Michael Jordan glanced at the clock on his dashboard—it was nearly midnight as he parked his sleek black Mercedes at the empty United Center parking lot. The stadium loomed quietly, shadowed under the sparse glow of security lights. He sighed, frustrated by the delay of his flight from Charlotte. He hadn’t planned on being here so late, merely needing to retrieve documents he’d forgotten during his last visit.
Walking towards the employee entrance, he noticed a solitary figure in a dark blue security uniform checking IDs. As Michael approached, there was something strangely familiar about the guard—the way he stood tall despite his age, the southern twang in his voice, and that respectful nod he gave as he handed back an ID card.
The guard turned, eyes widening in surprise. “Is that Michael Jordan?” he asked, voice both shocked and delighted.
Michael smiled politely, reaching for his access card. “Yes, sir. Just grabbing something I left in my suite.”
But as the guard stepped fully into the light, Michael’s breath caught. Memories flooded back—basketball courts in Wilmington, North Carolina, hot summer days filled with the squeak of sneakers, and a voice calling plays.
“Coach Wilson? Ray Wilson from Wilmington?” Michael asked, astonished.
The older man’s face broke into a broad, warm smile. “You remember me? After all those other coaches you’ve had?”
“How could I forget the man who made me run laps for being late to practice?” Michael laughed, extending his hand, only to be pulled into a tight embrace.
“One minute late is still late, Michael,” Coach Wilson chuckled, pulling back with a grin. “Seems that lesson stuck.”
They walked inside together, Michael’s documents momentarily forgotten. “What in the world are you doing here, Coach?”
“Life takes interesting turns,” Coach Wilson replied, adjusting his uniform. “Moved here after my wife passed. My daughter Alyssa lives nearby, and my grandkids are growing fast. This job keeps me busy—and the extra money helps with their college funds.”
Michael shook his head in quiet amazement. “All these years, you’ve been here in Chicago?”
“Seen you plenty,” Coach Wilson admitted, “but didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got enough people wanting your attention.”
Michael felt a pang of regret. “You wouldn’t have been bothering me.”
Coach Wilson smiled softly, leading Michael through dim corridors of the arena. “Maybe that was my mistake.”
They reminisced, Coach Wilson updating Michael on the former teammates he’d long since lost track of—Marcus the pediatrician, Darius the restauranteur, Keith the basketball coach. Their stories of success warmed Michael’s heart, but a deeper emotion lingered beneath the surface.
Eventually, they reached the quiet center court, dimly illuminated by security lighting. Michael stood where he once made history, feeling the echoes of roaring fans.
Coach Wilson broke the silence gently. “Your father was proud of you—not just for basketball, but for who you became.”
Michael felt his throat tighten. “You knew him well?”
“He often came to watch practice straight from work,” Coach Wilson revealed softly. “He told me something I’ll never forget—’If Michael’s going to be great, he must understand that the world won’t wait, even for the best.’ That’s why I benched you that day you were late to the game.”
Michael stared, stunned. “My dad asked you to bench me?”
“He wanted you to learn the lesson early,” Coach Wilson nodded solemnly.
Silence filled the empty arena, heavy with emotion. Michael absorbed the revelation deeply, appreciating his father’s foresight and wisdom even more profoundly.
As they finished their rounds, Coach Wilson hesitated, “There’s something else. A letter your father wrote just before he died. He gave it to me, asking me to keep it safe.”
Michael felt his heartbeat quicken. “A letter?”
“Yes, he said you’d need it someday, when basketball was behind you, and you were looking for new purpose.”
At Coach Wilson’s modest apartment the following evening, Michael sat quietly as the elderly man carefully handed him the laminated paper. Michael unfolded the letter, his father’s handwriting instantly recognizable:
“Dear Michael, life has seasons. You’ve mastered the season of athletic greatness, but someday, you’ll seek new purpose. Ray Wilson was part of the plan to shape your character, not just your basketball skill. We worked together to guide you because we saw your potential. Now, it’s your turn to guide others. I love you and am proud of the man you’ve become.”
Michael gently folded the letter, tears in his eyes, understanding the full scope of his father’s love and intentionality.
“Your father and I saw something special,” Coach Wilson said quietly. “We knew greatness wasn’t just skill—it was character.”
Michael nodded, feeling a deep sense of closure and gratitude. “Coach, I’d like you to work with me again. My foundation supports youth basketball programs, and we need someone who understands how to shape not just players, but people.”
Coach Wilson’s eyes shone with pride. “I’d be honored, Michael. Truly honored.”
