BAD

NEWS
The Rise and Fall of Marvin

Barnes,

Pro Basketball’s Original

Rebel

By Mike Carey
 PROLOGUE
When Providence College officials announced that Marvin Barnes’ No.

24 basketball jersey was going to be retired on March 7, 2008, the 1974 All-

American power forward told them he had the perfect person to handle the

introduction speech at the banquet ceremony. Marvin wanted Allan Baker, his

old teammate and roommate, to do the honors because the two of them

shared a hell of a lot more than just great memories of their four years as

Friars. Baker, who passed away after battling cancer in 2010, was a

recovering drug addict, just like Barnes.

A senior vice president at ING, a multibillion-dollar financial institution,

and a member of PC’s Board of Trustees, Baker, at age 52, was fired from

both positions in 2004 when he became hooked on cocaine and was caught

red-handed making a buy in a Hartford, Connecticut, suburb. By day, he had

been a wealthy corporate honcho known for being a church-going family man

and a community leader. By night, he had been “Big Al with the Mercedes” or

“Uncle Al,” code names given to him by his street dealer. Baker had thought

he was too smart, too mentally strong to let the white powder become the
focus of his life. It took a lot of tears, pain, and humiliation before he realized

he was no match for the power of drugs.

The media had a field day after Baker was indicted by a federal grand

jury. On TV, his secret life and all his legal problems were the top stories on

the 11 o’clock news. “Ex-PC Cager Faces Trial on Drug Charges” was the

huge headline in the Providence Journal. “Another Side of a Go-To Guy” was

the title of a front-page article in the Hartford Courant.

Even though Baker had been drug-free for more than three years, PC

officials were hardly thrilled that Barnes had decided to have him speak at

the school event. In fact, Marvin’s college coach, Hall of Famer Dave Gavitt,

did his best to talk him out of it. “It’s your decision, but I think you’re making

a bad choice,” Gavitt told Marvin. “The alumni are going to say, ‘That’s just

great. PC’s got one addict introducing another addict.’ As far as I‘m

concerned, it’s a bad move.” But Barnes wouldn’t budge. He demanded that

Baker deliver the speech because Allan, more than anyone, was qualified to

discuss Marvin’s triumphs and failures. End of story.

So when Baker walked across the stage to the podium, no one in the

audience was quite sure what to expect. Most believed he would play it safe,

running down the list of Barnes’ basketball records at PC and reminiscing

about the Friars’ ‘73 Final Four season before calling up Marvin to the

microphone. Instead, Baker surprised everyone by talking about “The Race”,

a poem which dealt with winning and losing in life. The final three verses

read as follows:
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs; he slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace,
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
With a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”

So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.

“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast.”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten…
But trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
I’ve lost so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
For all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.

Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.

Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
Head high and proud and happy---no falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
The crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said, “you rose each time you fell.”

As soon as Baker finished his moving address, Barnes leaned over to

another Friar great, Ernie DiGregorio, and said, “Damn, that’s me. I’m that

little kid. And I’m still running the race, baby.” Allan had made his point---

loud and clear---for both himself and Marvin.

---------

Using Barnes’ struggles as an example, this book delivers one message

about life’s journey: it’s never too late to make the right choices, no matter

how many wrong ones you’ve made in the past. The bottom line is you’re
only a loser when you quit on yourself, when you consciously make the

decision to throw in the towel.

In an interview, Barnes talked about his drug habit. “Up front, I’m

telling you I was an addict for nearly 30 years. I know from experience that

once you get hooked, you fight demons until the day you die,” he said. “It’s

like you can hear them calling out your name, trying to get your attention so

they can sucker you into their trap and destroy you, body and soul. Like (Hall

of Fame center) Bill Walton told me, “With your disease, you can never say, ‘I

won the war.’ You just have to be strong, ready to stand up and fight a new

battle every day of your life.”

