Iverson Allen - Only the strong survive: the odyssey of Allen Iverson

THE ODYSSEY OF ALLEN IVERSON

For Bet (as in Black Entertainment Television), my true heart

And in memory of Alex, who changed my lifeand Iverson mentor Sue Lambiotte, a role model for teachers everywhere.

T his project grew out of conversations some three years ago with Ann and Allen Iverson about penning the Iverson family autobiography. This is not that book; instead, this is an originally reported, part bio, part meditation on the phenomenon that is Allen Iverson. But I am still deeply indebted to both Allen and Ann, for their tolerance of my questions over the years and their constant good cheer. Allen, in particular, has always been a straight shooter. I have tried to write about him with affection, but secure in my conviction that hed have little respect for hagiography.

I am indebted to Dana Albarella and her posse at Regan Books, who were committed to this book from the start. David Black is, as always, not only an all-star agent, but a great friend.

David Teel of the Newport News Daily Press, a superb columnist, researched and shaped the Virginia sections of this book with great care and expertise. He interviewed countless sources, and his perspective on Allen and the times that spawned him was always dead-on. As a result of our close working relationship, Im happy to say David has become a good friend as well.

Mark Kram and his generous editors at the Philadelphia Daily News provided me with an exclusive jailhouse interview with Allens biological father, Allen Broughton. In addition, Mark was, as always, eager to share his uniquely thought-provoking take on Iverson.

Andrew Corsello may be the strangest genius Ive ever met. His input on the manuscript was invaluable. He reminds me of Bubbachuck: a defiant, spiritual creative artist who is always keepin it real.

Corsello is a charter member of my posse. We call ourselves Cru Thin, cause were a little light in the muscle department but have really high SAT scores. Theres Scott MacDonald, whose creative thinking about Iversons place in the culture at large runs through these pages. Theres Ben Gay Wallace, whose insight into human nature, combined with his ignorance of all things athletic, made him a valuable manuscript reader. Bob Huber is not only a good friend and trusted confidant, but a onetime annoying officemate as well. Rounding out the Cru: Ken Shropshire, Bob Baber, Joey Joe, Eric Reilly, Tex Cobb, Janet Ake, John Lucas, Iain Levison, and Vernon Maxwell. An all-star lineup of folks to watch big games with.

Over the last few years, I interviewed and/or picked the brains of close to one hundred sources for this book, and am indebted to each and every one. Space prevents me from listing them by name. You all know who you are and how much I appreciate your candor. In addition, special thanks to the Philadelphia 76ers, particularly the ever-professional PR department, headed by Karen Frascona and Chris Wallace.

There were countless writers whose stories about Allen Iverson I relied on for background material and who I now humbly salute: John Smallwood, Phil Jasner, Stephen A. Smith, Ashley McGeachy-Fox, Rick Reilly, Gary Smith, Thomas Boswell, and J. A. Adande, among others.

Also, Kevin Maguire and Suzann Vogel provided expert editorial assistance, and Rich Rys conducted some great last-minute interviews while I was pounding out pages.

Thanks to many magazine editors over the years, including: Eliot Kaplan, Ilena Silverman, Stephen Fried, Loren Feldman, Bill Shapiro, and Tim Whitaker.

Finally, a big shout-out to my wonderful parents, siblings, nieces, and nephew. And a special nod to Alex. I couldnt have written this book without his support and unflinching affection. He had me at Meow.

B ubbachuck was looking like a damned Ethiopian bodybuilder. Thats what he likes to call himself when hes shirtless, the bones of his wispy upper body jutting out at sharp angles. Allen Iverson without a shirt is a striking sight; he does not have the physical presence one would expect from a man who regularly challenges NBA behemoths under the boards and in the lane, men a foot taller and in some cases nearly twice as heavy. Hes listed at six feet, 165 pounds, but on this May 2001 morning, in the bowels of his teams practice facility, he appeared willowy thin. A buck-fifty and maybe five-eleven, topssomebody who could easily be mistaken for a rambunctious ballboy, rather than a man who was about to be named the National Basketball Associations Most Valuable Player.

On this day that would name him, in his words, the best in the world at what I do, Iverson knew how the accolade would be spun in the media. He was having none of it. He knew it would be presented as his redemption, even though he saw it as just another moment of vindication, another in a series of I told you so moments.

That is why his thoughts were strictly on those whom he never felt the need to prove anything to: the crew from back home. Iverson was raised on the rough streets of Newport News, Virginia, a small Southern city with a strong migratory connection to New York City. On those streets throughout the 1980s and early 90s, hed brashly tell whoever would listen that hed one day star in the NBA or NFL. Older guys, guys with rap sheets and shady connections, would shake their heads and laugh, but theyd look out for him, toobecause they saw a prodigy in the making, someone they could help make it out.

Still bare-chested, Iverson eyed two outfits laid out before him. His business adviser, Que Gaskins, awaited his verdict. Gaskins had received a phone call the night before from Gary Moore, Iversons personal assistant. Moore was the grade-school football coach who took in a twelve-year-old Bubbachuckan amalgam of two uncles nicknameswhen things got crazy at home; Ann, Allens single mother, all of fifteen years his senior, couldnt care for him. Now Moore couldnt make it back to Philly from Virginia in time for the press conference; could Que find Allen something to wear in front of the cameras?

I just want him looking fresh and clean, Moore said.

Well, we know he aint wearing no suit, Gaskins said, prompting both men to laugh. Iversons disdain for business suits was well known. If hes going to go urban, it should be sophisticated urban.

So Gaskins laid out in front of Iverson a baby-blue velour Pelle Pelle sweatsuit and a black sleeveless Sean John ensemble. These are phat, Iverson said, looking them over. And I will wear them, but I aint wearing em today.

Bending over and rummaging through his locker, Iverson extracted a black T-shirt recently given to him by one of his friends from back home. BAD NEWS HOOD CHECK , the T-shirt boldly read in front; a list of street corners adorned the backthe toughest spots in Newport News, the very corners where Iverson came up. There was Sixteenth Street, where the troubled Ridley Circle housing projects were located, just blocks from the Stuart Gardens Apartments, where Allen lived for a time. There was Jefferson Avenue, where the hustlers hawked their illicit wares a chest pass down from the Boys and Girls Club.