by Michael Vick
As far as I was concerned, Coach Dungy’s arrival at Leavenworth on May 5, 2009, was right on time. It came fifteen days before my scheduled release to home confinement and filled me with encouragement for my future, both in life and in football.
I was very excited and, at the same time, very nervous about him coming. I mean, this was Coach Dungy—a powerful man, very smart and humble—and I knew what his life was all about. I knew the principles he was dedicated to: he was a family man and a man of God.
When I went to the visitation area, I was dressed not as an NFL player but as an inmate wearing an orange jumpsuit. Coach Dungy says, however, that he was pleased with how he found me. This is what he told others about our experience together:
I wanted to see if Michael looked like what I remembered, and he really did. He still looked like a young guy. He had bright eyes. He was excited, and he was looking forward to getting out and bouncing back as a person and as a dad. Appearance-wise, he didn’t look a lot different to me. That was refreshing to see.
I have been in a lot of prisons, so I wasn’t shocked about the environment. Even for me, Leavenworth is a place you’ve heard about. It was kind of an awe-inspiring feeling to be there. He and I talked a lot about what it meant to be in prison. He came to the conclusion a lot of people come to—that when suddenly you don’t have your freedom, you’re not able to make decisions or communicate with people, and the things you took for granted, you don’t take for granted anymore.
I think it was encouraging for Michael to see a football coach and be able to talk about football. It wasn’t something he was able to do much during his time in prison.
Coach Dungy was right. I loved the visit so much that I didn’t want him to leave.
I remember him looking into my eyes and wanting to know the truth about everything and how I felt. It was a special moment for me. Why would Coach Dungy come all the way from his home in Tampa to visit me in Kansas? I wondered. I knew there was a reason behind all of it, and I was just so thankful and delighted to be in his presence.
Coach Dungy says he remembers me being uncertain about whether NFL commissioner Roger Goodell would reinstate me and, if so, whether any teams would be interested. While Coach Dungy talked football with me, he tried to focus our conversation on a much broader scale, and we eventually came to the conclusion that the best thing for me was to continue turning my heart back to the Lord and make decisions that were best for my family. I needed to get my personal life, spiritual life, and family life back together—not worrying about the football side—because that would take care of itself if it was in God’s plan.
In the months ahead, Coach Dungy became a close mentor to me. Because of what he heard and saw that day at Leavenworth, he says that he believed I was serious about changing my life. And I was. He felt like I was leaving prison as a different person.
Coach Dungy is one of the most widely respected sports figures in the nation, but his involvement with me drew criticism, including from some supporters of his Family First organization in Tampa. However, he says he was encouraged when he and his wife met an ex-convict working at a Tampa-area restaurant after word of his visit with me was publicized.
He and his wife were ordering take-out food, and the guy behind the counter told him, “I just have to tell you that I’m so happy with what you’re doing with Michael, because I came out [of prison] four years ago and nobody would give me a chance. The only person who would was the owner of this restaurant, and I’m still here and still working hard for him. I just want to show him he did the right thing, and I’m not going to let him down. We need people to take a chance on us.” This helped Coach Dungy know that he was doing the right thing. It didn’t matter whether I would play in the NFL again. I was just a person who needed help launching a fresh start.
Let me tell you, Coach Dungy’s visit and follow-up involvement with me were essential to my new beginning. Coach told me, “Walk out of here with your head up high. Walk out of here knowing that your future is bright and that you’ve got God on your side, and you’d better keep Him close.”
When he said that, a totally different spirit overcame me.
Another special guest who visited me during the latter part of my stay at Leavenworth was Wayne Pacelle, the president and chief executive officer of the Humane Society of the United States.
I was surprised that he wanted to see me, considering the fact that two years earlier I had been viewed very negatively by his organization. I was nervous, but at the same time, excited to meet with him. I was also impressed with how sharp Wayne was and how he presented himself. I wasn’t expecting to see the type of person I saw: he was clean-cut and came in with a suit on. Immediately, I thought he was a guy who was there to help.
His visit was a great opportunity for me to hear what the Humane Society was all about and to learn more about their mission and how I could potentially help. Right there in that prison visitation area, we forged a partnership. We agreed that once I was released, I’d begin to speak at Humane Society functions. Wayne told me he believed in me and that he was going to give me a chance to change a lot of lives of both people and dogs around the world—to change the perception of pit bulls and to help eradicate dogfighting. It was a great opportunity that I appreciated more than words can express.
The days seemed to get longer as the time drew near for my release to home confinement after eighteen months in prison. I could hardly wait for the day when I would be allowed to leave, and I frequently battled concerns that something would happen to prevent it.
I was so scared going down the stretch. Those were the slowest days ever. My friends inside prison helped me through those days and were sad to see me leave.
My fellow inmates and I had so much respect for each other. You get together every day. You develop bonds. You experience the same emotional roller coaster. One guy may be up one day and down the next, and you’ve got to keep his spirits up.
