Perhaps the most moving scene of any western ever made is the final two minutes of Clint Eastwood’s Oscar-winning tale of regret and redemption, Unforgiven.
In that final scene, it's sunset and Eastwood’s William Munny is gently, wordlessly bringing flowers to a simple, solitary grave. He's an aging, recovering drunk and a one-time lying, robbing and cheating son-of-a-bitch who as a young man would kill “anything that moved," a lot of times for no other reason than he was drunk and felt like it.
What’s more, he's just spent the entire film struggling to overcome his darker nature, while trying like hell to do the right thing; trying to outrun his poor choices, trying to keep his regrets from consuming him whole and, most of all, trying to finally become the man the woman in that shallow grave somehow saw every time she looked at him.
The woman – now dead from smallpox – has left her one-time, mad-dog of a husband to try to grow crops on a tiny patch of rocky soil, tend to a handful of ragged farm animals, and raise two beautiful children, jobs he's proven he really cannot do well.
Certainly not as well as he once rained hell on humanity.
But the poignancy of Unforgiven and its emotional linchpin end up being the one thing – in fact, the only thing – capable of bringing a lost and lonely man like Munny back from the edge and back from the kind of unspeakable darkness that can wrap itself around a man’s soul.
The love of a good woman.
Honesty compels me to admit that until a few days ago I had never heard of Wally Osterkorn, who died recently after a long battle with Alzheimer’s. But heaven knows I certainly had plenty of chances to.
Wally, a handsome, high-energy, oak-tree of a guy with thick, jet-black hair and a magnetic smile, grew up in Chicago, where I now live, and went to Amundsen High School, not far from where I used to have an office. In fact, he still has family in that neighborhood.
He once lived in Syracuse, New York, where I had spent the first twenty some-odd years of my life.
And he once played for the old Syracuse Nationals of the NBA, about whom I have done a fair amount of research.
But, like I said, I had never, ever in my life heard of Wally Osterkorn.
But this week I learned about him from a piece in the Syracuse paper, one lamenting the big man’s passing that referenced an almost unbelievable series of incidents from a lifetime ago. And, frankly, it was those incidents and their aftermath that led me to start working on the story you’re reading now.
The core of that newspaper story was a bittersweet interview with former Nat and Hall of Famer, Dolph Schayes, and tells how Osterkorn had once been a part-timer on the great Nat teams of the 1950s, and how he had been a dedicated teammate, a bruising intimidator, and an offensively challenged but chiseled wide body underneath the basket who worked hard to do little things to help his club win.
I would learn later that he was with the Nats during the 54-55 season, the year Syracuse won its one and only NBA title, but that an injury limited him to only 19 games.
The piece said that big Wally – a bruiser who couldn’t shoot a lick, but a guy who was always quick to throw a punch, swing an elbow, or deliver a forearm shiver to protect his own, particularly Dolph – was known to just about everyone in Syracuse as “Ox.”
But it told too about the injury in that championship season of 54-55 ended his career before his 27th birthday, and that somewhere thereabouts big Ox drifted into a life of crime in the very town where he'd once been hailed an NBA hero.
In fact, just a few months after his NBA career ended, Wally seemed so committed to his new life as a cat burglar and second story man (and yet apparently so ill-suited), that he soon got caught red-handed, soon was convicted of 40 counts of larceny, and soon found himself sentenced to four years at an unforgiving state penitentiary called Attica.
Wait. What? Did you say Attica?
Yep.
Young Wally Osterkorn, just months removed from regular minutes in meaningful NBA games, and months removed from hoisting the NBA trophy, found himself sentenced to four years of hard time with murderers, rapists and armed robbers in one of the most legendary, hard-core, maximum security penal institutions in the history of man.
Now, I have to tell you, this is where if you have any heart at all, or even a trace of humanity, the story starts to get good. Because as it turns out, Wally was only in the second quarter of life. For Ox, the guy who would always throw his body in harm's way to protect a teammate, fate would decree that there was still plenty of time left on the clock. In fact, for the big guy it was not even halftime yet.
