Gary Payton's Incredible Journey -- Despite A Dazzling Escape From Oakland's Inner City, The Sonics' Ebullient Leader Never Has Forgotten His Roots

OAKLAND, Calif. - The sleek, black machine jitters along the most unforgiving streets in the Bay Area until finding its element in the hills of Blackhawk. The Porsche engine purrs contentedly as it cruises past sisters and brethren - Benzes, Jags, Land Rovers and the like. Here, no one looks on with envy or suspicion.

In Blackhawk, waterfalls and malls disappear into landscaped grounds, the better to avoid offending those who like to pretend they are light-years from civilization. In this development for the rich and famous, every street is lined with trees, every garden is glorious and every blade of grass is the color of money.

"Welcome to Oz," Aaron Goodwin says. Goodwin, a sports agent, is behind the wheel. He is headed to the newly constructed home of his marquee client, Gary Payton of the Seattle SuperSonics.

Payton's place is in an exclusive belt of Blackhawk called Deer Hollow. Just down the way from one owned by rap star E-40, the Payton house still is a work in progress. No expense, it seems, is being spared, including one personal touch inside that Goodwin says makes everyone who sees it say they're going to get one, too.

About 30 minutes away, all Regina Jackson Rasheed wants is a functional gymnasium. Well, maybe that and a functional van to haul inner-city Oakland kids to various haunts. OK, maybe those two things plus . . . put it this way, the executive director of the East Oakland Youth Development Center has a rather long wish list.

If Blackhawk is Oz, then East Oakland is the witch's castle. Payton grew up on High Street, the ironically named thoroughfare that cuts through the heart of East Oakland. High Street's surprising calm is a faux peace behind which lurks drug gangs, who divvied up East Oakland like it was occupied territory.

No wonder the Youth Development Center was in tatters when Rasheed took over. Now an outer wall is festooned with a mural offering the hope-filled message, "Be a part of the solution." Inside, the center crackles with bouncing basketballs, whirring computers and bustling people, its centerpiece a job-training and placement program.

The center also has a physical development program that hearkens to the days when a boy with a big mouth and an even bigger game was busting neighborhood companions like a bubble. That boy grew up to become Gary Payton and now his money will help restore the gymnasium he figuratively helped build. One wall of the gym will commemorate with a mural Payton's present and past involvement.

Yes, Rasheed is big on murals. She also is big on holding on to one's own, which is why having people such as Payton and television star Mark Curry back at the center is such a coup.

"The kids who come through here need incentives," Rasheed says. "They need role models."

It is Rasheed's fortune that Payton does not subscribe to Charles Barkley's we-ain't-role-models philosophy. Payton, see, only escaped the streets; he didn't leave them behind. They continue to grip his basketball persona like a second skin, as well as occupy sacred sectors of his thoughts.

The half hour it takes to get to Blackhawk might seem like light-years to some kid at the East Oakland Youth Development Center. Yet it is not an impossible journey. Payton has proved that, leaving a trail he hopes others can follow.

The truth of the matter is Payton didn't go as decadent as Blackhawk just because he signed an $87.5 million contract with the Sonics in the summer of 1996. He has a perfectly extravagant $2 million estate on 2 1/2 acres in Somerset on the Eastside. And his expansive brick home in Oakland Hills is livable beyond Martha Stewart's wildest dreams.

But Payton isn't just living large; he is large. Too large to be living right along some street in Oakland Hills where anyone can just walk up and knock on his door. Which a lot of people did because everyone in Oakland knows Payton and knows Payton has a lot of money.

A bunch of that money - $2.5 million, to be exact - is socked up in the hills of Blackhawk. There, Payton has built a video paradise. Big-screen televisions easily will outnumber occupants of the household about five to one. Upstairs from a pool table and wet bar are banks of video games that would be the envy of any parlor.

The serious parties will take place in the structure by the pool that is at least the size of two basketball courts placed end to end. More intimate gatherings will take place in the theater, which features two rows of reclining seats, a large projection screen and the latest surround sound. Even more intimate is the sound room - one chair and masses of stereo equipment.

