Give this man an assist

SAN DIEGO -- In a one-bedroom unit on the 14th floor of a decidedly nondescript building at the corner of Beech and 2nd Ave., the revolution continues. The revolutionary leader is, shall we say, not from Central Casting. Bill Tosheff is 79, wears what hair he still has in a small pony tail, likes tomato juice chasers with his Heinekens, and prefers e-mails, letters, and phone calls as his weapons of choice.

For 17 years, and at a personal expense of more than $150,000, Tosheff has unsuccessfully lobbied the NBA and its players association to include what now amounts to around 40 former players in a pension plan. These 40 or so players retired before 1965 but, for no more than an accident of birth, are denied pension benefits that are available to today's NBA players.

These 40 or so players -- Tosheff is unsure of exactly how many there are -- represent the pre-1965 NBA Players Association, Pioneer Era. Its players played three or four seasons in the NBA (or one of its forbears) or were credited with that amount of playing time with the addition of military service. Tosheff started the organization, which he runs out of his apartment, to try to get some form of retirement relief for the men who, he says, ''set the table."

To date, the responses from the NBA and its players have been uniform and unified: forget about it. This week may be Tosheff's last hope, as the league and the union are putting the final touches on a new six-year collective bargaining agreement which, according to both sides, promises some form of pension improvement. But how much? And for whom? Neither side is saying until the agreement is finalized.

''We're like an island of our own, trying to support ourselves with only our memories," said Tosheff, whose NBA career consisted of three seasons with Indianapolis and Milwaukee from 1951-54. He was voted the co-rookie of the year in 1951-52, and has the ring to prove it, but the league says it didn't start recognizing such winners until the following year. He subsequently left the NBA in a contract dispute with Milwaukee owner Ben Kerner and went into baseball, where he counted ex-major leaguers Herb Score and Jim Frey as his roommates as well as current Red Wings and Tigers owner Mike Ilitch.

Breakthrough in 1988
The NBA pension plan started in 1965. Originally, it included only players from that year going forward and it called for players to vest with only three years of service. In 1988, under pressure from a group of Hall of Famers led by Bob Cousy and Gene Conley, the NBA agreed to provide pensions for some of the pre-1965 players. The qualifier: five years of service was required as opposed to three for the post-1965 players.

Therefore, men like Walt Budko, who played four seasons with Baltimore and Philadelphia, and ex-Celtic Gene Guarilia, who spent four seasons in Boston, were left out. And a player such as Bob Bigelow, who played four seasons in the mid-to-late 1970s, was vested. The only difference: the time when they played.

Bigelow said he recently took his pension in a lump-sum payment that will allow him to send his kids to college.

''It worked for me, but I was lucky," Bigelow said. ''Those other guys, I can't feel bad enough for them."

Another wrinkle in the mix: military service. To recognize the pre-1965 players' military commitments, the league allowed for one year of service to count the same as one year of playing. But, as always, there was a catch. To get military service credit, a player had to immediately enter the NBA, even though, at the end of World War II, it wasn't common knowledge among soldiers-cum-hoopsters there even was an NBA.

The military component has further frustrated Tosheff, although he has, through research, procured pensions for several players who otherwise would have received nothing. But the issue has also resulted in bitter feelings among the ex-military players in Tosheff's group. Many served several years, but get no credit because they didn't go directly to the NBA when discharged. But Harry ''Moose" Miller, who played one season (53 games) in the NBA for the 1946-47 Toronto Huskies, has been getting a pension since 1988 because he went directly to the NBA from the US Marine Corps, where he served four years.

''I feel for those guys [the 3-4 non-pensioners]," Miller said from his home in Latrobe, Pa., where he once counted Fred Rogers as one of his neighbors. ''But it was set up for five years, not three years or four years. I would like to see everyone get something."

Tosheff would, too. And he can't understand why one man's military service counts and another one's does not. Tosheff spent three years in the Army Air Corps and was honorably discharged in 1947. ''We were all fighting the same war," Tosheff said. Additionally, the NBA for years has been trumpeting its ''Stay in School" marketing effort. That's what Budko did when he got out of the service in the spring of 1946. He returned to Columbia University, spent two more years there and was a first-round pick by the Baltimore Bullets in 1948. He spent three years in the US Navy, played four seasons in the NBA, and gets nothing.

