So if we start talking about the skyhook. Oh,
yeah. You know, that high arcing, just completely
unblockable shot that drops from the heavens.
Your brain almost certainly defaults to one very
specific image. Right. You picture Kareem. Exactly.
You picture Kareem Abdul -Jabbar in the purple
and gold, just launching that thing over everyone.
It's basically the default setting for basketball
history. I mean, it's iconic. It is. But the
sources we have in front of us today actually
tell a totally different origin story. Yeah,
they really do. They suggest that the move wasn't
invented by Kareem at all. It was actually the
signature weapon of a man who was doing it decades
earlier. A man who essentially built the blueprint
for what we now call sports entertainment. We
usually remember the person who perfected a technique
on TV. But you forget the innovator who built
it, you know, back in the barnstorming era. Exactly.
And in this case, we were talking about Reese
Tatum. Better known as Goose Tatum. So today
we're doing a deep dive into the life, the geometry,
and really the tragedy of Goose Tatum. We've
got a stack of biographical record, historical
data from the Wikipedia archives. And they paint
a picture of a guy who was, for a fleeting moment
in the 1950s, the absolute... biggest star in
the basketball universe. And universe really
is the right word there because the NBA was just
a small planet back then. Right. The Globetrotters
were the entire galaxy. That's a great way to
put it. Our mission today is to unpack how a
kid from El Dorado, Arkansas, rose up to become
the highest paid player in professional basketball.
Making more than the NBA champions of his day,
by the way. Which is wild. And then how that
incredible high was followed by a really sharp
and painful decline. It's a story about basketball,
sure. But it's really about the economics of
being a black celebrity in a segregated America.
Right. And it's about the physical toll of performing,
you know, 300 nights a year. So before we get
into the actual timeline, I feel like we have
to establish the physical reality of Goose Tatum.
We have to. Because looking at the descriptions
in these archives, he didn't just look like a
basketball player. He looked like, well, he looked
like a special effect. He was a total... physiological
anomaly. He stood about six foot four. Which
is a very solid size for the 1940s. Right. But
the stat that jumps off the page is the arm span.
The records report an arm span of approximately
84 inches. Wow. That is 210 centimeters. To put
that in modern terms, that's a seven foot wingspan
on a six foot four human. That's absurd. In today's
draft, combine scouts absolutely obsess over
plus wingspan. You're usually thrilled if a guy
has arms two or three inches longer than his
height. Yeah. Tatum was plus eight. The visual
that really drives this home for me is this note
that he could reportedly touch his kneecaps without
bending at the waist. Just standing straight
up. Imagine just standing perfectly straight
and scratching your knees. It's wild to picture.
But that physical structure completely dictates
the play style. How so? Well, when you have levers
that long, you can manipulate the ball in spaces
that defenders physically cannot reach. It explains
the comedy and it explains the dominance. Let's
touch on that comedy aspect, actually, because
he is widely remembered as the clown prince of
the Harlem Globetrotters. Right. Now, I did see
in the notes that he technically wasn't the very
first person with that nickname. No, it was first
applied to Jackie Beathard's, I think, back in
1933. Exactly, 1933. But Tatum is the one who
turned it into a global brand. He revolutionized
the role entirely. Before Tatum... The comedy
in basketball was often separate from the skill,
the gimmick. Right. A sideshow. Yeah. But Tatum
integrated them. Yeah. He realized that if he
could make the defender laugh or confuse them
with a pantomime routine, their guard went down.
And the second that guard drops. He uses that
massive wingspan to score. And that is exactly
where the sky hook comes in. Because it wasn't
just a trick shot. It was a necessity born out
of his body type. Think about the mechanics of
it. If you have arms that long. A standard jump
shot might actually feel crowded. Oh, interesting.
But a sweeping hook shot, you're releasing the
ball so high and so far away from your body that
it's mathematically impossible to block without
a stepladder. It's the ultimate weapon wrapped
in a joke. He's laughing, the crowd is laughing,
and then swishy drops 30 points on you. And that
duality between the serious elite athlete and
the comedian that defines his entire trajectory.
So let's rewind to the beginning. Let's look
at the timeline. Sure. He's born in El Dorado,
Arkansas, May 31st, 1921. So there's a little
dispute on the exact date in some sources. Yeah.
Some say maybe May 3rd, but 1921 seems to be
the solid consensus. Right. His father is a farmer
and a preacher. What? And his mother is a domestic
cook. So a classic working class Southern upbringing.
He was the fifth of seven kids. He goes to Booker
T. Washington High School, and he's immediately
a three -sport star. Baseball, basketball, football.
He could do it all. But interestingly, looking
at the archives, basketball wasn't even his primary
path at first. It was baseball. Which was incredibly
common for black athletes at the time. Really?
Yeah. The infrastructure for professional baseball,
specifically the Negro Leagues, was much more
developed and lucrative than professional basketball
in the late 30s. That makes sense. So he starts
his pro career in 1937 in the Negro Leagues.
He plays for the Louisville Black Colonels, the
Memphis Red Sox, the Birmingham Black Barons.