Eventually Wally got out of that hell-hole, found the strength to swallow his past and put his choices and his former life behind him, and move to Phoenix, where he someway, somehow re-built his life. In fact, rebuilt it in a way that would make one heck of a movie someday.
But back to that story in the Syracuse paper. In it, Dolph talks about running into Ox a few years ago in Arizona and commenting how he looked nothing like the strutting young buck he’d known as a player, a guy he always viewed as larger than life. “Smaller than life” is how Dolph described Wally in the piece, adding that as much as he liked Wally, he’d been disappointed by how Osterkorn had "turned his back on society."
Dolph later suggested to Wally that the Nats have a reunion, and told him it would be a lot of fun. Wally apparently just looked at his old teammate and confessed, “Dolph, I can't. I can never go back to Syracuse. There’s too much history there for me.”
And I know what you’re probably thinking. Big loser, that Osterkorn, right? And probably a bad guy who got exactly what was coming to him?
Or just another spoiled, pampered ex-athlete incapable of functioning in the real world and playing by the rules, like the rest of us? Or, maybe, a guy so jacked up on the intensity of the NBA game that he gravitated to the only thing he found that could give him that kind of rush off the court?
Well, you're not alone. Those thoughts and others crossed my mind when I first read about Wally and tried to wrap my brain around what the guy had done. And those thoughts obviously represent what at least some fans think in the Nats’ former hometown – at least, that is, if you are to believe the comments on Syracuse.com just below the Ox story.
What’s more, it’s entirely possible that any or all of those things were true back in the day; or at least true for a time. But they couldn’t have been true forever. Not by a long shot. Because when Wally got out of prison and relocated to what was in 1960 a sleepy, dusty little town in the middle of sun-baked Arizona, do you know what he got a job doing?
Selling encyclopedias. That’s right. In just a few short years the man went from an NBA Championship to a prison cell in Attica to selling encyclopedias.
And what’s more, he sold those damn things door-to-door. In the desert. Without air conditioning. On straight commission.
And Wally didn’t just trudge door-to-door as some sort of transition job until he found something better. Nope. He made a real go of it. He tore that job of his apart. Made it his own. And did it like few other salesmen in company history.
In fact, Wally Osterkorn was soon named Britannica’s Salesman of the Year for his district, and was given that award for not only how well he sold those books, and how often he did so, but for how dedicated he was. And Wally didn’t just earn that honor once, or even twice. He was named Salesman of the Year five times.
Five times.
I don’t know what motivated that big, hulking ex-felon to keep going day after day, year after year, selling those damn books in that damn heat. Maybe it was the horrors of what he seen in prison, many of which I’m sure he kept buried inside him and took to his grave.
Maybe it was the thought of his beautiful and devoted wife, Carol, and how she so believed in him.
Or maybe, just maybe, big Wally needed to prove to himself he could be the man his wife saw when she looked at him, and that he had it in him to do what any man would want to do for the woman he loves; provide for her, protect her, and build a life for her.
I’d like to think it was a little of all those things. But I guess, I'll never really know because Ox is gone now. His battle with Alzheimer’s is over, and his race against all his ghosts has, at long last, been run.
But not before Wally found it in himself to do some pretty soul-cleansing things. Not before he rose up the ranks at Britannica, and not before he was promoted to management and they named him District Manager of the Month. Three times in fact.
Not before he’d gone back to school 20 years after the University of Illinois and got a Master’s Degree in Counseling from Arizona State and became a dedicated volunteer working with patients at the Camelback Psychiatric Hospital.
But most importantly, not before he and Carol would build for themselves a rich, full life in Arizona and create a beautiful, loving family, and not before the two of them would know the joy of being surrounded by six children, 11 grandchildren and two great grandchildren. Not, in other words, until Wally Osterkorn drilled his horrible youthful mistake right between the eyes and buried it once and for all deep in the endless desert of his adopted home.
I called Carol Osterkorn a few days ago and, after offering her my sympathies, told her I’d like to tell her husband’s remarkable story. I told her something recently ran in the Syracuse newspaper in which the second half of Wally’s life, the good half, was only given a brief mention.
