Shaun Livingston isn’t a talker.

Don’t be mistaken. He talks. His dialogue is calm and smooth, the same way he dribbles at the top of the key while a play develops. Wisdom drapes from his words like an All-NBA defender. He turned 35 last week, but he has been through so much already that he boasts the sagacity of a grandfather. When he speaks, someone else is usually benefitting. But he isn’t a talker because his impact will not be heard. He prefers it felt.

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Unselfishness has always been what set him apart. His core motivation, a drive heightened by the end of his NBA career, is to help people. Livingston believes that is best accomplished by action. Words have the most meaning when girded in care.

“I want to serve people,” Livingston said in a recent phone interview. “I want to help others. That’s what I get the most joy out of. So whether it’s at the boys club, you know, Salvation Army — whatever it is, it is going to be in service of other people.”

This is the core of why Livingston has decided to join the Warriors’ front office.

A year ago this month, he announced his retirement from the NBA after 14 seasons. He was waived by the Warriors in July 2019 and spent two months trying to find a new team and prolong his career. He would only play for the Warriors, Clippers or Kings, so he could be near his wife and daughters. Those teams all went in other directions last offseason. So Livingston conceded to the inevitable and retired, then retreated into solace. As the African proverb says, do something at its right time and peace will accompany it.

After a year off, Livingston is ready for the next phase. The natural move would have been coaching. A point guard all his life, cerebral and composed, Livingston has the pedigree for it. Most expected that to be his post-career move. The Warriors’ front office even encouraged it. Steve Kerr would very likely find a spot for Livingston on the bench.

But during one of his conversations with Bob Myers, Livingston declared his preference for the front office. Myers was elated about the revelation and spent the next couple of years recruiting Livingston, working to keep his talent in house when Livingston hung up his Nikes.

“I always knew that door was open,” Livingston said. “I just had to walk through it.”

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Walking through it wasn’t the easiest thing, even if it aligned with his vision and plan. But he finally did it Monday, signing a contract to join the Warriors basketball operations team. But why?

Because the best way to affect change is from the top.

Because NBA front offices have a serious void, in melanin and mindset, and who better to fill it than him.

Livingston — whose title is director, players affairs and engagement — will be the highest-ranking Black person in the Warriors’ front office since Mitch Richmond in 2008. Rod Higgins was general manager — and No. 2 in basketball operations under Chris Mullin — from 2004 to 2007, with Richmond as his assistant. When Higgins left to take Charlotte’s GM job in May 2007, Richmond was promoted to director of player personnel.

Myers acknowledged the lack of diversity on his basketball operations staff. The business side of the franchise is run by an openly gay president in Rick Welts and includes David Kelly, an African American, as chief legal officer of business and basketball. Four of the top nine positions on the business side of the Warriors are held by women, the highest-ranking being Jennifer Cabalquinto, who is Filipina and the team’s CFO. And that doesn’t even count Nanea McGuigan, director of basketball administration, who is legitimately one of the top 10 most integral people in the franchise.

But in basketball ops, before Livingston’s hire, seven of the top eight ranking members were White men.

The Warriors’ front office prides itself on being an open space of dialogue and contribution, where input is welcomed from everywhere on the totem pole. But in terms of title, salary and final decision-making powers, the top of the food chain is president and GM Bob Myers, executive vice president Kirk Lacob, and assistant GMs Larry Harris and Mike Dunleavy Jr. That is the brain trust.

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The next tier is the director level: Kent Lacob, director of team events, and Jonnie West and Nick U’Ren, who are both listed as director of basketball operations. Pabail Sidhu, director of basketball analytics and innovation, is the lone non-White male.

It should be noted that Kerr’s level of influence is definitely near the top of the power structure. Kelly, as the resident cap guru, is also in the mix on the basketball side.

Five of the top seven Warriors front-office officials have fathers who were/are a big deal in the NBA.

“I get it,” Kirk Lacob said in a phone interview. “I fully understand when you look at our top three or four, it’s all White guys. But the key to any sort of diversity play is you have to give people an opportunity to grow. It’s not the superficial part. It’s about growing. We’re very aware of the way things look. But our goal is not to win a PR battle. Our goal is to create real change and set people up for success. So far, we’ve failed at that. But that’s the goal. We want to create future GMs.

“If you really want to poke a hole in us, it’s that we still haven’t hired a woman in basketball ops. And I take that right in the chest. It’s tough because we don’t have a lot of women applying for positions. And it’s not their fault, because they don’t see any women.”

Livingston, the Warriors contend, is the headliner of the Warriors’ plan to train and empower non-traditional candidates for executive positions. These roles are often filled based on behind-the-scenes relationships. There isn’t a tangible system of qualifications outside of past success or failure, which ends up leaving the main credential being the network. And the job is so unique, dealing with athletes and ownership, not many are good at it — as evidenced by the number of teams that struggle to win consistently. Those with the connections and the relationships get the opportunities. The Warriors are a prime example of access being premium.

