Beto O'Rourke and Rus Bradburd

[00:00] RUS BRADBURD: Hi, I'm Rus Bradburd I'm 63 years old. Today's February 6, 2023, here in El Paso, Texas. I'm interviewing Beto O'Rourke, who I've known for a long time as a friend and a participant for himself and his children in basketball and the barrio.

[00:19] BETO O'ROURKE: My name is Beto O'Rourke. I'm 50 years old. Today's February 6, 2023. We're in El Paso, Texas. I'm with Rus Bradburd who is a friend and someone who inspires me and a lot of us in large part because of his leadership in basketball Nabardio.

[00:37] RUS BRADBURD: So I thought I'd start beto by asking, you know, my experience in Segundo barrio is specific and I assume very different than yours. I think people in El Paso know that you were the city council representative for Segundo barrio. But, but you went to El Paso High school and wouldn't, there would have been a bunch of Segundo kids at El Paso High School.

[00:58] BETO O'ROURKE: I remember, yeah, I was lucky to represent this neighborhood in city council in Congress. But I first knew it just as an El Pasoan, born and raised here. And though born and raised not far as the crow flies from Segundo barrio, as you know, it's really almost a world and neighborhood apart from the rest of the city. It's, you know, some people describe it as the Ellis island for the western hemisphere. This is where so many families first got their start in the United States of America. It's produced extraordinary people. And I was lucky enough when I was at El Paso High school to be able to go to school with some of them. And, you know, it was a connection to a part of El Paso that, frankly, prior to going to El Paso, I didn't know much about, even though we were in the same city. It's just such a different part of our city. And I realized not just a different part, but really kind of a magical, amazing, wonderful place that I have fallen in love with over the years.

[02:00] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah. And it'd be less than a mile from El Paso High school, right. From Segundo, from where we're sitting now in Segundo barrio would be less than a mile, wouldn't it?

[02:09] BETO O'ROURKE: It's really close. And as you know, kids from Segundo used to almost exclusively go to buoy high school, which was not too far from where we're sitting right now in Segundo vario. It since moved a little bit further east. But some of those kids growing up in this neighborhood would go to El Paso High as well, or we would play each other in El Paso high versus Bowie games. I played one year of basketball at El Paso High before I realized I just didn't have the talent, coordination, skill, discipline, drive, whatever it took to be on that team. But I remember that we played Bowie and other schools in the area, so visited as a player, and also, again, played with kids from this neighborhood on the team.

[02:49] RUS BRADBURD: And so let me think if you went to. But your home was actually right near El Paso High School also, right. So you grew up. And in my mind, it's the highway, you know, like a lot of cities, you know, it's I ten, which goes from California to Florida, of course, but that separates, you know, you've got downtown, and then the highway is a bit of a divider, isn't it? And then, of course, on the other side is the mexican border.

[03:13] BETO O'ROURKE: That's right. Yeah. This is called Segundo barrio, the second ward, and it's in some ways physically isolated, isolated by the highway, by overland and paisano. Isolated perhaps in part because it is a community by and large of immigrants or second or third generation immigrants, and isolated in a beautiful way in that it's preserved so much of its history, its culture and its identity. And something that you've written about that I want to ask you about is some of the amazing people who have come from Segundovario, and I'm thinking about people like Burt Williams and Nolan Richardson. I wonder if you could talk a little bit about what those two people mean to you and how their lives came together in this unique neighborhood.