But Carol didn’t want any part of it. In fact, she didn’t want to even talk about where Wally had once been and what he’d done. She only wanted to focus on the man he'd become.
I can’t blame her really. Few women who love a man, now gone, would ever want to revisit the horror and shame of him going to prison, much less why he went there. In the end, to most people, certain things are best left buried and forgotten.
But I’m sorry. I had to write this story. I couldn’t help it. From the safe distance of my office here in Chicago I saw Wally Osterkorn being defined (and slowly consigned to history) by a group of people in one part of the country who only seemed to want to know one stupid mistake he made as a kid.
And I saw another group of people on the opposite side of the country who had so distanced themselves from that mistake that in the process they buried the incredible story of how far the guy had come. And in doing so they were denying us outsiders the opportunity to appreciate the kind of courage, strength and determination he must have carried deep within him.
And in between, all alone, was Wally. The real Wally.
That’s why I wrote this story. So that somewhere out there people may read it and know that a fringy, low-scoring ex-NBA enforcer and loyal teammate named Wally Osterkorn wasn’t just some failed petty thief, wasn't just another emotionally scarred ex-con, and wasn't just one more guy at the end of the bar choking on the shame of some past mistake.
And he wasn’t just a great salesman, a devoted husband, a loving patriarch, and a giving member of his community.
He was all those things. And from what I can tell, that combination of those two men – one young and brash, the other old and regretful – was most likely the true Ox Osterkorn, a guy who may have done what he did as a kid, but a guy who seemed to spend the rest of his life trying like hell not to let it define him.
And those of us who didn’t know Wally personally, or those who had only seen him on the court, or had read about him somewhere, would do well not to try not to pigeonhole him as a man at either end of his run, but to try to think of him as a simple guy whose life turned out to be one the most complicated, unlikely and yet inspiring journeys imaginable.
Because the story of Wally Osterkorn is a story of redemption. It is a story of atonement, a story of a million baby steps, and a story, most of all, of love.
And while I have no doubt that a big part of Ox was incapable of swallowing the enormous shame he felt for what he'd done and was probably still shattered right up to the very end, I also get the strong sense that among those shards of the former hoop star’s hopes, dreams and good name, there dwelt, especially deep in life, a giant of a man that only those closest to him got to see.
And if I had ever gotten the chance to talk to Wally, I think that's what I would have told him. That for what he had done to atone for his mistake, and how quietly dedicated he was to the process, he was a hero to me. I'd tell him that, his shame aside, at least one guy from Syracuse is and will always be very proud of him.
And I guess, now that I think of it, that's what I should have told Carol. That her husband must have been a remarkable man, and must have had a life force and a goodness inside him that had a way of making all the bad times seem, particularly now, like a small price to pay.
Those last two minutes of Unforgiven I mentioned earlier, the ones in which William Munny lays flowers on his wife’s grave, are accompanied by a simple little melody on a single acoustic guitar. It is a piece called Claudia’s Theme.
And as that simple yet haunting melody is playing, and as the aging gunman’s silhouette slowly dissolves into nothingness, leaving only the grave, a barren tree and the dying traces of the day, the unlikely love story of William and Claudia Munny ends with these few final words:
Some years later, Mrs. Ansonia Feathers made the arduous journey to Hodgeman County to visit the last resting place of her only daughter.
William Munny had long since disappeared with the children, some said to San Francisco where it was rumored he prospered in dry goods.
And there was nothing on the marker to explain to Mrs. Feathers why her only daughter had married a known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition.
Nice, M.
Thnx, Nance. I'm hoping some people from Syracuse stumble upon this post and find it in themselves to remember Wally a little differently than they do now. Nothing wrong with the world that a little more forgiveness wouldn't help, huh?
Thank you for writing this article about my loving husband Wally. It took a lifetime for him to get over his past. He tried to forget it but somehow it wouldn't let go. I quess that is what drove him to try to be the best at whatever he did in life.. He leaves a void in my heart and the hearts of his siblings, children, and grandchildren. There will never be another one like him. You told the story with grace and dignity and thank you for handling the situation with care. Carol Osterkorn
Thank you, Carol. I hope someday what will define your husband in people's eyes is now what he did to cause his regret, but what he did in spite of it.
