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A massive struggle

Luther Wright is the biggest person most people will ever see. He is a walking eclipse who sweats constantly. He doesn't walk so much as he rotates his body. His shoulders take turns leading the rest of him forward.

"If I go to someone's house for a party, and it's in a basement, I'm seeing where I'm going to have to duck," Wright explains. "People don't realize what a struggle it can be being this big."

A third of his teeth are gone, including his two front top ones. He leaves the crunchy croutons of his salad on the side of the plate. He is 35, but looks 50.

His life remains a work in progress. He misses appointments. He doesn't have a regular job, or any plans to get one. His only real income comes from the meager remains from an NBA contract. He has some vague ideas about writing a book or a movie about his life, or becoming a comedian or a singer. But right now, they aren't much more than that.

He volunteers with children in Jersey City and at his church, but otherwise he fills his days listening to the radio, watching movies, reading books or talking with friends at his cousin's barbershop.

He has had manic and depressive episodes since 1994 and has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Yet he hasn't taken medication for two years.

"He was treated by some of the best doctors in the country and the diagnosis was clear," says Sal DiFazio, Wright's former agent. "You don't heal what ailed Luther."

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"I used to like the game, but then it became like a job." — Luther Wright

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What if ...

Had Wright been born with a different body, he might never have picked up a basketball.

As a kid, he taught himself to play the drums, the guitar, the bass, whatever musical instruments he could find. He sang in church gospel groups. He spoke softly. He got arrested once — for shoplifting. If an adult asked him to do something, he did it.

His family moved five times in Jersey City before he turned 12. Always seeking cheaper rent in housing projects and a little more space.

"Sure it was dangerous," he says. "But that's what it was."

After school he would help his parents sell snacks from the family food truck — hot dogs, watermelon, cookies. But the boys in the neighborhood, like his buddy Jerry Walker, who would later star for Seton Hall, wanted him down at the park playing basketball.