Barb Caffrey's Blog

Junior Bridgeman was the type of person everyone should want to be. He came from very modest means, once building a stereo out of spare parts with his brother (spare parts he’d scavenged, I’d heard) because otherwise he couldn’t listen to music. He played fourteen years in the National Basketball Association (NBA), most of them for the Milwaukee Bucks, and turned the money he made there (about $350,000 over his full career) into over a billion dollars by the time he passed away suddenly earlier today.

I say all that, because it’s been reported widely, especially in Wisconsin. But Bridgeman was known for his kindness, his optimism, his humility, and for being a family man around these parts, far more than his business acumen (which was formidable) or his friendships with other NBA players like Earvin “Magic” Johnson, Alex English, even Shaquille O’Neal. Bridgeman was the type of guy to do anything for anyone, as he had a good heart, a kind soul, and truly cared about others.

You know how Google’s motto has often been summed up as “Don’t be Evil,” right? Well, Bridgeman’s personal motto should’ve been something like this: “Do good. It matters, whether it looks like it or not.” That, along with living his personal values and faith — in himself, in others, and in the world at large, along with faith in the Higher Power — was what Junior Bridgeman was all about.

I remember seeing Bridgeman play on television when I was young. He could do anything. He was a great passer, he was a gifted scorer, could play both forward and guard despite the fact he was only 6’5″ (short for an NBA player, even then), and was perhaps the best sixth man in the entirety of the NBA for most of his career. (A sixth man, for those of you who don’t know anything about basketball, is the first guy to come off the bench after the five people who start the game. He’s often one of the most important people on the team, as while he doesn’t have the cachet of a starting player, he’s expected to put up nearly as good of numbers and be an optimistic and maybe even a benevolent presence to be emulated by players not as good as himself that were also on the roster. I know I put that in a very wordy way; I apologize.)

So, being a sixth man was in some ways beneficial to Junior Bridgeman. He knew he didn’t have to be in the limelight all the time to live a good life, have a great career (his number is retired by the Bucks; he wore the number two), and do his best. Some stars, once the limelight is gone, do not do well; there are many stories of the Ryan Leafs of this world, where they get into DUIs, other legal troubles, and can’t acclimate themselves to the pace of a more normal life. Fortunately, Bridgeman did not have that trouble at all.

Bridgeman, recently, became a minority owner of the Bucks. (Yes, he went from player to part-owner.) I don’t know a better rags-to-riches story than that, because it showed the current players that with far less money than they have now, Bridgeman was able to overcome and become a very savvy and accomplished businessman.

But that’s not really how I remember Junior Bridgeman. How I remember him isn’t even the on-court presence or the adept passing skills or the sweet jump shot Bridgeman possessed. Instead, it’s his penchant for helping others.

When we lose someone as kind-hearted as Junior Bridgeman, some of the light goes out of this world. The only consolation we can have is this: he shared his light for as long as he could, and maybe kindled light in others, who will continue to be beacons throughout their lifetimes.

I mourn the loss of Junior Bridgeman tonight. I hope his family, friends, teammates, the entire Bucks organization, and anyone else Bridgeman ever knew or ever helped will be comforted, somehow, by what I said above.

The light he shared matters. The example he set also matters.

But damn, I wish Junior Bridgeman was still here with us, to help more of us see the light.