Dr. J, The Autobiography”): “The games at Rucker Park were so pure… You didn’t have to worry about a coach sitting you down if you drank a bad decision. There he could go from one side of the court to the other, run with the ball whenever he wanted. But you also knew that if you messed with a rival in one move, he was going to try to return it to you in the next. Since those games were not televised, some of the things that happened were exaggerated, they were maddening by word of mouth. But there were legendary matches. One against Milbank, a playground team that was supposed to have the world’s smallest street player, Joe “The Destroyer” Hammond. My colleagues told me ‘man, The Destroyer is going to appear’ and I wondered ‘who is that destroyer?’. He was a 6-foot-3 guy with a reputation for being the best one-on-one player in New York, which was the same as being the best in the world. He never played in high school, but was drafted by the NBA Lakers and ABA Nets in 1971, and refused to turn pro because it would have lowered his income relative to what he earned as a drug, heroin and marijuana dealer. . He said that when the Lakers offered him $50,000, he had $200,000 stashed in his apartment.

I was sitting on the bench and I started to see people get nervous, start pointing at a limo that had parked on the other side of Eighth Avenue. The limo door opened and The Destroyer dressed in a suit appeared. Then they told me that he came from playing craps in a club. He took off his suit and shoes and underneath he was wearing basketball gear and so he started bowing to the four sides of the floor saying ‘I’m here guys, The Destroyer is here.’

Julius Erving (now 72 years old) was ABA and NBA champion (with the Sixers), MVP of both leagues, 16-time all-star (eleven in the NBA, five in the ABA) and retired in 1987 as one of the best, and most iconic, players in history. John Hammond? The Destroyer ended up in jail and later spent a few years practically destitute, selling what he found on the street and going through very hard times in Harlem, the neighborhood that was impossible to get out of, from which he never wanted to leave. He is still considered the great legend of the playground, of street courts, the milestone in the mystique of those tournaments that turned Rucker Park (155th Street, Harlem) into much more than just a basketball court. Sacred liturgies for the black counterculture, basketball without ties in a heritage that mixed professionals, college players… and free souls (or prisoners of a deeply unfair system) from the streets.

In the early 1970s, the likes of Erving and Hammond built the legend of Rucker Park, with fans cascading in, climbing trees and rooftops to watch: much more than games. Hammond, they said, had a lethal shot but was, above all, unstoppable in penetration, a scourge for whoever defended him. He never went down on that 40-point court, or so they say. His record was 82. In the limo game, he came in just before halftime and finished with 50 points. Julius Erving’s team, the Westsiders, coached by journalist Peter Vecsey and with already-professional players in his side, needed two overtimes to win. The Doctor (39 points) took the title. Word of mouth was already fueling that feline silhouette with afro hair who was about to turn professional without ending his journey with the UMass Minutemen. The MVP, however, went to John Hammond. The Destroyer, The Destroyer. He was 21 years old.

On those memorable afternoons at Rucker Park it became clear, especially to the thousands of fans who gathered, that Hammond could be the best of the pros as well. The great black pride. Wilt Chamberlain, absolutely connected to New York life as soon as his professional obligations allowed him, had no doubts either. And he told his team at the time, the Lakers, to draft that player however they could. The Angelenos, without having seen it, listened to their center/mountain and gave Hammond the number 5 in the 1971 hardship draft. A secondary draft created to select players who had not finished their university cycle; A strange response to the triumph of Spencer Haywood, who was given permission by the courts to be a professional and be able to feed his family earlier than was stipulated at the time. Hammond had dropped out of college at 14, but wouldn’t have graduated college (if he’d gone) until 1972, so the Lakers struck hardship…and with an offer of $50,000, a house, a car, and three year contract. But they were met with a refusal that he himself, The Destroyer, explained as follows: “They should have believed that they were offering the world to a miserable black from the ghetto, but they didn’t need his money. He sold drugs and played dice since he was ten years old. At fifteen I had a secret account with my father in the bank with $50,000 and when the Lakers made me their offer, I had $200,000 in my apartment. He made thousands of dollars selling heroin, cocaine, crack, marijuana… He didn’t need $50,000 from the Lakers. I told them that I deserved the same as his best players because he was better than them, but they didn’t want to pay me more. They couldn’t believe that a beggar was negotiating like that.”

Then Hammond turned down another three-year contract from the Nets, still in the ABA and with a roster of … Julius Erving. And he took an arrest and jail sentence when Ronald Reagan went tough on the drug war. He only got to play in the minor leagues, pushed by friends and without giving up the excesses and conflicts that kept him from being, perhaps, also one of the best in history on professional courts. He went down to hell, hit bottom, passed through Cain’s and has ended up living a quiet life in Harlem, which was his kingdom.

Some say that he really did not score 50 points in that mythical duel, among them Doctor J himself: “In no way, it was not as people later counted. The only one who could have scored 55 points for me was Bernard King, but because he could score them on everyone”. But they also agree that he doesn’t care. And in that any movement of the great professional stars, he could do better. That his dunks rumbled and his suspensions, when the line of three did not exist, flew from the same remote distances in which Stephen Curry later operated. Within the tracks, he could with everyone. Outside of them, in those same streets, the brand of drugs and marginality had already robbed him of any opportunity when he was a child. Like so many times, the dark reverse of the American dream, that fairy tale that he never was.

2023-07-18 09:49:00
#money #Lakers #earn #selling #drugs