Michael Jordan Visits Small Village Where He Once Lived Poor – His Gift Transforms Lives
Michael Jordan had come a long way since his childhood in the small, struggling village of Pine Hills. The days of hunger, instability, and uncertainty were long behind him. Now, an NBA superstar, a global icon, and a philanthropist, Michael had the resources and platform to make a difference. But his heart led him back to Pine Hills—not for a charity event, but for something far more meaningful.
It was a quiet return. No entourage, no camera crews, just a humble rental car driving down the cracked streets that Michael knew so well. He passed the familiar water tower, faded with time, and noticed the unchanged landscape—crumbling buildings, dilapidated streets, and a community still struggling. The sight tugged at his heart. Despite the riches, the fame, and the recognition he’d earned, there was still a part of him that longed to return to the place where his journey began.
Michael parked near the old convenience store that had once been the center of his world, the same store where he and his mother had lived in a small apartment years ago. It had been eight months of hardship when they’d moved here, and though he was only nine, those months shaped him in ways he was only now beginning to understand. He stepped out of the car, walking toward the entrance of the store. The familiar bell above the door jingled as he entered, sending a wave of nostalgia through him.
Behind the counter stood a young man, absorbed in his phone. When he noticed Michael, his eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you really…?” the clerk stammered.
“Just passing through,” Michael said with a warm smile, trying to keep things normal. He picked up a chocolate milk, the same treat he and his mom would share when times were tight, and paid, leaving a generous tip before stepping back outside.
As he walked toward the park at the center of town, memories flooded back. The playground equipment still stood, rusted and weathered, and the children played in the same small park, their voices rising in the air. It was then that Michael saw her—Miz Wilma. Her gray hair was neatly tied back, and she sat with the same straight posture she always had. When she saw Michael, her eyes lit up.
“Little Mike,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion.
“Miz Wilma,” Michael replied, his heart catching in his throat. She had once given him peppermint candies, slipped into his pocket when his mother wasn’t looking. She had been a lifeline, someone who saw him not as a poor child, but as someone worth caring for. They sat and talked for a while, reminiscing about the days when his mother would bring him by to share a meal, and when he helped her with groceries, always asking if she needed anything.
Michael could see the pride in her eyes. “I always knew you’d do great things, child. Always knew it.” She said it with the kind of conviction that only comes from truly believing in someone.
The words stung with unexpected emotion. Miz Wilma was right. Despite everything, despite being poor, despite the hardships, someone had always believed in him—whether it was her, Coach Miller, or his mother. That belief had driven him to become the man he was today. And now, it was time to return the favor.
Michael spent the next few hours reconnecting with old faces. The people of Pine Hills hadn’t changed much—some were older, others had moved away, but the struggles remained. There were the familiar signs of poverty: broken-down storefronts, a playground desperately in need of repair, an old basketball court with rusted hoops. It was clear that Pine Hills was still a forgotten town, left behind by the progress others had made. But Michael wasn’t here to merely observe; he had come to make a difference.
His next stop was to see Coach Miller, the man who had changed his life with a single act of belief. Coach had been the first to see potential in Michael, the first to treat him like more than just a poor kid with a ball. Michael walked up the familiar street to Coach Miller’s home, a small white house on Maple Road. He knocked on the door, and when it opened, he was greeted with a warm but surprised smile. “Took you long enough,” Coach Miller said, his voice still carrying the authority that Michael remembered.
“I’ve been busy,” Michael replied with a chuckle, dropping to one knee to embrace the older man. The years had taken their toll on Coach, but the love he had for Michael, and the belief in him, had never wavered. Coach had given him his first real basketball, a gift that Michael had treasured.
“You changed my life, Coach,” Michael said, his voice thick with emotion. “And now I’m here to return the favor.”
Coach Miller looked at him with a knowing smile. “You’ve got something rare, Mike. I always knew you’d make it. But remember, you can’t do it all alone. You need the community.”
Michael nodded, understanding. “That’s why I’m here. I want to give back to Pine Hills, but not just with money. I want to help rebuild this place, from the ground up, with long-term solutions.”
Michael outlined his vision for Pine Hills: revitalizing the schools, bringing healthcare access, creating job opportunities, and improving infrastructure. It was ambitious, yes, but Michael had the resources to make it happen. And more importantly, he had the passion to see it through.
Over the next few weeks, Michael began working with local leaders, community members, and Coach Miller to turn this vision into reality. They started with the school—rebuilding it with new technology, classrooms, and a proper gymnasium. The community center was next, with renovations aimed at providing safe spaces for after-school programs and activities. Healthcare was addressed by expanding the clinic into a full-time health center, and new jobs were created through a local business incubator. Michael’s foundation provided the funding, but the real work was done by the people of Pine Hills.
