I was not yet four years old when Lenny Bias was found dead in a dormitory on the campus of University of Maryland, College Park. Not yet old enough to remember his athletic prowess, or understand the sudden insanity of his death. Not yet old enough, really, for anything approaching a rational view on the subject. And now that his specter has influenced large parts of my developmental years, I am relatively confident that my failure to comprehend his death did not reside entirely in my age.

           For an event that happened so long ago (each of the first 12 players selected in this year’s NBA draft were born after his death), the narrative and meaning behind the story seem to constantly change, occasionally shifting from one form into its complete opposite, and differing wildly between individuals. Articles solemnly mark anniversaries, but come no closer to cementing the story and the lessons, encouraging ever more articles. Perhaps that is for the best, as there is so much to take away from the tragedy, and a seemingly endless hole of negativity to be filled.

          I learned about Len Bias as most children learn about most things. My father explained that my state school had been a proud athletic powerhouse throughout my early childhood, until it had all come tumbling down. He explained why Saturday afternoons in the fall and winter were filled with national games of the week, featuring teams located hundreds of miles from where I lived. By the age of 10, I was the only kid in America who enjoyed the NBA more than college basketball. Catholic and bored, I became a Notre Dame football fan. In other words, not the brightest path to a lifelong love of sports. At least I had Cal Ripken, Old Memorial Stadium, New Camden Yards and the Orioles when those things were nice to have.

          I went to a private religious middle school and high school, so by the time it came to apply for colleges, Len Bias was nothing more to me than an inveterate drug user who probably got what he deserved. There were even rumors that he had engaged in premarital sex while in college (The Horror! The Horror!). Having known absolutely no one like him in even the most inconsequential way, I was pretty sure that my life was better for it, and the world did not need people like Len Bias. I chose to go to his alma mater for its academic programs and burgeoning (again) athletic scene.

          The University of Maryland is a funny place. Ask anyone around the state about the school, and the answer will almost entirely depend on that person’s age. The term “party school” probably does the ‘70s and ‘80s UMCP a disservice. Maybe something like “Dionysian Orgy School” would be more appropriate. Bias’ death marks a pretty stark break in the timeline of the school’s progression. Sheer embarrassment at the death, cover-up and the fact that Bias was 21 credits short of graduating after spending more than four years on campus forced the campus to rethink its mission. I chose the college for its Honors Program (now one of the best in the nation), and for the reputation it has developed over the past 15 years. Bias was no small part of that development.

          I eventually settled in as a Government and Politics Major, with some History on the side. By the time Maryland chose to honor Lefty Driesell at halftime of a regular season game, I was convinced that Len Bias was a mere pawn in a greater conspiracy. He was another example of a poor, black athlete taken advantage of by rich white institutions, and cast aside when no longer useful. I went to the game where Lefty’s “number” was retired and I booed lustily. I also brought a sign that was incredibly tasteless in hindsight. I don’t regret my actions, but I question their meaningfulness.  It was, in other words, college.

          I worked as an Orientation Advisor at Maryland one summer, mostly to get away from my parents, whose version of right and wrong cast Lenny as a villain, and whose hard work and incredible sacrifice had inevitably made them look superficially like the institutions I hated. We occasionally had to answer Len Bias questions, usually from parents who were the perfect age to question the new reputation, and bring back memories of the old. We were encouraged to be truthful (we already had their tuition money by that point), so I told them the truth, as best I knew it: The campus is a different place, with different priorities; those who were to blame were no longer associated with the University and the parents’ children would be protected, unlike poor Lenny. None of this was entirely true, but I found that parents are mostly just looking for a comforting hug in that situation, anyway.

          The School that Len Bias’ Death Built was now good enough to get me into law school, where more changes in the Bias story awaited. I had found my future wife on the Orientation staff, and settled into the happy medium between my high school and college selves. Bias v. Advantage Int'l, Inc. showed up on the first year Civil Procedure reading list and gave me an entirely new perspective.  Ostensibly about complicated evidentiary rules and impeachment, the case contained a much simpler lesson, one which brought me nearly full circle to my parents’ door: “Sometimes rules aren’t fair. But they are rules for a reason. A consistent approach to similar problems is often worth some small amount of inequity, and even tends to promote fairness overall.” In other words, I probably deserved punishment for missing my curfew, even if nothing terrible happened to me this time.

          I am a full-blown lawyer now, married to another lawyer. We are house hunting, and might even consider having children at some point. So when I see an article about Len Bias now, I can only think about what it means for society as a whole. Len’s death was a personal tragedy to be sure, but I think that my current lesson from the story is about us. We have very little control over life, in the long run. “At the mercy of the gods,” etc. Occasionally, however, there are a precious few chances to grab happiness, or choose tragedy. And as I grow older, I find that we tend to choose tragedy far more than we tend to grab happiness. Which is soul-crushing in a way.

          Still, I think that is what Len Bias represents to me, at least for now. He had every chance for greatness, as did Maryland and everyone involved. Through a few willful acts by all involved, tragedy was selected instead. Maybe when I try to explain to my child about the Maryland 34 jersey hanging in my home office I will feel differently. I hope so.