Pillar of Clovis 'changed the world'

Death was rapidly approaching. His once cancer-riddled lungs puffed out his last breaths. Hospice workers occupied his Clovis home. 

Yet, Hank Baskett Jr.'s face was aglow when his son Hank Baskett III and his grandkids walked in. 

"You saw the light in his eyes," said the younger Baskett. 

In that brief moment, he once again exemplified the positivity and magnetic charm that made him a pillar of Clovis for decades. His children -- his own, their kids, and the hundreds of those he helped heal as executive director for two decades at the Oasis Children's Advocacy Center – always gave him purpose and inspired him.

"Kids have always pushed him because he always knew that God's gift to us is our children," said Hank Baskett III, the former NFL player. "... I always told him how much he changed the world."

Hank Baskett Jr. died July 5 at age 80. He is survived by Judy Baskett, his wife of 43 years, and sons Randy and Hank, along with three grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

There is evidence he did change the world. 

In 2013, United Way of Eastern New Mexico gave him its Lifetime Achievement Award. His military service ended with his retirement as a master sergeant in 1991. He volunteered for countless non-profit agencies, ringing the bell in a Santa hat for the Salvation Army, playing in charity golf tournaments, a leader in the Kiwanis Club and the Fraternal Order of Eagles ... and many who knew him said he livened up any environment as a larger-than life superforce.   

On the softball field, he belted skyscrapers while chewing a cigar. He crooned classic Louisiana tunes like The Carpenters' "Jambalaya" on the karaoke stage. And there was that time in 2018, when he used his declining health as a means to pull a legendary prank on former Clovis Police Chief and City Manager Raymond Mondragon. 

While walking into Foxy's Drive In to have breakfast with Baskett Jr. and Bill Mccormick, Mondragon saw the pair arguing. That's when Mac said, "Well, I'm tired of this, Hank, and I think it's BS," and proceeded to cut Baskett's air tube with a knife. 

Mondragon said he freaked out, thinking Mac was attempting to end Baskett's life. 

It was April Fools Day. 

"It was a fake air hose ... he was a jokester. That's the kind of thing he did," Mondragon said. 

When he wasn't sharing his fun-loving demeanor, he was sharing a positivity and love for others, especially children, his friends said.

After retiring from Cannon Air Force Base, Baskett Jr. started selling cars, but he got "bored," Baskett III said in an interview last week. 

Eager to fulfill a lifelong promise to his mom and make the most of the back-half of his life, Baskett Jr. earned a degree in sociology. He had an interest in criminal justice, so he was hired by Oasis, which was seeking an executive director and interviewer. 

Though unplanned, it made complete sense, said those who knew him. 

His leadership skills honed in the Air Force allowed him to take charge and help run the children's advocacy center. A bulk of the work meant non-stop fundraising for the perpetually budget-strapped Oasis, a non-profit stationed in a tiny home on a Clovis street corner. The rest of the job called on Baskett's natural personality – personable, empathetic, trustworthy and funny – to connect with children who were often physically or sexually abused.

Some of those kids were as young as 3. Baskett's interviews could help bring justice and start their road to healing.

State Rep. Andi Reeb, a former district attorney who worked alongside Baskett, said his work was "extremely" important.  

Any misstep could fracture a child's trust – permanently – and eliminate any chance of perpetrators being held accountable for their actions.

"It was the make or break of the case," Reeb said. 

Patti Johnson, who worked with Baskett, said children would walk into Oasis, eyes down, shrouded in fear and distrust. 

"We would have kids come in that would have walls up that did not want to even tell you their names," Johnson said. 

Then in came Baskett. Big smile, hulking frame, cloaked in warmth. Asking about their interests and hobbies. Aware of the stakes, but more focused on helping the child trust.

"A God-given talent," Johnson said. 

He'd remind them they were safe, not in trouble and how nothing that happened was their fault. His questions would be broad. He'd even rely on non-verbal communication. Sometimes, just by the way a child kneaded Play-Doh could hint that "more was going on," according to Reeb. 

Sometimes, a child wouldn't be ready to talk. Or, the multi-disciplinary legal team, which fed Baskett questions through an earpiece in another room, would let him know there wasn't a criminal case to investigate. But often the children would take to Baskett's kindness and share intimate details of their lives, Reeb said. 

"I was always so impressed with just how comfortable these kids were with him," she said. 

When Baskett was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2011, he could have retired or taken a step back from Oasis. After all, he was making "chump change," according to Reeb. 

Didn't matter. While receiving treatment, Baskett kept up the interviewing, the fundraising, and volunteering around town.

"In the beginning, a lot of people didn't know that he was flying out to LA every three weeks for about 18 months to receive the hardcore chemo infusions," Baskett III said. 

Baskett Jr. told friends he never had cancer. "The doctors diagnosed me with lung cancer," he said, repeatedly. "I gave it to God."

In 2015, he told reporters he was retiring from Oasis after 21 years. The center shut down not long after.

"I will miss it - I've worked so long with the children," he said at the time. 

Still wanting to be involved with the youth, Baskett Jr. focused more attention on his grandkids. Recently, he flew to Los Angeles to watch Hank Baskett IV play in a jam-packed basketball tournament. 

"He was screaming and cheering the whole time," Baskett III said. 

Flash forward to his final hours early this month, his final words to his son were centered around positivity. 

"Be blessed, stay blessed and I love you," he said, before eventually drifting off.