Allow me to be emotional for a second, because I want to eulogize the fallen. For 600 words, please excuse the lack of movie references, bad jokes and made-up theories, because I would like to talk about Abe Pollin.
I've never been a Wizards fan, even though I've lived in the D.C. area since I was five. I never found myself living and dying by blue and gold. Regardless of my less-than-stellar dedication to the Beltway's only NBA franchise, I have always been an Abe Pollin fan.
Pollin, 85, was the anti-Grinch, a man with such a kind heart that he made the Easter Bunny look like Hitler. He passed away on Nov. 24 of corticobasal degeneration, a rare brain disease, leaving behind a laundry list of philanthropic deeds largely ignored in an age of owners both of dubious quality (see: Cuban, Mark) and sheer ineptitude (see: Angelos, Peter).
For starters, he completely rejuvenated an entire section of downtown Washington D.C., part of the metropolitan area once ravaged by abandoned buildings, vacant lots, drug use and prostitution. To remedy this, Pollin built the Verizon Center — then the MCI Center — in 1997, spending $200 million of the $260 million out of his own pocket. Contrast that with the recent construction of Nationals Park in Anacostia, for which a large portion of the finances are coming from taxpayers' money in one of the poorest areas of the city.
The building of the Verizon Center set off a huge explosion in new spaces for arts groups, including my father's former company, Woolly Mammoth Theater. Thanks in part to Pollin, the company now pays $1 in rent per year for a 30-year lease as a sweetheart deal. While it wasn't Pollin who did this directly, it wouldn't have happened without him reinvigorating that swath of previously decrepit land.
But Pollin's benevolence extended far beyond the public's eye. Journalist Tony Kornheiser, of Pardon the Interruption and Monday Night Football fame, has a widely publicized fear of flying, which most notably caused him to leave the latter program earlier this year. Out of the goodness of his heart, Pollin discovered a course to cure people of aviphobia and subsequently bought Kornheiser a ticket into the program just to see him get over his fear.
Since 2002, the Abe Pollin Award has been given annually to those who exhibit selfless dedication to the D.C. community, much like Pollin did for decades. An Abe Pollin Way exists on F Street and Dec. 3 is officially "Abe Pollin Day" in Washington.
For all the good he did, it's a shame that he will largely be remembered for a spat with basketball's greatest player. Michael Jordan, who attempted a comeback on the hardwood and then in the front office with the Wizards, simply did not get along with Pollin. In firing Jordan in 2003, Pollin foresaw what we all now know thanks to the former's Hall of Fame speech: that Jordan was a divisive force and frequently alienated those around him.
But what should Pollin be known for? How about the time he became an honorary chairman for UNICEF after reading an article in 1984 that said 40,000 children in Africa die daily from malnutrition? Or how about the time he changed Washington's name from the Bullets to the Wizards because he didn't want a moniker that was so violent? Especially in the nation's capital, where the violence rate against young people with firearms was so high, Pollin felt that keeping the name Bullets would be irresponsible.
After Pollin (pronounced like the thing you do when voting, not like the allergy-causing agent) passed away, the world almost immediately forgot him a day later.
But in the hearts of those he altruistically helped in Washington D.C., his legacy will live on forever.
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Alex Prewitt is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Alexander.Prewitt@tufts.edu.
