Darnell Hillman

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People remember the iconic Afro most of all, the sculptured mound of hair that topped off his 6-foot-9 frame and made him look like a 7-footer. They remember the dunks, too, because his vertical jump was extraordinary for someone so tall. The sight of him sprinting down the court with his hair blown back by the breeze and executing an acrobatic breakaway dunk lives in the memory of veteran Pacers fans.

What people should remember most about Darnell Hillman, though, is the discipline. The team-first approach. The charisma. And, certainly, the significant contributions to six Pacers teams.

"Darnell was special guy to have on your team," says Slick Leonard, who coached each of those six. "He had a great attitude."

The Pacers teams for which Hillman performed include the 1972 and '73 ABA champions as well as the four that followed, the last of which marked their entry into the NBA. But he played for several more front office teams as well, all the way from Dec. 3, 1999, his first day in the community relations department, until last week when he retired about a month shy of his 71st birthday.

Retired from what exactly is complicated, because his role didn't fit conventional corporate classification. His last official job title was "Associate Director of Camps, Clinics and Alumni Relations." But he was more than that. In fact, the title under his photo in the most recent media guide took a shot at encompassing everything by identifying him as "Associate Director, Community Ambassador."

Call him whatever you want, Hillman was a grinder in a non-glamorous role in the front office just as he had been as a player. He might have seemed flamboyant with the well-groomed Afro he says extended 13 1/2 inches from his skull and all those hang-time dunks, but his game was blue collar. A power forward who could fill in at center, his primary assets were rebounding and blocking shots. He averaged 10.6 points and 8.4 rebounds over his six seasons with the Pacers, peaking at 13.9 and 9.2 in the 1974-75 season when a rebuilt team made a surprising run to the ABA finals.

Hillman started 244 of the 395 regular season games he played for the Pacers and 29 of the 72 playoff games. He never made an All-Star team and his best-remembered individual feat is winning an NBA slam dunk contest sponsored by CBS in 1977. But he helped teams win games. Helped them win championships, too.

Hillman was selected by the Pacers as part of a preliminary three-round draft conducted before the ABA's All-Star Game in January of 1971. The choices were supposed to be kept secret to give ABA teams a head-start negotiating with players before the NBA could get around to its draft, but the names leaked out immediately. Hillman was a second-round pick and described in Indianapolis newspapers articles as a "sleeper" and an "unknown" because he had spent the previous two years in the Army.

He turned out to be one of the savvier selections in franchise history. The Golden State Warriors took him with the eighth overall pick in the NBA Draft and were under great pressure to sign the local product who had attended San Jose State for two years before being drafted into the Army. The Pacers, however, won the bidding war.

Hillman, along with fellow rookie George McGinnis, joined a stacked team that had won the ABA title in 1970 and finished with the league's best record in '71. His Army background turned out to be a major asset, as his confident but ego-free approach meshed well with his teammates and his work ethic and respect for authority impressed his coach.

"He was flashy, and he could jump, but he played the game with a lot of discipline because he knew what his shortcomings were," says Billy Keller, who played on all three ABA championship teams. "That makes you a much more able contributor."

Hillman contributed plenty, regardless of how he was used. While his season averages never stood out, he usually answered when opportunity knocked.

As a rookie, he had 10 points, 18 rebounds, and 10 blocked shots off the bench in a victory over Florida. According to the story in the Indianapolis Star (headlined Darnell a Daring Darling as Pacers Win), he also forced several misses by intimidating shooters.

He had 20 points and 21 rebounds against Pittsburgh later that season and had two double-doubles in the second-round playoff series with Utah.

He had a career-high 24 rebounds along with 18 points against San Diego in the 1972-73 season and came up big several times in the playoffs as a starter when Brown was limited by a sore back. He had 13 points and 19 rebounds in a Game 5 victory over Utah in the second round and 17 points and 18 rebounds in a Game 4 win over Kentucky in the championship series.

After the Pacers failed to clinch the championship at home in Game 6, Leonard told reporters he planned to return Brown to the starting lineup in Game 7 in Louisville to get more scoring. Brown, however, showed up late for the game after driving himself to Freedom Hall from Indianapolis, so Hillman got a last-minute reprieve as a starter. He played 44 minutes and grabbed 13 rebounds, both team highs, in the Pacers' 88-81 victory.

"He was always ready when he was called upon," Keller says.

In his later seasons with the Pacers, when the team was in rebuilding mode, Hillman stepped up his scoring. His career high of 35 came against Denver. He added 16 rebounds to his stat line that night. He had scored 32 in a game at Utah earlier that season.

