Magic: 15 years later

Most reading this column are probably too young to remember Earvin Johnson. Too young to know what happened to him. Or too young to care.

Most remember him as Magic. Magic Johnson. That basketball player with HIV.

The year was 1991. It was early November and Magic was about to begin his 13th season in Lakers yellow.

Magic was magic. The season before he was the league’s most valuable player and was selected to play in the all-star game. Magic was an 11-time all-star and was selected for the last 10 consecutive seasons.

He was bigger than Michael, bigger than Dr. J. and Larry Bird. He was bigger than big and on top of the world.

Then on Nov. 7, 1991, out of nowhere, Magic announced that he was done. He was cashing in. He had HIV.

At that time HIV was the “gay peoples'” disease. No one knew better. Or they didn’t want to know better.

Now there was Magic. He was a household name, a superstar. A ladies man. And he laid it all out for us to scrutinize.

“Because of the HIV virus that I have attained, I will have to retire from the Lakers today. I do not have the AIDS disease,” Magic told a stunned press. “I guess I now get to enjoy some of the other sides of living that I’ve missed.”

“I want people to realize that they can practice safe sex. Sometimes you’re a little na’ve about it and you think it could never happen to you. It has happened. But I’m going to deal with it.

“Sometimes we think only gay people can get it, or it’s not going to happen to me. Here I am, saying it can happen to everybody. Even me, Magic Johnson,” he said stone faced.

Two days earlier Magic sat in a Los Angeles doctors office waiting, Magic’s agent Lon Rosen told GQ in November. He was apprehensive, waiting for results from a second blood test. Something funny happened with the first.

The doctor came in and said, “You’re going to die.”

“I was sitting right next to him,” Rosen said. “It was the most surreal experience of my life.”

The world began to murmur: Can you get AIDS from touching? HIV from sweat? Players like Karl Malone were unsure and spoke publicly about not wanting to play Magic. They feared that they were at risk. They didn’t know better. HIV/AIDS was finally in the public discourse. People began to learn.

Then after a couple of sporadic attempts to return to the court, Magic bowed out for good. He slipped from our collective sports conscious. He became a relic of the past. An icon of other times.

It’s been 15 years since he fell from basketball grace, and yet he hasn’t wasted away.

Just one month after his diagnosis, Magic started the Magic Johnson Foundation to fund community-based programs that tackle the education, health and social needs of children, young adults and inner-city communities. The foundation also gives money to organizations that provide HIV/AIDS prevention and health care education to minority communities.

“The biggest fear we have in the minority community is the fear of what others think,” Magic told GQ. “We’ve got a fear that if they find out in the church, people might not want you to come to church. Fear of what the neighbors will say. So we don’t really pass on information.”

So Magic works hard to educate and change these misconceptions. And his programs make a difference.

“When I first announced, there was only one drug. Now there are 26. People shouldn’t be afraid to be tested. Early detection and all those combinations of drugs, it can really prolong your life.” he said.

I write today to remind us all that there are sports stars that are real role models. His struggles, his successes have touched all of us whether we know it or not.

He’s a real hero of our time.