by Vin Baker
At first, I didn’t know what to say. Was he here simply for a cup of coffee? Had he heard about my new career through the local media, and decided to stop in and poke fun at my rather public demise (even though I was grateful for the work and didn’t mind sharing that news with everyone)? Was he here to resurrect an old beef? I didn’t know, but every possibility left me filled with dread and discomfort.
“Ummm . . . how are you?” I stammered. And then I said nothing, as nothing seemed appropriate.
“I’m good,” he said. “You?”
I smiled. “Couldn’t be better.”
He nodded, put out a hand for me to shake. There was a sense of peace about the man. I got him and his friend a couple of coffees, we said good-bye, and he walked out the door. As I watched him leave, I felt visibly shaken, so much so that I had to go into the back of the store for a few minutes to regain my composure. I’m not exactly sure why I felt this way. Was it relief? Gratitude? Shame? Some combination of the three, perhaps. I honestly don’t know.
By the fall of 2015, I was getting ready to run my own store. Starbucks is an innovative company that provides ample opportunities for employees to advance, but that advancement typically requires expertise acquired through years of on-the-job training. I was managing a store after roughly six months on the job. You don’t have to be a genius to connect the dots on that one.
I was lucky to have been given a second chance in life, lucky to have had a mentor like Howard Schultz, who did not give up on me even when so many others had. I tried to do the best that I could with the good fortune that came my way. If I did this job well, I could be a district manager, overseeing five to ten stores. After that, maybe regional manager, overseeing as many as a hundred stores. And from there, perhaps, a move into the corporate offices.
Anything was possible.
Life is hard, of course. But it can also be beautiful and full of hope and promise. At Starbucks I learned all over again how to embrace the hard work and sacrifice that makes it all worthwhile. If I woke up in the morning and went through my old video highlights and newspaper clippings, if I were to dwell on the past and the material things I once had, and the opportunities I squandered, I would likely have lost my mind. Instead, I viewed each day as a gift from God, an opportunity to serve him, and in doing so to take care of the people I love the most: my children and my wife. I took my work seriously. I took my responsibility seriously. I didn’t take myself too seriously. Painful as my journey had been, I was able to laugh about it—or at least some of it. I hoped that by sharing my story I could demonstrate to others that there is always hope for redemption.
Never quit.
Never give up.
Life will change—and sometimes for the better.
In the beginning, I would catch twenty, maybe twenty-five people a day making eye contact, giving me a long, hard look, as if to say, Oh, my gosh, is that him? Is that Vin Baker? On their faces, I’d see a mix of sadness and surprise. Most Starbucks stores depend on a regular and local clientele, so after a while I became just another guy working behind the counter, but every so often there were interactions that genuinely surprised me. One day a man walked right up to the counter and said, “What are you doing here? You should be on a basketball court somewhere!”
“Thank you very much, but those days are over,” I said with a smile. “I’m happy to be here.”
For every person who expressed pity or condescension, there were fifty who offered something else . . . something much more meaningful. Like the gentleman who came into the store and, after introducing himself and shaking my hand, proceeded to tell me about his daughter.
“She’s going through a hard time,” he said. “She has some issues.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He nodded. “Thank you, but yesterday morning I showed her that story in the Providence Journal about you. I handed her the paper and said, ‘Read this, hon. It might help.’”
There’s a great deal of work and responsibility involved in running even a small restaurant or coffee shop. One morning, for example, I was at the store at four thirty, preparing for a five o’clock opening. Twelve hours later I trudged home, so tired I could barely stand up or keep my eyes open. Days like that were not unusual, but I didn’t mind. I was happy that Howard trusted me with the keys to one of his stores. I was proud to lead a small team of employees. It took me only a few weeks as a manager to have a new and greater understanding of what it means to be a coach. Managing a Starbucks is not so different from coaching a basketball team. You have to motivate and teach the people who work for you. It’s not a “bossy” job—or at least it’s not in the way that I did it. I tried to treat people the way I would like to be treated: with dignity and respect, and with an appreciation for the work that is being done. We were all on the same team, after all. I remember the coaches I admired, and I tried to channel the characteristics I saw in them. It’s not my nature to be a screamer, anyway, but I think you accomplish more by urging people to work with you, rather than for you.
After I’d been at Starbucks for a few months, I attended a regional meeting for store managers. There was a lot of talk about teamwork and strategy, and I was struck by how much of it resonated for me, and how it reminded me of being part of an athletic franchise. There was the same blend of hardheadedness and innovation.
“Everyone knows you can’t pair a ten-year veteran with someone who’s only been on the floor for one month,” someone said at one point. “It just doesn’t work. Too much frustration.”
I was still new to the company at the time, and thus reluctant to speak up in these types of settings. And yet, this comment struck me as being not only representative of narrow-mindedness, but also right in my wheelhouse. I told everyone about my experience with being traded from the Milwaukee Bucks to the Seattle SuperSonics, and what I learned from that experience.
