The six Pippen boys all played ball down at the Pine Street Courts, "grew up playing in the dust," says Carl Pippen, Scottie's closest brother. All Scottie knew was that he didn't want to be trapped in Hamburg, that he had to get out and see all the cities and countries he'd heard about. But the family had no money, and by the time Scottie started high school, Preston had been paralyzed on one side of his body by a stroke. When Scottie graduated from high school at 17, he was a frighteningly skinny 6' 1½", and no college offered him a scholarship. His high school coach persuaded the coach at Central Arkansas, Don Dyer, to pull Scot-tie into the program as a manager. When other players dropped out, Pippen got his chance. He began growing as soon as he arrived on campus, and by Halloween of his freshman year Dyer had gotten him a full ride. By midseason Pippen was a starter.
In the summers Pippen would stay on campus in Conway, working the night shift as a welder at the Virco furniture factory, getting off at 7 a.m. and then working out before going to sleep. He'd get up at 5 p.m., drive 35 minutes into Little Rock and play summer-league games, then get back in time for his 11 p.m. shift. "I did that once in a while, but I couldn't go on," says Ronnie Martin, Pippen's oldest friend and a teammate at Central Arkansas. "Scottie did it daily. He played every game, and then he'd play more ball on the weekend. He loved the game. We'd set a goal in junior high: One of us was going to make the NBA."
Not long before his senior season Pippen suffered a hairline fracture in his right femur. One doctor told him he was done for the year. Another told him to try to play, and Pippen taped himself up, never missed a game or practice. He averaged 23.6 points and 10 rebounds and was named NAIA All-America for the second year in a row, but he still had no idea whether anyone knew who he was.
You have to love his game, but I cannot live with the turnovers, slow feet, no defense and mistakes for 30+ minutes a night. 18-20 minutes? Yes.