About two days before I expected to be released, I was startled when guards suddenly began a shakedown raid of the pod where I lived. They were looking for contraband or any sign of trouble. I had worked late and had just gone to bed.
I hurried to put clothes on so I could leave with the rest of the men, but was ordered by a guard: “You! Stay over there in the corner.”
I was like, Aw, what did I do?! I was two days from going home, and I was afraid I had done something wrong. But it turned out to be a false alarm. They just held me back to tell me they were going to let me go a day earlier, to avoid the media and all that. I was allowed to call Kijafa, and she arrived the next day in time for me to make a 4:00 a.m. departure.
I used my last evening there to say good-bye to the friends I’d made and to exchange contact information with them for future reference—once we were all released and off probation.
The other prisoners were happy for me—happy that I was getting out, and happy that I was going home. I just wanted to make the most of my life going forward.
Most of the men were sleeping when I turned in my prison jumpsuit and was given civilian clothes that next morning. Kijafa was led to a special entrance, where I met her.
Kijafa says it was like a movie. She ran to me and hugged me. Everything felt right. We were together again—finally free.
And we quickly headed out for what would be close to a twenty-four-hour drive home to Virginia.
Chapter Nine
Mad Money
“The bottom line is, I just wasn’t ready for it.”
This wasn’t Monopoly money anymore.
It’s worth pausing from the story of my homecoming to reflect on one of the most profound things that happened while I was in prison—a personal bankruptcy that turned my financial world upside down.
Things were much different when I was released from prison than when I first went in. Some of it was my fault. Some of it was because people I trusted let me down.
It was the culmination of a larger economic crash that resulted
from mismanagement, but also from the costly effects of my legal troubles. In a span of four years, I went from being the NFL’s highest-paid player to an imprisoned ex-player filing for bankruptcy and having to reach out to former teammates for loans.
As a result, I look back and see myself as a cautionary example for other athletes who suddenly go from poverty to riches. The transition can be such a fleeting experience if sound money management, good stewardship, and trustworthy people aren’t in place.
Even before I faced dogfighting charges, I struggled with how to handle millions of dollars. Sometimes I may have tried to do too much for other people. I meant well, but I probably shouldn’t have taken out loans to purchase luxurious cars, houses, boats, and jewelry for family, friends, and myself.
The bottom line is: I just wasn’t ready for it. I had all the money and all the cars, but I was giving away too much money. I was getting $500,000 checks each quarter from my endorsement deal with Nike, but by the end of the quarter, I was dipping into my bank account to pay bills because I had so many expenses.
I was at a point where I was starting to get worried: Man, I can’t have all these bills. I’m taking care of all these people. I have a house in Virginia, I have a house in Miami, I have my mom’s house, I have my son’s mom’s house. I have, like, fourteen cars, paying car notes on all of them. That’s $30,000 here, $40,000 there. I have a whole lot of other stuff I’ve been doing, and all types of bills coming in. Every time I looked up, I was paying some sort of property tax.
Once I landed in prison, everything spiraled completely out of control, and I ended up filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. Eventually, I’ll have to repay creditors around $20 million. But I felt that was better than filing for Chapter 7, because it shows accountability for my debts.
I just took my lawyers’ advice in the situation and tried to do what was right. I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying to stiff my creditors or anything like that, because I knew I owed them. I also knew I had a lot of assets I could liquidate as well.
I don’t want it to seem in any way that I’m bragging about money, but I think it’s important to look back at the money I made in the NFL and what eventually happened to it.
I received an initial $3 million bonus upon signing my rookie contract with the Falcons. Four years later, I signed an eight-year extension on Christmas Eve that turned the revised contract into a ten-year, $130 million deal, making me the NFL’s highest-paid player.
It was a huge contract. I had earned more than $7 million before I got that deal. It was what I made off my first rookie contract.
This was extra money for me. It was money I wanted to put away to be safe. I wound up investing it, but if I could do it all over again, I would have taken that money and just put it in a bank.
Things happen for a reason, though. While my legal troubles took a toll, I still had a lot of money to pay off creditors and money that I had borrowed from banks. It would’ve been more than enough. I could’ve served my prison sentence and never filed bankruptcy—if I had just put the money in the bank like I had planned and not invested it.
I was only twenty-four at the time of the big contract, just six years out of high school. The money made me an easy target for family and friends looking for helpful handouts, and there was plenty to go around. In my heart, I wanted to help them, but I realize it became excessive.
You have to remember that we grew up with next to nothing. When I think about my past, my upbringing, living in public housing, and how hard my mom and dad worked to make ends meet, my main objective was to bless them as much as I could. I wanted to let them enjoy life. I wanted to let them have a chance to catch their breath.
Yes, I would say I did too much for too many people. I spoiled them. However, a lot of my friends did come to me with business ideas. They had a lot of bright ideas, but I just wasn’t mature and ready for them.