Hillman gets a massage from teammate Billy Keller. (Photo Credit: Frank McGrath)

Hillman and Keller were a lot alike, both in their whatever-you-need roles with the Pacers and their personalities. They were the two players of that era most eager to connect with fans at planned events, often the first to arrive and the last to leave. They were, perhaps, the team's most popular players — Keller because he was an Indianapolis native and short (5-foot-10) and Hillman because of his dunking ability and world class Afro.

"Darnell and I would show up early for things and a lot of times be the last to leave," Keller says. "Just being friendly, wanting to stay and visit...fans appreciate stuff like that. Once they got attracted to him for whatever reason, his personality took over. Darnell could relate to everybody."

That made him a natural for his job in the front office. Many NBA teams hire former players to serve in a community relations capacity, mostly just to make appearances and sign autographs. Hillman's involvement went far deeper than that. He directed youth camps and clinics, participated in reading programs and represented the franchise at golf outings throughout the summer.

Hillman reached out to the public at games, too. He was aware that escalating ticket prices had sent many an "average fan" higher in the Fieldhouse and made it a point to circulate in the upper levels to mix with them.

He was an absolute superstar with kids, though, especially at camps and clinics. His Army discipline got their attention and his natural charm won them over.

Hillman leads campers in a drill at the 2019 Jr. Pacers Hoops Tour visit to Fort Wayne. (Photo Credit: Frank McGrath)

"We always said he ran it like a boot camp," says Kelli Towles, the Pacers' Senior Director of Community Relations. "Darnell was very old school. He made them tuck in their shirts and they could not put their hands in their pockets. If they did, he made them turn their pockets inside out. He said, 'There's no walking in my gym.' If they had to get a drink they had to run there and run back.

"Initially kids were afraid, but by the end of the camp they loved him. They realized he was doing it for a purpose, and they could laugh and joke with him. And the parents were appreciative of the way he approached the discipline. I can't count the number of times I saw him pull a player aside who maybe was acting up and he would say, 'I see potential in you!' He would help them make a change in their mindset and by the end of the camp they were behaving much better. He really had a gift for dealing with kids."

It wasn't all about basketball, though. Sometimes it was just fun and games. How many slam-dunk champions do you know who would lay on the court and play Cookie Monster with the kids?

For that matter, how many do you know who would go to this much trouble:

In 2016, a young Pacers fan named Evan Leisure was to undergo heart surgery at Riley Hospital. A request was e-mailed to Hillman, asking if any of the players could drop by for a visit. The team was out of town around the time of the surgery, so Hillman put a gift package together and personally delivered it to Leisure.

Hillman visits Evan Leisure at Riley Hospital. (Photo Courtesy of Nancy Rayl)

Hillman's job evolved into also serving as the Pacers' alumni director, dedicated to maintaining relations with former players and/or their spouses. He was the contact for players wanting tickets to a game, the one to organize appearances by former players at FanJam each October, the one to drop by and say hello when the daughter of a former player who was with the team for a brief period 50 years earlier attended a game.

"He was always that middle guy," Keller says. "Anytime I needed something Pacer-related I called Darnell. I would imagine 99.9 percent of the guys did the same thing. And he was always very cooperative in getting your request filled. I'm not sure there was ever a time I requested something of him that he didn't produce for me. He was reliable, and if he couldn't do it he'd tell you up front.

Hillman was his own transportation committee, too. Before every home game the past few seasons, Hillman met Leonard in the underground parking garage at Bankers Life Fieldhouse in a golf cart and drove him to the radio broadcasting porch with an assist from an express elevator. Hillman returned in the cart near the end of the third quarter to take Leonard back to his car.

That gave Hillman time to interact with fans who might be passing by. He was an attraction of his own for older fans who witnessed his career. If they asked if he can still dunk, he might say, "Too much snow on the mountain," referring to his age-revealing gray hair. If someone had a child who was too shy to talk, he would have a small gift handy, such as a ball that lights up when bounced. But he demanded something in return.

Hillman was equally at ease engaging with the military members who were honored at games. As an Army veteran, he could relate.

When you get right down to it, he's the most versatile player the Pacers have ever had if off-court activities are included in the assessment. Replacing him seems nearly impossible without making it a group effort. It might require a lot of alterations to replace someone who wore as many suits as Hillman did.

Hillman's retirement party a few weeks ago was relatively subdued, thanks to the pandemic. It started with a small gathering of fellow employees on the outdoor deck at Rick's Boatyard, a half-dozen or so, and gradually grew to about 18 as word got out among employees. Distancing concerns ran out the clock, but speeches were made and a retirement gift — a new set of golf clubs — was delivered.

A telling moment arrived when Karen Atkeson, the Vice President of Player Relations, asked Hillman to step out to the parking lot. Nate McMillan was waiting there to offer his congratulations, having driven from downtown following practice on the day before the team was to leave for Orlando to resume the season. Hillman technically wasn't part of the basketball staff but had generated that kind of respect.

