Rare Jordan: soaring - Michael Jordan - 15th Annual Men's Issue: A Man's World - Cover Story

A few seasons ago, in the now-defunct Chicago Stadium, Michael Jordan was being guarded by the eager but over-matched John Starks. I sat 15 rows behind them, wearing my Knicks cap amid a sea of Bulls red and black. l'd flown in the day before and scalped tickets, determined to see Starks and the rest of my beloved New York team finally dethrone the Bulls.

What a joke.

Sometime during the second half, Jordan rises, the No. 23 on his chest suspended in air as Starks elevates. The Knick, who earlier in the series jammed in Jordan's face, has hops, but no one is Jordan. Starks begins his journey back to earth, but Jordan continues to hang, defying gravity. He releases the ball and, like a bird of prey, the potential three-pointer soars toward the hoop. The shot is good. The crowd explodes. I cringe and of course the Knicks lose. Of the 54 points jordan scores that night, it is this single shot that lingers in my mind.

This is my Jordan moment. You probably have your own. Built one by one, they have lifted him to the enviable, extraordinary and undoubtedly taxing position of African-American hero - with equal emphasis placed on the African and the American. His achievement comes in an era when unqualified Black male heroism is rare and thus particularly precious. While White-chosen heroes (Christopher Darden, Clarence Thomas), flawed icons (Tupac Shakur, Mike Tyson) and polarizing forces (Marion Barry, Louis Farrakhan) proliferate, jordan has universal respect from women and men, Blacks and Whites and children of all ages.

That's not to say the ride has always been smooth. There have been failures, eccentric choices and profound tragedies in his otherwise charmed life. These trials, along with the triumphs, have shaped him into something of a living, breathing Rorschach test. When this country looks at Jordan, it sees its dreams, obsessions - even its fears.

After all, there are many Michael Jordans. There is Jordan the star. Jordan the athlete. Jordan the family man. Jordan the sex symbol. jordan the Commodity. Jordan the role model. And Jordan the personification of Black masculinity. By that I mean that Michael embodies some of the deepest fantasies Black men have of themselves. Like those of Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, "Sugar" Ray Robinson, Jackie Robinson, Willie Mays, Muhammad Ali, Julius Erving and a handful of others, Michael Jordan's movements, boldness and skill allow African-American men to see the best of themselves projected in the symbolic war of symbolic war of sports.

In every culture the warrior plays the role of elemental icon of a community's spirit. in America our history of enslavement sometimes makes us nervous about how much emotion we should invest in these athletes. Are they not just well-paid studs? Do they not entertain at the whim of wealthy White men? No doubt both observations have some merit.

But to negate the individual will of these men, to ignore the power and glory of their prowess, is to deny ourselves access to the purity and strength they display. There is a thrill, a kinetic quality of life that a Louis, a Mays, a Jordan taps into that we need. Now African-Americans need other things too. Can emphasis on literacy would be a great start.) Yet Michael's brand of Black masculinity - explosive, graceful, yet grounded in work and morality - is quite simply beautiful and essential.

Jordan, of course, consistently transcends his role as mere, player. Through a series of megabuck endorsement deals, he hovers above the game as a commercial staple, a Black face with the mass appeal to sell goods (and himself), rivaled only by prime time's favorite sepia pitchman, Bill Cosby. Plying the media with his cool southern charm, while playing the game spectacularly, jordan defies the stereotypes of the street-hardened, inner-city athlete. He grew up in the Sunbelt state of North Carolina in a solid nuclear family.

Religious, well-spoken and with none of the wariness of Whites that hampers many African-American men, Michael Jordan represents the flip side of the crack dealers who populate the local news broadcasts of big cities. With the exception of Julius Erving, no previous African-American basketball hero has had the same balance of tremendous talent, public poise and personal charisma. But it's the late tennis great Arthur Ashe whom, because of his southern background, charm and crossover appeal, Jordan calls to mind. While Ashe was the real-life Sidney Poitier amid the country-club set, Jordan, with his clean-cut, starched shirt on Sunday morning, epitomizes Black masculinity - without the rough edges of so many Generation X players.

