The Coach Who Cut Young Michael Jordan Sends Him a Letter—Jordan’s Response Is Unforgettable

The Coach Who Cut Young Michael Jordan: A Story of Growth and Redemption

On an ordinary Tuesday, a simple white envelope arrived on Michael Jordan’s desk, nestled among fan mail and business proposals. The return address made his heart skip a beat: Clifton Pop Herring, Laney High School, Wilmington, North Carolina. For decades, Jordan had credited being cut from his high school varsity team as the spark that ignited his legendary competitive fire. Now, after all these years, the coach who made that fateful decision had reached out. What could he possibly have to say?

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Michael leaned back in his chair, gazing at the Chicago skyline. At 58, he still carried himself with the confidence that had made him a legend. His assistant, Teresa, placed the envelope on his desk. “Thanks, Teresa,” he replied, barely glancing at it. But when he saw the return address, he froze. The name transported him back 43 years to the moment he was cut from the varsity team as a sophomore.

With trembling fingers, he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was shaky but legible.

“Dear Michael,

You might be surprised to hear from me after all these years. I’m having one of my good days, and my friend Marcus is helping me write this letter. I’ve watched your whole career from that small TV in my room—six championships, five MVPs. I tell everyone I once coached Michael Jordan, though not many believe me anymore.

I’m writing because there’s something I need to say. I never cut you because you weren’t good enough. We had 15 spots on varsity, and we already had seniors who played your position. I put you on JV so you could play every minute and develop your skills. I saw something special in you. Watching what that decision did for you—how it lit a fire that turned you into the greatest ever—maybe it all worked out as it was supposed to.

I’ve been proud of you every step of the way. I don’t want anything from you. I just wanted you to know the truth while I still can share it. You didn’t need to prove anything to me; I already knew what you would become.

Sincerely, Coach Clifton Pop Herring.”

At the bottom was a postscript: “P.S. I’m Marcus Washington, Coach Herring’s former student and caretaker. He wanted to write this letter himself. If you wish to respond, please use the address above.”

Michael set the letter down, his mind racing. For decades, the story of being cut had defined him. “I’ve failed over and over again in my life, and that is why I succeed,” he had famously said. What if that narrative had been built on a misunderstanding? He stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the city where he had become a legend.

He thought about Pop Herring, the man he had resented for years. He remembered him as a confident coach, not the struggling man described in news articles. Michael picked up a framed photo of his father, James Jordan, who had always been his biggest supporter. “What would you say about this, Dad?” he whispered.

Michael returned to his desk and read the letter again. The words blurred as unexpected emotion welled up in his eyes. He pressed the intercom button. “Teresa, cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. All of them. And find me the contact information for the Michael Jordan Foundation. I need to make some arrangements.”

The competitive fire that had defined his life had been built on a story he had told himself for decades—that he wasn’t good enough, that he had been rejected. Now, a frail man had reached out to tell him a different truth. The question that burned in Michael’s mind was how he would respond to Herring’s letter.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to Wilmington, North Carolina, 1978. Memories flooded back—his modest house, the basketball hoop his father had installed, and the countless hours spent practicing. Michael had always been determined, and when he was cut from the varsity team, he turned that disappointment into motivation. He wrote down his goals and worked tirelessly to improve.

As the years passed, Michael transformed from a skinny sophomore into a basketball legend. He dominated junior varsity, earned a scholarship to the University of North Carolina, and eventually became the greatest player in NBA history. Yet, the story of being cut remained a central part of his narrative.

Now, with Herring’s letter in hand, Michael felt compelled to acknowledge the more complex truth. He decided to respond, not just to set the record straight but to honor the coach who had played a pivotal role in his development.

Days later, Michael arrived in Wilmington, dressed casually and without an entourage. He visited Laney High School, where he had once dreamed of making the varsity team. Then, he headed to the assisted living facility where Coach Herring resided.

When he entered Herring’s room, the former coach’s eyes brightened with recognition as Michael approached. “Michael Jordan,” Herring said, his voice stronger than expected. “You got tall, son.”

Michael smiled, taking a seat across from him. “Hello, Coach Herring. It’s been a long time. I got your letter.”

Herring nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I wanted to reach out while I could. I never cut you, you know. I put you on JV so you could develop.”

Michael listened intently as Herring spoke about his decision, how he had watched Michael grow and how proud he had been of his development. The conversation flowed, sometimes halting as Herring’s thoughts wandered, but there were moments of remarkable clarity.

“I brought you something,” Michael said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a custom-made Air Jordan shoe, scaled down to the size of a trophy. On the heel, where his Jumpman logo would normally appear, an inscription read, “Thanks, Coach.”

Herring held the miniature shoe in his trembling hands, genuinely surprised. “For me?”

“Yes, and I’ve set up a fund through my foundation to ensure you have whatever medical care you need. Marcus will help coordinate everything.”

Tears filled Herring’s eyes as he nodded. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” Michael replied.

As their visit concluded, Herring looked directly at Michael and asked, “Did that decision help you in the end?”

Michael considered the question carefully. “Yes, though I didn’t see it that way at the time. It gave me something to prove. It made me work harder than I might have otherwise.”

Herring smiled, satisfied. “That’s all a coach ever wants—to help a player become their best, even if they don’t understand the path at the time.”

Outside, as Michael walked toward the exit with Marcus, he reflected on the visit. “He might not remember this tomorrow,” Marcus said quietly.

“I know,” Michael replied. “But I’ll remember it.”

Before leaving Wilmington, Michael made one final stop at the office of the Michael Jordan Foundation. There, he met with local directors to formalize the arrangement for Herring’s care and to discuss a new initiative. “I want to tell the full story,” he explained. “Not just the simplified version we’ve been telling for years. The real story about development, coaching decisions, and how what feels like rejection can actually be the right path forward.”

Two weeks later, at a rededication ceremony for his statue outside Chicago’s United Center, Michael stood at a podium before a crowd of basketball dignitaries, former teammates, and media. In a wheelchair, dressed in a suit, was Clifton Pop Herring.

“Many of you have heard the story about me being cut from my high school basketball team,” Michael began. “It’s been part of my story and my motivation for decades. But today, I want to share a more complete truth.”

As cameras flashed and reporters leaned forward, Michael revised a central narrative of his legendary career, giving credit to the high school coach whose developmental decision had helped create the greatest basketball player of all time.

“Sometimes what feels like our greatest disappointment becomes our greatest motivation,” he concluded, looking directly at Coach Herring. “And sometimes the people we think are standing in our way are actually showing us the path forward.”

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In that moment, two men found peace with a story that had defined them both in ways they could never have imagined on that October morning in Wilmington so many years ago.