Myers’ surprising hire by the Warriors in 2011 was based on his connection to super-agent Arn Tellem. When Warriors assistant GM Travis Schlenk left to run the Atlanta Hawks in 2017, Myers waited a while to fill that position. He turned to someone he had a strong relationship with in Dunleavy, whom Myers represented as an agent. After a year as a scout, Dunleavy — whose work is raved about by people in the organization — was promoted to assistant GM. Even Livingston’s opportunity is courtesy of the relationships he built as a player.

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So, while accepting criticism for their homogeneous basketball ops team, the Warriors subtly nod to their practice of giving talented prospects a start so they can build their resume and network. David Fatoki, an assistant manager in basketball ops, is one of the star pupils they think could be a GM one day. Ditto for Ryan Atkinson, who replaced Kent Lacob as GM of the Santa Cruz Warriors and got his start with the organization by volunteering. Mujtaba Elgoodah, who started on the business side, is a bright executive talent who is getting looks on the basketball side as player development coordinator. All three are African American men.

The Warriors’ stated goal is to create a pipeline that feeds the league by giving prospects a shot at the lower levels. The experience and connections they garner will make them viable candidates later in their careers — even if it is not with the Warriors.

It should be said, however, a number of minority candidates in the NBA who have taken similar paths around the league still haven’t reached top positions. Also, many White males in the NBA executive ranks have avoided the “started from the bottom now we’re here” path.

Livingston is being groomed as a future general manager. But he’s got some ranks to climb. His resume has 15 years of NBA experience and three championship rings, so he is not entering on the ground floor. His title is on the director level, but he’ll assuredly have some assistant GM-type clout and he reports directly to Myers and Kirk Lacob.

Livingston said he connects with the way Myers and Kerr approach their jobs because the hallmark of their leadership style is caring about players and people. That’s what matters to Livingston.

This is more than a job. This is a calling.

“I always wanted to take this path,” Livingston said. “At the same time, with everything that’s going on, there’s more purpose in this job now, although I think there has always been purpose with it. I understand I may be the only brother in the office doing this. At the same time, there’s more purpose in me doing this job, especially as a Black person right now.”

Two days before the start of the 2012-13 season, the Rockets waived Livingston. Two weeks later, he signed with the Wizards, his second stint in Washington. It lasted five weeks — he averaged 2.7 minutes in 17 games — before getting waived again. On Christmas 2012, he signed with the Cavaliers. And it stuck.

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He played 49 games with the Cavaliers, still reeling from the departure of LeBron James. He ended up averaging 23.2 minutes in 49 games, starting 12 of them. He averaged 7.2 points and shot 50.7 percent from the field. He was playing as well as he had in years. But, oddly, that season was when he learned his value went beyond his on-court production.

After destroying his knee in February 2007, Livingston had been on the long, slow, grueling fight to mold a career. He was a prodigy in 2004 when he was drafted No. 4 overall out of Peoria Central High in Illinois. The journey from “we may need to amputate” to “Shaun, you’re starting tonight” is one that requires virtuous patience, the faith of a mustard seed and the work ethic from generations of old. And Livingston was tracking his progress by what he was able to do on the court. He’d finally gotten back to the point of effectiveness in 2009-10. By 2012-13, he was proving he could contribute meaningfully, reliably. But the Cavs showed him he could do more.

That same season, the Cavaliers drafted Dion Waiters. He clashed with Kyrie Irving, the reigning rookie of the year and new face of the franchise. It was Chris Grant, the general manager, who realized and valued Livingston’s presence in that locker room and role in keeping that dynamic from exploding. Again, his unselfishness has always been what set him apart.

“I’m not gonna say I was in the middle of anything,” Livingston said. “And I’m not gonna say I fixed anything. But I’m just saying it gave me the experience, being able to talk to those guys, work with those guys and just have a different viewpoint and a different vantage point. That was the first time in my career where I’m like, ‘Damn, my job ain’t necessarily tied to my performance so much.’ If they’re going to keep me now you got to perform, and that’s first and foremost. But once you get to a certain standpoint, I think you can add value in other categories, in other areas —  like team management, like being a pro, like showing guys how to work, like showing up early, like being on time. All those little things that go into any job.”

That’s when he started putting the puzzle pieces together. You see things from the back end of a roster. You see how a franchise really works when you exist in the shadows, on the end of benches, as a pawn in the team’s chess moves.

Playing for nine teams, he interacted with nine front offices. He absorbed nine cultures, got behind the curtain of nine organizations, each of which has their way. He got to play for a lot of coaches: Mike Dunleavy Sr., Erik Spoelstra, Scott Brooks, Flip Saunders, Larry Brown, Paul Silas, Scott Skiles, Randy Wittman, Byron Scott and Jason Kidd before five years with Kerr — the longest he played for any one coach. But you know what else he saw? How those coaches interacted with the front office. And on bad teams, he saw the disconnect between the locker room and the front office.