[04:02] RUS BRADBURD: Well, yeah, we've been doing basketball in the barrio for maybe 20 years when Nolan Richardson, the famous coach, showed up one day and he was, you know, he had recently lost his job at the University of Arkansas for speaking out about racism in what at the time seemed like a meltdown. And I remember when he came in, you know, these guys are all, you know, these head college coaches are all millionaires or multi. He was a little bit before the money got completely out of control, but I think he was making close to a million dollars a year when he got fired. And I know how these guys are, these head division one coaches. I thought he would ask, could he speak to the campers? And I just had to make it clear to him right away, like, we don't have that kind of budget. We're running the whole camp on $8,000 a year for books and t shirts and basketballs. And I made it clear, he said, oh, no, I don't want any money. I just want to talk to the kids. And it turned out Nolan had grown up going to the Aramejo center. And one of the interesting things about it is, although he played there all the time, he couldn't swim in the swimming pool, except one day a year on Juneteenth, they would let the negro kids at the time they were called, I suppose, and they could go in and swim. Then they drained the pool and fill it up again. For the hispanic kids, it's a strange. As you know, there were some. Some strange policies. But. So the more I thought about Nolan, I got to thinking about writing a book about him, and eventually was able to, because I think he was an important political figure, more so than as great a basketball coach as he is or was. I think he was more important as a political figure.

[05:33] BETO O'ROURKE: Talk about basketball in the body, and I'll tell you my first memories of it. You and Steve Yellen had invited me, I think, as a city council member, to talk to some of these young kids who were in the camp. And by coming to the camp, I learned that, you know, not only did these kids and their families pay only a nominal fee to be included, so income and luck and fortune were not a barrier to entry, but it wasn't really a basketball camp the way I knew basketball camps. I was lucky enough to have gone to Don Haskins basketball camp at UTEP when I was a 7th grader.

[06:09] RUS BRADBURD: And was I a coach then? What year was that?

[06:11] BETO O'ROURKE: You might have been. So I'm in 8th grade in the mid eighties.

[06:15] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah. So I would. I started in 83. I was probably the director. I probably yelled at you, sorry.

[06:20] BETO O'ROURKE: That's okay. That's okay. It made me a stronger and a better person. But I get to. I get to the basketball and the body o camp. And yes, there are basketballs and there are kids shooting hoops and there are drills that are being run, but there are poets and artists and political leaders and artisans and people from all walks of life who are contributing more than just basketball skills to what these kids are learning. How did you come up with this and why here in Segundo Barrio?

[06:50] RUS BRADBURD: Well, actually, you know, you mentioned the UTEP camp, and, you know, I worked at UTEP for eight years as an assistant coach for Don Haskins, who really broke the color line in college sports. But one of the things I noticed about, you know, I knew right away that El Paso was a poor town when I got here in 1983, and they always talked about that. It was, you know, one of the poorest major cities in America. And of course, Segundo barrio at times has been ranked as the poorest neighborhood, which we'll talk about in a bit. But I remember at the UTEP camp, which was relatively inexpensive for college camps, but it was still $250. And, you know, I just, I could tell that the kids, you know, the kids in El Paso, most of them, could not afford a $250 camp. And I remember thinking, talking to the players about it and the players even saying to me, I remember asking the UTEP players, and here we were with this important historical team, you know, that had this place in history. And the kids invariably told me, no, they had never been to a basketball camp because they couldn't have afforded it as a kid until they got to be maybe a high school star. And then maybe you get to go to the Nike camp for free. But virtually none of them had grown up going to basketball camps. And I got a little. I don't want to say ashamed, but I felt terrible. And so that was when I lost my job at UTePDe. When I lost my job at UTEP in 1991, I decided, well, I'm going to go to south El Paso through Paul Strelzen. You remember Paul Strelzen as the principal at Bowie High School. And through Paul Strelzen, we got this idea. I got this idea to do. I used to be a noted teacher of dribbling and ball handling skills and have worked with NBA players and that kind of thing. But I thought, I'll go to Segundo barrio and charged the kids. At first we charged $20 instead of the 250. So that was how it started is it was actually, the first camps were actually at Bowie High School. And it was through Paul Strelzen, who took the supreme. He took the border patrol to the Supreme Court and beat them because there were border patrol people coming onto his campus and sort of accosting the kids and asking for id. So that was how it started. And I remember thinking it was all little kids. It was six to ten year olds. And I remember thinking pretty early on, after a year or two, I thought, you can't just play basketball. There's 100 kids and there's only two baskets, and we can't play games or too little to reach the rim a lot of times. And I just thought, we've got to do something to sort of distract them. And at first it was silly. We'd have joke of the day and we would things like that. There were sort of contest with the coaches where they would have a three point contest, but I just thought we're wasting our. So it's gradually, as you can imagine, it's morphed. It changes a little bit every year. It's sort of a living and breathing thing, basketball and the barrio. But it started, we started slipping in education, things as sort of a. And just used basketball as the hook. And gradually it's gotten now where it's maybe a third basketball. And if any kid wanted to, they could probably say, I want my dollar back. It's nothing as much basketball as I thought it would be.