It wasn’t an overnight transformation. There were setbacks, doubts, and struggles along the way. But Michael stayed committed, visiting Pine Hills regularly, working side by side with the community, ensuring that they had a voice in shaping the future of their town.
Months passed, and the first signs of change became visible. The community center was alive with activity, the school’s new facilities were buzzing with students, and the factory had been repurposed to create jobs. People were beginning to see hope again, not just in the form of promises, but through tangible change.
Then, on the one-year anniversary of his return, Michael stood before the community in the newly renovated school gymnasium. He spoke about the progress they had made and the challenges still ahead, but his focus was on the future. Pine Hills was no longer a forgotten village—it had become a beacon of hope, a model for what could be done in overlooked communities across the country.
But there was more. Michael announced the launch of the Forgotten Communities Initiative, a national program that would bring the same transformation to other struggling towns across the United States. Pine Hills was the first, but it wouldn’t be the last.
Coach Miller, the man who had believed in Michael when no one else did, was named the executive director of the initiative. Together, they would lead the charge in bringing real change to communities that had been left behind for too long.
And so, the journey began—not just for Michael, but for the people of Pine Hills, who now saw a future filled with possibility. The promise Michael made to this town all those years ago had been fulfilled, and it was only the beginning.
As he looked out at the crowd, Michael smiled. It was a quiet victory, but it was the kind that would change lives for generations to come.
Billionaire Michael Jordan recounts begging his mother for cash and stamps as a college freshman named ‘Mike’ with $20 in his bank account
Now a billionaire co-owner of the NBA’s Charlotte Hornets, Michael Jordan says he was once a poor University of North Carolina student known as ‘Mike’ who resorted to begging his mother for cash and even stamps.
‘It’s a little different today,’ Jordan he told Good Morning America’s Robin Roberts while promoting ESPN’s upcoming docu-series on the 1997-98 Chicago Bulls. ‘I had a phone bill that was probably $60 or a little less and I only had $20 in my account.’
Jordan’s decision to ask his mom, Deloris, is something modern college students can identify with, but his other request is a major departure.
‘I had to ask my mom to send me postage stamps,’ Jordan said.
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Hall of Famer Michael Jordan spoke with ABC’s Robin Roberts to promote an upcoming docu-series on ESPN about his final NBA championship run with the Chicago Bulls in 1997-98
Deloris Jordan, Michael Jordan on ‘Superstars And Their Moms – An Walt Disney Television via Getty Images Mother’s Day Special’ from 1988, four years before he won his first NBA title
Michael Jordan said he would need to beg his mother Deloris for money to cover a $60
North Carolina’s Michael Jordan hits the winning shot of the 1982 NCAA Finals vs. Georgetown
‘We didn’t have Twitter so I mean you had to live life as it came, you know, and each day you learned the education aspect, spending time with friends and family, it wasn’t via the phone,’ Jordan continued. ‘It was actually in presence and you wrote letters.
‘To me, that’s probably the most refreshing thing that my mom, she kept all my letters. So I mean it’s somewhat embarrassing but yet it’s refreshing that I took the time to write a letter to say how much I love my mom and, you know, what I needed in college.’
An unheralded high school player in Wilmington, North Carolina until his junior season, Jordan ultimately drew the attention of top college coaches such as Duke’s Mike Krzyzewski and Syracuse’s Jim Boeheim, but decided attend UNC-Chapel Hill in 1981.
It was there, Jordan told Roberts, that Mike became Michael.
As basketball fans know, Jordan was not the biggest name on the 1981-82 Tar Heels – a distinction that probably belonged to forwards James Worthy or Sam Perkins.
But in the 1982 title game against Patrick Ewing’s Georgetown Hoyas, it was Jordan who hit the go-ahead basketball with 15 seconds remaining, instantly transforming himself into a national celebrity.
‘Well, up until that point no one knew who I was,’ Jordan said. ‘Outside the university, I was just known as Mike Jordan, you know, and when I hit that shot, my whole name became Michael Jordan and I think it resonated with a lot of people outside of UNC and I just started piling on that name… from the successes that I endured throughout the rest of my career. It wasn’t about Mike. It was more about Michael then.’
On the Hoyas’ ensuing possession following Jordan’s go-ahead jumper, Georgetown guard Fred Brown infamously mistook Worthy for a teammate, passed him the ball, and Jordan clinched his first major title.
