Your greatest mistake does not define you 拉里米勒分享他逆袭人生秘密的演讲

"Your Greatest Mistake Does Not Define You" at TEDxPortland 2024 conference by Larry Miller

Good evening.

In late September of 1965, at the age of 16, I was drunk and angry. A friend of mine had been killed, and I shot and killed someone at 53rd and Locust in West Philadelphia. I shot him with a gun that I had taken from my girlfriend at the time. He dropped dead when I shot him.

The victim was an innocent kid, probably my age, maybe a little bit older than me. He was a mirror of me, basically. He was me. It could have been me. The tables easily could have been turned. That fateful night is something that I regret every single day of my life. I think about it every day, and I regret it every day.

I was a young, confident, confused, scared gang member, trying to figure out life and trying to survive the streets. The first time a cop stuck a gun in my face, I was 12 years old. A friend of mine and I stole a bike, and cops came. I tried to run, and they put a gun in my face.

Violence, drugs, criminal activity – it was everywhere. Needless to say, it was a very challenging environment, but it's one that's not unique. But it's all I knew growing up. That was my environment growing up.

Fast forward to late April 2024 at the age of 74. I'm standing here today in Keller Auditorium at a TEDx talk in Portland. I'm extremely grateful to be here with you today. What a life. I mean, I often ask myself, “How did I get here? Like, how the hell did I get here?” Well, let's talk about it.

This story, my story, is about carrying a 40-year secret and living two lives. It's about crippling nightmares that keep you honest. It's about your value system, regardless of where you live or how you were raised. It's about atonement. It's about reflection. It's about the opportunities that open through education. Education is liberation. It's about truth. It's about reconciliation. It's about forgiveness. It's about representation.

But the core idea that I want you to remember from this talk is that your greatest mistake should not define you. And that each and every one of us is greater than the worst thing that we've ever done.

I want to say that again. I want to say that again. That each of us, that each of us, each one of us is greater than the worst thing that we've ever done. I'm living proof of that. And I hope I can be an example for those who are watching and listening, whether you're in West Philly, South Side of Chicago, or right here in Portland, Oregon. This talk is for anyone in any urban environment around the world that is looking to make something of themselves.

Let's go back to my gang days for a moment, because it is a paradox for me. I was living two lives. I come from a good, loving family. Seven brothers and sisters, mom and dad there. My dad worked hard to make sure that we had everything that we needed. My mom worked hard taking care of eight kids. My grandmother and my uncle lived with us at a poor time. And my uncle nicknamed me “the champ.” I guess he saw some potential in me and he knew that I had greatness somewhere inside of me.

He knew that I loved to learn, but I was also in and out of juvenile detention. I was hurting people on the streets, getting hurt myself. I served time multiple times. I was living a double life, trying to figure out who I was. I knew I was smart, had a great work ethic, and unshakable stoic confidence that was instilled in me by my family. But I was also lost and confused.

I was a hustler, living on the edge, getting in fights, making money, selling whatever to make money. Violence was a way of life, stabbings, killings, gun warfare. I say this to people all the time and they're like, “What is he talking about?”

But the best thing that ever happened to me was the last time that I went to jail. Getting caught, serving hard time the last time I was arrested really allowed me to reset my life. I realized that education was a way out, that I could learn my way out. I received my GED and associate's degree while in jail.

Fun fact, I was actually the valedictorian of my GED graduating class. I didn't put that on my resume, though. And the reality is that myself and a group of my friends actually wrote my speech. And I don't remember all of the speech, but I do remember the last line. And the last line was, “Let's not serve time, let's let time serve us.” And that was my perspective at that point.

Once released from jail, I went on to obtain my bachelor's degree in accounting from Temple University while reentering society in a halfway house. Books were what changed my life. When I was incarcerated, reading was how I passed time. And I read everything from the autobiography of Malcolm X to “The Odyssey,” “Of Mice and Men,” “Three Musketeers,” “Les Misérables,” anything I could get my hands on, I read it. It felt like freedom, freedom of the mind.

When I got out the last time, I had a newfound purpose. My education gave me the courage to become a new man.

So as I was about to graduate from Temple University at the time, there were what was called the Big Eight accounting firms. And I began interviewing with those firms. In 1982, I got to the final round with Arthur Andersen. And I decided to share my secret with them.

