We close out the week with a tennis sweater encore by way of this tribute to Bill Bradley, the 1965 National Player of the Year for Princeton.
At the time, the school had produced more American presidents than basketball All-Americans. Bradley made the cover of the December 7th, 1964 issue of Sports Illustrated, complete with classic Princeton haircut. (Shot above comes from the same issue):
In 1965 Bradley led his team to Princeton’s highest-ever finish in the 64-team tournament: Third, behind UCLA and Michigan. The following year he was the number-one pick in the NBA, but opted instead for a Rhodes scholarship to Oxford:
After Oxford, Bradley played 10 years in the NBA for the New York Knicks, who retired his jersey in 1984. Bradley then served as a senator from New Jersey from 1979-1997. In 2000, Bradley ran in the Democratic presidential primaries, losing to Al Gore.
Born in Crystal City, Missouri, Bradley is now largely retired from public life and lives with his family in Verona, New Jersey.
Click here for a recollection of Princeton basketball in the ’60s, while below is an ESPN tribute to Bradley. — CC
My high school history teacher was Bradley’s roommate at Princeton, not that that had any effect on anything whatsoever.
But a tidbit is a tidbit, dammit!
That was indeed exactly how we had our hair cut and how we combed it in the 60s; many of us still do, but with much less hair.
Well done, Christian! I think you may have scored a personal best with the title of this post, although it has some tough competition. And the second sport coat is a hoot. By sheer coincidence, I am wearing a well-worn BB hound’s-tooth sack today, but I hope mine fits better than the future Senator’s did. In fairness, it must have been more difficult to find a 38 extra long in 1964 than it was for me to buy my 42 regular 25 years later.
Kind of funny seeing Bill Bradley come up on a style site.
During his Knicks days, he was a notoriously sloppy and uncaring dresser. The best-known anecdote was his use of paperclips as improvised cufflinks. Basically the mirror image of his teammate, the legendary clotheshorse Walt Frazier.
Bradley’s practice routine was detailed by John McPhee in A Sense of Where You Are, a New Yorker profile expanded into a book. Photos show him stepping off a bus after a game in khakis, crew neck sweater, scarf, and cotton raincoat, and Red Wing construction boots.
Somewhat off topic but perhaps not, I received my copy of Richard Press’ book yesterday. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect but, wow, this is a gorgeous book, beautifully put together and illustrated.
Trace is absolutely right. The photo’s in Mr. Press’s book alone are worth the price. Also, I received the J. Press Spring Brochure and, aside from my usual quibbles and harrumphs about some of the “younger generation” items, I thought it looked great. While my heart of hearts remains with the tweeds and flannels, I am looking forward to breaking out the madras and seersucker again after Memorial day.
Received the J. Press catalogue also. Noted that the indicia was paid at St. Louis. Usually would indicate mailing from there for faster arrival nationwide. That big a list in the western half of the US?
The coats/ suits look better. Still a little short maybe? Will have to visit. Do not really care for cotton cashmere sweatshirts or rugby shirts. But a really nice piece of work over all.
I forgot I was going to comment about Princeton Bill. The son of a banker south of St. Louis, I always felt he was in the wrong political party. He could have been the Mitt Romney of his day, maybe beating out W but not sure how he would have fared in the South. There was too much competition in the Democrat party for his brand.
Recently saw him in front of the Osbourne, kitty cornered from Carnegie Hall on West 57th street. Some of the old Knicks used to live there. He still looked great.
The Osborne in Manhattan has no “u”.
The Osbourne (with a “u”) is in Australia.
Non OCBD in the first pictures and no roll to speak of in the last, although I dare say that it was taken around 1967. A fine looking fellow and further proof to me that the range of attire was far more varied than we are led to believe.
You are correct. Woe is me. Memory is the second function to fail.