A new day dawned on Lansing, Michigan, as Earvin

Johnson, Sr., walked into the room of his youngest son

and stirred the child from his deepest sleep. The tall,

lanky teenager, known to almost everyone around the

neighborhood as "Junior," looked up slowly and rubbed

his eyes. It was 7 AM

"How d you do last night?

"We won by twenty," the sot

mostly asleep.

~! "OK, good," the father said. "Now, get up. You ve, still

i~0t to work on the truck. You may be Magic down at

f~~he gym, but around here, you re still Junior. "

Such were the Saturday mornings of Magic Johnson s

i~u!h, occasions when he was dragged from his quiet

o.er, nts world of basketball dreams, and thrust into

reality where hard work was the only staple of sur-

Mal. EarvinJohnson, Sr., was the father of ten children

tthis working-class neighborhood in suburban Detroit.

heir care and feeding was his responsibility and his

me, he often told his son. So he handled two full-time

~--a 5 Pm to 1 AM shift assembling automobiles at the

arby General Motors plant and a one-man (and son)

i.~g service that picked up rubbish, discarded barrels,

ed trash or twigs, bundled branches, and anything

from customers, and completed several other not~

~ nviable chores.