I hear some nasty old crunch-balls dissed you lately, buddy! Let me at him! I'll show him what a pissed off 50 year old Jew can do to an 80 year old one!
Many moons ago, when I was much slimmer than today, and cute as a bug, I was a desk jockey on a very busy labor and delivery unit in an L.A. hospital that was in one of the scariest neighborhoods in the United States.
"Desk Jockey" is just a Unit Secretary (they tried to make us hoity toity by calling us "concierges", which the lead concierge insisted on pronouncing "cons-see-AIR"; I finally couldn't take it one night and asked if she also parked her car in the "GA-RAH?") and we did whatever the nurses didn't (and a few things they did that we shouldn't have, but I never carried narcotics or even the narcotic drawer keys; they were out to get me for the "ga-rah" remark).
Anyway, one night a rumour ran rampant at the hospital that "Magic" Johnson was coming with Mrs. Johnson, to be with his best friend/manager while that manager's wife had a baby.
It was as if the gates of perdition had opened and pardons couldn't be written fast enough. By 8 p.m. (my shift began at 7 p.m.) the people crowding my desk were, literally, 5 deep. They were demanding to know when Johnson was going to be there and why (it was an L&D unit, ya mook, what else would he be here for??). Security tried to shoo the looky-loo's away, to no effect at all, and there I was, in the middle of all this hysteria, (but protected by my four foot high walled desk) trying to do my job in the midst insanity. Women were having babies, we were doing C/Sections, we were admitting patients, orders had to be ordered and phones answered.
It was completely nuts. And then, silence: a long, muscular arm reached across the now hushed throng, you know, the 5 deep throng, and one of the sweetest faces I've ever seen smiled at me as I took his gigantic hand, and he said, "Hi, my name is Earvin, and I'm with my best friend while his wife gives birth." I smiled back, introduced myself, and said the standard, "If there's anything I can do for you or the family please don't hesitate to ask." Earvin Johnson looked around at the silent fans, every one with their mouth dropped open, and said to me, "Looks more like you'd need MY help. So, please, if there's anything I can do for you, let me know."
I said, "Now that sounds like a great deal." He finally let go of my hand and said, "Okay, I'll stop gumming up the works here. It was delightful to meet you, Samantha. Come on in later, and see my 'niece', okay?"
I agreed, and he strode away to his friend's room. The throng broke up, and normality resumed. I was called into Mr. Johnson's friends room several times before the birth, the last to bring her some ice chips, and was standing in the back of the room, trying to get past the RN's, aides, doctors and Mrs. Johnson. It was then that I noticed that Mr. Johnson's friend, who was even bigger than Earvin, was standing right in front of me, and about to faint.
New dads do that. A lot. Mr. Johnson was blocked by people and machinery, into a chair, and couldn't reach his friend, who I let keel straight back and plop onto the floor.
Mr. Johnson looked at me, and I shrugged, and said, "Guy outweighs me by two hundred pounds, was I supposed to catch him?"
Earvin began to laugh, then the room was laughing, and then the baby was born, and Dad woke up, and someone shoved a Polaroid camera into my hands and ordered me to start taking pictures, so I did.
But I kept one: of my friend, Earvin, holding this tiny potato chip of swaddled baby, in his enormous, gentle hands. Still have it.
Earvin gave the baby back to Mom, and came over and gave me a hug, and thanked me for everything I'd done, and then began laughing again at my letting his 315 pound friend faint dead away.
I have never seen him again, but the fierce anger that boiled up in me when I heard what that epic moron of a professional basketball team owner had said about black people, and my friend Earvin in particular, I wanted to know how to become invisible, fly and use an epee.
I know Earvin doesn't need my help in this; I just wanted to say what I just said.
Thanks, Earvin. I really have never forgotten.