Author’s note: Chicago Blackhawk fans, congrats on the Stanley Cup triumph. Right now you’re on top of the world. Take note, however…
Years ago, when I was in the high society/charitable phase of my life, I was tapped to join the Michael Jordan Boys and Girls Club of America board here in Chicago. It was a worthy cause and an honor to be asked.
And this was the era of Michael Jordan- Chicago Bull three-peat basketball superstar, and at that time, the most famous man in the world.
This charity was his baby. Of course I said yes.
I do remember going to some board meetings at the Stadium. Dolores Jordan, Michael’s mother, was there. So was Juanita, his wife. They sat on opposite sides of the room. The chill was palpable. I don’t remember anything that happened at those meetings. All I can remember was the cold. Brrr.
And, as the Jordan v. Jordan divorce case subsequently made history for the largeness of its spousal settlement, and now since Michael has just remarried, it’s no secret that Mom and Wife cordially loathed each other. (And I could see, even then, that Mother Dolores was going to win out in the end.)
But internecine family cat fights aside, there was some serious fund-raising to do. And I had a couple of ideas.
I remember coming up with two events that could be auctioned off the night of the big gala. One was lunch with Colin Powell. And dinner with Denzel Washington. Both of these gentlemen were big supporters of the Boys and Girls Club in their own right and I felt sure they would cooperate.
And besides, who could say no to Michael?
This was 1995. And you have to understand- if you’re not from Chicago- how big Michael Jordan was in those days. Every zeit has its geist, and back then, honey, he was IT.
I found this out first-hand at a BGC outing that I attended. It was a cocktail party and all of a sudden, unannounced and very unexpected, His Airness walked in.
The room stopped. Everyone stared. It was Michael himself and nothing and no one else mattered.
Instantly he was swarmed by high-profile fans of both sexes. Big shot business tycoons and fancy society dames became adoring, simpering idiots in his presence. And they all clamored for a picture with him.
Not me though.
(I got where they were all coming from, but basketball players didn’t do it for me. We won’t talk about the time I made a complete ass of myself burbling incoherently in French to Audrey Hepburn. Or the fact that I could never say one word when confronted daily by Ringo Starr. We all have beloved celebrities that render us imbeciles in their presence.)
But somehow the unthinkable was happening. Michael was making his way over to me.
“You’re Ellen, right?” he asked. “My mother tells me you’ve got some great ideas for the club fundraiser.”
Not missing a beat, I joined Team Michael.
“Yeah, I thought Colin Powell for lunch and Denzel for dinner. You know, a celebrity auction to spend some time with these guys. What do you think?”
“I love it, ” he replied. “Say, do you want to have your picture taken with me?”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to have to. My kids will NEVER believe it.”
And right then and there, he picked me up (!) and we both turned to the instantly-present papparazzo and said “Four-peat!”
Click. The moment was now perserved in perpetuity.
“I’ll have my company, Jump Incorporated, send it to you. I’ll be in touch,” said the most famous man in the world.
And then he was gone.
A few days later, the eight by ten glossy of Air Jordan and me showed up in my mailbox. I wanted a few copies to prove that I had, indeed, been in the royal presence and since this was the Luddite age of photography, I drove to Stern’s Camera in Winnetka and asked to make copies on their machine.
When I drew out the photo, there was audible gasp from behind the counter. I was immediately tag-teamed with questions.
“Why does he have his arm around you? Where was this taken? How do you know him?”
I explained that because of our height difference, Michael had actually hoisted me off the ground. You couldn’t see my feet but they weren’t touching it.
And after I assured Stern’s staff that I wouldn’t be using this photo for commercial purposes- thus violating the photographer’s copyright- they ushered me ceremoniously over to the copier and showed me how to use it.
I made about twelve copies. I kept the original for our house in Colorado. I thought I’d give away the copies as the fancy struck me.
(I now can only remember one recipient of the photograph. I gave it to a great guy who parked our cars in the garage after we had moved downtown. I had autographed it to him “From Michael Jordan’s friend, Ellen Ross” as an extra flourish. He loved it. And you should have seen how fast I got my car.)
That original black and white photograph graced our Snowmass condo wall for many a year. People never failed to comment on it. Michael Jordan was instantly recognizable.
(I won’t count the time that my then husband told me, “You had the craziest message on the answering machine. It was from someone at something called Jump Incorporated. But don’t worry. I erased it.”
“Nice going, “I said. “You just erased Michael Jordan. Jump Incorporated is his company and he was calling to discuss some charity plans with me.”
“Oops,” said my non-repentant then spouse.)
But I let that one slide and everyone else was always stopped dead in their tracks by the picture of me and the most famous man in the world.
Even Nick’s snowboard buddies.
Except one.
Trip. An idiot acquaintance of Nick’s whose folks lived above us in Snowmass’s Horse Ranch development.
As he was crusing by it one day, Trip said to me, “I dig this picture, Dude. Is that, um, O.J.?”
WTF?!
“That’s M.J. you moron,” I replied in a huff.
“Bummer.”
Ah well. Sic transit gloria mundi.
Dude.
Ellen, I met Michael very briefly only twice. The first was at the Bulls kickoff luncheon just preceding their first title season and apparently we both snuck out early. We ended up together on the escalator at the Hyatt ( I believe it was the Hyatt) and I must say that I actually could feel an aura around him. It’s hard to explain but there was an almost charged air, force field if you will, that seemed to emanate from him. He was friendly/approachable enough so I had him sign the annual calendar that the attendees all received which eventually disappeared (from the house I had left) while my first wife and I were divorcing…a lost eBay experience.
A Threepeat later I was at a birthday party at Marche with a real, barely age appropriate knockout when we bumped into Michael, the former Chicago Bear Richard Dent and 4 others who were playing cards and smoking Cubans at the very back table. They had no interest in me but insisted on wishing my date a happy birthday with a kiss and some conversation. I snuck away and asked her to linger (which they welcomed) and to get his autograph for my son. When she got back she said Michael told her he’d wished he could have signed but that if he did it would start an autograph frenzy which I’m certain was true.
Here is the rest of the (heresay) story – one of my favorites:
About an hour later my date (BTW, we both knew we were not destined for anything serious) left the birthday table of 18-20 people by the front windows to use the bathroom in back. She was gone for a fairly long time and when she returned she told me that she had a very interesting story to tell me later.
Now, I’d heard all the rumors by then of Michael being a player but still, this surprised me. She said that upon leaving the restroom she was approached by one of the guys who had been with Michael earlier. She said he told her that ” Mr. Jordan would like to sign that autograph for her, as well as share a birthday bottle of Champaign with her in his Limo waiting outside.” She told me that she told him that although thoughtful and flattering she knew that Mr. Jordan was a married man and that his emissary had responded that Michael was well aware of that.
She asked me if I thought she’d done the right thing (after all as you so clearly illustrate Michael was much more than just a man) and wondered if she’d regret it. He was The Man at the time and a fantasy to many (most?) woman, including my date. I told her that her decision was the right thing for her personally but that she could have gotten me that autograph. Michael’s guy had left her with a cell phone number (his or Mike’s) if she ever had a change of heart…. I never did find out.
All can say to this is “Wow!” And I think that this should be the post today, and “What A Difference…”should be the comment.
Thanks, Gary. And did you see the SNL skit recently re MJ’s latest wedding? Funny.
My son had the occasion to play in a poker game with Michael Jordan several years ago. When my son was leaving at the end of the game, he had won a hundred dollars. He asked michael to sign it, which he did, and then said,”I want this guy back again. Nobody takes my money.” Interesting. As usual, I enjoyed your writing. Allan
Ellen, I had a huge smile on my face while reading your blog today. Absolutely fascinating – to say the I LOVED it is a huge UNDERSTATEMENT! I was envisioning the whole scenario and imagining your completely understated response to it all. It was great to learn more about your background/history! Cheers, ANDI
This is not an understated response: Andrea, you’re a doll! Glad you enjoyed today’s post. And when you come back, lets all do lunch! And thanks.
