Doctor's Orders

The announcer for the Rucker summer basketball tournament in Harlem was groping for the best way to express his enthusiasm over the new court phenomenon. The youngster heard himself called "Houdini," "The Claw," "Black Moses"--and none of the nicknames pleased him. He took the announcer aside. Softly but deliberately he said, "Call me The Doctor.' " Julius Winfield Erving Jr., 21, was already demonstrating that he would be his own man.

The Doctor, or Dr. J. as it has been ever since, has become the most exciting and innovative young practitioner of the muscular art of professional basketball. With his unusual mix of solo razzle-dazzle and imaginative team play, the rangy 6 ft. 6 in., 200 Ib. forward has revived the previously paralyzed New York Nets and restored them to instant health. Ervingless, the Nets finished next to last in the East Division of the American Basketball Association last season with a 30-54 record. As the league paused for its All-Star break last week, the Nets were on top of their division with a 34-20 record, and The Doctor was operating for 27 points per game, the best average in the league.

Human Helicopter. Erving's on-court style has made him the A.B.A.'s top draw. When he drives to the basket, floor-bound opponents are flabbergasted by a human helicopter who can soar from the foul line to the backboard with magnificent ease. With Erving handling the red, white and blue A.B.A. ball, a standard stuff shot turns into airborne acrobatics, often ending in a backward, over-the-head slam dunk. A lay-up is embellished with the kind of fakery that the Harlem Globetrotters made famous.

Nets players as well as opponents shower him with superlatives. Erving, who will be 24 this month, discusses himself with neither modesty nor bravado: "I feel that I can drive, float, and change direction easily in the air better than most of the other players. It's that freedom of motion that separates me." Another Erving trick: in mid-dribble he palms the ball with his right hand, leaving his left free to fend off opponents, and soars into shooting or passing position without losing a step. The ploy, Erving says, "is quicker and more deceptive. You eliminate one move."

His flamboyance on offense is only part of his value to the Nets. He leads the team in two vital defensive categories, blocked shots and steals. The latter statistic is usually the pride of smaller, supposedly quicker guards. Yet Erving is the second leading pilferer in the A.B.A. The Nets are a very young team (average age: 24), and they lost their first nine games this season while trying to knit their new talent. Erving quickly provided the necessary needles, sacrificing his scoring (five points per game fewer than last season) in order to set up plays for teammates.

Erving is at home with his new status and his new team, which plays just a few miles away from Roosevelt, L.I., where he grew up. "Basketball was a type of escape for me," he says. "If I had a little argument at home, rather than staying to fight it out I'd go out to the park." If he could find no one to play with, he would spend hours playing "one on none." By his senior year in high school, scores of colleges were bidding for his services.

The unlikely winner was the University of Massachusetts, a weak basketball school. "I was a little dude" (6 ft. 3 in., 165 Ibs.), explains Erving. "Physically, I was very immature and had a lot of growing to do." As he grew, so did basketball at Massachusetts. In his junior year, he led the team to its first appearance ever in the National Invitational Tournament. Then he dropped out to go professional, signing a four-year contract with the Virginia Squires of the A.B.A.

He was soon enmeshed in complex contract and draft disputes, involving not only the Squires but the Milwaukee Bucks and Atlanta Hawks of the N.B.A. All that ended last summer when the Nets bought off the warring parties and signed The Doctor to an eight-year contract that is worth about $2.5 million. Now, instead of spending off-court time in lawyers' offices, Erving relaxes in his as yet unfurnished $37,000 condominium in Lido Beach, L.I., or cruises with his fiancee Turquoise Brown in his white 1973 Avanti.

As rich athletes go, he lives, dresses and talks sedately. "I never dreamt of having grand things," he says. "I have no great desires." With Dr. J. in the lineup, the same cannot be said of the Nets.

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