The Bridge That Bears His Name: Bob Cousy Pass

For years, I drove that highway to get to the College of the Holy Cross, sitting up on College Hill, overlooking the city. I’ve taken that exit dozens of times, windows down, music up, coffee in hand, thinking about the day ahead.

I never thought much about what that road represented beyond getting me to work on The Hill.

Today, Governor Maura Healey changed the way I’ll see it forever. She dedicated the I-290 bridge at the bottom of College Hill as “Bob Cousy Pass.”

Before Bob Cousy was “The Houdini of the Hardwood.” Before he was a six-time NBA Champion. Before he was the point guard who changed what basketball could look like — he was a kid from New York City who came up that same hill to play for the Holy Cross Crusaders.

Cousy enrolled at the College of the Holy Cross in 1946. He played under head coach Alvin “Doggie” Julian and helped lead the Crusaders to the 1947 NCAA Championship. This was a team that put Worcester on the national basketball map — at a time when the city, the school, and the sport itself were all still finding their footing.

What Cousy did at Holy Cross wasn’t just put up numbers. He played differently. He saw the game differently. Behind-the-back passes, no-look dribbles, court vision that felt like something from another era. People didn’t have a language yet. They just knew they were watching something they hadn’t seen before.

After graduating in 1950, the Tri-Cities Blackhawks drafted Cousy — initially, then acquired by the Boston Celtics through a dispersal draft. Red Auerbach, the Celtics’ legendary coach, famously didn’t want Cousy at first. He came around quickly.

Over 13 seasons in Boston (1950–1963), Cousy became the soul of one of the greatest dynasties in American sports history. Six NBA Championships. Thirteen All-Star selections. The 1957 NBA MVP. First-team All-NBA ten times.

He and Bill Russell built something in Boston that the league hadn’t seen, and hasn’t quite seen since. But Cousy’s legacy wasn’t just about rings or stats. He was an early and vocal advocate for his Black teammates at a time when that cost something. He pushed back against segregated hotels and restaurants during road trips. He was one of the founders of what became the NBA Players Association.

The Houdini of the Hardwood wasn’t just magical on the court. He had a conscience off the court too.

Here’s the part that means a lot to me.

Bob Cousy could have gone anywhere. After the championships, the fame, and the career that made him a Hall of Famer, he could have settled in Boston. He could have picked some retirement destination that matched his legend.

He returned to Worcester.

Worcester has remained his home for decades. He’s been a presence in the community long after the spotlight moved on.

That’s a different kind of loyalty—the kind you can’t manufacture.

When I drove I-290 to Holy Cross, I was doing what a lot of people in Worcester do — navigating a city that doesn’t always get its flowers. Worcester is a city of makers, immigrants, students, and fighters. It’s not Boston. It doesn’t need to be.

Naming that bridge “Bob Cousy Pass” isn’t just honoring a basketball player. It’s honoring the full arc of a life lived in connection to a place. The kid who came up the hill. The legend that was built there. The man who came back.

Every person who drives that road now — students heading to Holy Cross, workers getting off the exit, kids who have no idea who Bob Cousy is yet — they’ll see that name, and maybe one day they’ll look it up.

This is how legacy and education continue through people.

Protect Our Culture.