''We never even knew there was a pro league starting," said Budko, who has managed a comfortable existence as an insurance executive in Maryland. ''I enjoyed the NBA immensely, but my intention was never to be just a basketball player. Still, it's hard not to feel a little bitter. The players association has never lifted its hand. But I'm realistic. Why should they make any changes now? I think the league took a heroic stance in 1988. But what about all of us who went from Podunk to Podunk? They have a chance to rectify a terrible wrong."

Members dwindling
Over the years, Tosheff has been as unrelenting as he has been unsuccessful in stressing that exact message. His office files contain years of correspondence from the league, the union, the California state assembly, as well as the names and addresses of his gradually dwindling group. Seven years ago, there were more than 80 of them. Tosheff recalled one case, that of ex-Celtic Jim Seminoff, who played four years but, thanks to Tosheff's diligence, got the magical fifth year because of his military service.

''I was able to get him $148,000 in 2001," Tosheff said. ''Two and a half weeks later, he died. But how was I able to figure that out and not the NBA or the players association?"

Along with two other pre-1965 players, Tosheff went before Congress in July 1998 to plead his case. That resulted in supportive resolutions from both Houses with no accompanying muscle. He estimates it will cost the NBA and the players association about $5 million to fund the pensions retroactively and then around $500,000 a year to pay benefits, a figure, he adds, should decrease given actuarial reality.

Over the last month, the league and the union have been negotiating ways to divide between $3 billion and $4 billion of yearly revenue. The NBA's pension fund is worth around $120 million, according to the last available federal filings in 2003.

''At a time of absolute plenty, to see 45 or so guys get nothing, and to see the other 100 or so with only one foot in the door, well there's something wrong with that kind of balance," Cousy said.

''It's like you've got your nose pressed against the window of a restaurant and you're watching the others inside gorging themselves while you're hoping they might throw you some crumbs. You're not even asking for steak. Let's acknowledge that they set the table."

The pre-'65 ''debate" again surfaced last month with the death of Hall of Fame center George Mikan, the first real superstar in the league's history. Mikan was not one of Tosheff's guys. He was receiving a pension; $200 a month for every year of service, or $1,800 a month. (By contrast, the players who are in the current pension get around $360 a month per year of service and could get bumps of as much as 60 percent in the new CBA.) Mikan was suffering from diabetes and was in a wheelchair when he died, but told ESPN in a moving piece earlier in the year, ''we gave them a league. We sacrificed."

Shaquille O'Neal paid the expenses for Mikan's funeral. Charles Barkley and Magic Johnson went public for more support for the pre-1965 players. But few mentioned Tosheff's group, which doesn't have the cachet of players such as Cousy and Mikan. While Tosheff does not need the extra money -- he was a successful general contractor -- there are some in his group who do.

'I'm in bad shape'
One of those is John Ezersky, who spent some time with the Celtics in 1949 and 1950. He, too, is a World War II veteran, having participated in the invasion of Normandy in 1944 and continuing on into Germany. But because he started his NBA career in 1947 instead of 1946, he is seen by the pension crunchers as a three-year, pre-1965 player.

Ezersky's NBA career ended in 1950 and he spent the next three-plus decades driving a taxi, first in his native New York City, where he attended Power Memorial, and later in San Francisco. Ezersky turns 84 this year. He said his $1,200 a month from Social Security is his only means of support.

''You have no idea how much I need it [the pension money]," he said in a telephone interview from his apartment in Walnut Creek, Calif. ''I'm in bad shape. I'm living off credit cards. And they're all going to be tapped out soon. It's an ugly way to live."

He went on, ''I know legally they don't have to do anything. But morally, they should feel obligated."

That has been Tosheff's clarion call for the last 17 years. The NBA didn't have to do anything in 1988 for the Cousy-led group, but it did. It could have included any years of military service for the pre-1965 players, but it did not. In the end, however, Tosheff said his biggest disappointment is not with the league, but the union. There's been a lot of lip service. But nothing else. And the whole thing could basically be resolved with the same amount the Celtics are paying Mark Blount this season.

''Our own guys have left us out," Tosheff said. ''And, in the end, players have to take care of players."