The home's real show-stopper is the master bedroom, which is the size of a loft apartment and includes his and her walk-in closets with the kind of mechanized clothes racks found at the local dry cleaner. Past the sultan-size poster bed and the well-appointed sitting area is the object of everyone's desire: an enclosed, Asian-style spa, where, say, a dozen of Payton's closest friends can soak and either view the stars through the retractable glass roof or a game on the wall-mounted TV.

Funny as it might sound, though, the video-patrolled, gated community of Blackhawk is as much a necessity for Payton as it is a luxury.

"Gary is big enough," Aaron Goodwin says, "he needs security."

Security first became an issue for Payton about the same time the possibility of NBA stardom did. Back in Oakland for the 1992 All-Star break, Payton was stalked and mugged. He had a gun waved in his face and a $65,000 Rolex ripped off his wrist.

Soon after, Payton hired childhood friends Trevor Pope and Marty White as his personal muscle. One or the other is with him almost all the time in Oakland, where security is the biggest issue. Either Pope or White accompanies Payton on extended road trips with the Sonics.

Hiring friends is not an uncommon practice among NBA players these days, but it is especially appropriate for Payton, who is accustomed to having Oakland homeboys help cut a swath to stardom for him. It can be said that Payton's climb up the NBA ladder began with a fortuitous meeting with Aaron Goodwin when Payton was just a ninth-grader.

A mentoring bond transformed into a business relationship eight years later. By then, Goodwin had graduated from California-Berkeley and started with a sports representation firm run by longtime agent Don DeJardin. Payton was Goodwin's fourth client but, having been taken second in the 1990 draft, by far his biggest.

"Something about Gary - his confidence - made me think he could really go places," Goodwin says.

The two have grown together. While Payton, 29, now is considered among the game's top five or so players, Goodwin is embraced as one of the most influential agents in the business. He and his brother, Eric, have a small but impressive stable of clients that includes Jason Kidd of Phoenix, Shareef Abdur-Rahim of Vancouver, Mitch Richmond of Sacramento, Damon Stoudamire of Toronto, Terrell Brandon of Milwaukee and Rex Walters of Philadelphia.

Goodwin, 35, has become such a fierce advocate of his clients that after Dallas dealt Kidd to Phoenix, a Maverick executive said the move was as much a trade of Kidd's agent as it was of a star point guard.

"Aaron's certainly one of the significant agents in the business," says Billy Hunter, executive director of the NBA Players Association, who has tabbed Goodwin for the union's agent advisory committee.

When Payton came bricking and screaming into the NBA, he and the Goodwin brothers had drawn up a blueprint for the point guard's success. That blueprint was torn up a year into Payton's career. By then, they all felt Payton was trapped in an unsuitable, walk-it-up system run by K.C. Jones, then the Sonic coach.

The Goodwins lobbied Bob Whitsitt, then the Sonic team president, for change. Whitsitt's solution was replacing Jones with George Karl, who quickly unleashed Payton. Unrestrained, Payton helped lead a surprising insurrection of his hometown team, the Golden State Warriors, in the first round of the 1992 playoffs.

That taste of success created an appetite for more. The next summer, Payton began what now is an annual ritual of summer workouts with Sonic assistant Tim Grgurich in Las Vegas and Oakland. Beginning back then and continuing to this day, there always is a vision of what Payton is to accomplish during the offseason.

The results have been palpable: Once viewed as a trash-talking defensive specialist who couldn't back up his words at the offensive end, Payton has improved his scoring in five of the past six seasons. With Shawn Kemp traded to Cleveland, the Sonics undeniably are Payton's team and he will be looked upon to expand his game even more.

"The thing about Gary is that he's always come back and gotten better," Karl says. "He's now gotten to a level where that's going to be difficult to do. But I'll still bet on him."

The Goodwins, however, weren't just betting on Payton's improvement on the court. As NBA salaries escalated, they counseled Payton to be patient and ride out the economic turbulence. Furthermore, they encouraged Payton to be more conscious of his image, on and off the court.

Meanwhile, the twin brothers played to their strengths, with Aaron Goodwin concentrating on contracts and endorsements. Eric Goodwin, who earned a marketing degree while on basketball scholarship at the University of Puget Sound, founded Goodwin Management in Seattle to oversee Payton's affairs. Between the two, they'd take everything but basketball off Payton's table, allowing him to focus on playing.