It would have been a much larger celebration under normal circumstances, but perhaps it was more appropriate that Hillman go out in a subdued fashion. He had come came to the Pacers as a "sleeper," unknown to fans in Indiana, and he had played in the shadows of All-Stars and future Hall of Famers.

Hillman, though, left with the greatest distinction of all: best teammate.

Have a question for Mark? Want it to be on Pacers.com? Email him at askmontieth@gmail.com and you could be featured in his next mailbag.

Mark Montieth's book on the formation and groundbreaking seasons of the Pacers, "Reborn: The Pacers and the Return of Pro Basketball to Indianapolis," is available in bookstores throughout Indiana and on Amazon.com.

Note: The contents of this page have not been reviewed or endorsed by the Indiana Pacers. All opinions expressed by Mark Montieth are solely his own and do not reflect the opinions of the Indiana Pacers, their partners, or sponsors.

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Hillman was a Slam Dunk in the Front Office, Too

The natural tendency is to believe black professional athletes live on an island free of racial bias. They are well-paid and generally beloved if
they are performing well, so who would react to them negatively simply because of their race?

Those who have worn the Pacers uniform say that isn't always the case, however. From the beginning of the franchise's history in 1967 black members of the team have experienced racism in both subtle and blatant forms away from the cocoon of the locker room. The timeline of their experiences reflects progress, but also the need for more of it.

What's clear from conversations with several black Pacers is that Indiana has a reputation for not always being accommodating to them.

"As soon as you get to Indiana and talk to people who have lived there for a long time, you're told right away there are certain parts of Indiana you don't go to," said Antonio Davis, who played for the Pacers from 1993-99. "You know that right off. They talk about the KKK once marching in Indianapolis and you hear the stories about a lot of different things.

"But I can honestly say in being there, I didn't have bad experiences other than minor things. You feel it a lot, but I don't know that I have a story where experienced it."

That wasn't the case when the franchise began operations in 1967 after the American Basketball Association was formed. Some of the players on the inaugural team experienced one of the most fundamental issues of race: housing.

While some of the black players bought houses in predominately black neighborhoods close to downtown, two attempted to rent an apartment farther away. Guard Jerry Harkness inquired about one in a new complex in the Meadows area but was rejected. He had to connect with a local white man, civic leader Bill McGowan, who made a call to another apartment complex on his behalf. When McGowan said he was looking for a place for a Pacer, he was told, "We already have one!"

"One," meaning a black player. That was forward Oliver Darden, who had been granted an apartment at a building on North Keystone after being turned away at three or four other places. Darden got an apartment because he threatened to sue and a Pacers front office member had intervened on his behalf. Harkness later got an apartment at 38th and Post Rd. through local real estate developer Robert Welch, who owned the building.

"I didn't think it would be that hard," McGowan said. "I didn't realize how bad it was."

It should be mentioned, however, that neither Darden nor Harkness say they had memorable issues with other residents after moving into their apartment complexes.

The Pacers had as many as eight black players in their first season, more than any other team in the ABA or NBA. That didn't go over well with some fans. Larry Staverman, the Pacers' first coach, recalled hearing complaints from fans in the stands whenever he had five black players in the game at the same time. The front office must have heard them, too, because there was a dedicated effort the following season to "whiten" the roster. Whereas five white players played for the team in the first season, 11 appeared in games at various points the following year.

The gradual roster transformation finally met with a blowback when general manager Mike Storen tried to release black backup center George Peeples after white guard Steve Chubin had been acquired. According to Jimmy Rayl's account, one acknowledged by Storen, Peeples was called into a locker room before practice one morning and was told of his release by Storen and coach Bob Leonard. When Roger Brown learned of it, he walked into the locker room and filed a complaint. Moments later, Rayl — a white former Mr. Basketball from Kokomo — was called in and told he was being released due to the size of his contract.

Brown, a future Hall of Famer, experienced a more direct form of racism following a Game 7 playoff loss to Utah at the Coliseum in 1971. He had led the Pacers to the league championship the previous seasons but had not performed as well in this series. According to newspaper reports, a few fans hurled beer and racial slurs at him as he headed toward the locker room.

"Afterwards, the usually unemotional Brown was shaken up," Robin Miller wrote in the Indianapolis Star.

"It was a sad scene. Here was a man who almost single-handedly beat the Stars in last season's championship series. He just didn't have the stardust this year. He was solid but not spectacular. As a result he'll probably be scorned for the rest of the summer."

Star sports editor Bob Collins devoted most of his column to the incident a few days later, constructing it as a letter of apology to Brown.

