I find them in the basement, right were I left them, on a dusty shelf, squeezed together, like cold cuts in a sandwich. Janis Joplin. The Beach Boys. The King and I. Did I always have this many? "Long time, no see," I say.My albums say nothing.Are they mad? It has been a while. Ever since that birthday, seven years ago, when the CD player arrived. It was black and shiny, with cool new gadgets and a little drawer that opened and closed.
When Louis Willie was 13 years old, he boarded a Dallas streetcar and made his way to the back, past the "Colored" sign, where it was safe for him to sit. It was a September morning, during the Depression years, and he was on his way to school.Soon the car was filled. A middle-aged white man lumbered down the aisle. Seeing no empty seats, he looked at Willie and said, "Get up, boy.""No," Louis said.The man glared. "I said get up, boy."
BARCELONA, Spain -- The class was Humiliation 101. The teachers were Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen. The student was a baby-faced Croatian named Toni Kukoc.By the time they were done with him, Kukoc was small enough to fit through a keyhole -- and when he started the game, he was 6-feet-10. Poor Toni. I guess it's not enough that his country has been reduced to rubble. Michael and Scottie wanted to get in a few shots, too.
LILLEHAMMER, Norway -- The meeting room is small, with an oak table, chairs and thin curtains on the window. The big man enters without fanfare. No staff behind him. No flag. No official uniform. The translator is provided by Norwegians, and once upon a time, that would have been unthinkable.
He began to die in a grotesque fashion, dropping to the floor, convulsing in spasms, his arms and legs twitching as teammates stared in horror. Like many people, I cannot get that image of Hank Gathers out of my head. The question is: Should it be there in the first place?
BARCELONA, Spain -- I had promised myself I would go the whole weekend without speaking, writing, or even thinking the words "Dream Team."But this is too good to resist.It now seems that our rich and talented NBA heroes -- whom we sent here to stomp on those commie heathens and bring home the old basketball glory -- may not step up for their Olympic gold medal after all.In fact, Michael Jordan, the biggest star on the team, said, "They can mail me the medal. I'm not getting up on that victory stand."
In "Fab Five: Basketball, Trash Talk, the American Dream," Free Press sports columnist Mitch Albom chronicles the triumphs and disappointments of the five University of Michigan freshmen who shocked the college basektball world with their talent and their braggadocio. Today's excerpt, the first of five in the Free Press, deals with U-M's desperate pursuit of high school stars Juwan Howard and Chris Webber -- and others' questionable attempts to get Webber to play elsewhere. "Fab Five" is published by Warner Books; 359 pages, $21.95.Rinnng! Rinnng!
MERIBEL, France -- There I was, going down the mountain, when I bumped into the entire Indian Olympic team.Both of them."Where's the rest?" I asked the two skiers."Hello, yes," they said."No, no. The rest of your team. What happened? Miss plane? Bus go off cliff?""Hello, yes," they said.
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.