He would go on to win six more with two separate three-peats in Chicago.
Jordan hits the game-winning jumper over Byron Russell of the Utah Jazz during Game Six of the 1998 NBA Finals on June 14, 1998 at the Delta Center in Salt Lake City
Michael Jordan pictured with father James (near left), mother Deloris (near right), and three of his four siblings, including brothers Larry and James Jr. He has two sisters, Deloris and Roslyn
Chicago Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf (left) and general manager Jerry Krause (right) in 1997
The ESPN series, the Last Dance, details Jordan’s final championship run.
As he’s explained, Jordan knew before the season that it would be his last because management was forcing out his coach and mentor, Phil Jackson, whom he refused to play without. (Jordan ultimately came out of retirement for a second time to reunite with his first NBA coach, Doug Collins, with the Washington Wizards)
‘It basically started when [Bulls general manager] Jerry Krause told Phil he could go 82-0 and would never get the chance to come back,’ Jordan said, referring to the friction between the Bulls coaches and the front office.
Jordan has repeatedly said that he knew 1997-98 would be his last season because GM Jerry Krause was refusing to renew head coach Phil Jackson’s contract
‘I married myself to [Phil] obviously and if he wasn’t going to be a coach then obviously I wasn’t going to play. So Phil started off the year by saying this is the last dance and we played it that way.’
Jordan previously told The Athletic that he thinks the behind-the-scenes footage will show his famously competitive personality, and that may not necessarily be a good thing.
‘When people see this they are going to say, “Well he wasn’t really a nice guy. He may have been a tyrant,”‘ Jordan said.
His win-at-all-costs mentality was crystalized in an anecdote he and Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf recounted from his second NBA season, when a 22-year-old Jordan was eager to return from a broken foot in defiance of team doctors.
‘Michael asked, “Well, if I play, what percentage is that I’m going to get hurt again?”‘ Reinsdorf remembered. ‘The doctor said 10 percent.’
ESPN’s documentary then cuts back to Jordan.
‘And I just lost it,’ Jordan replied. ‘I said, “Look, it’s 10 percent chance but it’s 90 percent chance that I won’t.”‘
Reinsdorf’s Bulls were a budding, young team in 1985-86, but while they were improving after years of struggles, Chicago was still looking up in the standings at the Milwaukee Bucks, Philadelphia 76ers, Detroit Pistons, and the NBA’s eventual champion Boston Celtics.
A scary sight for NBA teams in the late 1990s: (From left to right) Dennis Rodman, Scottie Pippen, Michael Jordan, Ron Harper, and Toni Kukoc, the NBA’s Sixth Man of the Year in 1996
With Kukoc (left), Harper (near left) and Luc Longley (far right) joining Pippen and Jordan, the Chicago Bulls completed their second three-peat of the 1990s
With a star of Jordan’s caliber, Reinsdorf didn’t want to risk long-term success on a team that was unlikely to win a title in 1986.
‘I chimed in with the doctor,’ Reinsdorf said. ‘”What happens if the 10 percent kicks in?” And they said, “Well then his career would be over.”‘
Michael Jordan initially wore No. 45 when he returned from a stint as a minor league baseball player in 1995. No. 45 was his jersey with the Double-A Birmingham Barons. Eventually he returned to No. 23
Jordan wasn’t taking that for an answer.
‘Everybody is just thinking about the negative while I think the glass is half full, everybody is thinking it’s half empty,’ said Jordan.
The camera cuts back to Reinsdorf at that point.
‘I said to Michael, “You are not understanding the risk/reward ratio,”‘ Reinsdorf continued. ‘If you had a terrible headache, and I gave you a bottle of pills and nine of the pills would cure you and one of the pills would kill you, would you take a pill?’
Jordan was unmoved.
‘I look at him and I said, “Depends on how f***ing bad headache is,”‘ Jordan shot back.
Jordan did finally return that season, and famously scored 63 points in a double-overtime loss in Game 2 of Chicago’s first-round series with Boston.
Afterwards Celtics star Larry Bird told the Boston Globe that the young phenom was really ‘God disguised as Michael Jordan.’
The Last Dance was originally supposed to be released in June, but with the COVID-19 outbreak suspending all spectator sports indefinitely, ESPN decided to move up its release date.
The first episode will premiere Sunday night at 9pm ET.
Scottie Pippen (left) and Michael Jordan of the Chicago Bulls try to stop Kobe Bryant of the Los Angeles Lakers (center) as he leads a fast break during their February 1, 1998 game in LA
