Michael Jordan is taken to task by Thomas Lake, a writer for Sports
Illustrated, for not lending a hand to his mentally ill former high
school basketball coach at Laney High in Wilmington, N.C., Clifton "Pop"
Herring.
In an open letter to Jordan,
Lake writes Jordan should show some compassion for Herring, a "sick and
indigent man" living in "tumbledown old house," and one who was
recently put in jail on questionable grounds. Also one who, according to
Lake, opened the Laney High gym for Jordan at 6 a.m., "let (Jordan)
borrow his car and had (him) over to his house and treated (him) like a
son."
Michael Jordan has received criticism for not offering assistance to
his former high school coach. (AP Photo)
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Staff report: Sporting News
One well-known story about Jordan’s past is that he did not make his
high school varsity squad when he was a sophomore. Jordan has always
said he was cut from the team and called out Herring during his Hall of
Fame induction speech in 2009. "I wanted to make sure you understood:
You made a mistake, dude."
Writes Lake, "Well, it was your mistake. You used what should have
been a joyful occasion to call out a man for something he did not
actually do. A sick and indigent man at that. As we both know, Pop's
life fell apart after you left town. Not his fault. A disease ran in his
family, paranoid schizophrenia or some such thing, and he started
acting strange, and he lost his job, and his wife, and his daughter, and
pretty much everything else. Took to drinking, as you or I might do in
similar circumstances."
Herring was arrested recently after a man staying at his house was
charged with killing a woman and burying her in the yard. Lake confirmed
with the D.A. that Herring had nothing to do with the crime and writes
that Herring was incapable of keeping the alleged murderer — a serial
rapist — out of his home. The man was taking advantage of him.
Because of Herring’s mental illness, Lake writes, he missed court
dates and had a warrant issued for his arrest. He was put in jail, and
Lake took $100 out of his own bank account to post Herring’s bond.
The last time Jordan saw Herring, according to Lake, was in 1994 at a
celebration in Chicago, when Herring was booed after Jordan introduced
him as "the first guy who ever cut me."
Lake writes, “Mike, I know you can’t fix Pop. But you can help him. He helped make you, and now you are a very rich man.”
Lake suggests that Jordan purchase Herring’s house, knock it down
and build a new one; hire some caretakers and an exterminator; buy him
some life essentials, like a clothes, dishwasher and a bedframe; and
perhaps make a call to Nike and tell them his old coach needs a new pair
of shoes.
Clifton "Pop" Herring
More: Read Lake’s full letter to Jordan
Dear Michael Jordan,
I heard Pop Herring was in jail so I
drove up to see him the other night. You remember Pop, your basketball
coach at Laney High in Wilmington, N.C. The man who opened the gym at 6
a.m. so you could work on that jumper. The man who let you borrow his
car and had you over to his house and treated you like a son. The man
who put you on jayvee in your sophomore year. Didn't cut you, as you
always said after that, although at the time it probably felt like a
cut. I guess it still does, or did in 2009, when you were inducted into
the Hall of Fame, and you addressed Pop directly without actually using
his name and said, regarding his failure to put you on varsity, "I
wanted to make sure you understood: You made a mistake, dude."
Well,
it was your mistake. You used what should have been a joyful occasion
to call out a man for something he did not actually do. A sick and
indigent man at that. As we both know, Pop's life fell apart after you
left town. Not his fault. A disease ran in his family, paranoid
schizophrenia or some such thing, and he started acting strange, and he
lost his job, and his wife, and his daughter, and pretty much everything
else. Took to drinking, as you or I might do in similar circumstances.
Did
you help him? Not in the past 18 years. He and his friends say the last
time you saw him was 1994, and no one from your camp has come forward
to dispute this. That was at a celebration of you in Chicago, and you
introduced him to your fans as "the first guy to ever cut me," and they
booed.
Were you unaware of his plight? I guess it's possible, or at least it was until last January, when
Sports Illustrated published my story
about him. Someone on your staff must have read it. I hoped you would
reach out to him then. A visit or a gift or something. But no. It's been
seven months, and Pop and his friends say there's been no sign of you.