[09:57] BETO O'ROURKE: Tell me about the intersection of athletics and politics. You know, I think about some of the folks. We've talked about Nolan Richardson. You mentioned how he left Arkansas. We talked about Don Haskins, who starts the first all black starting five in NCAA championship game and wins it against the University of Kentucky in 1966. I think about Sean Harrington, extraordinary talent who fell prey to gun violence and yet has an extraordinary story that transcends being shot and then basketball in the barrio, where these kids are learning more than just the skills they'll need on the court. These are skills they'll need in what we hope to be a thriving, living democracy. How do you see sports and politics intersecting either in the lives of these people that you've covered or worked with or in what you try to do in basketball and the barrio?

[11:04] RUS BRADBURD: I can already tell that the interview is going different than I thought. I thought I would be interviewing you, but. Well, I would say that in my opinion, in my view, that I have a complicated relationship with sports, and particularly basketball. In my view, it's always been sports at the forefront of social change in America. And so the example I give, I remember when I was a kid seeing the, you know, I went to integrated schools all my life, an integrated church and, you know, and through college and that kind of thing. But I remember looking at my father's, who, my dad's still alive at 98, but I remember looking at his photographs from the Navy. He served on a PT boat in the Pacific, and it's all white guys. And I remember asking him that when I was very young and learning that the troops were segregated in 1944 and 1945 and Jackie Robinson broke the color line in the modern era. Jackie Robinson broke the color line in major League Baseball in 1947, and then the US military did it two years later. And so that kind of idea of sports being ahead of the change from Billie Jean King with issues of gender and sexuality, John Amici, the first NBA player to talk about being gay, and Nolan Richardson and Don Haskins, who broke the color line in NCAA sports. And when Don Haskins broke the color line here in 1966, there had never been a black professor on the. It was Texas western then, of course, but on the UTEP campus, they'd never had a black professor. It's astounding to think about it, and I would say, and I. And not that UTEP is perfect. UTEP has had something like 14 football coaches since Don Haskins broke the color line, and they can't seem to find a coach of color. And so. But I've always seen sports as sort of at the forefront. And then when I, you know, I went to Ireland, which is a whole different story, but started to realize that music is often a bridge to other cultures as well, and it can often be food as well. But for me, it's always been sports. And the first african american guys and hispanic guys that I had met and were close with and friends was all through sports. And I think that it's given me a window into another culture. And now, in retrospect, looking back at my career, I realize that I was a lot more interested in the window to other cultures than I was, actually. The game. I don't really want to talk about the basketball, but I'm interested in the stories behind the game.

[13:37] BETO O'ROURKE: My favorite story related to that, and it's right here in Segundovario, is Burt Williams, a white kid who grew up in Segundo Barrio, which at the time, I have to think was 99% mexican american. His name's Bert, but kids think it is bird, and so they call him Pajaro, the spanish word for bird. Extraordinary athlete. Allegedly runs for the city council in El Paso to improve the softball fields. Cause he's a world class softball player. And recruits Nolan Richardson to play on his softball team.

[14:14] RUS BRADBURD: And Burt had played basketball at Texas Western, right?