"But morons aren't real long on memory," Collins wrote. "In any basketball crowd you'll see a few drunks who couldn't find the men's room without a map. So, they took it out on you. And they hit you where it cut the deepest. But at the same time they displayed the limits of their vocabulary, to say nothing of their mentality."

Mel Daniels was perhaps the most inclusive of all the early Pacers. Having played for an integrated high school team in Detroit, a rarity in that era, and being a natural empathizer, he was a natural for bridging the gap between races. His personality was such that Billy Keller considers a postgame talk with Daniels after a road loss during his rookie season the exact moment he felt like an accepted team member.

That didn't shield Daniels from bigotry, however. Although his experiences as a Pacer were mostly positive as a two-time league Most Valuable Player on teams that won three ABA championships, he did recall — with laughter — a letter he received from a fan that stated something along the lines of, "We believe that white ballplayers are better than black ballplayers, but we like you. Can we have your autograph?"

George McGinnis says he also was denied an apartment after signing with the Pacers in 1971 following his sophomore season at Indiana. He and his girlfriend, Lynda, went to a complex on 56th St. and were told by the office manager, "We don't rent to coloreds." He rented an apartment near Castleton instead.

McGinnis says he didn't hear racial slurs from fans at the Coliseum as Brown had, but often heard them from fans in other cities, especially in the south.

"It was a different time back then," he says. "It happened all the time."

He did have a brush with bigotry following an exhibition game against the Kentucky Colonels at Columbus North High School in September of 1972.

He and Darnell Hillman headed to a Columbus restaurant after the game for something to eat, but were denied service. Not only denied but laughed at by the man in charge.

"I have some friends in Columbus and they told me that guy joked about it for 15 years," McGinnis recalls.

McGinnis says he didn't inform Leonard of the incident, instead airing a more general complaint.

"I don't like it down here," he told Leonard. "If we come back here for another game, I'm not coming."

McGinnis says Leonard replied, "You don't have to worry because the ------- promoter stiffed us out of our money. We won't be coming back."

Hillman had some bad experiences of his own. Visiting the Indianapolis Motor Speedway following his rookie season in 1972, he was taken to the first turn to watch the action. Passing by the Snake Pit, he heard fans shouting the N-word at him.

"I was like, 'OK, this won't be a race I'll be coming back to anytime soon," he says.

Hillman was reminded there were other places to avoid during the playoffs in 1973, when the Pacers played Kentucky. Leonard allowed the players to drive to games in Louisville if they wanted, so Hillman drove his new Corvette.

Heading home after one game, he took the Whiteland exit in search of a gas station. He soon noticed a car full of young white males following him, talking among themselves and gesturing toward him. Farther into town, a police car began following him as well. The kids soon pulled off, but the police officer continued to follow him. Giving up on finding a place to refuel, Hillman headed back to the interstate. The officer followed him for a while before taking an exit ramp. Hillman barely made it to a station on the south side of Indianapolis before running out of gas and was later lectured by Daniels about staying out of smaller towns outside of Indianapolis.

Generally, however, their status as a Pacer helped players in their encounters with police officers.

Hillman, who drove sports cars and motorcycles during his playing career, was pulled over occasionally often for speeding. After the officer looked at his license, the common response was something along the lines of "Slow down, Darnell, we want you around to win basketball games."

The more blatant racially motivated incidents go back many years, but Hillman experienced one after the new millennium while in French Lick for a summer golf outing. He was walking into a store in town when a car of young white men drove by and shouted the N-word at him.

Travis Best had a similar experience as a rookie with the Pacers in the 1995-96 season. The memory of being at a gas station on N. Keystone Ave. and hearing the N-word from some people in a passing car remains fresh in his memory — partly because it had never happened before.

"That was the first time it had ever been said to me," said Best, Best, who grew up in Springfield, Mass. and attended college at Georgia Tech in Atlanta. "That was a jolt.”"

These incidents have become more isolated over the years. It's not as though the Pacers' black players have heard racial insults whenever they leave home, and at some point housing discrimination faded into oblivion for them.

"I've been pretty fortunate in that way," Best says. "Not too many (negative) things have come my way. I'm pretty sure there have been things, but I've always been in a position where I haven't had to ask anyone for anything. So, I haven't been in position where somebody could talk down or berate me in any way."

Davis had the added benefit of being 6-foot-9 and more easily identified as an athlete than the 5-11 Best. He says he felt more racial resentment while playing in other U.S. cities as well as parts of Europe, but he says he felt uncomfortable in certain environments in Indianapolis.

"Believe me, there are times where you are out and people don't know who you are...” he said. "I moved to Zionsville and I felt it there sometimes. You know what I mean? Some people didn't know me or thought I shouldn't live where I lived. It was just something I felt."