Dexter “Dex” Washington was only sixteen, but he felt much older every time he clocked in at Peterson’s Footwear. Nestled in a quiet strip mall in Charlotte, North Carolina, the shoe store was Dex’s lifeline. His paycheck went toward groceries and bills, helping his mother since his father’s death five years ago.
A pair of foam mannequins and tiered displays stood near the front windows. Dex’s manager, Mr. Peterson, insisted on spotless presentation. No crooked boxes, no disorganized shelves. Dex obliged, though he often thought there was more to life than making sure every shoe was perfectly placed. Still, at sixteen, he was grateful for any job that helped his mother.
On a warm Thursday evening, Peterson’s Footwear was nearing closing time. Only a few customers lingered, but Dex stayed busy. He recounted the day’s tasks in his head: rearrange the Nike Air Force Ones, confirm the new Jordan display was set up, and lock the register by 9:00 p.m. sharp.
His mother, Marleene, a nurse who worked long shifts, planned to meet him afterward for grocery shopping. Dex glanced at his watch. Eight minutes until closing. That was usually when Mr. Peterson hovered by the door, ready to flip the sign from “Open” to “Closed.” But that night, Mr. Peterson stayed in the back office.
“Dex!” a voice called. He turned to see Mr. Thompson, a regular customer, wearing a hopeful smile. “Need these in a size 12—extra wide.”
“Sure thing,” Dex said, returning the smile. He dashed to the stockroom, the smell of cardboard and fresh rubber enveloping him. He loved that smell—something about new shoes reminded him of potential, of beginnings.
He brought out two different boxes to show Mr. Thompson and helped him try them on. As always, Dex’s intuition was correct: the second pair fit like a glove.
“Perfect as ever,” Mr. Thompson said. “You’re a lifesaver, kid.”
Dex caught his reflection in a nearby mirror. He was tall—taller than his father had been at the same age, or so his mother said—and his uniform sleeves were a little short. Still, he stood straight with a quiet pride. His father, who had died in a car accident after attending a basketball game, had taught him to always look people in the eye and greet them by name.
Mr. Thompson left satisfied, just as the front door chimed. Dex peered up, ready to usher the customer out politely: “We close at nine…”
Then he froze. Standing in the entrance was Michael Jordan, the Chicago Bulls’ rookie sensation, who was already lighting up the NBA. He wore a simple gray tracksuit and looked concerned, as if he carried a problem he had no idea how to solve.
“I know you’re closing,” Jordan said, glancing around the nearly empty store. “But I’ve got a game tomorrow, and something’s off with my shoes.”
Dex swallowed, hardly believing his eyes. Mr. Peterson emerged from the back, keys in hand. “Sir, we’re about to close. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” he said curtly.
Jordan’s gaze flickered. “Please—I heard this was the best shoe store in Charlotte. I need arch support for tomorrow’s game. It’s urgent.”
Dex glanced at the clock. 8:55 p.m. He also thought of his mother, who was waiting outside with her grocery list. But something about Jordan’s request tugged at Dex’s heart. He remembered his father’s words, a mantra he’d repeated so many times: Help others, even if it costs you something.
“I can help him, Mr. Peterson,” Dex said quietly. “It won’t take long.”
Mr. Peterson’s eyes narrowed. “We have rules, Washington. You’ve stayed late before. I told you—no more.”
Dex looked at Jordan, whose anxious expression practically pleaded for a solution. “I know our policy,” he said, “but he needs the right fit. Let me—”
“No,” Mr. Peterson cut in, raising his voice. “Clock out now or don’t bother coming back.”
The overhead fluorescent lights hummed, seeming to amplify the tension. Dex’s stomach churned. This job helped pay the bills. His mother relied on him. But he also remembered his father’s voice: Do what’s right, not what’s easy.
Dex forced himself to meet Mr. Peterson’s glare. “I’ll help Mr. Jordan,” he said, voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll find him what he needs.”
Jordan exhaled in relief. Mr. Peterson’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “Then you’re fired. Give me your store apron, and get out.”
Dex’s fingers shook as he untied his apron. He folded it neatly—his mother had taught him to handle his uniform with care—and laid it on the counter. Three years of part-time work, all undone in under a minute.
Jordan spoke up, voice firm. “This kid is only helping me because I’m in trouble. I’ll pay for the shoes, I’ll cover any—”
“It’s not about you,” Mr. Peterson snapped. “It’s about following my store’s policy.”
Dex turned to Jordan, swallowing a knot of sadness. “Let me grab the pairs with the best arch support,” he said quietly. “Then I’ll go.”
Before Mr. Peterson could protest, Dex hurried to the stockroom and returned with three shoeboxes. He placed them on the counter, ignoring the furious look from his manager.
Jordan opened each box, testing the cushioning with his fingers. “You know your shoes,” he said to Dex.
Dex forced a small smile. “Good luck tomorrow.”
Without another word, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and left. Outside, the humid Charlotte air pressed down on him. His mother stood near the corner, purse tucked under her arm, eyes full of worry.
She hurried over. “Dexter, what’s wrong? It’s late.”
Dex managed to say, “I lost my job, Mama,” before his voice caught in his throat.
She pulled him into a hug. “Tell me everything, baby.”
So he did—right there beneath a flickering streetlamp. He explained about Michael Jordan, the ultimatum, and the decision that cost him everything. His mother listened, heartbreak flickering in her tired eyes. When he finished, she brushed her fingertips against his cheek.
“Your father would be proud of you,” she whispered.
Dex’s phone buzzed. The screen showed an unfamiliar Chicago number. Before he could answer, the call ended, leaving only the words Missed Call.
