Bill Walton: From San Diego’s Biggest Booster to Its Harshest Critic

Stepping into Bill Walton’s home back in two thousand nineteen felt like entering a shrine to San Diego. Surfboards leaned against the wall, a Grateful Dead poster hung proudly, and the man himself, all seven feet of him, greeted me with a booming “Welcome to paradise!” He was a walking, talking love letter to his adopted hometown. That day, over cups of herbal tea and stories that veered from the NBA to the beauty of Balboa Park, Walton’s passion for his city, and his early support for local journalism endeavors like Voice of San Diego, was obvious. It was impossible to imagine a San Diego without Bill Walton as its biggest cheerleader.

Sadly, that’s the San Diego we face today. Walton, after a long battle with colon cancer, passed away in two thousand twenty-four at the age of seventy-one. His death sent shockwaves through the city, a stark reminder of our own mortality and the loss of a true icon. But in the years leading up to his passing, a different kind of shock had settled over San Diego. The “sunny soul” of the city, the man who once brought people together, had become its most vocal critic.

San Diego’s Golden Boy

For decades, Bill Walton was synonymous with San Diego’s sunshine and optimism. He was the gentle giant who transcended political divides, his love for the city as boundless as the Pacific Ocean he surfed in. Whether championing the construction of the new Central Library—a project close to his heart due to his passion for children and education—or lending his voice to the revitalization of Balboa Park, Walton was a unifying force, a reminder that some things were bigger than politics.

While never one to shy away from expressing his opinions, Walton typically reserved his public stances for issues that resonated deeply with him. He passionately opposed the proposed redesign of Balboa Park, believing it would compromise the park’s historical integrity and accessibility. He was also a vocal advocate for raising the minimum wage, arguing that everyone deserved a living wage and a chance to thrive in his beloved city. But even in dissent, Walton’s approach was always respectful, his arguments rooted in a deep love for San Diego and its residents.

The Cracks Begin to Show

Then came the pandemic. Like a rogue wave, COVID-nineteen crashed over the world, leaving no corner untouched. For Walton, a man who thrived on social interaction and the energy of his city, the isolation was profound. But it was the pandemic’s aftermath that truly shook him to his core.

Downtown San Diego, once a vibrant hub, was now dotted with vacant storefronts. The pandemic’s economic fallout, coupled with a nationwide surge in homelessness, hit San Diego hard. Balboa Park, Walton’s sanctuary, was now often a refuge for those with nowhere else to go. Tents sprung up under the shade of its iconic Moreton Bay fig trees, a stark contrast to the joyous laughter of children that once filled the air.

Walton, witnessing the deterioration of his beloved city and the growing number of people living on its streets, became increasingly frustrated with the city’s response, particularly that of newly elected Mayor Todd Gloria. He felt that Gloria, despite his promises, was failing to address the crisis with the urgency and effectiveness it demanded.

From Whispers to War Cries

Gone were the days of gentle advocacy. Walton’s frustration with the city’s handling of the homelessness crisis morphed into something more potent, something that spilled out from behind closed doors and into the public sphere. His emails to Mayor Gloria, once filled with suggestions and pleas for collaboration, became laced with a biting urgency, often bordering on outright hostility. He accused the mayor of inaction, indifference, and of prioritizing optics over the well-being of the city’s most vulnerable residents.

The tension finally reached its boiling point in a now-infamous press conference outside City Hall. Flanked by community members who shared his growing despair, Walton didn’t mince words. He called for Gloria’s resignation, his voice booming with righteous anger, his words echoing across the plaza. The homeless encampments that had become a common sight throughout the city? Walton christened them “Gloriavilles,” a label as much a condemnation of the mayor as it was a stark visual reminder of the crisis at hand.

The image of Bill Walton, the beloved basketball legend, the champion of San Diego, standing on the steps of City Hall and lambasting the city’s leadership sent shockwaves through the community. It was a jarring departure from the persona he had cultivated for decades. The sunny soul of San Diego had become its most vocal, and unexpected, critic.

A City Divided: Reactions to Walton’s Outburst

Walton’s very public, very pointed criticism of Mayor Gloria and the city’s handling of the homelessness crisis ignited a firestorm of responses. San Diegans, much like the city itself, found themselves caught between the familiar warmth of Walton’s legacy and the harsh glare of his accusations.

Some applauded his willingness to speak truth to power, to use his platform to shine a light on an issue that many felt had been swept under the rug for too long. They saw his outrage as a reflection of their own, a validation of their frustrations with the lack of progress in addressing the increasingly visible suffering on their streets. “Bill wasn’t afraid to call it like he saw it,” said local activist and business owner, Maria Sanchez. “He loved this city, and that’s why it broke his heart to see it like this. He wasn’t trying to tear anyone down, he was trying to shake things up, to get people to wake up and do something.”

Others, however, found it difficult to reconcile the angry, accusatory figure on the news with the gentle giant they thought they knew. The man who once embodied San Diego’s spirit of collaboration and optimism now seemed to be contributing to the very division and negativity he had always rallied against. “It was hard to hear him talk about the city that way,” admitted longtime resident, David Chen. “I understood his frustration, but the way he went about it, it just felt so…un-Bill.”

Dan Shea, a homeless advocate who worked closely with Walton during this period, saw both sides of the coin. “Bill was a man of extremes,” Shea explained in a recent interview. “He loved fiercely, and he fought fiercely for what he believed in. He wanted compassion for those experiencing homelessness, but he also wanted enforcement, accountability. He didn’t believe those two things had to be mutually exclusive.”

Mel Katz, a prominent figure in San Diego politics for over two decades, offered a more measured perspective. “Bill’s heart was always in the right place,” Katz acknowledged, “but I think he underestimated the complexity of the issue. He wanted a quick fix, a silver bullet solution, and that’s just not realistic when it comes to something as multifaceted as homelessness.”