The Coach Who Cut Young Michael Jordan Sends Him a Letter—Jordan’s Response Is Unforgettable
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The Cut That Shaped a Legend
It was an ordinary Tuesday when a letter arrived on Michael Jordan’s desk, nestled among the usual stack of fan mail, business proposals, and charity requests. The simple white envelope bore a return address that made the basketball legend’s heart skip a beat: Clifton “Pop” Herring, Laney High School, Wilmington, North Carolina. For decades, Jordan had credited being cut from his high school varsity team as the spark that ignited his legendary competitive fire, the foundation of his unparalleled drive. Now, after all these years, the coach who made that fateful decision had reached out. What could he possibly have to say, and how would Jordan respond to the man whose rejection had shaped his entire career?
Michael leaned back in his leather chair, gazing at the Chicago skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. At 58, he still carried himself with the same confidence that had made him a legend on the basketball court. The wall behind his mahogany desk showcased six gleaming NBA championship trophies, a testament to his unparalleled legacy. His assistant, Teresa, knocked softly on the door frame. “Your afternoon meeting with the Hornets’ general manager has been pushed back an hour, and this came for you in today’s mail,” she said, placing the envelope on his desk.
“Thanks, Teresa,” he replied, barely glancing at the envelope as he scrolled through emails on his phone. After she left, Michael set his phone down and picked up the envelope, expecting another fan request or business proposal. But the return address made him freeze. Pop Herring. The name transported him back 43 years in an instant—the coach who had cut him from the varsity basketball team as a sophomore in 1978, the man whose decision had fueled Michael’s legendary drive for decades.
He hadn’t heard that name in years, not since his controversial Hall of Fame speech in 2009 when he had publicly referenced being cut, inviting Leroy Smith, the player who’d made varsity instead of him, as his guest. The media had tracked down Herring afterward, finding him struggling with mental illness and living in difficult circumstances in Wilmington. Michael turned the envelope over in his hands, suddenly unsure if he wanted to open it. That cut had been the foundation of his competitive fire, the slight that drove him to become the greatest basketball player of all time. What could Herring possibly have to say to him now?
With slightly trembling fingers, he tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. The handwriting was shaky but legible, written on lined paper that looked torn from a spiral notebook.
“Dear Michael, you might be surprised to hear from me after all these years. I’m having one of my good days, and my friend Marcus is helping me write this letter. The doctors say I have my clear moments, and I wanted to use one to reach out to you. I’ve watched your whole career from that small TV in my room—six championships, five MVPs, the shot against Utah, the flu game, everything. I tell everyone who visits me that I once coached Michael Jordan, though not many believe me anymore.
“I’m writing because there’s something I need to say to you before my mind slips away again. It’s about that year at Laney, 1978. I’ve heard you mention being cut many times over the years. I saw what you said at your Hall of Fame speech, Michael. I never cut you because you weren’t good enough. We had 15 spots on varsity, and we already had seniors who played your position. You were 5’10” then, skinny as a rail. I put you on JV so you could play every minute of every game, develop your skills, and be the star instead of sitting on the varsity bench. I saw something special in you, but you needed playing time to grow.
“I never told you my thinking back then. Maybe I should have. Maybe it would have made a difference. But watching what that decision did for you, how it lit a fire that turned you into the greatest ever, maybe it all worked out exactly as it was supposed to. The truth is, Michael, I’ve been proud of you every step of the way when my mind is clear enough to understand. I’ve cheered for every championship, every award. In my darkest times, thinking about your success has been a bright spot. I don’t want anything from you. I’m not asking for money or help. Marcus says I should, given my situation, but that’s not why I’m writing. I just wanted you to know the truth while I still can share it. You didn’t need to prove anything to me; I already knew what you would become.
Sincerely, Coach Clifton ‘Pop’ Herring.”
At the bottom was a postscript in different handwriting: “P.S. I’m Marcus Washington, Coach Herring’s former student and caretaker. He wanted to write this letter himself during a period of clarity. His schizophrenia has progressed, but he insisted on reaching out to you.