For the Goodwins, mapping Payton's path to NBA superstardom was a breeze compared to mapping their way out of East Oakland, where they also grew up. One of the best prepared agents in the business, Aaron Goodwin was aware that foundation-shifting changes were in the offing for the summer of 1996. The trick was to be in the best position possible when the dollar bills hit the fan.

First, the Goodwins needed to create a marketing hegemony in Seattle. That was no inconsequential feat considering the NBA's hype machine was heavily invested in Payton's teammate, Kemp. Not as well supported and unprepared to capitalize, Kemp faltered.

"Let's face it: Seattle was the Reign Man's market," Aaron Goodwin says. "He slipped, and we took it. That's the honest truth."

After the 1996 All-Star Game, Goodwin sensed a big kill. Payton had 17 points and nine assists and Goodwin was certain such a showing solidified a spot on the 1996 Dream Team, a marketing jackpot. It got better: Payton led the league in steals, was named Defensive Player of the Year and the Sonics advanced to the NBA Finals.

The final piece of the puzzle came into place after the Sonics lost the first three games of the Finals to Chicago. The desperate situation set the stage for a head-to-head matchup between Payton and Chicago superstar Michael Jordan. Payton's defense against Jordan sparked two consecutive Sonic victories and, in the process, blew the roof off Payton's looming free agency.

Now there was a market to play off the Sonics. For the Eastern contenders - Detroit, New York and Miami - the major, seemingly insurmountable obstacle to a championship was Jordan. And Payton had just introduced himself as the perfect foil.

Payton created a bidding-war environment, yes, but that wasn't the sole purpose. The aim was to maximize the dollars in the right situation and, all along, Seattle, with its proximity to Oakland and a team built to Payton's specifications, was the right situation. To stay, Payton walked away from an offer from Miami that would have paid him about $10.5 million more.

Not that Payton made out badly. His was the largest total package ever signed by a guard. And his first year's take, $16.5 million, was a big seed to plant. Payton's 1995-96 season, his big contract and the resulting visibility put him in another stratosphere of NBA stars. For example, Nike, initially slow to catch on to Payton's appeal, is about to roll out a signature sneaker, The Glove.

Just as significant, Payton's big payoff put him in position to deliver a big payback.

The Gary Payton Foundation still is in its embryonic stages and, as such, its executive director finds herself ringed by cardboard boxes, fax machines and large, plush dolls. Some are donations, some are tools of the trade. All are jammed into a small office at the Bellevue headquarters of the Bogle and Gates law firm.

Tami Agassi minds the mess because she's afraid you will. But the manic state of the office seems to suit her. Shake her hand and, five minutes later, Agassi will have outlined the Foundation's mission, pitched a few fundraising ideas and sold you a raffle ticket in the process.

"This is a small operation," Agassi says, almost apologetically, "but we're to the point where we're needing to add an assistant. And we need more space."

Agassi knows this business. Her brother is Andre, the tennis star, and she helped launch his foundation in Las Vegas. She moved on to Seattle, where, in less than a year, the Gary Payton Foundation raised close to $400,000 for its designated recipients, Big Brothers of King County and Mount Zion Preparatory Academy.

Staged in just six months, the Gary Payton All-Star Classic basketball game and auction raised $300,000. Magic Johnson came, played and praised Payton as one of the players who is leading the NBA into the next millennium. The Foundation hopes to equal the $1 million raised by Johnson's benchmark charity weekend.

So, yes, Agassi needs more space.

This seems to be a recurrent theme among those connected with Payton.

Also looking to relocate his offices is Eric Goodwin, whose business is the umbrella for a multitude of groups and services needed to sustain Payton's status as celebrity athlete. Goodwin spends a majority of his time on matters relating to Payton. And that time can come at any time of the day or night. Payton knows seven different ways of getting in touch with Goodwin.

Four legal firms, three financial institutions and two accounting firms are engaged and overseen by Goodwin Management. Through his business, Goodwin also directs the Gary Payton Foundation; G.P. Productions, Payton's fan clubs and basketball camps, and acquisitions, including Payton's six houses, yacht, numerous vehicles and various businesses.