More than any other contemporary African-American athlete, he thrives in the pressure cooker of corporate commitments - appearances at charitable events, golf tournaments and commercial shoots - while never making any embarrassing "I'm not Black, l'm universal" comments and without selling his soul. He works in the system while retaining his Black identity, and he has arrived without a nose job or a White wife.

Just as he succeeded Erving on the court, Jordan followed the elegant Dr. J as the preeminent Black athletic sex symbol. And Jordan's smooth, chocolate handsomeness has made it easier for brothers to get dates when the Bulls come to town. His wagging tongue, baggy (now standard issue) shorts and 800-watt smile reflect a stylish, idiosyncratic and confident man. By coolly accepting his baldness, he made his glistening Black dome the defining African-American hairstyle of the era, chasing out the seemingly entrenched high-top fade. At the same time Jordan's public-speaking style grew increasingly polished, a welcome alternative to the you-know-what-I'm-sayin' syndrome that too many other brothers display.

When I ask women what they like about Jordan, the answer is often, "He married the mother of his children," which they felt spoke to his morality and class. Unlike many other Black sports superstars of this era, Michael never let himself be perceived as a dog. He married Juanita Vanoy in September 1989, within a year of the birth of their first child, Jeffrey Michael. Two more children, Marcus and jasmine, followed. Though jordan wisely guards his home life with his wife and children, it's clear that his professional accomplishments are made possible by the solid foundation he and juanita have created at home.

The credit for Jordan's character goes back to the steadying influence of his parents. During his childhood, they set the kind of hardworking example so many Black men lack. His late father, James, a smallish, relaxed southern man, worked his way up from forklift operator to a supervisor at Wilmington's General Electric plant. His mother, Deloris, who recently authored a book on child rearing and was the stern disciplinarian, worked as a clerical supervisor at United Carolina Bank. On occasions when Michael had misbehaved, she wasn't averse to taking him along to sit beside her and do his homework.

But Jordan's loving childhood and his astute decision making haven't immunized him against the violence that rocks our community. Which brings me to my next Jordan moment, one that is sure to linger in my mind long after he retires. In fact, for anyone who saw it, it helped redefine the man. The moment came right after the Bulls knocked out the Seattle Supersonics in game six last June, when jordan snatched the game ball and fell to the floor, clutching it as teammates and fans began celebrating around him.

Then, seeking privacy, he sprinted to the locker room, where despite all the frivolity, he sought a moment of solitude. Of course he didn't get it. Cameras, a constant in his life, dogged his steps, and with them came the eyes of the whole world. We watched as he lay on the floor, crying for the man who could not be there. It was Father's Day, and the basketball great grieved anew for his father, who had been murdered three years before.

Unlike so many contemporary public figures, Michael never used his tragedy to gain sympathy for himself. No cheap sentimentality. No playing the victim. No sobbing on Oprah. He has handled the entire matter with a dignity as heroic as any jump shot. And yet, in a moment of profound public triumph, he gave in to private pain. The journey Jordan has taken in recent years - retirement, baseball career, the difficult comeback - arguably had as its catalyst his father's death. So it was only fitting that James Jordan presence loom large in that championship locker room.

Over time, the lesson of Michael's career may be to illustrate how even the great can be humbled. Steeled by fire, he returned to basketball with heightened appreciation for the game and his role within it. Moreover he has made peace with aging. These days, his atmospheric forays to the hoop are far less frequent. Instead he attacks with a pump fake, turning a defender's legs into jelly and then burying a jump shot. No more a sprinter, he, like a canny distance runner, paces himself until the crucial third and fourth quarters.

Ultimately, history will not judge Jordan's greatness by his vicious slam dunks or clever ad campaigns. Rather it will judge him as a father and a son, and as a man, a Black man - one of the best we've ever had.

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