Len Bias was killed by cocaine twenty years ago today.

Dr. Lonise Bias, mother of Leonard K. Bias, (1963-1986) has taken her talented son's tragic death and given it meaning by using it to educate others.

From Jerry Brewer in the May 29, 2006 edition of the Louisville Courier-Journal:

The tragedy of Len Bias inspires, thanks to mom

In less than a month, 20 years will have passed since Len Bias' shocking, cocaine-laced death. For most of us, time has done little to restrain the great what-if fascination.

Bias could be at the end of his second or third comeback right now. Or he could be retired and happy, having altered the way we viewed Michael Jordan, because Bias could have been a true rival. Or maybe he could be on television alongside Charles Barkley. He was a most congenial basketball star, remember?

"If Len would have lived, he would have entertained you," said his mother, Lonise Bias. "But in death, he brought life."

Forget what if. Ponder what now.

That is how Lonise has survived the bulk of the past 20 years. She chucked the time machine and opted to preach about drug awareness. And preach is the proper word.

You have to listen to her sermon. There is no time to waste searching for other opinions. This is too important. This is too real. This is how a piece of Len Bias – no matter how dark and sorrowful – lives. A star's light snuffed out

Cocaine killed Lonise's 6-foot-8 highlight reel of a son on June 19, 1986. The University of Maryland forward's death came two days after the Boston Celtics had selected him No. 2 overall in the NBA draft. He was 22. He was already a legend. And then his heart stopped.

What now? You teach.

"We have to go in like we're in warfare, and you're fighting to save the life of your child," Lonise said.

Since 1986, she has traveled the world as a motivational speaker, trainer and consultant, educating adults and children to rebel against drugs. Her specialty embodies her pain: empowering parents to save their children. Last week, she participated in a media conference call with the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy and took it over with her passion.

"Twenty years ago, someone said to me, 'Take lemons and make lemonade,'" Lonise said. "I didn't understand it. I was thinking, 'How can you say that to me? I'm supposed to take this and make lemonade out of lemons?'

"Twenty years later, I have lemonade. I've put sugar in it. That was the toughest thing, taking something so bitter and making it sweet."

That is not a cliche, kiddies. It is a profound philosophy of life. Not only does it help the survivor deal with the seemingly meaningless vicissitudes of existence, it may actually make the world a better place. That is impressive to me.

Evidence of change

It is a little sweeter because Lonise has seen change. Even the great Len Bias' story cannot keep everyone off drugs, but his death has had a small impact. Lonise knows because she hears often from people who say her son's death made them re-evaluate their lives.

Most recently, she boarded a plane, and a flight attendant quietly told Lonise that Len Bias made her stop using drugs.

Of course, these victories are only making a small dent.

Even one life is a major dent.

"Twenty years later, there are still too many kids who think using drugs, even once, have no consequences," said Scott Burns, the deputy director for state and local affairs for the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy.

We will never know for sure, but many believe Bias died after experimenting with cocaine just that one night. Simply considering the possibility should be enough to thwart any youthful assumptions of immortality.

It will not, however. And so Lonise must continue her campaign.

"I am keenly aware of the fact that I should be out of my mind," Lonise said. "If I stayed back in 1986, with all those thoughts and emotions, I would be in a local mental hospital, taking prescription drugs or standing over Len's grave crying. I couldn't go on. I would just say, 'Why? Why? Why? Why?'"

Instead, Lonise asks, "What now?" Unfortunately, there is so much more work left. Thankfully, she has the right motivation.

Jerry Brewer can be reached at (502) 582-4373 or jebrewer@courier-journal.com.

I think Mr. Brewer deserves to be congratulated on these two stories.


From Jerry Brewer in today's Louisville Courier-Journal:

Len Bias, part 2: Make his legacy make a difference

Last month, in anticipation of this day, I wrote about how Len Bias' mother continues to salvage some good out of her son's death. The column stirred my grandmother's curiosity.

"What do you know about Len Bias?" she asked in jest.

I was only 8 when he died on June 19, 1986, exactly 20 years ago. I only remember that his cocaine overdose stunned my parents. I only cared because they cared. But somehow, 20 years later, Len Bias stays with me.

He stays with everyone who remembers him, vaguely or vividly, and with anyone who appreciates history enough to learn about him. We have this thing about unfulfilled greatness, don't we? It's far easier to watch an unbelievable talent succumb to mortality after he's had his time than to witness one fall while the clock's still ticking.

So here we are, frozen with Bias.

Can you still see the jump shot I've heard about all these years? And the hops? And the length? All the traits that made him seem like a lab-invented basketball player?

Do you believe Bias could've taken his Atlantic Coast Conference rivalry with Michael Jordan to the NBA? Do you ever think that, maybe, Bias could've carried Larry Bird and the Boston Celtics franchise once Bird's back started to weaken?

Do you ever want those memories and feelings and hopes to thaw?

His mother's fight

Maybe they don't have to.

"I believe that Len died so that others could live," said his mother, Lonise.

That is Dr. Lonise Baxter to you and me, kiddies.

We've been over her story already. She has dedicated her life to fighting drug abuse, remember? Now we must help her. We must save the next Len Bias from becoming Len Bias. Or how about just helping some young John or Jane Smith make it?

"As long as there is breath in that child's body, there is still hope," Lonise said.

She continued: "Children, they yearn for motivation and for affirmation. We have to buy into the idea that we are the medicine for our young people."

And continued: "What child wants a parent who is flippant and not responsible for them?"

Lonise is raging against something that she didn't know to rage against 20 years ago. We'll never know for sure, but there's a belief that her son didn't have a drug problem, that a one-night experimentation turned tragic.

"I had no idea at that time," Lonise said. "If he did have a problem, the only thing I would've done is work with him."

Moved to action

Here is an eloquent and highly educated woman who lost one son to a cocaine overdose and then, nearly four years later, had another (Jay) murdered in a drive-by shooting. The Bias family story isn't some common street tale filled with inevitable plot twists. It's further proof that violence and drugs can strike any family at any time.

May God have mercy on their souls.

We don't have absolute immunity. We don't. And we can't be so selfish that we refuse to help battle this plague in some manner.

We have to hound others about the dangers of drug abuse. We have to be overprotective of youths. We have to stop glorifying the lifestyles of hustlers. We have to stay ahead of the curve. We cannot relent. We must be like Lonise Bias.

"Len was my pride and joy and is deeply missed," she said.

If you love basketball and have either a memory or a respect for history, you miss Bias, too. But is it deep enough to honor him properly?

We can only answer that question through action. Bias became a legendary basketball player at the University of Maryland by playing the game as gracefully as anyone. He was a jump-out-of-your-seat talent.

It's only appropriate that his legacy create a similar reaction.