#jim loscutoff

[principiumindividuationis777]

James Loscutoff Jr. (1930-2015), of Molokan Russian ancestry, was basketball's original "enforcer", averaging 5.7 fouls per 36 minutes, even rougher than, for instance, Rick Mahorn's 4.9 fouls/36 minutes.

Loscutoff, known as "Jungle Jim", also, however, averaged a double-double per thirty-six minutes, with 12.0 points and 10.9 rebounds, and though a bench player, would likely have been a starter on any team but the dominant Celtics.

[mjordan-nba-nhl]

BILL RUSSELL, RED AUERBACH, TOMMY HEINSOHN, K. C. JONES & JIM LOSCUTOFF Boston Celtics, 1960's.

[mjordan-nba-nhl]

BOSTON CELTICS Champion NBA 1959/1960

[famousborntoday]

Jim Loscutoff : Born February 4, 1930 : Died December 1, 2015

James Loscutoff Jr. was a professional basketball player for the Boston Celtics of the National Basketball Association (NBA). A forward, Loscutoff played on sev...

Link: Jim Loscutoff

[famousdeaths]

Jim Loscutoff : Born February 4, 1930 : Died December 1, 2015

James Loscutoff Jr. was a professional basketball player for the Boston Celtics of the National Basketball Association (NBA). A forward, Loscutoff played on sev...

Link: Jim Loscutoff

[mjordan-nba-nhl]

RED AUERBACH, FRANK RAMSEY, JIM LOSCUTOFF, BILL RUSSELL, TOMMY HEINSOHN & BOB COUSY Boston Celtics, 1960's.

[hashtagsportsau]

One of the NBA’s original ‘Hatchet Men’, Jungle Jim Loscutoff.

[blinnislosinghismind]

So long, ‘Big Jim’

The sports world lost a giant on Tuesday evening, both in the literal and figurative senses.

‘Jungle Jim’ Loscutoff passed away from complications of Pneumonia with Parkinsons at the age of 85, leaving behind a legacy that includes a very big family, a summer camp that bears his name, seven NBA titles with the Celtics and, as far as I know, the only man in the history of the league to have his name retired instead of his number.

I’m too young to have known ‘Jungle Jim’ the basketball player, instead I simply knew his as ‘Big Jim,’ the very large, pronounced man with a head of thick, wavy gray hair who sat on his back porch, facing a bevy of children swimming and playing on the grounds of Camp Evergreen behind his house with a big, thick set of fingers wrapped around one of his trademark cigars. From the age of eight until 22, I was a regular at Camp, lucky enough to find some of the best friends in the world in Big Jim’s backyard.

There’s many stories that will be told about the man in the coming days, from folks who knew him as basketball’s greatest enforcer (if memory serves, he was No. 2 on ESPN’s All-Time Dirtiest Athletes), his former teammates that regularly streamed in and out of his house for visits and family members I’ve grown up with over the years who simply knew him as their grandfather.

My favorite story stems from my summer as a 17-year-old staff member, hearing a gruff voice call out, “Hey Mike, come over here.” You see, Big Jim didn’t know your name unless he cared to learn it, and I somehow made the cut. I walked - borderline ran - over, because even if he made a point to know who you were, you did not keep the man waiting.

When I made it over to the patio, I did my best to hide my nerves.

“Look at this,” he said to me through the cigar in his mouth. On the table below him were photos from his playing days, crisp black and white, some with signatures, each including other Boston Celtics of notable fame: Bill Russell, Red Auerbach, Bob Cousy and more names I’d heard the most legendary of tales of throughout my youth. I stared in awe of the pictures, but also the fingers holding them. His hands were enormous, still big enough to palm a basketball without thinking twice, hardened from years of playing and serving in the Army. There were two dulled pieces on his fingers, one a wedding band from decades of marriage to his wife Lynn, the other a large piece of gold around a comparatively small yet amazingly bright diamond, still faintly embossed with words to celebrate the 1957 NBA championship.

He must’ve caught me staring at a piece of Boston sports history, a piece of jewelry only held by five other men - Russell, Cousy, Tom Heinsohn, Frank Ramsey and Bill Sharman, because he shared a secret with me.

“In my day, we only got one of these,” he said. “It didn’t matter how many times you won. The only way to get a second was to get traded to another team.”

It was an incredible tidbit of information from a man who clearly deserved a few more pieces of hard-earned jewelry, but was clearly content without them. He spent a few more minutes with me, showing me pictures and telling me brief versions of major Boston sports stories I knew, but had a newfound appreciation for.

The sports industry adult in me wishes the nervous teenaged-version of myself had the wherewithal to ask more questions, to hear more stories from a man that inspired such awe from anyone that set foot on camp grounds. While my circle of friends and acquaintances from my summers at Camp Evergreen reached out to one another to share condolences, I like to think we all get at least few moments of quiet happiness in remembering our own personal stories of Big Jim Loscutoff, a man who truly loomed larger than life to those around him.