Assisted by John Stockton & Kerry L. Pickett

Author:John Stockton & Kerry L. Pickett [Stockton, John & Pickett, Kerry L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781629730141
Published: 2012-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Michael Stockton and Larry Miller in one of Larry’s prized Cobras.

Considering this first impression, I was fortunate to receive the blessing of actually getting to know Larry Miller closely over the next two decades. Our relationship expanded to include many aspects of life. I learned to value and respect him more every day. As I so often had with my father, I began to seek his counsel as well as his conversation. I felt that he grew to trust my input and thoughts in many areas, inside and outside basketball. Over time our relationship evolved into a friendship that didn’t need duct tape and bailing wire. We both could endure insults and compliments without ill will, and we didn’t need to baby the relationship. Mostly we could trust each other. Having a boss as a friend is not always wise. Fortunately, it worked for us. Neither of us felt uneasy without the natural barriers that usually exist between the roles.

Over the years I watched how Larry treated his employees. He made it his business to know a little bit about each of his numerous workers. Getting to know them by more than their name was a priority. Striking up conversations with all employees within the organization without regard to their station was part of his method of operation. He made saying thank you a trademark. Larry treated people well even after he succeeded. I used to joke with him when he would take me out driving in his Shelby Cobra on mountain roads or at his race track: “It’s good to be the king!” The beauty of Larry was that he shared the blessings he had with others. He was a good king.

• • •

NBA players normally didn’t cross paths often with the “suit and tie guys” in the front office. We knew they were there and important to the organization, but we seldom saw them. We rubbed elbows on a regular basis, however, with our public relations staff. Dave Allred, Kim Turner, Dave Wilson, and Patti Balli were among the department’s most gracious (and thick-skinned) personnel.

As part of the NBA collective bargaining agreement, players were contractually required to make up to twelve annual appearances on behalf of the team. Although many organizations throughout the league essentially ignored this provision, the Jazz held our feet to the fire. The players bucked mightily at the inconvenience. Unfazed by our protests, the PR staff called, reminded, prodded, and dragged us, sometimes grudgingly, to every event. Imagine trying to track down and escort a bunch of young, wealthy athletes somewhere they don’t want to go. The Jazz staff was consistently up to the challenge.

I could grouse with the best of them. Somehow they managed to ignore my and everyone else’s resistance with a tireless sense of humor. All of our complaints weren’t completely unfounded. One night I was scheduled for an hour-long autograph session at a local mall. I signed for two hours but eventually had to leave. Walking past a line of many people who had been waiting for at least that long created more ill will than it was worth.

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