All day, I was interviewing with a number of people all day long. And in the back of my mind, I was thinking, should I share my story with these folks? Because all they knew is that I was a young black man about to graduate from Temple University with honors. They had no clue about my background.

And so all day, I'm trying to decide, am I going to share my story? And finally, I get to the last person who was the hiring manager. And I decided that I'm going to share my story with them. And so I start to talk to him. And as I'm talking, I can see his face changing.

And finally, I got done and he said, “That's an amazing story.” And he reached in his pocket and he pulled out an envelope. And he said, “I have an offer letter here that I was all ready to give you, but I can't give it to you now.” He said, “I can't offer you the job. I wish you the best, but I can't hire you.”

And at that point, that was kind of what I referred to as the birth of the secret. I chose at that point that I was never going to share the information again. I wasn't going to deny it. I wasn't going to lie about it if it came up, but I wasn't going to volunteer the information. And for 40 years, that's how I built my career.

I also chose that I wasn't going to go into public accounting. That seemed a little too risky. So I decided to go into corporate accounting. I earned my MBA while working for Campbell Soup and growing a family at the same time.

As I climbed the corporate ladder and rose through the ranks of business from Campbell Soup to Jansen, from the Jordan brand to the Portland Trailblazers and back, the stakes got higher and the nightmares more debilitating because I still had my secret, my haunting secret of having taken someone's life.

So what really made me face my fears? What made me decide that I was going to share my story and that I was going to expose myself to the world? What was it that made me do that?

And there were two things. One, the first and foremost, my beautiful, amazing oldest daughter, Laila Lacy. She worked on me for years, like prodded, pushed, “Dad, you need to share your story. It can motivate and inspire some people. It can do some good in the world.” And I was like, “No, no, but I've been hiding from this story for 40 years and I've got no interest in sharing it.” But she worked on me and convinced me that it was the right thing to do. And I thank her every day for that because I'm truly glad that I shared my story and that she pushed me to do this.

The second thing that really pushed me to be much more authentic in my life was a fateful day in summer of 2007 that the Trailblazers reached out to me.

I want to share a defining story that really gave me the courage to live a much more authentic life. This was off of the heels of the Trailblazers job offer. And the experience helped me confront my past. It gave me the courage to seek the truth despite holding the secret, to be a better example for others.

The story is about the legend of Jackie Robinson. In April 1947, Jackie broke the color barrier in baseball. He changed everything. Through ritual hatred, the worst racism anyone can imagine, death threats to him and his family, Jackie did it. He changed the world.

Before I left the Jordan brand to take the Trailblazers job, I had a vivid dream of Jackie that changed my life. I saw him entering the Dodgers locker room on his first day with the team. I remember it like it was last night. I realized that I had an opportunity to open doors for people who look like me and for young people to be able to say, “If he can do it, then I can do it.”

When would a person of color get an opportunity to be in that role with the Portland Trailblazers? It was time to step through doors and create opportunities, time to lead. Lead in the space of representation regardless of the consequences and regardless of people finding out about my secret.

Thank you, Jackie, for allowing me to see an opportunity with fresh eyes and for giving me the courage to not make decisions based on fear, but to lead with what was right. And thank you again to my lovely daughter, La, I love you. Without both of them, I would not be here and my memoir “Jump” would never have happened.

Fun fact, my father loved baseball. He watched the Athletics and then the Phillies after that. And he named me after Larry Doby, who was the second black player to break the color barrier four months after Jackie did. He was the first in the American League. So life works in mysterious ways sometimes.

In closing, I want to share that I have made amends with the family of my victim. That we have sat down together, embraced each other with love, truth and forgiveness. They have helped me become a better man. The person that I murdered, his name is David White. It's important that I remember his name, David White.

The nightmares have gone away. I don't wake up with cold sweats anymore. No correctional officers tapping me on the shoulder and sending me back to jail. I'm at peace now and I realize that servant leadership is my final calling. Creating opportunities and hope is my final chapter.

My door is open for mentorship and opportunity. Walk through it. And remember, your greatest mistake should not define you. And that each one of us is greater than the worst thing that we've ever done.

Thank you so much.