You want to hear a pretty good Michael Jordan story?

Like almost anyone in the media who was around Chapel Hill at the time, I knew Michael when he played here. I might have been in one of his early golf entourages as he was just learning the game; when I joined him at Finley there were four other golf carts full of his friends out to follow him around.

Even his first few years with the Bulls, he was accessible if you wanted to do a story on him. Just call up the basketball office at the old Chicago Stadium, leave a message and the secretary would let you know when and where to meet him. At least twice, I got through to him at his hotel room on the road, and he left me a couple of tickets.

When he became an NBA and Olympic champion and the most famous sports figure/cultural icon in the world, reaching him became like trying to contact the POTUS. Impossible.

After his career ended with six world championships, his business team opened a restaurant in Chapel Hill at the corner of West Franklin and Church Streets called Michael Jordan’s 23. While it lasted, Michael would bring his son down to attend UNC’s summer camp.

He would check him in at Granville Towers and stay around all week, playing 54-72 holes of golf by day, have dinner at his eatery and walk across the street to see how his son was doing at camp, say good night and tuck him in.

I wrote for the original GoHeels website back then and penned a short piece about Michael’s day. The morning it posted, the restaurant manager called and asked me to come see him. When I arrived, he said an assistant from MJ’s agency in Washington was really pissed.

Apparently, she said Michael didn’t want me writing about where he was and, especially, that his son was in Chapel Hill.

I responded, “Oops, won’t happen again.” Then I suggested if that’s what he wants, maybe his boy should be at camp under a pseudonym and Michael shouldn’t cause a mini-riot at Granville by showing up every night to tuck him in. True story, I swear.

 

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