Rozner: For all his faults, Bulls' Jerry Krause was a talent
For most of 1998, I would regularly have lunch with Jerry Krause.
It was always at the same deli and any suggestion of a different venue was met with a scoff or a grunt.
The items he ordered were identical each time.
The meals were often uncomfortable, as the Chicago Bulls GM was an uncomfortable person, but he was eternally sincere in his beliefs, frequently entertaining, self-effacing and funny — sometimes unintentionally.
It was during the misery of 1997-98, the final season of the second three-peat when everyone in and around the Bulls' organization could not have been more unhappy, when they should have been celebrating a dynasty.
One particular day he told the story of Brian Williams, later knows as Bison Dele. There had been a playoff-share controversy the previous June, and of course Krause was skewered in the process.
The Bulls could only give Williams the minimum salary, prorated for the final few games of the regular season, considerably less than offered by — among others — Utah, the team the Bulls would defeat in the 1997 NBA Finals.
The chief selling point was the chance to play with the greatest player of all time and secure a ring. Getting creative, Krause said he would ask Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen if they would consider voting Williams two full playoff shares, which could amount to another $250,000.
Krause could only ask. It wasn't his cash to give away.
The players said they would contemplate after they saw how Williams performed. Williams said that was enough for him. He signed, helped the Bulls win a title and the night they defeated the Jazz for championship No. 5, Williams said he was so happy that one playoff share was enough.
But he called Krause 48 hours later and said he wanted the second share. Steve Kerr explained that the shares vote would take place on the bus ride to Grant Park.
Williams was given one share. They thought it a generous portion since he had played only nine games before the postseason.
It was then reported that Krause promised him two. When the GM said he didn't — and couldn't — make that promise, Pippen publicly called him a liar and added that Krause never spoke to the players about it.
Williams then ripped Krause, who swore on his father's grave that he asked the two superstars about Williams' playoff shares before he was signed.
Phil Jackson, who was making $6 million but never missed a chance to crush the GM, helped matters by adding, “Quite frankly, I'm concerned about the shape of Jerry's father's grave.”
Jordan later admitted to Jerry Reinsdorf that Krause did meet with them before Williams signed, and Kerr also confirmed the details.
But Jordan didn't say a word publicly. He wasn't about to openly disagree with Jackson or Pippen, and didn't give a spit that Krause was left to get pummeled by Williams and the media.
This was the daily Bulls existence for Krause, who died Thursday at the age of 77, having battled myriad health issues for much of his life.
He was a complicated character.
Krause nearly died shortly after birth, as did two siblings, the son of depression-era parents who fought to give their son a decent life.
He was short, overweight, sloppy, nonathletic and Jewish in a sports world that did not buy into his looks or his personality.
He was teased or bullied about all of the above for essentially all of his life, frequently to his face and just as often behind his back.
He was insecure and did not work and play well with others, perhaps a function of how he had been treated as a child, or maybe it's just who he was.
Krause was always in need of praise and credit, rarely sharing it with others around him.
He seemed lonely even while surrounded and happiest when he was away from the team and out on the road scouting.
Krause inherited Michael Jordan, but he also discovered Scottie Pippen and drafted the likes of Horace Grant, Toni Kukoc, Charles Oakley, Elton Brand, Ron Artest, Tyson Chandler and Jamal Crawford.
He added John Paxson, Ron Harper, Williams and Kerr. He traded for Dennis Rodman, Bill Cartwright and Luc Longley, and signed Scott Williams as an undrafted free agent.
The Bulls needed all of those pieces, but Krause could never get past the reality that the Bulls were great because Jordan was the greatest.
Krause hired Jackson to be Doug Collins' assistant when Jackson was essentially unemployed, and when he was named Bulls coach in 1989, Jackson said Krause had rescued him from oblivion in 1987.
But his constant need to prove how smart he was led Krause to such picks as Brad Sellers when Johnny Dawkins was precisely what the Bulls needed.
He was sarcastically referred to as “super sleuth” by his critics.
His inability to communicate or interact led to frequent verbal spats with Jordan, Pippen and Jackson, and it was a fight he could not win in a public forum.
The players would yell insults at him from the back of the bus, embarrassing Krause every chance they got.
They called him “crumbs” due to his messy appearance and showed him no respect.
When he said, “Players alone don't win championships, organizations do,” the word “alone” was left out and Jordan never let it go. It wasn't worth trying to explain in the first place, but part of Krause was always in need of acclaim.
Maybe if he had received his fair share, he wouldn't have acted that way.
Despite it all, in 1999 Krause engineered a sign-and-trade that netted Pippen an extra $37 million, a nice severance for an employee who humiliated the boss daily.
By the end of the dynasty, Krause was genuinely excited that Jackson was leaving, and Jordan and Pippen going with him.
Krause wanted his chance to prove he could build something from scratch and that he could find another coach, but Tim Floyd never had a chance with a terrible roster.
Still, add it all up and Krause should be in the Hall of Fame, something he was quite bitter about the last time I saw him a couple of years ago when he was back scouting baseball.
For all his life, Krause was a tenacious fighter and a great talent evaluator when he wasn't trying so hard to show everyone he knew something they didn't.
He was a man who would show you pictures of his grandchildren and smile a huge smile, as if he had not a care in the world.
But the next minute he was narrow-minded and tortured and afflicted, unable to bathe in the glory of six championships.
Jerry Krause's struggle to live began at birth and never seemed to end, the search for solace a journey without conclusion.
May he finally rest in peace.
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