[14:17] BETO O'ROURKE: And Burt had played basketball at Texas west. Phenomenal athlete. Served this country in uniform, really kind of an extraordinary human being, but was really focused on softball. Is elected as an alderman to the El Paso city council, recruits Nolan Richardson, probably one of, if not the preeminent athlete in El Paso at the time, to play on his softball team. Nolan, who'd played for Texas Western College on their basketball team as well. And the story goes, and I've heard Nolan tell this story. I've heard Burt Williams tell a version of this story. They leave a game one night, and Burt invites Nolan to join him at the Oasis cafe. Now, Bert is white, Nolan is black, and this is 1962. And Nolan says, bert, I can't go there. They won't serve me. And he says, nonsense. You're with me. Let's go. Sure enough, they sit down. The waitress won't serve Nolan Richardson. And so Burt Williams, indignant, goes directly to his city council office and writes an ordinance to integrate places of public accommodation in El Paso. And because of Nolan Richardson and Burt Williams, that ordinance passes unanimously. It's vetoed by the mayor.

[15:28] RUS BRADBURD: And it's 1964 or 1960. 219 62. So it's two years before the National Civil Rights act.

[15:33] BETO O'ROURKE: That's right. And then Burt Williams, Nolan Richardson and allies have to make sure that they can override the mayor's veto, which they do. This community, El Paso, Texas, comes out and fully supports what will become the first ordinance to desegregate places of public accommodation in the former confederacy. It happens right here. And I think to your point, that is not unconnected to Don Haskins ability to recruit some of the most extraordinary players out there to come to Texas western college and to play for him. That is not unrelated to hiring the academic talent that was out there in America that otherwise wouldn't have come to El Paso. And all those things not unrelated to so much of the extraordinary success that we've enjoyed here in El Paso. So sports, civil rights and political leadership all coming together in this place and right here in Segundo Barrio.

[16:31] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah, and I don't think the story could have happened anywhere else besides El Paso. You know, Nolan Richardson and Burt Williams were both Segundo barrio natives and both grew up spanish speakers. But after they, after Bert Williams sort of single handedly, one of the amazing things, you knew Bert Williams better than I did, but one of the amazing things about Bert Williams is he refused to take credit for it. You know, like, you know, he could have maybe turned it into a cabinet position or become a national spokesman, but he would always, and I remember him telling me, oh, the mayor eventually got behind it. And I thought, baloney, the mayor tried to block it, but he refused to take credit for it. He gave El Paso credit for it. And I do think that it could have only happened in El Paso. But after that, that meant that El Paso is desegregated. Jim Crow laws were ended in El Paso, and that gave Don Haskins, Kurt Blanche to recruit as many athletes of color as he wanted. Of course, Nolan was already on the team before Don Haskins got here, but now he can go get Jim. Bad news. Barnes, the number one player in America, who had told Don Haskins, im not going to any city where I cant go to the movies. And that led to that. Of course, that success led to the 1966 team. But the other interesting thing, I think, that people don't know is that Nolan Richardson was not on the championship team. But when the recruits would come to town while he was still playing, he would take them on their recruiting visits. And so everyone gets 48 hours on campus, and Nolan would take them right to Mexico. And so in Mexico, there were integrated clubs, and you could dance with whoever you wanted, and a steak dinner was $1.50. I'm sure those guys thought, oh, yeah, I've died and gone to heaven. I'm coming to El Paso and look at the beautiful weather. But I just don't think Don Haskins could have done, or Burt Williams or us with basketball in the barrio. We couldn't have done any of it anywhere, but. So I sort of give El. I'm like you, I give El Paso credit, but you got. I never knew the. I knew the story of the Bowie baseball team, the 1940s. All this, I think, is connected to basketball and the body of it. I knew the story of the Bowie baseball team in 1949 because I was friends with Rocky Galarza, which we'll talk about in a minute. But how did you find out about the 49 team? Because it was your phone call, actually, that got it into Sports Illustrated.

