SAN DIEGO - When Judy Porter (now Judy Porter Wonders) arrived at San Diego State in 1979, she came for basketball and for an education. She left as one of the program’s most dominant players, a record‑setting center whose numbers still anchor SDSU’s record book, and as a woman who spent decades insisting that the university honor what she had earned. Her story is both a celebration of athletic excellence and a study in how recognition can be delayed, contested, and finally reclaimed. In our conversation, I had the opportunity to learn about her life and legacy.
Porter’s career totals and per‑game dominance are striking. She finished with 21 school records, including 2,318 career points and 1,498 rebounds, and she averaged roughly 20.9 points and 12.6 rebounds per game in the seasons recorded. Those numbers place her among the most accomplished players in SDSU history and make clear how thoroughly she dominated the court. Yet the statistics tell only part of the story. Porter’s perspective reveals the human side of that dominance: a young woman who loved the game, leaned on family support, and quietly carried the burden of making sure her achievements were seen.
Her path to basketball began not with early specialization but with physical adversity. As a child she wore leg braces and struggled to keep up with other kids; by second grade she was already five‑foot‑eight and soon reached six‑foot‑two. Her parents gave her a basketball to help rebuild strength and confidence, and her mother became her first coach, standing in the driveway and insisting she shoot higher. Porter spent evenings on outdoor courts, turning on her car headlights so that she could see after the sun went down. She attended camps every summer, improving rapidly. By her senior year of high school she had scholarship offers from across the country, but she chose SDSU in part because it kept her close to family. “Without them, I wouldn’t have made it,” she said. That proximity and support mattered in ways that went beyond convenience.
Even as she piled up points and rebounds, Porter described herself as focused on the team and on playing the game she loved rather than on chasing records. “My focus during the time was to get out there and do the best that I could do and support my teammates,” she said. She had no idea that she was setting records until they were set. It was when she received stat sheets and thought back on the games that she realized just how good she was at basketball. Her approach to the game was competitive and unshowy, which made the later fight to have her jersey displayed all the more personal.
Porter’s recollections also make plain how race shaped her experience. She described experiencing racism “pretty much daily” while growing up and acknowledged that being a Black woman athlete in the early 1980s shaped her time at SDSU.
“I feel like a pioneer,” she said, noting that the women of her era helped create space for Black women in professional leagues that followed, including in the WNBA. That sense of being part of a lineage of women who opened doors for those who came after is central to how she frames her career. She watches the WNBA and follows players who use their platforms boldly. She singled out Angel Reese as an athlete she admires for using basketball as a platform and for pushing the boundaries of how women athletes are perceived. Her pride in the visibility and leadership of Black women in today’s game is palpable: she sees the rise of Black women into executive and decision‑making roles as a sign of progress.
Judy Porter Wonders had 21 records for SDSU when she left Montezuma Mesa. Credit: San Diego State University
Judy Porter Wonders after her jersey was hung in Viejas Arena in 2024.
The honor SDSU bestowed on Porter, her Hall of Fame induction and the retirement of her number, should have been a straightforward, visible recognition. In 1990 the university inducted her into its Hall of Fame and retired her number.
But the jersey that should have first hung in SDSU’s Peterson Gym and later in Viejas Arena when it opened in 1997 did not appear, anywhere. For decades Porter returned to campus and asked why her jersey was not hanging. She described repeated conversations with athletic department staff and successive athletic directors who seemed unaware or uncertain about the status of her honor. “I wasn’t very happy about that,” she said. “That was really something that I spent a lot of time trying to find out. Why it's not hung up and supporting, you know, black women and women as a whole.”
At one point the number was issued to a current player, prompting Porter to contact the department directly to correct the error. She remembers the emotional toll of repeatedly explaining that the number had been retired and should not be worn. “It was upsetting for me to hear, you know, to come up and the athletic director doesn't know anything about what's going on,” she said.
Porter’s number 33 was given out to a player, and when in 2020 head coach Stacie Terry-Hutson learned that Porter’s jersey was retired, she asked the player to change numbers. In Mark Zeigler's San Diego Union-Tribune article describing the incident, he wrote, “To the credit of current women’s coach Stacie Terry, something was (done about the player wearing Porter's retired jersey). Terry immediately asked the player wearing No. 33 to change numbers, and she worked to bring Wonders to games and be a valued part of the program.”