Goodwin Management also engages and oversees ICM and King Management, which handle Payton's outside interests - including appearances in the movie "Eddie," the cast of the Fox television series "Brothers," the cast of "The Jamie Foxx Show" on WB and a scheduled appearance in the movie "Golddiggers" next summer.

In addition to managing Payton's current situation, Goodwin is charged with managing the basketball star's future. In seven years, Goodwin estimates, Payton will be able to live the rest of his life at the level he's living today. Keep in mind this is someone who makes an average of $12.5 million per year from basketball alone.

Like his brother, Eric Goodwin's success at managing Payton has led to personal success. The entrepreneurial Goodwin has local business interests of his own, including partnerships in several restaurants, the most prominent of which are El Gaucho, the Flying Fish and the Kingfish Cafe. Goodwin also moves easily among the community's heaviest hitters.

"Eric can be a major, major player in this city," says Keven Davis, a prominent African-American attorney who serves as president of the Payton Foundation board.

Eric and Aaron Goodwin share with Payton an affinity for inner-city causes, trying to help people escape the despair of neighborhoods such as East Oakland. The Goodwins' mother, Dorothy, worked two or three jobs to raise her eight children. Payton's father, Al, did the same to keep his son in $100 sneakers and in cars, and away from the drug-infested lifestyle endemic to East Oakland.

Payton's contributions are conducted on several scales. Part of every check he has received from the Sonics has gone to the March of Dimes and CARE. Over the years, he and the Goodwins have paid the high-school or college tuition for about 20 young people. The conditions: The arrangement remains private and the benefactor owes nothing in return.

Two years ago, a former Skyline High School classmate knocked on Payton's door in Oakland. The person was dying of cancer and needed $10,000 for a new treatment. Though the person had not been a friend, Payton wrote him one check for $10,000, then another a year later.

Payton also never turns down a request from the Make-A-Wish Foundation on behalf of dying children who wish to meet him. The cause is endearing to Payton because he has two children with his wife, Monique, whom he married in a lavish ceremony last summer in San Francisco. The couple is expecting another child in April.

Eric Goodwin says Make-A-Wish visits "are rough on Gary. Seeing kids who only have a short time to live is tough for a multimillionaire athlete who is getting paid for what he loves and feels immortal. It takes something out of him every time he does it."

The linchpin of Payton's charitable efforts is his foundation. He has committed to funding overhead costs for five years, meaning all the money raised can go to designated recipients. An endowment is being considered to fund operation beyond the five-year period.

Both of this year's recipients were from the Seattle area, but the foundation probably will expand into causes in Payton's hometown. Whatever projects Payton currently funds in Oakland are directly out of pocket.

The launching of Payton's foundation was met with some trepidation by a community that feared more competition for scarce resources. But Payton has shown his star power can attract different money. And now this charity headed by black men with a mission to fund urban causes is starting to be looked upon as a source of empowerment.

"I think people feel they have access because Gary is a person of color who has money," says Davis, who also serves on the boards of the NAACP and the Central Area Youth Association. "What Gary is doing is also important because a lot of kids get images of athletes driving big, fancy cars, living in big, fancy houses and attending lavish parties. It's important to have the image of someone giving back."

The streets will take more than Payton has to offer.

Children used to die after plunging off playground equipment at places such as Jefferson Elementary, which Payton attended. Today underneath the equipment are rubber pads made from the recycled soles of Nike sneakers. Now the problem is, there isn't enough equipment.

At Brockdale Field, where everyone who is anyone in the East Bay has played pickup basketball, the steel backboards are rusted and neglected. The House of Iron does a brisk business because nearly every house in the High Street district has its windows protected by iron bars. The reason for that is the same reason no one loiters anymore in front of the Queen of Sheeba Market.

The thing about East Oakland is that it doesn't look dangerous. It just looks dirty. Yards are brown where there should be grass. Gutters are clogged with garbage. And the place appears abandoned. People aren't around because the drug dealers have scared them away. The drug dealers, in turn, are so inconspicuous, they blend into the treeless, hopeless landscape.

This is Gary Payton's world, as much as Blackhawk, Somerset or the NBA. He isn't trying to save all of it. Just a piece.