Al Attles wasn't just an upper-case Warrior

The pugnacious guard and coach of the 1975 NBA champs lived a distinguished life that ended Wednesday, at 87.

They say that all aspects of fashion will disappear and come back. The leisure suit seemed to be the outlier. It was a shooting star in the 70s, a fad that came and went almost as quickly as the Baja Men in the 90s. Even the elderly Ray Meyer wore one on the DePaul bench.

They were garish and coarse, a profusion of polyester, and not even the most faithful nostalgists wanted them back. But, as is true with all fashion, they worked with certain people. In the NBA, Al Attles sometimes wore a leisure suit as he coached the Golden State Warriors. Whether they looked good on Attles was a matter of opinion. But since it was Attles, most people kept their criticism to themselves.

The 1975 Warriors had a 3-0 lead on the Washington Bullets in the 1975 Finals, an outlandish turn of events, since the Warriors had won only 48 games and the Bullets had Elvin Hayes and Wes Unseld. But Golden State’s Rick Barry was the best player on that court. When he cut to the basket and Washington’s Mike Riordan basically mugged him, Attles made a beeline for Riordan in his canary-yellow leisure suit. This was no disco. It took Unseld, several teammates and a couple of referees to pry Attles off Riordan, and Attles was tossed from Game 4, which meant assistant coach Joe Roberts was running things when the Warriors won game, set and series. Even though Attles was a six-foot guard, he was the third rail of the league. Those who tested him tended to wake up elsewhere.

There’s the story about Wilt Chamberlain, Attles’ friend and Warriors’ teammate, interceding in a fight between Attles and Bob Ferry. It wasn’t going well for Ferry, and Wilt grabbed the 6-foot-8 Ferry the way most people would grab a garment bag and carried him from the fray. Asked if he was upset at Ferry, Chamberlain said, no, he was actually saving his life. Such was Attles’ reputation, which in this case matched reality.

But in real life Attles was a teetotaling, clean-mouthed, laid-back fellow who became the Warriors’ elder statesman. He had signed with the franchise when it was in Philadelphia in 1960. He was still there, in an ambassadorial capacity, when he died on Wednesday at the age of 87. Along the way Attles played 11 years, coached for 13 years, and was the general manager for four more, all for the same franchise. No one in league history had worked for the same team for that long. “He’s Mr. Warrior,” said current coach Steve Kerr, who broke out a leisure suit and wore it on the bench for “Al Attles Night” in 2017.

Attles was not a great shooter, but it wasn’t a prerequisite when he played. He was a righteous defender who tried to insert himself between his man’s jersey and chest. In those days, fisticuffs were part of the NBA’s fabric, so Attles had to defend himself until the league learned that his fists were nuclear-powered. He was there when Chamberlain scored 100 points against the Knicks in Hershey, Pa., 100 years ago. Attles hit all eight field goal attempts and a foul shot that night. “We combined for 117 points,” Attles would say.

Chamberlain was the best man when Attles married Wilhelmina Rice. Legendary jazz pianist Les McCann was a close friend, as was Bill Cosby. Off the court he was the type of person who radiated comfort, who enjoyed telling stories and listening to them, too. He was an instinctive coach, too, and understood how confidence worked. If his team didn’t have it, it might as well go out there naked. It explained how the ‘75 Warriors did what they did.

Barry was the unstoppable force. Even though he could be truculent and demanding, the other Warriors knew what he brought. Barry averaged 28.2 points in those playoffs, and 6.1 assists, too.

Long before Kerr began talking about “strength in numbers,” Attles found a way to play 10 Warriors. George Johnson was the shot-blocker, Jamaal Wilkes, Butch Beard and rookie Phil Smith chipped in, Derrek Dickey and the imposing Clifford Ray took care of the boards, Jeff Mullins brought his yesterdays off the bench, and even fifth-round pick Charles Dudley found ways to help.

Golden State played Chicago in the Western finals and fell behind 3-2, and it was assumed that Jerry Sloan and Norm Van Lier, maybe the best defensive backcourt in league history, would team with Chet Walker (who died earlier this year) to finish the series. Instead the Warriors won Game 6 and 7 by holding the Bulls to 72 and 79 points.

The Warriors opened the Finals in Washington. The night before Game 1, Attles had almost turned off the TV when a local sports anchor said this was one of the most one-sided matchups in Finals history and that the Warriors wouldn’t win a game. Attles took over the pre-game talk and informed the Warriors of this slight. “And then we went out there and got down by 16,” Attles recalled. But they won that one and the next three.

There’s a lot of love for coaches this week, and how their skills can translate into global affairs. Tim Walz, of course, turned his acceptance speech Wednesday into a Mankato West pep talk. But Kerr also spoke, on Monday night, and devoted its talk to leadership, what defines it, and by implication why Donald Trump lacks it. As you’ve read here before, I think Kerr would be a viable political candidate for any office. Yes, there’s a California governor’s race in 2026, although Kerr might not want to abandon the Warriors’ bench as long as Steph Curry is still playing. And Curry might not want to abandon seasons of $50-plus million.

But Kerr starkly defined leadership skills. Respect for those whom you are leading. Willingness to laugh at one’s self and also to listen to input from the players. And, pointedly, the inclination to tell the truth and act with dignity.

The more I’ve observed coaches and even bosses in my former business, the more I believe that leadership is a natural talent. It can’t be faked and it can’t be transfused to someone who happens to work for the leader. That’s why the “coaching tree” is such a bogus concept. Working for Mike Krzyzewski does not make you Mike Krzyzewski. Attles would have been the central figure of any organization and in any profession.

Attles grew up in north Jersey and played at North Carolina A&T, helping the Aggies win two CIAA championships. That was no small feat, since the legendary Clarence “Big House” Gaines was coaching at Winston-Salem State, and the league was full of talented Black players for whom the white schools weren’t quite ready. Attles had little interest in the NBA and was headed toward the Army, but his bad back wouldn’t let him pass the physical. He agreed to sign with the Warriors for $6,000, which he considered a fortune.

Wilhelmina had her own brand of toughness. She was a teacher, and Attles was taking a nap one day when she came home from work. When Attles mumbled, “What’s for dinner?”, she angrily turned the skillets into clashing cymbals, and Attles concluded that maybe he had misspoke. As she remembered it, Al tried to cook pork and beans and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Challenged, Al immersed himself into the culinary world and became a gourmet chef.

Attles became a Hall of Famer in 2019. The Warriors retired his No. 16, and A&T retired his No. 22. He was on two Warriors teams that reached the Finals, losing to the Celtics and 76ers. And he still has the franchise record for wins.

There are rumblings that the leisure suit is finally re-entering our atmosphere, but coaches now wear warmup attire. In the end, it didn’t matter what Attles wore. Nothing could hide what was inside.