I, like most did not ever have the opportunity to meet MJ, however I did contribute to his wealth when my son wanted a pair of Jordan shoes back in the 90’s( well over a $100)…….only later to be donated to Goodwill. Enjoyed reading about your involvement with the best player that ever graced a basketball court. I still miss watching him play the game and especially when Steve Kerr from the U of Arizona was on the team.
He was great on the court. (Don’t read the comments about his off-court behavior.) But yes, those were the good old days. Thanks, Steve. And hot enough for you out there in Tucson?
He defined basketball when I was growing up. I remember the first pair of Air Jordans. Comments on here are a good reminder that our athletic heros are just people-not members of the clergy. They are masters of sport, and often very flawed human beings.
Good two-pointer, Kevin. And are you geyser-side? How’s Old Faithful? Thanks and regards from another Old Faithful.
I can see Old Faithful from my room. Oh crap that sounds like something Sarah Palin would say!
Nice one. Well-played, sir! Movie?
Around the same year as your encounter, I also had the good fortune of meeting him. I was at the pool at Northmoor with my then 7 year old son Aaron. Lifeguards were talking about how they heard Michael was at the club. With that, I saw someone who didn’t look like a Jewish octogenarian riding by in a golf cart headed to the course around 500 ft from the pool.
I asked 7 year old Aaron whether he wanted Michael’s autograph and the two of us, in our dripping swim suits, headed off in the direction I knew Michael was going. We got there and watched his foursome tee off. Michael hit last. I had pulled a scorecard and pencil from the mailbox next to the tee box. Michael sliced a 180 yard drive. I said , “Michael, I didn’t think I could do anything like you athletically like you, but clearly duplicate your drive in this exact spot all too often”. He said, “Hell. I’m gonna take ma Mulligan.” I said, “Didn’t anyone tell you Mulligan’s aren’t allowed at Northmoor?” He chuckled . His second drive went around 250-300 yards down the center of the fairway like a bullet. He then picked up his cigar, which was about as long as he was tall. With it clenched it in his teeth, he turned to me, smiled, and said, “HA”….
I then asked if he’d sign an autograph for my son. He scribbled his name and handed it to Aaron, who looked at his autograph and up at him and said, “Considering you’re the greatest basketball player ever on the planet, you don’t have very neat penmanship.”
Michael laughed and asked Aaron his name. He then took back his autograph and added “To Aaron” neatly and legibly in block letter above his autograph and sad, “You know Aaron? You got spunk and that’ll take you places in this world”. He picked him up and hugged him. Aaron said to Michael that he’d never been lifted that high off the ground before and it was cool and he wished he had a good round (Aaron knew the lingo). Michel smiled, returned to his cart, and headed toward his ball.
We went back to the pool and Aaron excitedly showed everyone his autograph. Kids said that he just scribbled on a score card and it wasn’t real. Aaron became upset and cried because nobody believed him. When I chimed in and said it was real, kids said I was just covering for him. I quietly told Aaron that sometimes knowing something is true when nobody believes you is funny because it just proves how wrong they are, and then the joke’s on them and makes you laugh. He stop whimpering and we both smiled because of our little secret….
This had it all, Arnie. Humor, pathos, golf jargon, and a wow finish. As I said to Gary, this should be the post today.
As I read your reminiscence, I was struck by the fact that it can’t be easy being “Michel Jordan” all the time. Fame is a burden and a kind of a punishment. One gives up privacy and the right to be invisible that we all take for granted. The famous person is treated so differently by all. No wonder some go nuts.
Thank you for sharing this with all of us. It was an eagle.
I can tell you stories about MJ that I’ve heard from my many years at White Sox fantasy camp. But, that would take a book.
By the way, looking for a GREAT cause to support? Ask me about the scholarship/support fund I help run to put young people through Rabbinical school. You know where you can reach me…..
Bernie, you should write a book! The Ojibwa guys alone would make it a best-seller. Thanks, buddy.
Dear Ellen:
I guess when you have a column about Michael Jordan … two things happen.
Everyone reads it (of course)
and almost everyone comments on it (of course)
Me, too … but I have no comments or drive-bys to add to the mix …
Joan
All I have to say is Happy Fourth, Joan. Love to the gang.