When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [119]
Magic, the rare superstar who actually liked to walk freely among his fans, noted subtle changes in the way he was treated. Suddenly, people weren't clamoring for autographs. Fans backed away when he passed by. Friends kept him at arm's length. Even his signature high-fives were an issue. People didn't want to touch him because they were terrified they'd get infected. For the first time in his life, nobody wanted a piece of the Magic Man.
"I'm a warm guy," Magic said. "I'm a hugger. I'm a person who wants to greet people, and when someone pulled away, it was difficult. I kept telling myself, 'You have to respect what they're feeling, because they don't know.' And for a while I could do that. But when my teammates shied away from me—and to be honest, most of them did—that got me a little down."
Elizabeth Glaser warned him that he would experience bouts of isolation. Her daughter was excluded from play dates and birthday parties because of her condition. Johnson nodded sympathetically when she shared those anecdotes, but he naively thought it would be different for him. He was Magic Johnson. He had difficulty believing people would avert their stare when he walked into a room or cross the road so they wouldn't get too close—until it happened.
"I know those kinds of things hurt him to the core," Scott said.
Lakers forward A. C. Green, a deeply Christian man, had always preached abstinence and warned his teammates that promiscuity was a sin. After Magic contracted HIV, Green told him he would pray for him. Green never chided Magic with "I told you so," but the Lakers star knew how he felt. Following Magic's diagnosis, A.C. was distant, aloof. Although he did not publicly condemn Johnson's choices, Green did urge him to include abstinence as part of his educational platform on HIV and AIDS.
"Even as I sit here, I don't have a problem with A.C.," Magic said. "He has a right to his opinions and his beliefs. He has lived his life a certain way, and I couldn't be mad at him when he said, 'See? This is what I'm talking about. You can't run around with all these women. Look what happened to Magic.'
"At least I knew where I stood with A.C. He never went behind my back. The so-called friends that did that to me were the ones that hurt me the most."
In the first months after his diagnosis, Earvin wondered what his teammates were thinking. James Worthy, who won three championships with Magic, was always a quiet man. He became even more withdrawn after Johnson's diagnosis. Initially Magic was devastated by his teammate's silence, but over time he came to understand that many people, Worthy among them, didn't know what to say—so they said nothing.
"James is a caring guy," Magic said. "But he kept his emotions in check. I'm sure he was sitting there thinking, 'What does this all mean?' It was tough for him to see me. I scared him."
Although most of Johnson's public appearances elicited tremendous support, it didn't fool him into believing the world was ready to embrace an HIV-positive icon. Each time a stranger—or a friend—backed away, it was another reminder of the stigma he carried. When he went to a comedy show, entertainer Damon Wayans performed a five-minute skit ridiculing Magic, HIV, and his lifestyle without knowing Johnson was in the audience.
The slights strengthened Johnson's resolve to shatter some of the stereotypes regarding infected people. Although most of his friends were queasy about discussing his illness and the AIDS epidemic in detail, Magic kept talking about it.
"When I was diagnosed with HIV, there was no such thing as an open conversation about AIDS," Magic said. "People didn't want to discuss things like that. So my mission was, 'Okay, let me see if I can change a few perceptions,' because I could see the look on people's faces when they met me. They're wondering, 'Can I shake his hand? I know I don't want to hug him.' Those people made me feel like I had a disease, and I was trying to get past that."