It was partly my fault, because I would much rather just give them money than let them go out and take the necessary steps to start a promising business venture on their own—mainly because it was going to cost more money to invest in the types of projects they wanted to do, including paying salaries. Plus, I was scared of them not succeeding.
Sometimes I look at my imprisonment and bankruptcy from a spiritual perspective. As I’ve said previously, I believe God wanted to lovingly but firmly get me on course for a more successful life. I think it was just God’s way of saying, “You’re doing it all wrong, son.”
It was like He was saying, “I love you too much to see you end your career and end up broke. I love you too much to have you go out in the wee hours of the night in one of these dogfights and get shot. I love you too much for you not to carry out My plan. There’s so much more for you down the road that you can’t see. You don’t know, but I know.”
My finances became so tight when I was in prison that I had to reach out to three former NFL teammates for loans. They knew the type of person I truly was, and they knew I was in a situation I had to bounce back from. It wasn’t like I was asking for $100,000 or anything like that. It was just enough to get by—enough to get me home and get me through the bankruptcy.
Not only did teammates help me financially, but they helped me emotionally as well.
Joe Horn, who previously played for Falcons’ rival New Orleans before joining Atlanta in 2007, called me frequently to offer encouragement and support. He was calling me every day during my case, saying, “I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you. I’ll support you. You can get through it.” And he helped me through.
My finances dwindled away in prison to the point that my debts were bigger than my assets. One major reason for this was the access I gave others to my investments and money while incarcerated.
I never spent all the money I had earned in my career. I admit that I spent a lot, but I had a lot. The amount that went out was nowhere near the amount that came in.
Much of my money was tied up in real estate, and I had asked my financial advisor at the time to sell it, but he would not liquidate the property because of the recessed market and because he had his own money tied up in it. I had more than $6.5 million invested in real estate. But he wouldn’t sell. It’s as though he never even cared about the fact I needed that money to help settle some financial issues.
When you’re in a situation where you need a helping hand and you need people to be there for you—people you can rely on and trust—the true person comes out. Those types of situations show you a different side of those around you, because you’re down and your back is against the wall, and you need them the most. You learn that sometimes people don’t care about you as much when you don’t have anything to offer. It wasn’t just my financial advisors. I also allowed family and friends access to my money, and their spending contributed to my demise too.
If you go out and mismanage your money and you place it in bad investments, but you do it yourself, then you only have yourself to blame when you take a loss. I’d rather not blame someone else for how they managed my money, because in reality, it was ultimately my responsibility.
Not everything was as bad as it looked, though.
There were some things that emerged in bankruptcy court filings that were very misleading, including a $1,000 check from me to my mother that had “chump change” written on the memo line. It’s not like it sounds. Our family did not take money for granted. My mom wrote that on the check, not me. (She would write checks, and I’d approve them or sign them.) She wasn’t trying to be arrogant or anything like that; it was just her way of being humorous. And she thought, Who else is going to see it? Nobody would have ever known if the documents had not been revealed in the bankruptcy case.
Based on the bankruptcy documents I had to file, there were also media reports saying I purchased a Mercedes Benz worth more than $90,000 on the day I turned myself in to prison. I did buy the car, but the timing of the purchase was reported incorrectly. It was totally false.
Why wou
ld I go buy a car the day I’m going to prison—one of the saddest days of my life? Material things don’t bring you joy, and that certainly wasn’t going to help my emotions at that time. I bought the Mercedes about three weeks earlier, downsizing from a 2007 Bentley Flying Spur that originally cost nearly twice as much ($160,000). I realize that may not seem like “downsizing,” especially with the way things were with the economy, but given my income, it was downsizing for me.
Looking back, it’s easy to see how someone could have inferred that my family and I were living and spending excessively. We didn’t try to hide it. In the fall of 2006, I appeared on the cover of Celebrity car magazine’s celebrity automobiles issue. In the article, I proudly proclaimed that I had the Flying Spur, a Bentley Coupe, a Benz, and a 2006 Navigator. I also pointed out that my mother had more cars than I did, including a Cadillac XLR convertible. Later on, after my legal troubles began, we needed to get rid of many of our assets. It was difficult, but I knew if I could play football again, I might be able to earn some of it back.
Having to get rid of assets was somewhat ironic because my mom was wanting to downsize her house anyway. These circumstances gave her the opportunity to do that and move into the house I was living in. Meanwhile, my son’s mom moved out of the house she was living in because she wanted to live closer to Mitez’s school. I also owned two boats—one in Miami and one in Virginia. I wasn’t going back to Miami anytime soon because I had sold my condo down there. So I got rid of the boats because I wasn’t going to use them. Those were my assets.
The whole process changed my ways and habits regarding cars especially. I used to drive them only a few months before trading them in, but then I gained some perspective on things, like the sales tax you have to pay on each car. Now, I am practicing greater moderation with cars and driving them much longer.