[18:49] BETO O'ROURKE: You know, it's funny, all these stories that we're talking about, with the exception of the 66 minors, were things that I stumbled across in life here in El Paso. You would think that they'd be taught in our schools, they'd be handed down from our parents. I met Gus Sombrano, who played on that 49 team when I was on the city council. And Gus, you know, extraordinary. El Paswan, civically engaged, you know, knew my number, had it on speed dial. If there was a problem or an issue with the city, he wanted to talk to his councilperson. And over the course of getting to know Gus, I learned that he was on that extraordinary team in 1949. All mexican american boys so poor that their mothers made their uniforms, in fact, made their gloves and the balls they used on the field out of scrap material. And they were so poor they couldn't buy a baseball. And they are blessed with this extraordinary coach named Nino Herrera, who comes in from San Antonio, and he brings this group of kids together, instills amazing pride in them. They win the city championship, the district championship, and they go on to play in the first boys high school state championship in Texas history. It's 1949, and infamously, as they're traveling by bus to Austin from El Paso and today it's about an eight and a half hour drive. I bet you back then it was 1214 hours, maybe longer, to get there. Motel after motel, restaurant after restaurant, said no Mexicans or dogs allowed. And so at best, they'd eat in the kitchen or they'd eat on the side of the road. And what kills me is the night before the championship game, they're forced to sleep on the field where they're gonna play, underneath the bleachers on cots, I guess. On cots, right. And then they go out there and they win the game. They beat this team from Austin, and all kinds of slurs and horrible things are being hurled at them as they go on to win. And apparently, and I have yet to hear this, you probably have, there is a preserved radio broadcast where the KTSM radio correspondent is in Austin on the phone, phoning in the play by play to the home station here in El Paso, and you can go to Bowie High School and hear that game play for play.

[21:14] RUS BRADBURD: Oh, I didn't know that.

[21:15] BETO O'ROURKE: That amazing team came out of, came out of El Paso. And Alexander Wolfe from Sports Illustrated has written the definitive account called the Barrio boys about them. One other person that I feel that is in this connection, this line of extraordinary people from Segundovario, and that's doctor Lawrence Nixon, a black physician who moves here from Cameron, Texas, close to the turn of the. The century. And by the previous century, previous century, and by the 1920s, he's a leading physician. He started the first chapter of the NAACP in the state of Texas. He's very involved in city politics and civic life, and all of a sudden, in 1923, the Texas state legislature forbids voting by black Texans. And not, euphemistically, not. How many jelly beans are in the jar? Or can you recite this? Part of the state constitution literally says in black and white, if you're black, you can't vote in Texas. Nonetheless, Nixon pays his poll tax, goes to fire station number five, is his regular polling place, attempts to vote, is told that he can't, and says famously, I know you can't let me, but I've got to try and takes this case all the way to the Supreme Court, wins it not once, but twice, and over the course of 20 years, finally helps to force the integration of elections in the state of Texas. That guy got his start, at least here in El Paso, in Segundovo, and for me, his civil and voting rights victory in 19, 44, 20 years after he started it, is connected to LBJ, 20 years later, passing the Civil Rights act and then the Voting Rights act of 1964. Thelma White, who graduates from the all black Douglas high School here in 1954, tries to go to Texas western college, where later on we'll have Haskins win the national championship. Denied entry based on the color of her skin, she takes her case to court. Ari Thomason, another El Paso, and is a federal judge at the time, decides it in her favor and ends up integrating all of higher education in the state of Texas. That came out of this community as well. And so I have belatedly, because these weren't stories that were shared with me growing up, have found this amazing pride in the role and place that El Paso has in american history and in the advancement of civil rights, voting rights, and just the best of who we are. And I really feel like basketball in the barrio is carrying on that tradition. You, Yellen, others who've led this effort, believing in these kids and realizing we've got the next Nolan Richardson, the next Tim Hardaway, the next leader, artist, extraordinary public figure right here in our community. But we gotta invest in them and believe in them first and make sure that they have access to the tools and the people who will help them get ahead. I wonder what you think the legacy of basketball and the barrio is so far? It's still going strong. What has it created over all these years?