Great story that should have been told. Nice job.
Thnx, Chris. The story touched me for some reason and felt compelled to write about it. Hope you'll share it with others.
As soon as I saw the title to this post, I immediately wondered if it was going to be about the NBA player from the 1950's. When I was a teenager I looked up the rosters of old NBA Champions, and the name "Wally Osterkorn" always stood out to me, as it was so distinctive. I had no idea the man behind the name lived such a remarkable life. Thanks for writing this piece.
Thanks, Ian. You were one up on me. I had never heard of Wally, but glad I know him now. And I'm serious about what I said in the piece. I truly think it would make a heck of a movie in the hands of the right director and writer. Thanks, again.
Hell of a story MC, I wonder if Bobby Wanzer knew him. I wonder how many stories are like that but untold. There are guys like Pee Wee Kirkland that through their personal struggle found a certain amount of redemption. Thanks for digging out one more. BTW, it was good to talk to you.
T: Thanks, and that's a good question about the Wanz. I should try to get this to him to let him read it. And yeah, you're right. Far too many stories like this go untold. It was a generation of people who liked to keep their cards close to the vest. Hope all is well, and great catching up with you too.
That is a wonderful story and I'm glad someone like you told it. Wally was a quiet hero who didn't let his past difine him..........instead it made him stronger and more determined to be a decent human being. People should not be judged by just one act.......good or bad. Thanks for the good reading!!
Thnx, Jacki. I hope someday a writer much more talented that I am really gives Wally's story the kind of the treatment it deserves. I really think it could be a movie, know what I mean?
Excellent article. I am too young to have seen Wally or the Nats play, but I strongly believe that is not too late to be a fan. They moved to Philly 49 years ago, but they are still the heroes I read about in old newspapers. Thanks for letting me know about your article. Carol- Thanks for sharing Wally and the stories and memories that he will always continue to be a part of. He will always have fans.
Jay LaFountaine
http://www.saltcitycagers.com
Here is a team pic I found from 1954. They made the finals against the Minneapolis Lakers but fell short. The "Bandage Brigade" was too banged up to bring it home. We did win it next year with the shot clock and mikan's retirement.
Thanks for the comment, Jay. And I hope you'll share this piece with your readers and any other old Nat or old NBA fans you know know or meet.
Thanks. I'm Danny his nephew. This was a nice attempt to tell the wonderful story of my Uncle Wally's life. I visited him a few years back and he opened up to me about his past. You had a lot of the story wrong, but I tip my hat to your effort here. Find me on facebook, and maybe we can have a cup of coffee. My mom still lives here in Chicago as my 2 brothers and sisters. My mom know the real history and I know some she may not know which will blow peoples mind. I'll tell you this. He did nothing but help people in prison. He was the coolest Uncle anyone could ever have! He was probably the coolest guy I've ever met. You will find my movie
" Margarine Wars" premier coming out in Hollywood March 29 with Doris Roberts and Robert Loggia. I credit my drive to my Uncle.
Yours,
Danny Ahlfeld
Thanks, Danny. And I'd love to have a cup of coffee and to talk about your uncle. I was actually trying to reach out to your mother to ask her some questions when Carol told me she'd rather not talk about the past. At that point I stopped trying, figuring I didn't want to come between the family or to start anything at a difficult time. But again, thank you and I hope some good comes of this story. I'll be in touch.
That was very nice of you. My mom would have been happy to talk to you. My mom toured the world with Wally went he toured with the Globetrotters. I found a article she wrote after she came back in my room at the exact time Wally died. Right when I picked it up I knew we would loose him that night. As far as my comments about his team mate I don't know. Some folks have huge ego's, and Wally put his aside as far as I see it. He knew what he had lost my the mistakes that he made. He also knew all the people that he had hurt, and that killed him. He never forgave himself completely. Do you realize how much money he could have made, and the other life he could have had with the N.B.A. had he not hit that wall? A great looking guy, who could communicate? And he had graduated from U of I. He wrote and spoke German. He could have announced games and even more. I think that hurt him deep down inside. It would have anyone. I think I'll stick with my statement cause he was never a shell of a man. The inside drive he had was more then any of his teammates on the championship team ever had, and he proved it by putting EVERYTHING behind him and starting a new life. THAT takes BALLS! Having a GOD in your life and reaching new heights without seeking fan fare, and going out silently! Thanks for your kindness MC! You seem like a wonderful kind person!
