Larry Miller - Jump: My Secret Journey from the Streets to the Boardroom

Laila Lacy

This book is dedicated to the divine ancestors who protect and guide us on our path, to my beloved husband, Jason, and to my children, my immortality, Asali, Ananda, and Jason, Jr.

Larry Miller

I dedicate this book to Catherine and Lonnie Miller, Grandmom Mattie, Uncle Roy, and all those who saw something in me when I didnt see it in myself.

Niketown in L.A. was lit up that Saturday in 1999 when we unveiled Air Jordan 15.

It was my unveiling as well, coming out in public as the first president of Jordan Brand, a new sports apparel division of Nike. We werent just rolling out a new sneaker named after the most famous basketball player of all time; we were introducing a new shoe just when Michael Jordan was retiring from the court. Could Air Jordans still take off if the man who made them fly was off the court?

You can pull it off, Phil Knight told me when he plucked me from head of Nikes U.S. Apparel to run the new Jordan Brand. But there were plenty of doubters.

We had built the launch around Stevie Wonders song Overjoyed, a melodic love ballad that left listeners feeling uplifted and blissful. The song backed up a commercial that included images of Ray Allen, Eddie Jones, Randy Moss, Derek Jeter, and Roy Jones Jr. After the cameos, the camera focused on Michael Jordan, dressed in casual clothes, and gradually pulled away, leaving the viewer with a sense that MJ was still the force behind the sports scene, even as he was yielding his role to the next generation of champions.

We needed to use Overjoyed to make the commercial work. Stevie was doubtful at first. I got him on the phone.

If Michael Jordan called me and asked me, he said, Id do it.

Michael called Stevie, and Stevie was in.

But we decided it would be better to have Mary J. Blige sing Stevies song in the actual commercial. She has a beautiful voice and was more with the current scene. Same deal: She wanted to hear from MJ. He called her, and then he called me.

Hey, man, he said, I called Mary. I had to talk to everybody in the damn neighborhood. The person who answered said: Yo! Yo, Michael Jordans on the phone! Im talking to Aunt Suzy and Cousin Joe. Im on the phone a half hour before I get to Mary. Shes good with it.

The whole town seemed to be there the night of the launch. Snoop Dogg showed up with Ice Cube. Phil Knight and the whole Nike leadership team was there. MJ, of course. The place was humming. At first Stevie Wonder said he wasnt coming, until his teenage son heard MJ would be there. Great, Im thinking. Mary Blige, not so much.

Oh, man, Stevies here, she said to me backstage. I dont know if I can do this in front of Stevie.

Thirty minutes later her deep, soulful voice filled the hall. The room went quiet, then thundered with applause. MJ took the stage.

In the back of the room, I exhaled, perhaps for the first time since I had walked into the place. I took a sip of ginger ale, leaned back, and closed my eyes. Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder and clenched up. I sucked in my breath. Was this the tap on the shoulder I had been dreading for the past two decades? A cop? A judge? A lawyer?

It was Phil Knight. He wrapped me up in a hug, shook my hand, and walked into the chaos.

I looked around at the room and wondered: How the hell did I get here? No one in the room knew the real Larry Miller. The man who, at the age of sixteen, shot another teen in a gang tragedy. The man who had been convicted of a series of armed robberies at the age of twenty-five. I thought back twenty years ago to my cell inside Pennsylvanias Graterford State Penitentiary, where I had been serving a sentence for armed robbery. I thought back to a pivotal job interview just before my graduation from Temple University in 1982. Fresh out of prison, armed with top grades and strong recommendations, I was launching my career in accounting. Job offers were rolling in, but there was one I really wantedArthur Andersen, one of the Big Eight accounting firms in Philadelphia, my hometown. I had put on my one-and-only suit and tie for a job interview with their lead recruiting partner. I was certain that I was about to land my first full-time gig with a major accounting firm. I was thirty-two and graduating with honors. I was confident that I could handle the work, but I was nervous.

Why us? the recruiting executive asked. Im sure youve had plenty of offers.

He was right. Top companies like Arthur Andersen were taking heat for their all-white rosters. I was Black and qualified, and I had received offers from at least five other firms. But the Andersen brand was strong. It was on top, and that was where I wanted to be.

We sat in his office. He took his jacket off. I kept mine on. I could feel beads of sweat running down my back.

You know I have interviewed with a number of your partners, I said. He nodded. I had completed an exhaustive prospective-employee questionnaire and interviewed up the line. I feel very comfortable with them and the overall welcoming environment of your firm.

But I didnt feel comfortable in my own skin. Yeah, I would have that degree from Temple, but not the regular way. I had completed the degree while I was on education release from Graterford State Penitentiary. I had just completed a four-year and nine-month sentence for armed robbery. The self-assured, aspiring accountant in the modest suit was a felon still living in a halfway house.

Should I come clean? I was well aware of the risk of unburdening myself to the executive in a public accounting firm, but all signs indicated I was on the path to landing my first big job.

Look, I said. I have something to tell you that did not come out in the applications or the interviews.

He leaned forward, listening intently.

I rolled out the armed robberies, my time behind bars, the community-college courses in which I excelled and the Temple classes I took while living in a halfway house. I did not mention the homicide.

You know I really like everything you are as a company, I said. And I know it would be a good fit for both of us.

I watched his face fall. I kept going.

And I really believe I can make my home here and be a great asset to your company. I wanted to be straight with you and start off with a clean slate.

He forced a smile.

Wowthats quite a story, he said. I am so proud of you for what youve been able to accomplish. I so appreciate the fact that you shared this with me.

He paused. My heart pounded. It was the only sound in the room.

He turned back and reached into his jacket. Sweat trickled down my spine. I thought I was home free.

I have an offer letter here to give you, he said. But I cant do it. I cant take a chance on one of our clients coming back to me with this if something were to happen down the line.

I was crushed.

I get it, I said. I breathed deep and shivered.

We both stood up and shook hands. He put on his jacket, walked me out of his office, and said: Good luck. Youll do fine.

And I would.

But I would never ever reveal my prison past to anyone again. Not to friends or coworkers. Never to bosses. No one outside of my close family and my prison buddies knew. Nobody talked. The secret was born. It has lived within me for more than three decades, corroding me from the inside, haunting me day and night, bringing me to my knees with migraine headaches and awful dreams.

The nightmares would sometimes begin with my getting busted for something, or me on my way to jail, or sometimes with me in a jail or some kind of holding cell. Or I would be working, or at home, in some familiar space and living this extraordinary life that Ive built. Suddenly Id be arrested for something vague and tossed back behind bars, losing it all. The circumstances were always cloudy. Somethings happened, or maybe I had some years to finish up from a prior sentence. Im trying to work it out, fix things so I can get back to my life. My motivation throughout the dream is usually to get the issue resolved quickly so I can get to work on time, make a meeting, or keep an appointment.