[24:30] RUS BRADBURD: Well, yeah, I'm probably the wrong person to ask because I don't want to say, oh, it's had a great effect on children. I will say. I always, whenever I talk about basketball in the barrio, I make sure to say that there's, as you know, we're here in the Lafay clinic. There's people who have dedicated their lives to, you know, to working with the kids in Segundo. Whether you're at Aoe school or Hart school or the Armijo center or Lafay clinic here there's people dedicated or Sacred Heart, and there's people who've dedicated their lives to helping these kids. I don't like to overemphasize. I'm here three days a year now. I think about Segundo all the time, but, but I. So I don't like to overemphasize my own role, but I also think, you know, or the idea that, you know, there's a. I think there's an element, and you've probably no one has ever said this to me, but I do. I do fear that sort of white savior idea that I'm going to come in and fix everything. There's other people who've been doing a lot more than I have, than Steve and I have. But I will say that for me, the bridge was meeting Rocky Galarza. And so when Nolan Richardson was a boy, the star athlete in the neighborhood was a man named Rocky Galarza. Rocky was, I think Rocky and Nolan, I think, are the only ones to ever be all city in three sports. So Rocky was. He was ten years older than Nolan. So Rocky was born in 1931, and he was all city and basketball, football and baseball, and also a boxing champion. But he was one of the star players and the homecoming king on the 1949 Bowie team. But I met Rocky through Paul Strelzen. Strelzen used to be the announcer for UTEP basketball. He was the principal at Bowie High School, where a lot of the Segundo kids go. And Strelzen was the announcer for the Golden Gloves, boxing. And once I was there, I was always very interested in boxing. And I. Strelzen introduced me to Rocky, and I was looking for a place to work out after work, because college basketball coach, very stressful job. So I started going to Rocky's gym and was doing the boxing workouts with the kids. And of course, not only was I the only Anglo there, I was about the only one who spoke English there. But I just saw the magic that he had with these kids, and he was coaching the kids. He wasn't making any money. It was just to work with the kids in the neighborhood, which, of course, I'll ask you about Father Rahm in a minute here. But he was carrying on the tradition of Father Rahm, where we're gonna use sports. And it was the only thing that he knew. It was the only thing he felt, I think, he could teach. And so in his back, the backyard of his bar and grill, was this full size boxing ring and heavy bags and that kind of thing.

[27:01] BETO O'ROURKE: Was that called the Rock kiss?

[27:03] RUS BRADBURD: Well, it was called Rock kiss before that, but all was Rockies before they. And then after Rocky died, which I'll talk about in a minute. So I was going there and thinking it really changed the way I thought about sports. Don Haskins was a very good person, a very authentic person, but there's almost no one at that level who's doing it only because they love kids, and Rocky was doing it only because he loved kids. And if a guy got to be good like Juan Lascano, that wound up being a world champion. He lost that kid to Las Vegas and La. He wasn't going to go to LA with a kid or Las Vegas with a kid. And by the time I got, or Herman Delgado, that was a navy champion and fought professionally, actually fought Kalichko, the mayor of Kiev. But Rocky really changed the way I thought about sports. And then when Rocky was killed in his own home, he was a victim of gun violence. When he was killed in his own home in 1997, it really rattled me. I loved Rocky a lot, and I just thought, I've got to do something now to keep it. Because the headline of the El Paso paper was, bar owner killed in his home. And I thought, that's going to be his legacy. Bar owner killed in his home. And I just thought. So I wrote. It was one of the first things I ever wrote. I wrote about Rocky for the El Paso Times and called him the saint of the south side. And I just thought, okay, this is the time. And I called Steve. I said, I want to reduce the cost of the camp from $20 for three days to a dollar. And that was when we. So that was 97. So basketball and the barrier was actually in existence for about five years before we decided through, you know, through. Through Rocky. But Rocky had been. And every, every. At the end of every camp, I always take a basketball, drive out to the cemetery over by Thomason and put a basketball on top of his grave and have a brief chat with him, but it's never there. The next year, when I go back, somebody. Somebody's cleaning up these basketballs. But I wanted to ask you about Rocky talked to me. He was the first one to tell me about Father Rahm. But you probably know more about Father Rahm than I do. It's Father Rahm's story. I just drove by his mural on.