“If there is a culture of winning within an organization,” I said, “it can spread to everyone involved, regardless of their experience. You can’t be afraid of pairing young people with older people, or putting people together who have very different amounts of experience. It doesn’t matter. When I got to Seattle, there was a culture of winning. There were certain things my teammates did that were representative of a winning team. Simply by being around them, and watching them, I became a winner, too. And by adding some new players to the mix, the team stayed fresh and vital and hungry.”
I paused, a bit for dramatic effect, but also because I wanted to phrase things carefully.
“That’s the way it works in an organization that has a culture of winning, and I think we all can agree that Starbucks is used to winning.”
I meant every word of this. I was legitimately happy to be there before the sun came up; I was thrilled to be opening a Starbucks at an hour of the day that I used to consider the shank of the evening. Just to be able to walk into a store in the quiet of the predawn hours, sober and clearheaded, was like a small miracle for me. It certainly represented a life on the upswing.
That’s the point: I didn’t fall to the level of Starbucks. I was lifted to the level of Starbucks!
My life had been turned around, primarily due to the grace of God, but also because of an opportunity from a man named Howard Schultz. I had no problem doing my best to embody the image he wanted for his company. You want a smile with your morning coffee? You got it from me, and it was the most sincere and earnest smile you’d see all day.
Coincidentally, the NBA slowly began reopening its doors to me around the same time I began working at Starbucks. Just a crack at first—but then, an opening is what you make of it, right?
I did a couple of alumni events for the New York Knicks. Then, in the summer of 2015, I took the family to Las Vegas for a week’s vacation while I helped out with the Milwaukee Bucks’ entry in the NBA summer league. It was an opportunity to work with players, do a little coaching, get introduced to NBA life from a different perspective. That led to an offer
a couple of months later to join the team during rookie camp in what amounted to an internship in player development and coaching. When rookie camp ended, there was no job for me, but the team then decided to extend a tryout as a broadcaster. This seemed a strange opportunity, as I had no background whatsoever in that field, but I guess they saw something in me that hinted at potential. I gave that one my best shot as well—again, with absolutely no expectation that it would lead anywhere. And it didn’t. The tryout basically amounted to doing color commentary on taped broadcasts of NBA games, and let me tell you something: it’s much harder than it looks (or sounds).
So, I was 0-for-2 in trying to land full-time employment with one of my old employers, which didn’t really bother me, because I was perfectly content to keep working diligently at Starbucks in the hope of one day getting my own store to manage. As training camp was about to open, I got another call from the Bucks. Jason Kidd, the head coach and a good friend of mine, wanted me to fly to Milwaukee and work with the team in some sort of player development capacity. The duration of my stay was open ended. First, I had to work with Starbucks to secure another week of vacation, which the company graciously accommodated. Then I had to do some serious soul-searching. I was committed to Starbucks and Howard, but if there was a legitimate chance to catch on with an NBA team . . . well, that was like a dream come true, a second chance to spend my life around the game I loved.
I spent a week in Milwaukee, at the end of which Jason invited me to stay for an entire month—basically the duration of the training camp. There would be no financial compensation, and no guarantee of a full-time position when the regular season began. In order to accept this offer I would have had to resign from Starbucks, which on the surface seemed crazy. I was on the management fast track, and I owed something to my friend and mentor. To walk away from that based on the possibility—a possibility not even discussed in concrete terms—of a full-time position with the Bucks just felt irresponsible. It felt wrong.
I think the Bucks saw the benefit in having a former franchise star back in the fold, especially one whose horrific story apparently had a happy ending. I think they felt I had something to offer the young men on their team, not just from a technical standpoint (working with big men), but from the standpoint of a cautionary tale. I had once been a young man with more money than I could handle and an addiction problem that eventually siphoned off every penny and nearly cost me my life. There is no shortage of young millionaires in the NBA, kids who just a year or two earlier were in high school, and for whom drinking and smoking weed feels as normal as can be. Maybe they would listen to someone like me.
I appreciated the Bucks’ giving me an opportunity. At the same time, however, I thought a monthlong tryout, without pay, was a bit excessive. I mean, I know where they were coming from. I think they wanted to see me every day, at work, clear eyed and energetic and committed to the job. In other words, they wanted to see me sober, and to gauge whether there had been any long-term damage. I wasn’t offended. My record of self-destruction speaks for itself, and I was in no position to negotiate the terms of my NBA comeback. If someone wanted to give me a chance, I would either do what was asked, without complaint, or I would say, thank you very much, but I have to decline.
I explained to Jason and the front office that as flattering as it was to be considered for any sort of long-term opportunity, I couldn’t at this point afford to take that big a risk. Practically speaking, I couldn’t afford to go four weeks without a paycheck. I wasn’t going to do that to my wife and kids. I had worked too hard to establish credibility and trust with them, and I loved them too much to jump off a ledge without a safety net. It seemed selfish and unfair.
Jason was great about the whole thing. He even hosted a little dinner for all the coaches on the day I was leaving, and wished me well and said he hoped we might work together again someday. We were in Madison, Wisconsin, at the time, and in the hotel lobby were posters of the players and coaching staff. My face was on one of the posters! I suppose you could argue that the Bucks really were thinking of me as a long-term prospect. It certainly felt that way to me when I walked through the lobby every morning.
