Tribute -- Bostonians Show Rare Warmth For Extraordinary Reggie Lewis

BOSTON - They came in Celtic jerseys, navy blue suits and everything in between. They came from Newton and Framingham, from Kenmore Square and Storrow Drive, from Roxbury and the Back Bay, from Harvard and MIT with their heavy bookbags.

Just past 9 a.m. yesterday, people began gathering on tiny St. Botolph Street in front of ancient Matthews Arena to file past the open casket of Reggie Lewis and pay final respects. Thousands stood in line, hushed, beneath a sometimes angry summer sun; black, white, yellow and brown formed a picture more diverse than anything ever seen in Boston Garden.

People everywhere felt for Reggie Lewis, but Boston mourned and mourned hard. You know how they are in New England: They like to let out their emotions at Fenway or the Garden, where emotions belong; otherwise, they are staid, conservative and stone-faced, people who would never let you see them rub the spot where it hurts. But there was no holding back yesterday, just as there has been no holding back since last Tuesday when Reggie Lewis, 27 years old and in the prime of his life, his fatherhood, his basketball career, his philanthropy, died when his heart failed him. Anybody who could touch people here - not just touch them but stop their lives and make them sit by the television and radio day after day and grieve openly - must have been special. Reggie Lewis was.

Dave Gavitt, CEO of the Celtics, picked up on this when he spoke during the funeral, held on the Northeastern University campus, where Lewis studied and played basketball.

"Isn't it strange," Gavitt noted, "that in conservative, staid New England, this soft young man from Baltimore had to come along and make it all right for us to tell ourselves that we love each other and that we care for each other?"

You can be cynical if you want and believe Boston's adoration for Lewis was tied exclusively to his level of performance for the Celtics, but you'd be a fool. People applaud performance, but they honor generosity and altruism.

Several years ago, Lewis decided he had amassed enough personal wealth to make Christmas special for people receiving public assistance in Boston. Remembering some pretty scant meals during his holidays while growing up in Baltimore, Lewis (along with then-teammate Brian Shaw) bought 300 turkeys to hand out before Christmas. Lewis called several friends in the media to make sure word got out that food would be available. For days he worried not enough people would know.

That day, at Roxbury Community College, some 1,500 people came with their welfare IDs, hoping Reggie Lewis could supply them with something to eat on Christmas night. To dozens of kids who might otherwise have gone to bed hungry, Reggie Lewis was Santa Claus. His answer the next year for all those empty hands was to buy more turkeys. Then, he bought turkeys and handed them out in his native Baltimore.

Soon enough, other NBA players followed suit. Michael Adams of the Bullets did something similar in his native Hartford. So when people tell me athletes can't be at the forefront of improvement, of change, I have a simple two-word answer ready at all times: Reggie Lewis. He was everywhere: boys clubs, girls clubs, YMCAs, clinics, schools.

"Coach" Willie Maye, a Boston fixture on the radio airwaves and a close friend of the Lewises, said, "Donna had to stop him from giving away the house." The Boston Celtics may never have had as fine a captain.

Eloquently explaining what makes Lewis' death different from all the other 27-year-old men dying in urban wars, Jesse Jackson said before the funeral, "The gifts (bestowed upon professional athletes) are not ordinary, and neither are their responsibilities. On the wings of athletes and entertainers has come so much social transformation. Reggie wore the burden with grace."