I probably should proof read before I post something! 🙂
Talk to me about proofing. 😉 I've gone back weeks later sometimes and thought to myself, "How did I not catch that?" Not to worry, Danny. I understand what you were saying about your uncle and thought you said it very well.
You should research your story's a little better I'm Wally's Son-in-law he spent time in Auburn Penitentiary not Attica and he had a third wife my Mother-in Law Maryann Osterkorn. Yes it is a story worth making a movie from but the facts should be right.In my eyes he was a Great Man and I have the utmost respect for him how he had turned his life around in so many ways. We thought we lost him when he had the accident to his neck. But Wally wouldn't let that keep him down he was that kind of a Man in every sense of the word. And the reason he turned into a "Cat Burglar" would shock you. I do think you could have done a better job and to compare him to William Munny as a Murder and a drunk was really pathetic. Wally was nothing like that he had a heart of Gold. I loved and admired him for who and what he had become against all odds.R.I.P. Wally we love and Miss you Dearly.
Thank you for the comment, Ron. And I will check the Attica vs. Auburn thing. But I believe that if you Google your father in law's name along with the word "Attica" you'll find any number of accredited news sources and reference sites that have him spending time in both prisons for his crime.
And I'm didn't mean to compare him to a fictional murderer. That was not my point. My point was two-fold; that Wally was deeply misunderstood by many, especially those from his past, and that he completely rebuilt his life and beaten back the demons of his youthful mistake.
I have no doubt he had a reason for doing what he did; but that doesn't change the fact he did it, nor does it change the fact he refused let it define him. That was my point. That he rose above a giant mistake, and love (with apparently a few different women over the course of his long life, including your mother-in-law) helped him do that.
Thanks again for your comment, Ron. And here's hoping someday some screenwriter and director give your father in law's remarkable story the treatment and exposure it richly deserves.
I also wanted to add that my Uncle could have kicked Dolph Schayes ass on his death bed. Who the heck does he think he's talking that garbage. Shell of a man? My Uncle got stuck with a spike off a tree or cactus while doing yard work 20 years back and almost died of an infection. It screwed his back up and he could hardly move without pain. It was horrible he really almost died. But in true fashion he didn't quit and came back, to where he continued to work out in the gym in extreme pain. "Shell of a man" my ass...shame on Dolph Schayes for even thinking that. I wonder if Dolph Schayes was one of the guys who voted against my Uncle getting the full pay- off for the NBA Champoinship winnings like Johnny Kerr did? Makes you wonder why he had to turn to a life of crime. Oh there's a lot you missed. 🙂 Like the nights out with Bob Fossie! He was a very cool dude. I saw some old films and he was developing a jump shot while the rest of the guys were still shooting poddy shots. I think that was his problem with offense. He was developing the new way to shoot. He spent days out in ...I'm got the story. He told me a lot, but I have to respect my Aunt.
In fairness, Danny, I'm sure Dolph hadn't seen your uncle in years and probably remembered him as he was as a 26 year old athlete, one with dark hair and well defined muscles. It was probably, as it is with many people who haven't seen each other in decades, a matter of something physical rather than something emotional or psychological. But I appreciate what you must be feeling about anything said about your uncle, who truly did sound like an amazing man.
Uhhh oh, you've attracted every relative of Wally Osterkorn within the globe 😉
Nice story. I'm the Great Nephew of Wally Osterkorn. Son of Rick, Son of Tony (Edwin), of the Osterkorn Family.
Unfortunatly I never got to meet my Great Uncle, however I corresponded with him through the mail during my youth. His letters of encouragement always inspired me in life. I learned of my Great Uncle passing away not soon after via Wikipedia (as I live abroad) and called my father to confirm it.
