A new day dawned on Lansing, Michigan, as Earvin
Johnson, Sr., walked into the room of his youngest son
and stirred the child from his deepest sleep. The tall,
lanky teenager, known to almost everyone around the
neighborhood as "Junior," looked up slowly and rubbed
his eyes. It was 7 AM
"How d you do last night?
"We won by twenty," the sot
mostly asleep.
~! "OK, good," the father said. "Now, get up. You ve, still
i~0t to work on the truck. You may be Magic down at
f~~he gym, but around here, you re still Junior. "
Such were the Saturday mornings of Magic Johnson s
i~u!h, occasions when he was dragged from his quiet
o.er, nts world of basketball dreams, and thrust into
reality where hard work was the only staple of sur-
Mal. EarvinJohnson, Sr., was the father of ten children
tthis working-class neighborhood in suburban Detroit.
heir care and feeding was his responsibility and his
me, he often told his son. So he handled two full-time
~--a 5 Pm to 1 AM shift assembling automobiles at the
arby General Motors plant and a one-man (and son)
i.~g service that picked up rubbish, discarded barrels,
ed trash or twigs, bundled branches, and anything
from customers, and completed several other not~
~ nviable chores.
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