Trailblazers for a Cavalier

Long before they shared the stage, they set the stage.

Earl Lloyd was the first African American to play in a league in which three-quarters of today’s players are black. Spencer Haywood fought the legal battle that led to the now-common occurrence of high school seniors receiving their diplomas and draft-night handshakes from David Stern in the same month.

Two living pages of the NBA history book addressed the sport’s future guardians this week. Lloyd and Haywood, separated by two decades in the chronology of the league, were right next to each other on an “NBA Legends” panel at the Rookie Transition Program in Tarrytown, N.Y., Sunday night.

If Earl Lloyd rarely gets mentioned alongside baseball pioneer Jackie Robinson, if he didn’t get to cash in on the huge contracts later bestowed on those players who followed his lead, so be it. It doesn’t bother him at all.

Haywood felt unappreciated for years. He was bitter about the ignorance of young superstars who were millionaires before their 21st birthdays, thanks to his precedent, upset by every perceived slight from the league -- right down to the nosebleed seats it gave him for an NBA Finals game this year.

He might have needed this panel appearance, this little gesture of acknowledgment from the NBA, even more than the rookies needed to hear from him. The pain and anger have subsided noticeably since I interviewed Haywood six years ago. Perhaps he made his final step Sunday night, thanks to a warm smile and a look of recognition from an 18-year-old.

Not just any 18-year-old. It was LeBron James, one of the latest and wealthiest beneficiaries of Haywood’s struggle, the high school phenom who was the No. 1 pick in this year’s draft.

As the 100 or so people in the conference room made their way toward the exit, Haywood and James met for the first time.

“We kind of walked toward each other at the same time, both of our paths crossed,” James said. “I know his past, he knows my present. We just kind of got the vibe, because we both made the same step.”

Thanks in part to his buddy Maurice Clarett’s inquiries about joining the NFL early, James had heard of Haywood before that night.

“Of course,” James said. “Being in the position I was, making the jump straight from high school, of course I had to know about the history and who made it right.”

For Haywood, at long last, satisfaction.

“He got it,” Haywood said. “He got it.”

Not only does James get it, he has it, that special blend of charisma and star power, the stuff that makes a room seem to tilt toward wherever he happens to be. You can’t help but notice it, whether he’s onstage at Radio City Music Hall, presenting an MTV Video Music Award this summer, or reading a book to Mr. Hernandez’s class in Room 302 of Public School 8 in Manhattan as part of an NBA community service event this week. He’s comfortable whenever all eyes are on him.

It’s why James already has racked up $100 million in endorsements, with his first game for the Cleveland Cavaliers still more than a month away. And it’s why people such as Haywood expect James to boost the NBA’s spot in the sports and pop-culture hierarchies.

“It’s on your shoulders, you can make it happen,” Haywood told James.

“He can make it happen,” Haywood said. “And he told me he will handle it. I feel good that the NBA’s in good hands.”

Said Paul Silas, James’ coach with the Cavaliers: “He understands. That’s the one thing about him at 18 years old.... I’m just amazed how he carries himself, the understanding that he has of his presence in time.”

Remember, two of the men who helped take the league to its greatest heights, Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson, were early entrants. Rather than lead to the destruction of the NBA, as was widely predicted at the time of its inception in the 1970s, early entry accelerated the careers of the stars who saved it in the 1980s.

Most of today’s most popular players -- among them Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, Allen Iverson, Tracy McGrady and Kevin Garnett -- joined the NBA after high school or brief stays in college. The reigning rookie of the year, Amare Stoudemire, came straight from high school. Two of the last three No. 1 overall picks were high schoolers. The top three picks in this year’s draft, James, Darko Milicic and Carmelo Anthony, all are under 20.

“We didn’t ever anticipate, frankly, that the talent level would increase so greatly that 18-year-olds could routinely compete with their elders,” said Stern, the NBA commissioner who was one of the league lawyers fighting against early entry in the 1970s. “But over time, basketball became just like other sports, whether it be gymnastics, tennis, you name it.”

*

Sometimes nature simply takes its course, and sometimes the timeline needs a jolt. In the tumultuous period of the late 1960s and early 1970s, amid the riots in the cities and the anti-Vietnam stance of Muhammad Ali, Haywood decided to buck the system.

“It was a time in America when revolutionary [stuff] was going on,” Haywood said. He laughed. “I thought I was part of it.”

After his sophomore year at the University of Detroit, Haywood wanted to help his mother, who was still making $2.50 a day picking cotton in Mississippi.

