It was a rainy Chicago afternoon when Michael Jordan’s luxury SUV broke down on a quiet street. The rain drummed on the roof of his Range Rover, and the wipers struggled against the steady downpour. He had just left his old neighborhood, reflecting on his past with the Bulls, when the car began to make alarming noises. The warning light flashed on the dashboard, and the steering became unresponsive. With no signal on his phone, Michael knew he had no choice but to find help.
He spotted an old, modest garage at the side of the road, its sign partially obscured by rain: “Wilson’s Auto Repair.” Michael guided the car toward the building, which looked like it hadn’t changed much in decades. He parked the SUV just as it died completely, and after a moment of hesitation, he stepped out into the storm.
The garage door creaked open as he entered, and the smell of oil and coffee filled the air. The space was filled with old tools and cluttered workbenches. At the center of it all stood an elderly mechanic, bent over the engine of an old Chevy. His weathered hands worked methodically, showing signs of a lifetime spent repairing cars.
“Excuse me,” Michael called out, his voice nearly drowned by the rain. The mechanic didn’t look up immediately, continuing his work with practiced precision.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” came the gruff response.
Michael stepped further into the garage, shaking the rain from his sweater. The mechanic finally turned around, revealing a face full of age and wisdom. His blue eyes were sharp, but there was no sign of recognition in them.
“What seems to be the trouble?” the old man asked simply.
“My car broke down outside,” Michael explained. “Strange noises, warning light, then nothing.”
The mechanic, whose name was Henry Wilson, offered to take a look at the car. As they walked back to the SUV, Michael studied the man beside him. There was something familiar about him, but Michael couldn’t place it. His quiet dignity, his unhurried movements—it reminded him of his own father, a man who valued hard work above all else.
Henry opened the hood of the SUV, inspecting the engine. “Your alternator’s gone bad,” he said after a few moments. “Batteries drained too. I can fix it, but I’ll need to order the part. Won’t be here until tomorrow morning.”
Michael was supposed to attend a Bulls event in a few hours, and he needed to get to downtown Chicago. “Can you call me a cab, or is there a rental place nearby?” he asked.
“There’s nothing around here,” Henry replied, shaking his head. “But I can give you a ride into town.”
Michael gratefully accepted, and as they made their way back into the garage, the conversation turned to basketball. Michael mentioned that he was in town for a special Bulls event, and Henry casually asked about the team.
“Been a Bulls fan since the ’70s,” Henry said, nodding. “But I stopped following closely once you came along. Tickets got expensive, and I started just listening on the radio.”
Michael was taken aback. This man, who had lived through the Bulls’ glory years, had no idea who he was. It was a refreshing change from the constant fawning and admiration he usually received.
As Henry drove him into the city, they discussed their lives. Michael shared memories of his father, while Henry spoke of his late wife, Martha. It was a conversation between two men, both shaped by hard work and loss, both familiar with the weight of responsibility.
When they arrived in downtown Chicago, Michael offered to pay Henry for his help, but Henry refused. “No charge,” he said, “for the company.”
Michael smiled, moved by the old man’s dignity. As they said their goodbyes, he knew he wouldn’t forget this brief, unexpected encounter. There was something about Henry—something that resonated with him.
The next day, as Michael returned to Wilson’s Auto Repair to pick up his car, he was struck by a feeling of nostalgia. The garage, with its cluttered workbenches and aging tools, felt like home in a way he hadn’t expected. As Henry handed him the keys to his repaired Range Rover, Michael invited him to the Bulls event that evening.
“You’re my guest,” Michael insisted. “Come and see what it’s like.”
Henry was hesitant, but Michael wouldn’t take no for an answer. The old man had been more than just a mechanic. He had been a teacher, a mentor, and through their conversation, Michael realized how much Henry had shaped his mindset—not just in driving, but in life.
That evening, as Michael introduced Henry to the crowd at the United Center, the arena filled with applause. He stood at the podium and began to speak.
