The scenery will soon change here, Jerry West explains in his Appalachian drawl. The picturesque green that surrounded us on the hills and mountains in southern West Virginia will soon be a magnificent splash of orange, gold, and brown. We're standing in West's home state, where he retreats every summer and transforms from "The Logo" (as we know him) to a West Virginian (as he prefers).

"I'm Jerry here," West tells me. "In other places, I'm Mr. West. I know I'm getting old, but what the hell? I'd rather just be Jerry."

The colors have not changed, but West's perspective has shifted over the years. "I'm in more of a melancholy mood today," he admits. Always a man of endless contradictions, the 73-year-old West is more aware of them than ever. He yearned for excellence on the basketball court but wishes he could be an average, everyday person away from it. He was obsessively devoted to the sports game and came as close as anyone to mastering it as a player and executive, and yet he abruptly retired as a player and as an executive — twice, no less, with his beloved Los Angeles Lakers and with the Memphis Grizzlies, whose warm-ups insignia he wore as we talked. He feels immense pride that the league recognized him as the silhouetted figure on its logo, but that logo vaulted him onto a pedestal that he continues to dread.1 He loves to read, but can't sit still. His main joy is a product of a willingness to give his money, time, or resources, and yet there are days when he sincerely believes the world would be better without him.

"From that standpoint, I don't have everything," West says from the first floor of his lavish home, standing in a room adjacent to both a movie theater and wine cellar. "Self-esteem is something I still battle. People look at me and say you've got fame, you've got admiration, you've done this, you've done that. As far as I'm concerned, I haven't done anything. I've just fulfilled a dream of competing. I could be special in some ways. E...