Remembering David Stern

This is not a tribute to the late David Stern by someone who maintained a long, close relationship with him. It’s not a story that begins with him meeting me and proclaiming “this young woman exudes Leadership Potential and Overall Potential.”

This post is about chance and gratitude.

When I applied for a job with the NBA at twenty-three years old, I didn’t do so as a basketball fan or aspiring sports business executive. Instead I was seeking a new opportunity that offered the right combination of growth potential and stability. The former was for ambitious young me; the latter was inspired by my parents who couldn’t fathom that I would leave my entry level job at People Magazine after just two years. Keep in mind that Mom and Dad measured their tenure in their respective jobs in decades so our perspectives were different. I thought I was going to set the world on fire and found the lack of advancement opportunities at People depressing.

While interviewing for the job in the NBA’s Consumer Products Group, I nervously but clearly let my prospective managers (Joanne Masso and Stacey Barnes, plus their VP Donna Goldsmith) that I wasn’t the perfect candidate for the job if sports knowledge were considered key. I wanted the job, but was concerned about the potential to find myself in over my head—that happened eventually but not due to my lack of basketball IQ! Fortunately for me, the trio conveyed that a hunger to learn the licensing business and to excel in it was more important than anything else.

There were ups and downs. Figuring out royalty accounting, making projections and tracking down receivables (including during a lockout) regularly made me feel inept. I questioned if I belonged in this job, this company, this industry. But I learned, and I grew. I was promoted. And periodically I had exposure to executives including Commissioner Stern.

Several years ago I told my friend Adrian Wojnarowski this anecdote about an encounter I had with Stern and I’m honored that he included it in his piece about Stern’s death.

Stern had a penchant to lord over the NBA as though it were a mom-and-pop shop in his native Teaneck, New Jersey. In the late 1990s, Jennifer Keene was riding down to the lobby of Olympic Tower. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and there appeared Stern. Just the commissioner and a 24-year-old licensing assistant in the old consumer products group. Her responsibilities included the Spalding ball account.

“At the time, there were big problems with the original orange and oatmeal WNBA game ball, and he wanted them off the shelves ASAP,” Keene said. She knew part of his thinking from her superiors, but never imagined Stern had even a remote awareness of her existence.

Without so much as a hello, the NBA commissioner turned to a young Keene and blurted: “How many balls are left on the shelves? Modells? Sports Authority?”

Stern might not have known my name but he knew exactly what I worked on.

I was intimidated by the Commissioner but not too intimidated to ask him for a photo at the 1997 NBA employee summer party. Incidentally, this was the same summer party when a boat crashed into Chelsea Piers.

It took years for me to fully appreciate the value of my four years at the NBA. In retrospect, I marvel at the education I received there, much like a second bachelor’s degree. Through quarterly global licensing calls at odd hours, I didn’t just connect with counterparts in Europe, Asia and Australia; I also learned about challenges to glowing basketball’s audience such as the fact that NBA games were carried on expensive cable stations in one market, or in hour-long edited games in another.

Truly the NBA is an extraordinary brand and I was so fortunate to play some small part. I will always be grateful for the people I met and the bonds we formed. David Stern built teams of remarkable individuals, many of whom became lifelong friends.

After I left the NBA in 2001, I only saw Commissioner Stern periodically and in passing. During each encounter, I wavered between wanting to try to reconnect with him a la “remember me?” and playing it cool. I should have had more faith in him—David Stern knew all. Now I just wish I said thank you.