[29:03] BETO O'ROURKE: The way here, and we're not too far from Father Rahm street. He's one of these people you mentioned. There's a legacy and a long line of them who have devoted their lives to the families and the kids of Segundo barrio. We think about Salvador Bacorta here at La Fay, a modern version of this. Father Rahm, I think a Jesuit. Shoot, I should know this, as a born and raised and baptized Catholic, comes to El Paso and in this underserved, under resourced neighborhood, where kids, though they are american and they may be Mexican American, are just described as Mexicans by the power structure in El Paso at the time. And no one gives them a second thought or a second chance, if they ever got a first chance, really believes in these kids, invests in them, and I believe through bicycles and introducing this opportunity to these kids to ride bikes, to exert themselves athletically to compete, to learn how to build and to fix them, connects these kids to a love of athletics and accomplishment and excellence that had a profound transformative impact on the neighborhood. And I think that legacy of Father Rahm is now born out in organizations like this one at Lafaye that helps with the education, the healthcare, the social and cultural life of the community. And again, I point to basketball in the body o folks who invest in and believe in these kids and give them opportunity to do amazing things in their lives.

[30:51] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah. And Father Rahm, I remember Nolan telling me that the neighborhood was actually more dangerous before Father Rahm got here, that it was rougher in the 1930s and forties than it has ever been in recent memory, and that father Rahm was often getting guys who were involved in gangs and getting them involved in sports. But in the mural, and I know this is. I know this is touchy for you, Beto, so forgive me. I know your father died on a bicycle, didn't he?

[31:19] BETO O'ROURKE: That's right.

[31:19] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah. But father Rahm spent his whole adult life on a bicycle, right? Wasn't he cycling from. Talk about modest and sort of down to earth and authentic. Not just paddle Rourke, your father, but father Rahm, he never owned a car, is my understanding.

[31:37] BETO O'ROURKE: Yeah, I think that's right. And my dad loved being on a bicycle. You know, he traveled from Seattle to New York. I remember one year on his bicycle and sent us kind of early Internet days. I think it was the late nineties, you know, sent us, you know, telegrams from the road that we would publish on this website that we had called stantonstreet.com, comma, cycled all over this community, and then was on July 3, 2001, was struck and killed while he was riding his bike up from Santa Teresa, New Mexico, into El Paso. So we miss him. But he gave to all of us, his kids, this love of being outdoors and being on a bicycle or running or being in the mountains or hiking or going. Backpacking out in the gila. So we love that. And he was also very involved in politics. He was a county commissioner and a county judge. When you were coaching at UTEP, he was taking me to UTEP games, and I just remember everybody stopping him as the judge and bending his ear about this or that other thing. But, yeah, I love Father Rahm's story. I love the story of Segundo Barrio, and I love the story of El Paso. And I feel like part of my life's mission has been to share. Share the story of this town and the role that I feel like it's had the outsized role it's had in this country's history.

[33:05] RUS BRADBURD: Sorry, I was gonna say you became. I got where I knew Bert Williams and interviewed him for the Nolan Richardson biography that I wrote. But you were actually pretty good friends with Burt. But I wonder if you could talk more about Burt. I remember for about the last seven or eight years of Burt's life, he passed away maybe three or four years ago. Did he?

[33:23] BETO O'ROURKE: That sounds right.

[33:24] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah. But what we would do at basketball and the barrio, I would bring the coaches down and go, you know, knock on Burt's door and he'd come to the door and he was always so gracious and modest. But I brought some of the great progressive thinkers like David Magasey and Babito Garcia and people like that brought them to meet Burt Williams because I thought what he had done was so profound, but also that he didn't care about, you know, early in the, not that I'm as modest as Bert Williams, but early in basketball, Navarrio Steve Yellen was insisting that my name was on the shirts. I said I don't want my name on the shirts. I just wanted to be. And I do go back to, just as a memorial to Rocky Galarza. I don't feel like I'm saving anybody or fixing anybody or making. It's just my way of, it's sort of an open prayer to rocky Gallarsa and his memory. But how did you get to, did you know Burke before you were in city council?