Man. They’re really making me a part of this.
But I had no contract. I had no guarantee.
So I went home. The day after I left Madison I was back behind the counter at Starbucks, working twelve-hour days, sunup to sundown. I didn’t regret the decision one bit. That first night home I kissed my wife and kids, had dinner with my family, and collapsed into bed.
I fell asleep quickly and deeply, the way you do when you’re at peace.
Epilogue
Everything happens for a reason.
I truly believe that, and I think about it now, standing in the corner of a high school gym, watching my son Vin Jr. drain a deep three-pointer, his form better than the old man’s ever was. He’s only seventeen years old but already six foot six, with the skinny, loose-limbed frame of a kid who still has some growing to do, so it’s not surprising that he’s attracting the eye of college coaches. I’m proud of him, of course, of the way he plays with such poise and composure—but mainly I’m proud of the fact that he is doing everything the right way. He’s an honors student who steers clear of trouble, and of the behavior that inevitably leads to poor decisions and regret. I don’t harp on this stuff. I don’t have to, because I am a living, breathing example of everything that can go right . . . and how quickly it can all go wrong.
Before every game, Vin Jr. joins me in the stands for a few minutes to go over strategy. We talk about the opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, and about focusing on certain aspects of his game that help him stand out. It’s pretty simple stuff, and it always ends with me giving him a hug and saying these words: “You may or may not be the best player in the gym tonight, son, but you’re the best player to me. I love you. Have fun.”
I love basketball, and I love watching my kids play basketball, but it’s not about the game, and it’s not about whether they win or lose, or how many points they score. For me, the blessing simply is to be a part of it; it’s walking into the gym sober and clearheaded. That’s what matters. I don’t have any other expectations. I know Vin Jr. has big plans, and sometimes I worry that he puts too much pressure on himself. I know it can’t be easy to carry my name—there is the burden of expectation to perform well on the court, and there is perhaps doubt based on the spectacular nature of my fall. Vin Jr. handles all of this with a quiet dignity that I admire enormously. But I remind him and my other children often that I am happy just to be with them, and to be sharing in their journey. Every time I walk into a gym and see Vin or Kameron in a layup line I feel like I am in heaven already. After all, there were many years during which I didn’t have that opportunity.
I don’t waste time or energy fretting about what might have been, or what could have been. There are times I wish I hadn’t blown all my money, of course, simply because I’d like to be able to do more for the people I love. But I don’t lose sleep over it.
Money doesn’t solve every problem. I was never sicker than when I was fabulously wealthy. Similarly, look at someone like Lamar Odom. Here’s a kid with millions of dollars, with fame and talent and a beautiful spirit. A genuinely nice guy. But look where he wound up: comatose, stoned out of his mind, in the bedroom of a desert whorehouse. When I heard that news I was saddened beyond words. How lonely and depressed do you have to be to go out like that? Vegas isn’t dark and depraved enough? You have to drive deep into the desert night, to a place called the Love Ranch, in order to meet your basest needs? I can imagine the pain in Lamar’s heart, because, as they say . . .
There but for the Grace of God go I . . .
A lot of people who hear my story just don’t understand. I’m not bitter. I am happy. I am filled with gratitude. I feel like I got a second chance in life, and no amount of money could have bought that. There are people who have incredible monetary wealth who still trudge through each day in a
fog of delusion or depression. They didn’t have the revelation that I had: that life isn’t about material possessions. The Bible says it, and I know it to be true. I know this in my spirit: “What profits a man if he gains the whole world but loses his own soul?”
When I lost everything, it was like, I gotta get my soul back. There’s nothing else. So I really believe that going broke was a blessing. Not a blessing in disguise, but an outright blessing. Losing all my money absolutely allowed me to stay alive. There is no question about it. I’ve told people that if I had $10 million in the bank when I was drinking myself to death, I can’t promise that I would be here now. When the money dried up, I hit bottom, and I had to hit bottom in order to get better. I know what matters now: family, spirituality, health, kindness. It’s a simpler life that I lead now, and I can say unequivocally that it is also a better life. A life that revolves around my church and my ministry, and the people I love.
It’s taken a long time to rebuild my life and my reputation—years of concerted energy and effort (because talk is easy and empty; deeds matter). When word got out that I was working at Starbucks, there was a squall of publicity. I think a lot of people wondered what had become of me. It was almost like I had come back from the dead. The news that a former NBA all-star was working behind the counter at a coffee shop at first elicited sadness and pity . . . but then something else entirely. Approval, perhaps, or even . . . admiration. We all want to believe that we can overcome adversity, that there is the potential for redemption. Me? I was just trying to do a job to the best of my ability, and to be worthy of the opportunity that had been presented to me. But I noticed in the months after I began working for Starbucks that other doors began to open, doors that had been closed for a very long time. There were opportunities to speak with youth groups, and with men’s groups, about issues ranging from substance abuse to leadership to the importance of fatherhood and what that word means in today’s culture.