Haywood signed with the Denver Rockets of the American Basketball Assn., which had no age restriction. He averaged 30 points and 20 rebounds, winning the league’s most-valuable-player and rookie-of-the-year awards. He became disgruntled with the Rockets in his second year. Meanwhile, Seattle SuperSonic owner Sam Schulman needed players. He signed Haywood in 1970, violating the NBA’s four-year rule, which stated that players could not enter the league until four years after their high school classes had graduated.

Just as Jackie Robinson had Dodger President Branch Rickey, Haywood had Schulman, who died in June. Schulman’s lawyer, Frank Rothman, came up with the legal strategy and Schulman paid the bills.

“Without my husband, Spencer Haywood wouldn’t have happened,” Sylvia Schulman said. “He just felt it was unconstitutional to keep a person from making a living in the years that he could. A basketball player can’t make a living in his 50s.”

A Los Angeles judge ruled in favor of Schulman and Haywood, on the basis of the Sherman Antitrust Act. The NBA appealed and the case went all the way to the Supreme Court, which ruled in favor of Haywood in March 1971.

In the months before that, Haywood played when he could. When he took the court, the public address announcers would say, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an illegal player on the floor.” Fans threw bottles and he said some even ran out and hit him. Sometimes he would be served an injunction, barring him from playing, just before tipoff, and he would be led out of the arena and into the snowy night.

After losing the legal battle, the NBA adopted the “hardship rule” that allowed high school graduates to play in the NBA if they could demonstrate financial need. However, as Stern said, “People who came from wealthy parents were helping to redefine what ‘hardship’ was,” so the league dropped the financial requirement in 1976.

For Haywood, it wasn’t as easy to shed the label of troublemaker. Rather than being celebrated during a career in which he averaged 19.2 points and 9.3 rebounds, he was pushed to the margins. His story wasn’t well known. Once, when he approached a young star to let him know that he was the man who’d broken through, the player said, “No you didn’t” -- and walked away.

But he slowly is working his way back into the NBA fold, having spoken at the Rookie Transition Program for the last five years.

And for those about to walk through the door he opened, he has this warning: Don’t follow in his footsteps.

He stood up at the end of the session and told the rookies, “I am a recovering addict.”

He started with alcohol and marijuana and descended to cocaine. Drugs led to a drop-off in his statistics, and made him so unreliable that the Lakers kicked him off the team after Game 2 of the 1980 NBA Finals, while they were on their way to the championship.

“I’m going to warn you guys,” Haywood told the rookies. “You can be the best player in here, and drugs will get the better of you.”

Now, with 18 years of sobriety, Haywood spends his time going to schools to preach the importance of education -- he has continued with college courses himself over the years -- and a drug-free life. He has a videotape with messages from 1980s NBA stars such as Magic, Isiah Thomas and Dominique Wilkins.

But he knows that those names are considered ancient history to kids who weren’t born during their playing careers. He needs the big names of today in order to connect to the youth, so he’s recruiting the likes of James.

*

As much as the current crop of players needed trailblazers, the old heads are counting on the young guys. Without them, their efforts go to waste, their story comes to an end.

When a player once told Earl Lloyd, “I owe you,” Lloyd responded “You don’t owe me a thing. The guy you owe is the person that comes behind you. You make sure you leave something for them.”

When Lloyd sees the nine-figure contracts in today’s NBA, he feels joy, not envy. At least, he can joke, he didn’t have to worry about groupies and hangers-on in his day.

“When you make $5,000 [a year], ain’t nobody hangin’ on,” he said.

In an interview earlier this year, he said: “Am I bitter about all this money that kids make now? I’m not. I felt real good about being in something early on, that allowed African American players [to come] into this league.”

If Lloyd was equipped to handle whatever racial ignorance came his way, perhaps he got it from his mother. As she sat in the stands before Lloyd’s first game, someone behind her said, “I wonder if this

She simply turned around and said, “Trust me, the ... can play.”

What bothered Lloyd the most wasn’t the words from the fans. It was the silence from his teammates.

When the team had an exhibition game in South Carolina, Lloyd stayed behind because he knew he wouldn’t be allowed in the hotels or arena.

“Not one teammate came to me and said, ‘Earl, that’s not right,’ ” Lloyd said.

This year, Lloyd finally received the ultimate recognition for his accomplishments when he was enshrined in the Basketball Hall of Fame as a contributor.

“The greatest honor you can bestow on an athlete is to remember him after his playing days are done,” Lloyd said.

That’s why Lloyd and Haywood won’t be upset if they never have the same fame and fortune as James before he even did anything. They have his attention, and they have his gratitude.

“I thank them every day,” James said. “They laid down the stones for us to make this happen, for this upcoming season. We’re going to try to lay down the stones for the next generation to come.”

J.A. Adande can be reached at j.a.adande@latimes.com.