[34:14] BETO O'ROURKE: I love, by the way, you describing basketball in the body as an open prayer to Rocky Galarza. I think that's beautiful. You know, it's funny is I knew about Burt Williams. I was at Maceda elementary and my dad was running for county judge and his opponent on the ballot was Burt Williams. And so I just knew that that's the guy that my dad's running against or is running against my dad. And only again, belatedly did I really understand Burt Williams story. Because as you said, the guy was so damn humble and wasn't going to tell you that he was responsible for the first ordinance to desegregate places of public accommodation in the south years before the Civil Rights act. Wasn't going to tell you that he was mayor of El Paso and helped to stop one of the biggest polluters in our community. Wasn't going to tell you that when he ran for Congress he wouldn't take any campaign donations at all, I believe because he didn't want corruption or the appearance of corruption or conflict of interest, the most ethical, the most humble, the most devoted public servant that I got to know and a great guy and an athlete and an amazing human being.

[35:28] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah. And I've gotten where I think that without Burt Williams, the 1966 team doesn't happen. And one of my great regrets is, you know, Don Haskins died, I think, in 2008. And one of my great regrets is I never talked to coach Hassan and asked him about what was his relationship with Burt Williams because I thought they should give him a championship ring. And of course, it was too late for that then. Also, I don't ever talk about basketball in the bar without talking about Steve Yellen's contribution. We make a good team, and it may surprise you beto to know that I'm the grouchy one. Steve is sort of the dreamer, sort of with his head in the clouds and sort of, you know, he thinks that anything can happen. Of course, I was around Don Haskins too long to ever be positive about anything. I always think nothing's going to work out. We've got to really stress this and get everything. But we wind up being a good combination together. And we've had some interesting guests. We had John Carlos from the 1968 Olympic team, if you remember, John Carlos with the black power salute, and David Megacy, who was the changed pro football by writing a book called out of their league. And Babito Garcia, the first Hispanic to be to do a national television basketball broadcast. So we've got some interesting guests, and it morphs and changes every year. You've been too busy. You were too busy last year to come. Can we count on you this year?

[36:49] BETO O'ROURKE: Absolutely. I'll be there. And I didn't say this earlier, but we also really grateful for you and Steve because our kids all went to basketball nabardio and picked up not just the dribbling skills, which they still have, but just an appreciation for this community that, again, I didn't have as a kid growing up here. I was isolated and insulated from so much of our story as a community and our history. And I love that my kids have had that opportunity.

[37:17] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah, me too. And, you know, we only advertise within Segundo Barrio, but we don't turn kids away if they're. And so when Ulysses and Henry and the O'Rourke kids all come along, we have to, you know, they're there. And so it does my heart good. But I also, Steve and I have gone back and forth on this. Should we have it be kids from all over the city, or should we. And so we stuck with mostly segundo kids. We've stuck with mostly Segundo kids. And I hope we can keep doing that in the future.

[37:45] BETO O'ROURKE: Me, too. Keep it up. I love what you've done for, for El Paso and beyond that, what you've done for this country in terms of our conversations about athletics, gun violence, race, politics, and that so much of your heart is still here in Segundo barrio. And so keep going.

[38:04] RUS BRADBURD: Yeah, I don't think of it like that. I think of it as remembering Rocky Galarza. But it's nice of you to. It's nice of you to say that stuff. Will we wrap it up? Okay. Well, anyway, thanks, Beto. Thanks for coming out. It's good to see you here in Segundo barrio. And I'll see you at basketball in the barrio June 9, 10th and 11th.

[38:23] BETO O'ROURKE: By the way, I've got it on the calendar. Thank you, Rus

[38:25] RUS BRADBURD: Okay, thank you.