A terrible thing happened after the article came out. A man who had been staying in Pop's tumbledown old house was
charged with killing a young woman
and burying her in the yard. Pop was arrested too, because he was drunk
and difficult when the police showed up, but he had nothing to do with
the killing. Let me repeat that: He had nothing to with the killing. I
confirmed this with the District Attorney's office. The bad guy was a
serial rapist, one of many shady characters hanging around that house,
and Pop was incapable of keeping him out. This is something that happens
when you're mentally ill. People take advantage.
Here's
another thing that happens when you're mentally ill. You have trouble
organizing your life. You miss a court date or two, and the judge issues
a bench warrant, and pretty soon the cops come and throw you in jail.
This is exactly what happened to Pop. He was living with a criminal
because he is mentally ill. He was drinking because he is mentally ill.
Nothing against the good people of the New Hanover County justice
system, but this much is true: Clifton "Pop" Herring went to jail
because he is mentally ill. Recently I called his landlord and heard
he'd been back in jail since July 14. No one would bail him out. So I
got in the car.
"This is my 24th day," he said, on the
telephone, through the glass. He did not seem angry. In fact he was
jovial, as usual, and he asked me how my little girl was doing. I told
him fine, and he said good, and then he asked a favor. He said the
charges had been cleared up that afternoon in court, and he wasn't sure
why they were keeping him here, and he wondered if there was anything I
could do to get him out. They were treating him just fine, but he didn't
want to spend one more night in a cage.
"I got my stuff ready to go," he said.
I
said I would go see about it. Sure enough, the charges had been
resolved. All except one, a failure to appear. The bond was $100. I had
no idea what I was doing. Never bailed anyone out before. Checked my
wallet and saw forty bucks.
There's an ATM over in the corner, a deputy sheriff said.
So
I went over and took out another hundred. My own money -- not from a
Sports Illustrated expense account. It felt wonderful. Like you, Mike, I
had profited from Pop's story, and I figured this was the least I could
do to pay him back. I slid five twenties under the glass at the
magistrate window and the guy gave me a receipt and told me to bring it
to the deputy at another window.
"Go in the lobby and wait for him," the deputy said. "Be about 20 minutes."
Pop
came out in his secondhand clothes, old jeans and an old gray T-shirt,
and he said something grateful about the jail officials having laundered
them. He was hungry, and so was I. We drove downtown to The George on
the Riverwalk. Pop got a seafood platter with fried shrimp, fried
flounder and fried oysters. It looked delicious, better than my shrimp
and grits, and he let me try some. Then I took him home.
Mike,
I know you can't fix Pop. But you can help him. He helped make you, and
now you are a very rich man. Here's what you could do for Pop. You
could buy that tumbledown house from Pop's landlord. You could tear it
down and build a new one. Nothing fancy. Just a nice little one-story
structure that won't blow over next time a hurricane comes through. You
could hire a caretaker for this house, preferably two or three. These
caretakers would keep the place clean, because Pop can't, and they would
keep the shady characters outside, because Pop can't, and they would
bail Pop out of jail next time he's caught with an open container, and
they would make sure he shows up for court. His niece and his landlord
do a lot for Pop, but they both have their own busy lives, and from time
to time he falls through the cracks. You could pay people to always
catch him. You could even hire his landlord and his niece, so they
wouldn't have to work other jobs, and I'm sure they would treat him
right.
Fine. I know I'm dreaming here. Asking too much.
Well, there are smaller things you could do. Cheaper things. You could
hire an exterminator, so Pop could turn on the stove or take a dish from
the sink without seeing a swarm of small dark bugs. You could buy him a
dishwasher. You could buy him a bed-frame so he wouldn't have to sleep
on a mattress on the floor. Pop is a sentimental man, keen on mementos,
and he keeps his New Hanover High Most Valuable Player 1969-70
basketball trophy on the mantle in his bedroom. The thing is so old and
corroded that it's about to fall apart. You could pay a few bucks to
have it restored.
I saw Pop the next morning, getting a
shave and a haircut at Washington's Barber Shop. He was talking about
getting some new clothes so he could get a girlfriend or two. You could
buy him new clothes. I looked down at his feet, at his off-brand white
sneakers, stained with water and mud, laces so old they were turning to
fuzz. Mike, this would be the easiest of all. No money to spend. Just a
phone call to your friends at Nike. You could tell them your old coach
needs a new pair of shoes.
Sincerely,
Thomas Lake
Follow Thomas Lake on Twitter @thomaslake.
