If you walked onto a certain street corner around midnight when Caron Butler was eleven years old, you would have caught him dealing crack to strung-out addicts, making more money in a night than most adults in his neighborhood make each week.
If you had tracked down Butler half his lifetime later, at twenty-two, you would have found him playing for the NBA’s Miami Heat as a rookie small forward. There, he was still making money, to be sure, but he was living a life that inspired his family, his friends, and strangers who marveled at his athletic prowess. What brought Butler from the streets of Racine, Wisconsin, to the heights of athletic stardom?
Butler’s remarkable autobiography, co-authored with Steve Springer, isn’t called Tuff Juice for nothing. During a stint with the Washington Wizards, coach Eddie Johnson gave Butler the name, and this book gives evidence that Johnson possessed keen insight. Butler’s story is not only about rags-to-riches. It is about the education of a young man under the most trying circumstances.
Butler’s mother gave birth to him when she was fifteen years old, and he subsequently grew up in his grandmother’s house around a large family. In one passage, he says that members of his family would sleep wherever they could find space in the evening, except his grandmother, who had her own room. One of the most amazing things about Butler’s story is the sheer perseverance of his mother and grandmother, who both worked two jobs to support the family.
Honest work wasn’t the universal norm in Racine. Butler grew up admiring his uncle Junebug, who raked in cash as a drug dealer. While still a child, Butler followed in his footsteps, packing some of Junebug’s crack into his red wagon and traversing the streets of Racine late into the night to ply his new trade. That trade led to violence, which led to incarceration at the age of 15.
When Butler was released, he found himself in a tough situation: should he fall back into drug dealing or forge a new path? Charting a new path by playing basketball was not as easy as it seems in retrospect. Butler still had to lie to old friends, avoid corrupt cops who wanted to incarcerate him again, and star in his only eligible year of high school basketball.
Butler’s story goes on to detail his time playing basketball at the University of Connecticut and in the NBA. But those are the less compelling parts of the story. What compels the reader are his reflections on the combination of such a trying youth, culminating in such stunning successes. Such a combination suggests that Butler, who showed a savvy business sense and ability to discipline himself for the sake of a goal (he sold but never used crack cocaine) at a young age, was capable as a boy of being either very bad or very good. The fact that Butler transitioned from the one to the other further illustrates his versatility. Butler’s own description demonstrates this: he admired Junebug and wanted to be like him that same way that a young man watching Michael Jordan wants to emulate His Airness.
Indeed, when we look at Butler’s basketball career, we find that it is versatility that has made him an excellent athlete. As a small forward, he has been expected to do a bit of everything. He’s capable of shooting from long-range, driving hard to the hoop, tearing down rebounds amongst the taller players, and running the court at a full-speed dribble. The longevity of his career is also a testament to this versatility. In thirteen years, he has performed the role of charismatic young scorer on the court and wise elder statesman in the locker room.
Butler’s account of his life points to the need both for strict discipline and for second chances. Correction of past wrongs can be merciful because it turns the vulnerable youth away from the evil into which he is dashing headlong. While many today doubt that this kind of authority should be exercised over children, it is also true that many did not see the streets of Butler’s youth in Racine, Wisconsin during the drug wars of the 1990’s. Where there is real turmoil, chances are that the most responsive young people will end up taking extreme, often violent, action. Wayward children need correction—something Caron Butler eventually received—but they also need to be restored the freedom to demonstrate that they can be more than what they were.
In Caron Butler’s case, he has demonstrated that on a national scale, to the benefit of himself, his family, and his country.