NBA legend Bill Walton was much more than just his hippie persona

Bill Walton, my frequent pen pal the past 15 years, was far more inclined to blame or credit kismet — fate, the cosmos — than coincidence.

Thus it would have come as spiritual affirmation to him that Monday, when I learned of his passing, I was reading Walter Issacson’s biography of Albert Einstein, the part about Einstein’s youth when he’d fantasize about riding the universe strapped to a beam of light.

That was Walton’s preferred mode of travel.

There was a lot to learn — and unlearn — about Walton after I came to know him.

We met at a CBS NCAA Basketball Tournament viewing party, a fabulous but defunct annual event that united media lured by free eats and booze. As late Post colleague Bernie Bard said, “If it isn’t catered, it isn’t journalism.”

Walton was seated on a couch in a corner when I introduced myself.