So many times, as he fought his way back, Livingston had to study the team he was on so he could find a way to stick. Each time, he was in a different city, staying in hotel rooms, and, if he was lucky, finding apartments. He had to get to know new teammates, learn the team dynamics, how the locker room works, the style of the coach, all so he could figure out how best to contribute. Finding weaknesses he could strengthen, holes he could fill, roles that would make him invaluable.

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“So, me just being in that mode,” he said, “as a player and as a person observing — observing the locker room, observing the coaches, observing the staff, observing the front office, observing the organization and the back office. Just seeing everything and dealing with all the personnel systems … you get to see how an organization works. So for me, I’m like, ‘I could put together a team.’ A lot of the teams I’m on, mind you, at the time are bottom of the league. So not a lot of success. So I see what doesn’t work. You know what I’m saying? I’m on teams that are in the lottery and I’m seeing they’ve got a different agenda while I’m trying to perform and get back in and play and win. So just seeing how organizations work, seeing what doesn’t work, especially, that was key.”

Seeing the sausage get made sparked a different interest. He began seeing how a franchise is one big team, and it also needs a point guard. He points to the Clippers, the team that drafted him, and how the change of ownership from Donald Sterling to Steve Ballmer and getting Doc Rivers in there to run things changed the whole trajectory of the franchise.

When Livingston signed with the Warriors, he was mostly looking for a home. He signed a three-year deal and, for the first time since the injury, was able to unpack and grow some roots. He ended up being such a good fit, he stuck around when his deal was up instead of hitting the market for a more lucrative payday.

Livingston is one of four players in the history of the four major North American sports leagues to spend at least five seasons with one team and make the championship round each season. The other three: Tommy Heinsohn with the Celtics (nine), Bert Olmstead with the Montreal Canadiens (eight) and Johnny Mize with the Yankees (five).

But Livingston didn’t just find a home. He found a blueprint to his next move.

In addition to being pivotal on the court, he was incredibly important in the locker room. The fanfare of the Warriors, the large personalities in the locker room, the drama they endured, it only added to his repertoire of experience. He learned some valuable lessons — such as “get out in front of things” — and witnessed just how important relationships are in this profession. It is impossible to win without talent in the NBA. But good organizations know what to do with talent and how to foster it with the right atmosphere. That ideology drew him to the Warriors.

“It was Bob and Steve,” Livingston said. “That’s what it comes down to — it’s the people and I think that’s how it should be. I have enough faith in those guys. I’ve seen how they’ve managed their responsibilities in the organization. I wanted to learn from those guys because I felt like they have knowledge that they can pass down to me, experience they can pass down to me.

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“They genuinely care about people. That’s a big positive for Bob and Steve. Those guys are different from that standpoint.”

As it relates to an NBA front office, in a league predominantly composed of Black players, there is an element Myers and Kerr don’t have and can’t ever attain. And Livingston knows he’s got it.

He knew years ago, in high school. He was starting to blow up because of his basketball potential. The NBA wasn’t yet on his radar, but his name was ringing out after leading Central to the state title as a junior.

His unselfishness always set him apart. On the court, he found passing the most joyous. He realized as a point guard the best feeling came from a unified team playing for each other, and he could create that vibe with his leadership and style of play. He started volunteering at summer camps and working with kids in high school. He couldn’t believe how attentive they were to his advice. Peoria is a small town. They knew who he was so his talks landed.

It was clear to him even then the power of relatability. There is something about the bonds of culture, ethnicity, neighborhood, shared experience — it fertilizes a relationship. He spent his formative years growing up in his grandfather’s house with his dad and uncles, all Black men from three generations experiencing life together.

Livingston knows he can understand the different contexts at play without them being explained. He can have the conversations others often don’t even know how to have, and the empathy needed to have them. And he’ll have the credibility to say what needs to be said.

“There is something about having a mentor, a leader, where you can look at this person and say, ‘OK, I can relate to this person because he’s been through something that I’ve been through.’”

This moment, the start of his new career, is the end of a bridge that began in June 2019, waters that had to be crossed over first.

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Livingston had a partially guaranteed contract that paid him $2 million if he was waived. So he knew all along it was possible. But in his gut, deep in the parts where his conviction lies, he knew it was over in the 2019 NBA Finals. Because in the playoffs, Livingston had always found more juice. For four years, especially in the biggest series, he was able to find another gear. But not this time. Deep down, he knew it was time.

Livingston has spent his entire basketball life orchestrating success. Running plays. Dropping dimes. Coming off the bench. Being a presence in locker rooms. Solving problems and building alliances. The lone question was what would be the best way to keep doing that. Where could he go and have his unselfishness still set him apart?

Upstairs.

“Honestly, I think for me, it’s part of my personality as far as trying to bring people together,” he said. “I want us all to work as a unit. I’m a team player. That’s been who I am, that’s been kind of my identity. I’ve stood on that as a player and a person. I want to work as a team. I want to work in unison. I thrive on trying to find solutions to problems.”

(Photo: Noah Graham / NBAE via Getty Images)

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