The next morning, Dex woke to more missed calls. Some were from local reporters asking about “the teen who helped Michael Jordan.” Confused, Dex turned on the TV. Every news channel seemed to be talking about Peterson’s Footwear, the fired employee, and Michael Jordan praising “real character.”
Neighborhood friends and customers gathered outside Dex’s apartment. They brought newspapers, coffee, food—anything to show they stood by him. Among them was Coach Marcus, Dex’s high school basketball coach.
“Just got off the phone with some folks,” Coach Marcus said, pulling Dex aside. “The Chicago Bulls’ front office is asking about you.”
Before Dex could wonder why, his mother called him over. The mail carrier had just delivered a thick envelope from the Chicago Bulls, stamped “Certified.” Dex tore it open to find a formal letter inviting him and his mother to Chicago—all expenses paid. The letter mentioned Dex’s father and hinted that there was something he needed to see.
Less than twenty-four hours after he’d lost his job, Dex found himself on a plane bound for O’Hare, his mother by his side. When they landed, a tall man named Marcus Thompson met them. He guided them to a small restaurant in downtown Chicago. Inside waited three men: Jerry Krause, the Bulls’ general manager; Michael Jordan himself; and another figure Dex recognized from magazines—Phil Knight, founder of Nike.
Phil Knight smiled kindly. “Sit down, Dexter. We have a lot to tell you.”
In a hushed voice, he and Jerry Krause explained that Dex’s father had been no ordinary fan. He had scouted players for both the Bulls and Nike, designing a “character test” to find not just talented players, but kind, selfless ones. Together with Tom Peterson—yes, Mr. Peterson—he had created “protocols” to see how employees and young people reacted under pressure. Dex’s father believed those who chose kindness over convenience were the future of basketball.
Dex’s eyes widened. “He never told me,” he said, voice trembling.
“Your father left a trust,” Jerry Krause added, sliding a folder across the table. Inside were old photos of Dex’s father with the Bulls organization. “And instructions. The final test was watching you make the right choice at the shoe store, even if it cost you.”
Michael Jordan placed a hand on Dex’s shoulder. “You passed with flying colors.”
Before Dex could respond, the door opened, and Mr. Peterson walked in. Gone was his stern expression; tears rimmed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dex,” he said. “I had to be tough, had to follow your father’s plan. It broke my heart to fire you, but he made me promise: push Dex hard enough to see what he’d do.”
Dex fought back tears. All those nights working late, all those times Mr. Peterson barked at him—it had all been part of his father’s dream.
Phil Knight cleared his throat. “We’d like to offer you a role in the Washington Character Development Program. It’s a scholarship and a mentorship. Your father wanted you to help lead the next generation of athletes who care about more than personal glory.”
Jordan slid a shoebox across the table. Inside was the new sneaker model Dex had recommended. On the heel, in gold lettering, it read: Character Makes Champions.
Dex couldn’t speak. He thought of his father’s final words to him—words he’d heard countless times in memory. Help others, even when it costs you.
He looked at his mother, who was wiping tears, and Mr. Peterson, who wore a shaky smile. He looked at the men surrounding him: the greatest names in basketball, telling him this was just the beginning.
Dex inhaled. In that moment, he understood that losing his job was no end at all. It was a door opening to honor his father’s legacy—a legacy that believed character mattered more than any statistic.
He placed one hand on the shoebox and the other over his heart. “Yes,” he said, voice clear. “I accept.”
In a world obsessed with numbers, flash, and fame, Dex Washington discovered a deeper truth: When you do the right thing, even if it costs you, you just might change your life—and countless others—forever.
Michael Jordan Speaks Up For Black Lives And Police Officers
Michael Jordan says he is giving $1 million each to an NAACP legal fund and a community policing group to help find solutions to violence against African-Americans and police officers.
Charles Rex Arbogast/AP
Michael Jordan is condemning violence against both African-Americans and police. His forceful and emotional statement, released by ESPN’s The Undefeated, is a marked change for the NBA legend.
Jordan has been famously apolitical during his career — first as a Hall of Fame basketball player for the Chicago Bulls and more recently as an owner of the Charlotte Hornets — avoiding public statements on politics and civil rights, when other athletes have spoken out.
“I can no longer stay silent,” Jordan writes. “We need to find solutions that ensure people of color receive fair and equal treatment AND that police officers — who put their lives on the line every day to protect us all — are respected and supported.”
The statement comes after the recent police shootings of two African-American men, Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, and two deadly attacks against police officers in Dallas and Baton Rouge.
“I know this country is better than that,” Jordan writes.
Jordan says he’s making $1 million donations to two organizations, the NAACP Legal Defense Fund and the Institute for Community-Police Relations, which was recently established by the International Association of Chiefs of Police. The aim, Jordan writes, is to help “build trust and respect between communities and law enforcement.”
The donations come during a period of renewed advocacy and statements about social issues by professional athletes and sports leagues.
Current NBA stars LeBron James, Carmelo Anthony, Dwyane Wade and Chris Paul opened the 2016 ESPYs, earlier this month, by asking professional athletes to speak up on issues of social justice and to help unite communities in the U.S.
WNBA players have spoken out, too, wearing solid black shirts during warm-ups, or shirts with the printed words “#BlackLivesMatter” and “#Dallas5,” in reference to the five police officers who were killed in Dallas earlier this month.
Most recently, the NBA announced that it was stripping Charlotte, N.C., of the 2017 NBA All-Star Game because of North Carolina’s House Bill 2 — the so-called bathroom bill — which has been called discriminatory against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people.
In making that announcement, the league stated: “While we recognize that the NBA cannot choose the law in every city, state, and country in which we do business, we do not believe we can successfully host our All-Star festivities in Charlotte in the climate created by HB2.”
