There was a time not long ago when Walt "Clyde" Frazier had somehow become the Austin Powers of NBA fashion. The world had moved on and he was still stuck in a long-ago age when his every move personified cool.  "A lot of people were saying, 'Hey, Clyde, you still wearing those '70's suits, man?'" Mr. Frazier recalled recently. "I was like, I got to shut these folks up."  His dazzling career and spectacular clothing choices had earned him a reputation as one of the most original players in NBA history. But he ended his career ushered off the New York City stage, stuck in an outpost known as Cleveland (listening LeBron?), hobbled by injuries and, by his own admission, "burned out."  "He kind of disappeared," said journalist and author Ira Berkow, who covered him as a young reporter.  On a recent afternoon, Mr. Frazier ambled into Madison Square Garden with a wide, easy smile, his trademark angled sideburns and a small puff of beard off his chin.  He had been told to dress casually, so Mr. Frazier was only wearing electric red silk pants under a red silk shirt patterned with repeating Japanese fans in shades of pastoral green, and turquoise shoes with subtle red stitching. A long metal chain glinted from his pocket and he clutched a sleek black leather purse.  He was there for a live television show celebrating the start of the NBA free-agent season at midnight and to meet three fans who had won a contest to sleep overnight in The Garden, shower in the Knicks locker room, and take a backstage tour of the arena. But for winner Adam Liebowitz, 30, one prize stood out: the chance to have lunch and chat basketball with Mr. Frazier.  "He's the man," Mr. Liebowitz said, admitting he was too young to have ever seen Mr. Frazier play. "If you're a Knicks fan, then you're a Clyde fan. They go hand in hand. He's the heart of the franchise."  This fall, Mr. Frazier will begin his 24th season broadcasting Knicks games, first on the radio then television. In October, a book he co-authored with Mr. Berkow, "Rockin' Steady: A Guide to Basketball and Cool," will be re-released for the first time since its original publication in 1974. The shoes he sponsored with Puma starting in 1973—making him one of the first basketball athletes to sign a sneaker contract—were reissued in 2005 and have remained one of Puma's most beloved brands.  More than 30 years after he last suited up as a Knick, Mr. Frazier has become the face of the franchise—as much a commentary on the crops of Knicks players in recent years as his own endearing celebrity. Knicks management may hope that changes by the close of this free agent season. But for now, Mr. Frazier is astonished—and grateful.  "God has heard my prayers!" he said after lunch with Mr. Liebowitz, throwing back his head with a laugh, referring to his ability to inspire a new generation of fans. "It's amazing. It's inexplicable."  It has been a decades-long trek to stardom, anonymity, and back.  Mr. Frazier grew up in the segregated South, surrounded by eight siblings who crammed into bunks and hideaway beds. He learned basketball on the dirt court at his high school in Atlanta, mastering the odd ways the ball bounced off the rutted earth and washing the spatters of mud off his sneakers nearly every night.  He turned down football scholarships to attend the smaller Southern Illinois University, where he led the team to its first-ever championship at the National Invitation Tournament. By the end of his junior season, he was living in a spacious trailer with his then-wife, surviving on, he estimated, about $500 a month. Then in 1967, he was drafted fifth by the New York Knicks and his life changed.  He'd worn penny loafers and button down shirts in college. Now he gawked at the parade of fashions down New York City streets, studying the swirls of colors, patterns and styles. His rookie season he made the bold choice to purchase a broad-rimmed hat that stood out from the narrow-rimmed shapes around him.  "Everyone used to laugh at me," he said. "I was like, 'Hey man, I look good in this hat; I'm going to keep wearing it.' As fate would have it, the movie Bonnie and Clyde came out about two weeks after I purchased that hat."  "Bonnie and Clyde" gave Mr. Frazier his nickname that would stick with him ever since and assume the weight of a fully-formed alter-ego: Clyde. Clyde went out to parties and wore full-length mink fur coats; Clyde quipped to the papers and commanded attention whenever he walked down the street. Clyde spent roughly $10,000 on clothes that first season; his signing bonus, according to "Rockin' Steady," was $25,000.  On the court, his achievements were even more stunning. Mr. Frazier led Knicks to their only championships, in 1970 and 1973, scoring 36 points, with 19 assists and 5 steals in Game 7 of the 1970 Finals against the Lakers. In 1987, he was inducted into the basketball Hall of Fame and ultimately named one of the 50 greatest players in NBA history.  But after retiring in 1979, the phone calls petered out. Clyde slowly retreated from public life, leaving Mr. Frazier alone to adjust.  "It took me, like, three or four years to come down from the celebrity," he said. "It was an adjustment."  He began to re-imagine a new life as Walt Frazier, running a bed and breakfast in the Caribbean, earning a captain's license and spending the rest of his days sailing, gardening and puttering around his sprawling property. He continues to do those things.  But two seemingly disconnected events plugged him back into the city that spawned his ascent: being inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1987 and spotting a clothing ad around that time starring Patrick Ewing.  Clyde, long dormant, began to stir—with indignation.  He marched into custom tailor Mohan "Mike" Ramchandani's shop near Grand Central Terminal and declared he was making a terrible mistake in the way he was marketing his suits. "I went up there and I said, 'Man those guys can't sell suits—I'm The Clyde, man—I'm the man.'"  It fell a little flat. Mr. Ramchandani stared at the towering man in front of him waving his arms and flashing his rings around, utterly bewildered.  "Mike didn't know me from Adam," Mr. Frazier laughed. "His expression was 'This guy is crazy.'"  Mr. Ramchandani didn't follow sports beyond the occasional cricket match —despite the parade of athletes that had begun to frequent his shop after seeing the Ewing ads, including Barry Bonds, Rickey Henderson, Bernie Williams, Charles Oakley and others. Still, he took Mr. Frazier over the table and started showing him fabrics. The Clyde surveyed the insipid array of grays and blacks with dismay.  "I go 'Man, I can't wear this stuff,'" Mr. Frazier remembered.  Mr. Ramchandani reached under the table and brought out a different book. This time the fabrics were richer, the colors more varied. "Okay," Mr. Frazier told him. "Now we're talking."  From that day forward, sprung a partnership that has lasted for more than two decades and has produced, Mr. Frazier estimated, roughly 200 suits which can cost up to $2,500 each and untold numbers of shirts, pants and style innovations—including his red silk outfit at The Garden, which Mr. Frazier says he designed himself, from the cut of the collar to the covered buttons.  With the Hall-of-Fame induction and then his broadcasting career, "I was becoming more visible," said Mr. Frazier. "So I was, like, man, I got to try to get my wardrobe back together.' So that's when I really started to concentrate on getting back in the limelight."  Once again, athletes crane their necks to catch a glimpse of Mr. Frazier's outfits on the court —but this time he is standing before a television camera.  Mr. Frazier intends to impart his life's lesson to this season's NBA free-agent crop. Money can be made with many teams. But what do they want to do after the game?  "If you just want to make this money and go away, don't come to New York," he said. "You can't fade away here."
Clyde Frazier Sense of Style Is as Strong Today as It Was During His Career With the Knicks