Over the next months, Coach Wilson and Michael Jordan transformed youth programs, positively impacting countless young lives. Michael felt a new sense of purpose, reconnecting deeply with his roots and understanding his legacy wasn’t only championships, but the guidance and mentorship he could offer others.
Late one night at the United Center, Michael stood alone at center court, where everything began. His father’s words echoed softly in his heart:
“Life has seasons, son.”
Michael smiled, content, knowing he was now exactly where he needed to be, mentoring the next generation, guided by the lessons from a beloved coach and a father’s timeless wisdom.
Remembering the security guard who became like a ‘second father’ to Michael Jordan
“The Last Dance” finale airs Sunday night, and one of the storylines involves former Bulls security guard Gus Lett. “He was a protector,” Jordan says. “But he was more than that.
CHICAGO — Michael Jordan kept this inner circle small during his second stint with the Chicago Bulls, a necessity considering he was arguably the most famous person in the world at the time.
Jordan only allowed select security guards to escort him in the arena, which included John Michael Wozniak, who stole the show in Episode 6 of the The Last Dance by beating Jordan in a game of quarters and following up with a Jordan shrug.
Jordan’s rapport with the workers has provided some of his most humanizing moments in the documentary so far. On Sunday night, another member of that detail will step into the spotlight when Gus Lett, who Jordan often referred to as a father figure, is highlighted.
Lett, Wozniak and fellow Chicago police Officer Clarence Travis were the most consistent members of Jordan’s security team, and the star player trusted them so much that he asked the trio to quit their jobs at Chicago Stadium to work security for him when he left the NBA to pursue a baseball career in 1993. The Bulls rehired them three years later when he returned to basketball.
Lett was the most stern of the group. When Jordan would walk from the court toward the Bulls locker room before or after games, Lett, a former Chicago narcotics officer, could usually be found nearby, with a stern look that suggested “don’t even try it” to anyone who even considered approaching Jordan.
“When people are around, they think they’re entitled to certain things. Gus would put ’em straight,” Jordan says during the docuseries. “That was Gus, he was a protector. But he was more than that.”
In Lett, who died in November 2000 after a battle with cancer, Jordan had found someone he could confide in and ask for advice. Reporters would often see him engaged in a conversation with Lett at the United Center rather than his teammates.
Lett was there for Jordan when he needed him, especially in the years after his father, James, was murdered in 1993. Lett’s widow, Tisher, recalls in the documentary how Jordan would call, in tears, as late as 2 a.m. Lett would always console him and even get up and go see Jordan.
“Whatever he needed, he was there to take care of him,” Tisher says.
“No question, Michael fed off of that father-son relationship,” added former Chicago Tribune sports columnist Fred Mitchell. “I think probably as he got older, he realized, like all of us, how important your parents are and have been in your life. No doubt he reflected on the people who had the greatest influence on him.”
The relationship worked both ways.
As that Last Dance season was winding down in 1998 and the Bulls found themselves faced with, perhaps, the toughest test of their second three-peat — a seven-game series with the Indiana Pacers in the Eastern Conference final — Lett was going through his own fight with cancer.
Earlier that year, he had surgery to remove a malignant lesion from his brain and required radiation to get rid of a chest tumor. It was later revealed that Jordan had helped pay for his medical expenses and ensured that he was admitted to Northwestern Hospital.
But he was back in the United Center for Game 7, sitting behind the Bulls bench about 20 pounds lighter than normal, but his spirit unshaken.
“Michael and I talk all the time,” Lett said then. “Probably twice a week we will talk. We talk about my health. He is encouraging me to keep fighting. And he keeps telling me that it’s going to be all right, which I know it will be. The doctors tell me I’m on the good side of (cancer prognosis). The tumors are gone. And I am going through chemotherapy now.”
Jordan offered a warning before the start ESPN’s 10-part series, that some of the footage might make people think differently about him or that he’s “horrible guy.”
The warning has been largely ill-advised with the final two-epsisodes coming Sunday night and, if anything, the opposite has been confirmed. Jordan’s popularity is rising, and while the documentary does not shy away from the most toxic aspects of his competitiveness, it is also filled with moments such as his relationship with Lett, which highlights the special bond Jordan formed with a select group of people — and how Lett became someone the Hall of Famer needed to have around at all times.
“Gus is a very positive inspiration to me,” Jordan said after the Game 7 victory over Indiana in 1998. “He means a lot to me. When you look at Gus, the game really doesn’t mean as much. He is struggling through something that means a little bit more than playing a basketball game. He is certainly a positive influence for me. I enjoy him being around.”
