In the heart of Chicago, the Bulls’ practice facility gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights. Every inch of the polished hardwood floor shone, a silent testament to the quiet dedication of Robert Franklin, the janitor who had kept the place immaculate for over fifteen years. Robert was a man of few words and steady habits—a fixture as much as the banners that hung from the rafters.
It was 1998, and the Bulls were in the thick of what would be remembered as their “Last Dance.” On this particular evening, the buzz of basketball had faded, replaced by the gentle swish of Robert’s mop as he finished his rounds. The night staff was sparse, just a few administrators and security guards lingering in the building. Robert, a former college basketball player whose love for the game had never faded, glanced at the breakroom TV as he passed by. The Bulls were playing the Pacers in the Eastern Conference Finals, and the game was close.
When his watch signaled his 15-minute break, Robert set his mop aside and slipped into the empty breakroom. He settled into a chair, eyes fixed on the screen as Michael Jordan dashed down the court. For a moment, Robert allowed himself to be just another fan, heart pounding with every play.
Unbeknownst to him, Kevin Armstrong, the newly appointed facility manager, was making his evening rounds. Armstrong was a man with a corporate pedigree and a penchant for strict policies. He prided himself on running a tight ship, and he saw every deviation from protocol as a threat to his authority.
As Armstrong passed the breakroom, he paused, frowning at the sight of Robert watching the game. He strode in, clearing his throat loudly. “Mr. Franklin,” he said, voice clipped. “I don’t believe we pay you to watch television.”
Robert met his gaze calmly. “I’m on my break, Mr. Armstrong. Fifteen minutes, as per policy.”
Armstrong’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Breaks are for recuperation, not entertainment. This is a workplace, not a sports bar. Consider this your first and final warning.”
Robert, dignified as ever, replied, “I’ve worked here for fifteen years. Never had any complaints about my work.”
“Times change, Mr. Franklin. So do expectations,” Armstrong snapped. But when he saw Robert’s eyes flick back to the screen—just as Jordan made a crucial steal—Armstrong’s patience snapped. “That’s it. Clear out your locker. You’re terminated. Effective immediately.”
Robert stood, his dignity intact even as security was summoned to escort him out. Word of his firing spread quickly among the night staff. Douglas, the security guard, and Angela, the receptionist, were stunned. Robert wasn’t just a janitor—he was part of the Bulls’ family.
The next morning, Michael Jordan arrived early for practice. He noticed the absence immediately. When Douglas explained what had happened, Jordan’s expression darkened. Without hesitation, he marched straight to Armstrong’s office.
“Tell me why you fired Robert,” Jordan demanded, his voice calm but steely.
Armstrong straightened, trying to muster his usual authority. “Mr. Jordan, this is a personnel matter—”
“Robert’s been here longer than you’ve been out of college,” Jordan interrupted. “He’s part of this organization’s foundation. And you fired him for watching our game?”
“It’s about maintaining professional standards—” Armstrong began.
Jordan cut him off with a humorless laugh. “Professional standards? Robert arrives early every day. He stays late. The floor is so clean you can see your reflection in it. Those are professional standards. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with management—after you apologize to him. And Robert stays. In fact, he gets a raise.”
Armstrong’s authority evaporated in the face of Jordan’s respect for Robert. Later that afternoon, Robert returned to work, greeted with smiles from his colleagues. Armstrong’s apology was stiff, but complete. The story could have ended there, but Jordan had one more gesture in mind. At the next home game, Robert was stunned to find himself with courtside seats—a gift from Jordan himself.
As Robert watched the Bulls play from the best seat in the house, he realized something profound: respect and dignity aren’t determined by job titles. They’re earned through character, dedication, and the way we treat others.
The incident became a turning point for the facility’s culture. Armstrong, humbled, began to see his role differently. He started supporting his staff, looking for ways to elevate rather than control. The breakroom TV, once a source of conflict, became a gathering spot for staff from all departments during breaks. Hierarchies faded; camaraderie grew.
Robert’s story spread throughout the Bulls organization. Kimberly, the HR coordinator, learned of countless small kindnesses he had shown over the years—staying late during a blizzard so a youth team could practice, keeping spare umbrellas for staff on rainy days, quietly returning a lost championship ring to a player’s locker. His excellence wasn’t about being seen; it was about doing the right thing, every time.
The Bulls began hosting staff appreciation events that included everyone, from executives to maintenance workers. Players and coaches made a point to greet Robert, and rookies heard his story as part of their orientation. The “Franklin Rule” was adopted: no employee could be dismissed without a thorough review of their history and contributions.
Robert became a mentor to new staff, teaching them that excellence is about pride in your work, not who sees it. The breakroom was renamed “Franklin’s Corner,” decorated with photos celebrating staff who exemplified respect and dedication.
The impact rippled beyond the Bulls. Other organizations adopted similar policies. A documentary was made, and leadership experts cited the “Franklin Effect”—the transformation that occurs when every person is valued. Robert’s story became a case study in business schools and a legend in sports management.
Years later, as Robert approached his twentieth year with the Bulls, the team honored him not just for his work, but for the culture he helped create. He insisted the celebration include all long-serving staff, a gesture that perfectly captured his spirit.
Michael Jordan would often say, “On the court, I learned about excellence in basketball. From Robert, I learned about excellence in character.” The legacy of Robert Franklin—a janitor who watched a game on his break and inspired a movement—reminds us that true greatness is measured not by what we achieve, but by how we treat others along the way.