All solid teams. But the team that really caught
my eye in the data is the Indianapolis Clowns.
Yes. That is such a crucial connection. Why is
that? Because the Indianapolis Clowns were to
baseball what the Globetrotters were to basketball.
Oh, I see. They played... real high level baseball.
I mean, Hank Aaron played for them just for context.
Wow. Hank Aaron. Right. But they mixed it with
top tier entertainment, shadow ball comedy routines.
Tatum's basically learning the business of show
business right there on the baseball diamond.
That's a perfect training ground. So he's cutting
his teeth in the Negro Leagues and then like
almost every man of his generation, the war interrupts.
Yep. World War II. He serves in the United States
Army Air Forces. It creates this gap in his athletic
resume. But it also really matures that entire
generation. Definitely. And he comes out of the
service in 1942, and that is when the stars finally
align for basketball. He signs with Abe Saperstein
and the Harlem Globetrotters. And this kicks
off an 11 -season run. that completely changes
the fabric of the sport. It really does. And
I want to pause here to talk about the money.
Oh, the money is fascinating. Because I think
we have this modern bias where we just assume
NBA players have always been the rich ones and
the Globetrotters were just bus riding performers
scraping by. That is a massive misconception.
In the 1950s, the NBA was really struggling.
Yeah, they weren't the powerhouse they are now.
Not at all. It was highly regional. The game
was slow, and they honestly couldn't fill arenas.
Meanwhile, the Globetrotters are out there selling
out soccer stadiums in South America. They're
playing in front of Popes. They're global icons.
And Tatum knew his worth. When he was eventually
released in 1955, the reports in the archives
state he was making $53 ,000 a year. That number
might sound small today to someone listening,
so you really have to contextualize it. Right.
What was the average income back then? The average
American income in the mid -50s was maybe around
$4 ,000. But more importantly, look at the NBA
stars. George Mikan was the absolute king of
the NBA in the early 50s. The guy with the thick
glasses. Exactly. significantly less than $53
,000. The Detroit Tribune actually noted at the
time of his release that Tatum was the highest
paid professional basketball player on earth.
Not just the highest paid black player, but any
player. Think about the power dynamic there.
Yeah. You have a black athlete in the Jim Crow
era who is arguably the most economically successful
player in his entire sport. It's incredible.
That is a position of immense leverage, but you
also have to imagine the immense pressure that
comes with it. And that leverage eventually snapped.
The relationship with Abe Saperstein and the
Trotters falls apart in 1955. It got very messy.
Saperstein claimed to the press that it was about
Tatum violating team rules and unexcused absences.
Right. And if you're looking at the history,
you really have to read between the lines of
a star player making record -breaking money suddenly
being, quote -unquote, released for rule violations.
What's your read on it? Saperstein was a brilliant
promoter, no doubt. But he was also known as
a control freak. He ran the Globetrotters very
tightly. He wanted to be the boss. Exactly. He
didn't like his players knowing just how valuable
they truly were. When you have a star like Tatum,
who knows he is the main draw. Who knows that
people are buying tickets to see him and not
the owner? Plashes are inevitable. He became
too big for Saperstein to control. So Tatum doesn't
just take the firing line down. He pivots immediately.
He is a businessman. He grabs Marks Haynes, who
is probably the greatest dribbler of all time,
and another former trotter, and they start their
own barnstorming team. The fabulous Harlem Magicians.
Which is such a great stick -it -to -the -man
move, honestly. Oh, absolutely. The archives
note they hooked up with a guy named Dempsey
Hovland to book the tour. Right. Hovland had
a lot of experience booking the House of David
team, so he knew the barnstorming circuit inside
and out. And the marketing machine just goes
into overdrive. I love this one detail from the
sources. They started billing Tatum on this tour
as having scored the most points in basketball
history. It is such a great promotional line.
Is it true, though? Probably not. The sources
call that claim highly dubious. Yeah, I figured.
But in barnstorming, truth is totally secondary
to ticket sales. If you tell the folks in Omaha
that the greatest scorer in human history is
coming to their town. they're going to buy a
ticket. But this era of independence also brings
us face to face with the harsh reality in the
1950s. Yeah, this is where the story gets heavy.
You can be the highest paid athlete in the world.
You can be a marketing genius, but you still
cannot escape segregation. The geography of their
independent tour took them everywhere, including
places that, frankly, were not ready to treat
a black celebrity with basic dignity. The incident
in San Francisco in February 1955 really stands
out in the Wikipedia files. It's a stark reminder
of the era. Tatum sues the Pan American bar in
San Francisco for $13 ,000 in damages. The details
of that suit are infuriating, but sadly standard
for the time. What happened exactly? He walks
into this establishment with his wife and three
friends. They dressed well. They clearly have
money. He's a certified superstar. And the bar
flat out refuses to serve them because of their
race. It's just this jarring split screen of
a life. Right. On one screen, he's a god on the
basketball court. He's adored by thousands of
white fans who cheer for him and laugh at his
jokes. And on the other screen, he can't even
get a drink in San Francisco. And that psychological
wear and tear has to go somewhere. You can't
just compartmentalize that kind of systemic disrespect
forever. You really can't. It eats at you. And
his personal life starts to show those cracks
around the exact same time. November 1955, he
gets arrested in Gary, Indiana. Right, the alimony
charge. Yeah, the charge was nonpayment of alimony.