“Tonight, I want to talk about a different kind of teacher,” Michael said, his eyes finding Henry in the front row. “Forty-five years ago, I was just a teenager learning how to drive at Laney High School in Wilmington, North Carolina. My teacher was Henry Wilson, a man who taught me more than just how to operate a car. He taught me about focus, about seeing far down the road instead of just reacting to what’s right in front of me.”
As the crowd listened in silence, Michael smiled. “It wasn’t just about driving. It was about handling the unexpected, about preparation, about doing things the right way. Those lessons stuck with me—not just on the basketball court, but in life.”
After the ceremony, Henry was greeted by many of Michael’s teammates, including Scotty Pippen and Dennis Rodman, who were amazed to meet the man who had shaped Michael’s mindset. The night ended with a private reception, where Michael talked to Henry about establishing a scholarship program in his name—one that would support automotive education for young people in underserved communities.
“This is just the beginning,” Michael told the gathered crowd. “The Henry Wilson Automotive Education Foundation will open centers across the country, teaching kids not just about cars, but about life.”
Henry was overwhelmed by the gesture, but Michael knew that it wasn’t just about honoring him—it was about honoring the teachers who shape young lives in ways that often go unrecognized.
As Michael walked to his waiting car that night, he glanced back at the garage. Henry stood in the doorway, watching the crowd as they dispersed. Michael realized that it wasn’t just his athletic ability that had made him great—it was the people who had guided him along the way. Sometimes, the most important teachers were the ones who never sought recognition, the ones who simply did their jobs with integrity and care.
And in that moment, Michael understood. Some lessons stayed with you forever—not just the lessons of the court, but the ones that shaped your life.
“I’m Not His Driver, I’m His Slave”: $2.2 Billion Michael Jordan’s Close Friend Described Working For The 6x Champ
Feb 15, 1996; Auburn Hills MI, USA; FILE PHOTO; Chicago Bulls guard Michael Jordan (23) in action against the Detroit Pistons at the Palace at Auburn Hills. The Bulls beat the Pistons 112-109 in overtime. Mandatory Credit: Matthew Emmons-USA TODAY Sports
Being Michael Jordan is much more difficult than most could ever comprehend. The Chicago Bulls legend has a net worth of $2.2 billion and even when he didn’t have that kind of wealth and was in the NBA playing for a ‘couple million dollars’ a year, it’s tough to find people who want you, for you.
Everybody in Jordan’s life most certainly wants something out of their connection with the 6x NBA champion. So, when it comes to finding true friends, MJ has always had to keep an eye for people who were simply trying to use him.
This is why most of his closest friends are ones he made before all of the fame, whether it be from school or it be from when he was in his infancy stage of being a star in the league. Someone who he met around the time of his rookie season was a man who he would go on to call a friend even after his second retirement and beyond.
George Koehler can safely say that he is a close friend of Michael Jordan
The first man who met Michael Jordan after he had gotten drafted to the Bulls was none other than George Koehler. Well, he technically wasn’t the ‘first man’ who MJ met as team personnel would be the first but when it comes to native Chicagoans, Koehler might’ve been the first.
He owned a limo company at the time and this was perfect timings as someone who would have their fame skyrocket in a matter of weeks needed both a personal car service and driver. Luckily for him, Koehler provided his services almost immediately.
“I am not really the driver. I’m kind of like the personal slave. There are 1,000,000 people in this world who would love to hang out with Michael. Fortunately, I am a friend, and as long as he wants me around, I will be around,” said Koehler.
Michael Jordan lost a great friend in Charles Barkley
One man who Michael Jordan befriended and became quite fond of during his time in the NBA was none other than Charles Barkley. They would golf together and gamble together while also doing interviews on air with one another.
However, this all changed when Chuck took to his ‘Inside the NBA’ show to berate MJ on his front office management skills while with the Washington Wizards. Jordan took this personally and for the past 15+ years, they have not spoken.
