The Day the Magic Stopped : Earvin Leaves NBA, but His Smile Remains

Earvin Johnson Jr. entered a crowded room Thursday at 3 o’clock and said: “First, let me say good late afternoon to everybody. Because of the HIV virus that I have obtained, I will have to retire from the Lakers today.”

He was smiling.

He was the only one.

Earvin Johnson Jr. then said: “I just want to make it clear, I do not have the AIDS disease.”

He was smiling.

He was telling you the good news.

He said: “My wife is fine. She’s negative.”

He said: “Don’t worry about me. I plan on being around for a long time.”

He said: “Sometimes you’re a little naive . . . you think it can never happen to you.”

He was smiling.

He was telling you that he was still Earvin Johnson and that he would forever be Earvin Johnson and that no disease, no doctor’s report, no life-or-death danger, no living nightmare of any kind would ever make him become anything or anybody other than who he is, Earvin (Magic) Johnson.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t want anybody to cry for him.

He said: “This is not like my life is over. Because it’s not.”

He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want anybody to be afraid for him.

He said: “No, I’m not scared. It’s another challenge in my life. It’s another chapter in my life.”

He wouldn’t give up hope. He didn’t want anybody to give up hope.

He said: “I’m going to beat this. You watch me. I’ll beat this.”

And you sat there not knowing what to say back.

You sat there watching the Lou Gehrig story come to life--a man, a young man, modern hero, model citizen, medical marvel who often overlooked or overcame pain, stricken suddenly with an illness of infinite mystery and misery, handling his fate with such staggering bravery and poise that his first instinct is to reassure you.

What can you say to him? What can you say about him?

How do you say goodby to Magic Johnson?

How do you say goodby to a basketball player who personified the three qualities we treasure most in an athlete? Sportsmanship. Showmanship. Championship.

How do you say goodby to someone so good?

You don’t.

You don’t say goodby to Magic Johnson. You say hello to Magic Johnson. Because he will say hello back. Because that is what makes him Magic Johnson. Because he has a hello for everybody.

You don’t have to avoid Magic Johnson. He is not contaminated. He is not a leper. He is still Magic Johnson, still your friend, so go ahead, be yourself, shake his hand, pat his back, have him hug your child.

Go ahead and ask: “How are you, Magic?” Because he will say that he is fine. And then he will ask how you are. Because that, too, is what makes him Magic Johnson.

Our friend.

Our friend in need.

He is 32. That is his age. That is his number. He is a newlywed. He is a father. He is part grown man, part small boy. He is a Midwestern kid of humble origins whose life became a Hollywood documentary of fortune and fame.

Earvin Johnson Jr. is a jock, a gentleman, a philanthropist. Magic’s midsummer-night charity basketball game has raised more than $6.5 million for the United Negro College Fund. He sponsors a program in his hometown of Lansing, Mich., for children with reading disabilities, children who someday will be reading to their children stories about Earvin (Magic) Johnson.

Another man from this same town, a member of the local board of education, made the mistake this summer of identifying Earvin Johnson Jr. as a living example of what can happen to “a big, dumb black kid” when he truly applies himself. Earvin Johnson is big; Earvin Johnson is black; Earvin Johnson is a kid. Every child of every size, every color should be so dumb.

He went back to Michigan this summer. Married his childhood sweetheart. Magic and Cookie. That was sweet.

He went to Paris this summer. They called him “Magique.” That was sweet.

He came back to California and checked into a clinic for a checkup. Nothing special. He needed it for an insurance policy. That was all.

That was all.

Wednesday, he found out for sure. Thursday, he let everyone know. He called Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Michael Cooper, Larry Drew and Kurt Rambis, old teammates, aside and gave them the news. Then he called current teammates together and gave them the news.

He was smiling.

Has he broken down once, in front of anybody?

“No,” said Abdul-Jabbar, his mentor, his partner, his friend. “But I have.”

Earvin Johnson Jr. said he would look on the bright side.

He said: “The only thing I can do is have a bright side.”

He was smiling.

He was smiling.

He was smiling.