Column: It Was Just Like Magic

Those 20 words stung me like no other organization of 20 words had ever before. On Thurday, November 7, 1991, Earvin "Magic" Johnson announced to the world that he had contracted the virus that causes AIDS. He did not cry; he didn't have to, though, because everyone else did. I know I did. It was a day I'll never forget. One of my heroes was now afflicted with the virus that only other people, like homosexuals and intravenous drug users, were supposed to get. Magic was someone whom I grew up with. I didn't always root for him (I was a big Dr. J fan and an occasional Bird fan), but I always admired and respected him. The bottom line was that he wasn't supposed to catch AIDS. I mean, his name alone implies this aura of invincibility. On the surface, I thought about why he was one of my heroes. He could dribble, shoot and man! -- could he pass. In short, he was the Man when it came to basketball. Before Magic, basketball had never seen a player that tall and that smooth. Graceful beyond belief, Magic was the most intelligent basketball player to ever put on an uniform. He managed and polished his natural abilities through hard work and dedication better than any player of his, or anyone else's, era. How many basketball players can you name who could play every position on the floor like an All-Pro? Maybe that Air guy in Chicago, but then again that guy hasn't won five NBA Championships or 3 NBA MVP awards (at least not yet). Nor did Jordan invent "SHOWTIME." Magic, along with his dear buddy Bird, are responsible for making the NBA truly F-A-N-tastic. It was Magic who made it possible for America to see Jack Nicholson when Nicholson didn't have paint or blood on his face. In an age when many of America's superstars are caught up in the self-destructive web of drugs and alcohol, Magic has never had a problem. He was naturally happy. He actively campaigned against drugs and alcohol. It was Magic who every year would pull together a group of the NBA's finest to play in a benefit game for the United Negro College Fund. It was Magic who loved and respected his best friend, Isiah Thomas, so much that he would kiss him before they competed against one another, even if the whole nation was the audience. The man had courage and, above all, class. But it was not until November 7 that I finally realized why Magic was my hero. The night following his retirement, my hero appeared on the Arsenio Hall Show betraying conventional wisdom that his life was over. Wearing a white suit equipped with that contagious smile, while exuding hope and courage, Magic discussed his future with the confidence of a healthy, young college graduate. He talked about dreams unfulfilled and what he was doing to reach them. It was hard to imagine a man who knew death was relatively imminent, unless, God permitting, a cure is developed real soon, could smile and continue to look ahead at climbing mountains unclimbed -- like owning his own NBA franchise -- with the intention of climbing them one day. He made me smile while I cried. One of my heroes was demonstrating why he was my hero. His unprecedented intrepidness coupled with his infectious grin mesmerized me. He admitted his error -- sex without a condom -- and vowed to help the safe sex and AIDS movements. Arsenio asked him if he was afraid of dying. And Magic told him that even if he died tomorrow, he would not be mad or disappointed because he had lived "the greatest life anyone could have imagined." He then looked into the camera and said, "But you know. I'm going to beat this disease. I will." It was like he was promising us that the Lakers would repeat, like they did after the 1988 season championship. It was almost magical. But then again, he is Magic. Harold Ford is a senior History major from Memphis, Tennesse. Say It Loud appear alternate Thursdays.