Because of drug use, Marvin spent six and a half years of his life locked

up in jails or prisons. Because of addiction, he lived in the streets for more

than two years. He was starving, broke, and suicidal at times. By his own

account, Barnes was a pathetic lost soul who lived in shelters, abandoned

cars, alleys littered with garbage, and rat-infested boarded-up buildings. “I

know this much: Every time you begin to lose hope, that’s when those

demons come at you full blast,” he says. “It’s like they sense you’re ripe for

the taking. Take it from an expert: you have to use every bit of your

willpower to fight off all the negative forces until they give up and vanish

from your mind. That’s how you survive and recover.”

It’s been 26 years since Barnes first checked himself into a rehab

facility, trying to conquer his dependency on cocaine. But, time and time

again, he slipped, allowing the demons to defeat him. Today, though, Marvin
is straight and sober, hoping to make a positive impact on society. “I know I

can help people who are desperate, lonely, and completely lost because I’ve

walked in their shoes,” he says. “No doubt there’re people who are going to

make jokes about my chances of staying clean. Considering my track record,

they have every right to say whatever the hell they want. I’m out to prove

them all wrong.”

Chapter One
The Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at the Salvation Army building in

Framingham, Massachusetts, had just been adjourned. Approximately 40

participants began to break off into small informal groups to discuss their

personal successes and failures, as well as their daily experiences. A few

were dressed in business attire, but most wore ill-fitting, tattered work

clothes, along with worn-out sneakers or scuffed and dirty work boots.

Despite the participants’ diverse backgrounds, educational levels, and

financial status, they all shared one thing: the daily struggle to conquer their

addictions. Sitting in a wooden folding chair, a lone black man in his fifties

kept his head down. He was deep in thought, taking stock of his life.

Following a few minutes of meditation, the bald giant of a man with gray

whiskers randomly sprouting from his face put his hands on top of the chair

in front of him and pushed off, barely in able to stand up on his gimpy knees.

After adjusting his frayed Red Sox cap, the weary-looking man limped

noticeably as he took his first few steps towards a coffee machine.

 Across the room, a Hispanic man stared intently at the towering figure

who had introduced himself only as “Marvin” during the meeting. Then, after

a few seconds, he shouted for everyone to hear. “I knew it,” he yelled,

pointing and waving his arms frantically. “It’s Marvin ‘Bad News’ Barnes, the

best basketball player to ever come out of New England….Providence

College….All-American…ABA Rookie of the Year….the greatest scorer and

rebounder---bar none--- I’ve ever seen.”

Everyone in the room paused to take a long look at the solitary figure

with the paunchy belly as he filled his Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup. When the

man made eye contact with the group of curious onlookers, he smiled out of

embarrassment and waved his right hand for a second or two. Then he

quietly slipped out the back door which led to a parking lot littered with

shattered glass from broken liquor bottles.

Walking down the street with his friend, Big Mike, Barnes grinned and

then said, “Well, so much for the Anonymous part of AA. I knew I’d

eventually be recognized, but I didn’t expect some guy I’d never met to be

trippin’. I was waiting for him to go get a camera so someone could take a

picture of him standing next to me. You can be damn sure that’ll happen at

the next meeting. I bet the guy will have his autograph book, too. But, hey,

at least I’m still remembered.”

It had been more than 25 years since “Marvelous Marvin,” as he was

once dubbed, played his last competitive basketball game. His descent into

drug addiction, his involvement in drug trafficking, the hard time he served
in prison, and the lonely, desperate months-turned-into- years he had spent

attempting to survive alone on the streets had kept Barnes’ name in the

headlines for all the wrong reasons.

By his own admission, the 6-9 ex-athlete should have been dead years

ago, having abused his body his entire adult life. Twenty-two times he had

entered rehab, attempting to get clean and sober; twenty-one times he had

failed.

An undeniable truth is Barnes was, indeed, one of basketball’s greatest

all-around talents when he entered the pros in 1974 after a spectacular

career at PC where he led the Friars to a Final Four appearance in the NCAA

Tournament and broke every school rebounding record, marks which still

stand today. He could play all three frontcourt positions, run faster than most

guards, effortlessly score 30 or more points against players known for their

defensive skills, outrebound All-League centers, and block shots with flawless

timing and downright scary quickness.