He allegedly owed about $7 ,000 to his ex -wife.
The judge had ordered him to pay $60 a week,
which he fell behind on. And we should mention
he had a very high -profile personal life. He
was married for a brief time to Lottie Graves.
Lottie the body. Right. Lottie the Body, who
was a massive burlesque legend at the time. So
his life was incredibly fast. High earnings,
high expenses, fast cars, famous wives, constant,
constant travel. It's a recipe for severe burnout.
Even if you don't have the heavy societal pressures
of racism weighing on you. every single day.
And then that burnout turns into outright tragedy.
The timeline jumps to 1966, and this really seems
to be the ultimate breaking point. 1966 is the
year he loses his son. Yeah. Goose Jr. was killed
in a car accident. It's devastating. The sources
we have are sparse on the exact details of the
accident itself, but they are very clear on the
aftermath. Tatum did not handle it well. How
could you possibly handle that well? You can't.
He's in his mid -40s. His career is naturally
winding down. His body is undoubtedly just hurting
from 20 years of playing on concrete and bad
gymnasium floors. And then he loses his child.
The biographical records indicate he started
drinking heavily almost immediately after this
happened. It's a very rapid spiral. We're talking
about a man who is an elite, well -conditioned
athlete. And within months, he's in and out of
hospitals. It leads directly to his death on
January 18, 1967. He was at his home in El Paso,
Texas. He was only 45 years old. The official
cause listed was natural causes. But 45 is incredibly
young for natural causes. Yeah, natural causes
at 45 usually implies that the body just gave
out. Right. The years of physical stress, the
heavy drinking, the profound grief over his son,
it all just compounded. It's a profoundly tragic
end for a guy whose entire public persona was
based around creating joy. He was buried at Fort
Bliss National Cemetery. Which is a really poignant
reminder of his military service, something that
often gets completely overshadowed by the basketball
legacy. It was a very quiet end for such a loud
life. And frankly, the recognition of his greatness
was quiet for a long time, too. Too long. That
was the part that surprised me the most going
through this data, the massive gap between his
death and his official honors. Right. He does
get into the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame pretty
quickly in 1974. That makes sense, local recognition.
But the Globetrotters, they didn't retire his
jersey number until 2002. That is a 35 -year
gap just to retire the number of the guy who
built your brand. number 50, and he was only
the fourth player to ever get that honor from
the team. He also gets a Legends ring at Madison
Square Garden eventually. Also well -deserved.
But then the big one, the Naismith Memorial Basketball
Hall of Fame. The ultimate validation in the
sport. He doesn't get elected until 2011, decades
after his death. That delay speaks volumes about
how the traditional basketball establishment
viewed entertainers. You didn't take them seriously.
Exactly. For decades, the Hall of Fame was strictly
for the NBA and college purists. Barnstorming
was seen as just a sideshow. It took a really
long time for historians to look back and say,
wait a minute, this guy wasn't just a clown.
He was keeping professional basketball alive
during its absolute leanest years. He professionalized
the sport for black athletes. And he was actively
innovating the game on the floor. When we look
at his legacy as a whole, it feels like it has
three distinct pillars. I agree. I see it as
innovation, economics, and joy. Break that down.
Well, innovation is obviously the hookshot. Economics
is proving once and for all that a black athlete
could command a CEO's salary in the 1950s. Setting
the market. Setting the market. And joy, well,
despite everything he went through, he made millions
of people genuinely happy. But I want to go back
to that first pillar for our final thought today,
the innovation. Because we started this whole
deep dive talking about the skyhook. The shot
he literally invented to utilize that 84 -inch
wingspan. We know it's unblockable. We literally
saw Kareem score 38 ,000 points with it later
on. We know Goose Tatum dominated the globe with
it. Statistically speaking, it is the most efficient
and unstoppable shot in basketball history. So
here is the question I want you, the listener,
to walk away with today. If this shot is the
ultimate cheat code, if it completely solves
the problem of defensive length, Why is it dead?
That's a great question. You watch a modern basketball
game today and absolutely nobody throws a skyhook.
It is the great mystery of modern basketball
mechanics. Did we somehow optimize the fun and
the thunk out of the game? Or is it just that
incredibly hard to teach to a new generation?
Maybe it requires a very specific kind of spatial
genius or a specific kind of body that we just
haven't seen replicated since Tatum and Kareem.
It's just strange to think that the ultimate
legacy of the Clown Prince is a devastating weapon
that everyone respects, but nobody dares to use.
Definitely something to think about the next
time you see a seven -footer settling for a contested
jump shot. For sure. Thanks for going on this
deep dive with us into the life and legacy of
Deuce Tatum. Always a pleasure. We'll catch you
on the next one.