On one level, the missing jersey is an administrative oversight: records show the number was retired, and SDSU’s Hall of Fame lists Porter among its inductees. On another level, the delay in physically honoring her by hanging her jersey in any arena speaks to how recognition for women’s athletics, and for Black women in particular, has often been deprioritized or left to be reclaimed by the athletes themselves. Porter’s persistence in asking for what she had already been promised is not an isolated anecdote; it is part of a broader pattern in collegiate athletics where women’s achievements have been less visible and less consistently commemorated. The emotional labor Porter described of repeatedly explaining, documenting, and advocating is itself a form of unpaid work that many pioneering women athletes have shouldered.
Porter is candid about the hurt she felt. “For a while I did feel some resentment,” she said, recalling the years she spent trying to get the jersey hung. But she also emphasizes that she has moved past anger.
“I’ve kind of accepted it… I don’t have any hard feelings at this point,” she told me. Porter’s story is a reminder that institutions can and should do better at preserving and honoring their own histories. Yet she also continues to show pride in the program and to participate in alumni events when she can.
Her relationship with SDSU is layered: affection for the community and teammates, disappointment in the administrative lapses, and relief that her jersey now hangs where it belongs.
Life as a student‑athlete in Porter’s era was defined by financial strain and limited institutional support. Scholarships covered only a portion of living expenses; stipends were small; and working while competing at a high level was often impossible.
“We didn’t have all these perks," she said. “It was a struggle.” Her scholarship stipend barely covered basic needs, and her parents filled the gaps, emotionally, financially and logistically. Still, despite the financial strain and the lack of modern supports such as name, image, and likeness (NIL) opportunities, expanded academic services, and larger athletic budgets, Porter calls her time as a student‑athlete “overall a positive experience.”
She credits the sport with teaching discipline, teamwork, and resilience, and she says it opened doors she otherwise would not have had. “It gave me opportunities I wouldn’t have had,” she said. Her endorsement of modern changes is unequivocal: she supports athletes being able to profit from their image and likeness and believes today’s players deserve the foundation those opportunities provide. That perspective links the past to the present: Porter sees the current generation’s gains as part of a continuum that includes her own sacrifices.
Her favorite memory from her playing days is not a personal stat line but a team milestone: SDSU’s first‑ever win over UCLA. “We beat them for the first time in history,” she recalled, smiling. “I’ll never forget jumping around on the floor.” That night she also met her future husband, though she told him to “go away” because she was celebrating. Those moments, the communal joy, the shared triumphs, are what she returns to most often when she talks about her career. They are also the reason she continued to press for recognition: the jersey in the rafters was not only about her; it was about the teammates, coaches, and family who supported that era.
After her playing days, Porter built a career in social work, focusing on families and children. Her choice of profession reflects the same commitment to service and community she displayed on the court. She remains engaged with the sport as a fan and as an advocate for women’s athletics, attending events when work and life allow and encouraging younger athletes to take advantage of the opportunities now available. She watches the Olympics and the WNBA, celebrates the expansion of Black women into winter sports and gymnastics, and applauds athletes who use their visibility to push for broader social change.
“I hope things continue to progress for women and African American women,” Porter said.
Judy Porter’s career matters for several overlapping reasons. Her statistical excellence places her among the program’s all‑time greats. Her cultural and historical significance as a Black woman competing at a time when women’s sports were still fighting for legitimacy, helped expand the possibilities for those who followed. And the long delay between retirement and the physical raising of her jersey exposes how easily institutional memory can fail and how much work athletes sometimes must do to secure the honors they have already earned. The fact that Porter had to repeatedly ask for what had been promised, and that her mother did not live to see the banner raised, adds a human cost to what might otherwise be treated as a clerical error.
Judy Porter’s jersey is hung up on the right side in this image. It is the only women’s jersey in Viejas Arena, as the three jerseys on the other side are men’s.
When the jersey was finally raised in January 2024, Porter invited teammates from her era to stand with her. “That was a win for women in general, and for Black women,” she said. The banner in the rafters is now a visible reminder of what she accomplished, but the fuller story, of a young woman who turned adversity into excellence, who navigated institutional indifference, and who kept insisting on recognition until it was granted, is the part that matters most. Her persistence, humility, and continued advocacy for women’s athletics make her not just a record holder, but a model for how to turn personal success into lasting institutional change.
If there is a final note to take from Porter’s story, it is this: progress in women’s sports has been hard fought, recognition can lag behind achievement, and the athletes who break barriers often must also fight to have their stories told. Judy Porter’s jersey now hangs where it belongs, but the work she did, on the court, in the community, and in the quiet persistence of asking for what was promised, is the legacy that will endure.