It's clear that Wally Osterkorn is an inspiring figure, he still is to me. I was happy to read this article and hear some of his tale told.
Truth be told he had a European adventure where he met the Pope with his little sister and the Globe Trotters. My Great Aunt (his little sister) once showed us some wonderful home movies and told us the story.
To my other relatives in here, it's nice to see you in a thread.
Uncle Wally, you are missed. Much love, you're great nephew, Eric.
Thanks, Eric. You great uncle certainaly touched and even inspired a lot of people. I'd love to talk to his sister (your great aunt) someday.
Thanks, Eric. You great uncle certainaly touched and even inspired a lot of people. I'd love to talk to his sister (your great aunt) someday.
I just came across this story, on the
internet, this true story of my very good friend Wally Osterkorn. Wally was my
friend and my boss for several years and he was the one who introduced me to my
wife. The majority of this story is accurate, but there are a few minor inaccuracies.
Wally was the best motivator of
people I have ever known. One time in the 70’s when I was District Manager for
Encyclopaedia Britannica in Las Vegas Wally flew up from Phoenix for a meeting
with my sales force. He was the Phoenix Division manager in Phoenix at that
time and my direct boss. This was long after his professional basketball career
and his prison time. Much to my surprise he used the example of his fall from
grace and redemption by telling my sales force of his past, and how he overcame
everything. Although he had confided to me long before of his history in great
detail I had never shared it with anyone. He used his personal story to make a
point to others that anyone can strive, and succeed in a positive way no matter
what mistakes they may have made in the past. In all the years that I knew this
remarkable man he always projected a positives image beyond believe. He was
very well thought of in the Britannica family and won many more awards than
those mentioned in the story I have linked to here. I agree with the writer that
his life story would make a good movie.
Wally truly cared about people. In 1976 he recommended to the powers that
be that I be promoted from District Manager in Las Vegas to District Manager in
Portland, Oregon which was a much bigger market area at the time. My father
lived with me for several years at this point in time, and shortly after moving
to Portland he passed away suddenly. My father’s services were on my Birthday (December
6), and Wally flew up to Portland from Phoenix to attend even though I was no
longer actually working for him, but he went a much bigger step than this. He
didn’t want me to spend Christmas and New Years alone (I was single at the
time). He insisted on paying my way to Phoenix and spending the holiday period
in his home with him and his family.
Wally was an exceptional cook. This was a true gesture of friendship I have
never forgotten.
Over a period of several years that I knew Wally he had two exceptional
beautiful wives first there was Sharon and then Carol. Wally had very good
taste in woman.
About a year after moving to Portland Britannica asked me to go on their national
training staff. It was during this time
period that Wally suffered the freak incident that was the beginning of the
debilitating heath that he suffered.
He was out trimming palm trees one day when a frond came down and
penetrated the back of his neck. Because of the bird dropping that were on this
frond going into his blood stream he developed osteoporoses of the spine.
The company sent me to Phoenix to help, in any way I could, to help keep
the Division going in the positive direction it always had. I actually stayed
in his home for over two months at one time while I was there.
I wish I had seen this story sooner as I truly do want to pay special tribute
to one of the most exceptional individuals I have ever known.
Despite mistakes made in his earlier life Wally has the total respect and
admiration of everyone who ever knew him or worked for him from the period when
he first moved to Arizona.
He made up for earlier misjudgments a thousand times over.
RIP Wally gone, but never forgot.
Jack: Thanks so much for your incredibly heart-felt response to my piece on Wally. And please feel free to drop me a line at the 'contact' portion of this web site and pass along whatever inaccuracies you may have found. I'd really like to fix them and make sure I get Wally's incredible story right.
Thanks again.
Thanks so much for your great reply. The important thing about your fine article is that you really caught the true great character of this remarkable man. I am aware of some things he did for others that were quite remarkable I will send you a little information on that in the near future in a private message.
Thanks Jack I'm Wally's daughter Felines x husband.He was a great Man there IS so much that should also be said about Wally He was a Great man in my eyes and always will be.