A New York Past and L.A. Future for Two Friends

Bill Bradley, who is running for president, and Phil Jackson, who was Bradley’s running mate when they played basketball for a living, met with the public Wednesday in a gymnasium for peewees. A pair of metal backboards, painted white, hovered above them at the Santa Monica Boys and Girls Club, where the two tall men’s paths converged.

“Bill’s campaign is something I’m dropping,” Jackson said, “now that I’ve got a real job.”

Jackson had been introduced earlier this day as the new coach of pro basketball’s Lakers, which means he and Bradley both will be aiming for victories at the Staples Center, home floor of the 2000 Democratic National Convention. Their memories may be from Madison Square Garden, but their futures will be determined in L.A.

Bradley’s shot is a long one. He lags in the polls behind Bill Clinton’s assistant coach, Al Gore, who on Wednesday formally launched his bid for the presidency. And he lacks the oomph of Gov. George W. Bush, the likely Republican nominee, whose visage leaps forth to the public from the current covers of Time and Newsweek.

In campaign speeches, Bradley has enjoyed making jokes about winning the election and appointing Jackson as his secretary of defense.

“I bet some of you think Phil Jackson accepted the position with the Lakers because he thinks the Lakers can be a championship team,” Bradley told the Santa Monica audience. “Not true.

“I bet you think he decided to take the job because of the umpteen millions of dollars the Lakers offered him. Not true.

“He accepted the position with the Lakers because he agreed with me that it would be part of my Southern California strategy,” Bradley said, with a deft fake to Jackson’s left.

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Even though the Iowa caucuses and New Hampshire primary come first, Bill Bradley is eager for any California edge he can get.

That’s why he has been making an unusually long, 10-day California swing, one that included a Beverly Hills fund-raiser scheduled for Thursday night and hosted by media mogul Barry Diller. This at a time when Hollywood liberals might be inclined to toss a few bucks to a Democrat not associated with Washington’s current industry-bashing administration.

Asking for handouts is something a candidate can’t avoid. As a pro athlete, Bradley declined all solo commercial endorsements. Jackson remembers that Bradley was once approached by the hair tonic Vitalis, but spread the wealth. He made sure that the entire New York Knick squad was included in the ad.

“That’s the kind of principles he had,” says Jackson, who would later have a similar experience while coaching the Chicago Bulls. His star player, Michael Jordan, insisted that teammates be part of a Disneyland spot.

When they were Knicks at night, Bradley and Jackson roomed together on the road. One was a clean-cut Princeton grad who saw politics, not a hoop on a backboard, as a goal. The other was a shaggy, easy rider whose personal Zeitgeist led him to believe that most politicians should be taken like a basketball and stuffed.

In one of their Algonquin round-ball discussions, the two athletes would weigh what they wanted to be when they grew up. Jackson recalls that once, “We were talking about our aspirations. I didn’t know I’d ever want to be a basketball coach. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to be a public servant.

“This was a time of Watergate, of all of President Nixon’s troubles and an unpopular war coming to an end. I said, ‘Bill, politics is such a dirty business. Politicians . . . ‘

“He said, ‘That’s because they aren’t public servants.’ ”

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Far from Knicks days and a quarter-century beyond Nixon’s, here they are. Jackson is as broad-shouldered and reed-thin as ever--his body has the shape of a garment bag--but is a distinguished leader of men. He now works for Jerry West, a man whose jaw Jackson once accidentally smacked while waving hello to a friend.

Bradley? He has two coaches in his corner, John Wooden, 86, making a rare political plug. “Eighteen years in the Senate, 10 years in the NBA, Bill needs a rest,” the ex-UCLA coach deadpans. “He should be in the White House. He can get some rest there.”

Michael Jordan once needled Phil Jackson that their team shouldn’t go to the White House after a championship, inasmuch as Jackson wasn’t partial to the man in office at the time, George Bush. If the Lakers win one, Jackson might have no objection to a different George Bush, but he’d rather visit an old Knick.

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Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to him at Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles 90053. E-mail: mike.downey@latimes.com