Remembering Bob Love: Someone to Look Up To

REMEMBERING MR. LOVE: SOMEONE TO LOOK UP TO

I just learned Bob Love died. He was 81. Mr. Love was best-known as a former NBA player for the Chicago Bulls during the 1960s and 70s. But in reality, he was so much more than just a basketball player.

I met Mr. Love once, and even had lunch with him. We talked and together and laughed for more than an hour. I’d like to share that special story because it reveals a lot about the man who overcame many obstacles in life, and yet remained optimistic throughout. Mr. Love was 6′ 9″ and a gifted athlete. But his greatest strength was a power within.

The following story and our lunch-meeting would not have occurred had it not been for one of best people I’ve ever known–Rich Korbin (who a few years ago died suddenly; I still think of him every day). Back then, Rich and I were working for PokerStars.com, the world’s biggest poker site. Rich was here visiting Las Vegas and invited me to last-minute lunch at California Pizza Kitchen, next to the sportsbook inside the Mirage. When I arrived, Rich was already sitting at a table with a man I didn’t know. Oh, and the man was very, very tall.

“This is Bob Love,” Rich announced. “Bob used to play for the Chicago Bulls.”

Wow, that’s really cool. I cracked a bad joke about my own short-lived basketball career, which ended in junior high school when everyone discovered I couldn’t dribble, shoot, or play defense. They pretended to laugh.

You have to know–Rich was one of the best “people persons” I’ve ever met. He could talk to anyone. Rich crafted major sponsorship deals with the NBA’s Miami Heat and Dallas Mavericks, and was working on yet another deal with the Bulls. Turns out, Mr. Love was an executive with the Chicago Bulls, so this was more of a business meeting than just a casual lunch.

I sat there, nodding occasionally. Then about five minutes into their discussion, Rich suddenly got a phone call. I can’t remember what happened exactly, but Rich had to leave. Like, right in the middle of our meal. He apologized profusely and then darted out of the restaurant. Huh? That left just the two of us to continue our lunch, with no agenda nor any background knowledge. We looked at each other like a couple of dear caught in the headlights. Nobody knew what to say.

There are awkward moments. Then, there are times where your mind goes blank. The restaurant was packed and our food hadn’t even arrived yet.

We attempted to make meaningless small talk. Nothing caught on. I refused to ask him about his basketball career, or worse — Michael Jordan and that whole era following his retirement. I’m sure Mr. Love had to field annoying questions all the time about Jordan’s Bulls for most of his life, even though he had nothing to do with those years. When you think of the Bulls, it’s Jordan who comes to mind. I refused to go there. I didn’t want to be that guy. Our half-hearted conversation and one-word answers went on for about five minutes (waiter!–where the hell is the pizza?).

Here’s where the story gets interrupted and I have to tell you more about Mr. Love. He was one of 13 children born poor to a sharecropper in Louisiana during the 1950s who grew up in the deeply-segregated South. He was the only child in his family to attend college. He earned a full scholarship, played college basketball and football, and was drafted by the Milwaukee Bucks, then was traded to the Chicago Bulls. He played in the NBA for ten years. As of today, he remains the Bulls’ third-leading all-time career scorer (behind only Michael Jordan and Scotty Pippen).

Back then, sports salaries were not what they are now. A pro athlete earned only a bit more than an average salary. Most athletes lived middle-class lives. Mr. Love may have spent a decade in the pros and was one of the best players in the game, but when his career ended in 1976, he was broke.

Out of the game and with no prospects, Mr. Love pursued a number of job opportunities. He couldn’t get hired anywhere. He was rejected repeatedly because he suffered from a severe stutter. His condition made it almost impossible for him to communicate normally with others.

Love took any kind of work he could find. He worked as a bartender, caterer, and a construction worker. A decade later, in his early 40s, he worked as a busboy in Seattle. Mr. Love later remembered those hard times in an interview:

“Every once in a while, former players, or even current ones in town to play Seattle, would come by for a cup of coffee or a sandwich. I’d be there in my apron and my little hat, pushing a cart and clearing tables for $4.45 an hour — ‘Yeah, I used to be Bob Love.’ I was embarrassed, and they were embarrassed for me. But there’s only two ways you can go. You can take off the apron and the hat and give up. Or, you can decide to be the best dishwasher in the world. I kept on washing.”

Somehow, he endured it all and survived and still managed to retain his pride and eternal optimism. He was given the chance to undergo speech therapy, beginning a many years-long endeavor to overcome his stutter in his 40s. Slowly, gradually, the stutter became less and there were even conversations when it didn’t happen at all. Mr. Love continued to gain confidence. That’s when he applied for a job with his old team–the Bulls. They hired Mr. Love as the Director of Community Relations. Once unable to barely open his mouth and talk during a timeout huddle, Love went on to give hundreds of speeches in Chicago and all across the country as a spokesman for the Bulls.

THAT’S the man I was having lunch with and sitting across from inside the Mirage at this moment. Only–I didn’t know ANY of this at the time.

Our lunch at CPK lingered on and went back and forth for a few more awkward minutes until — out of nowhere — he casually mentioned once working in a restaurant. I just assumed he meant he owned a restaurant, or managed someplace in his post-retirement. That’s when Mr. Love shared the brief story about his job working as a busboy in Seattle. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Well, for the next hour or so we talked. Actually, he talked–and I listened. No stutter. The quiet confidence of this man was something remarkable. I can’t remember every detail of our conversation, though the lunch ran overtime into desert and coffee, and still more stories. Turns out, basketball was the least interesting thing about Mr. Love. The story and spirit of his self-made re-invention and success as an NBA basketball executive is now what I remember.

I’m truly sorry that I never saw Mr. Love after that day. When he died of cancer this past weekend, I didn’t think of the basketball star. Rather, I thought of the tall man who overcame so many challenges, defied all the odds, and became someone to truly “look up to.”

Yes indeed, I was lucky to meet Mr. Love.

_________

READ MORE: BOB LOVE’S OBITUARY IN THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE