<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8602070172
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
860824
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, August 24, 1986
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1H
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>
Drawing DICK MAYER
</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
DANTLEY'S READY TO START OVER
NEW PISTON'S OWN BEGINNING TAUGHT HIM DISCIPLINE,
SELF-RELIANCE
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
WASHINGTON --  Adrian Dantley took a hard right, steering his Mercedes
through the streets of his old neighborhood. It is a hurting section of the
District of Columbia, where wooden chairs sit on  porches, and the corner
store is spray-painted and looks closed. Dantley studied the place, as if for
the first time.

  Begin again.

  "Used to get in a lot of fights right here," he said, pointing  to the
corner of Sherman and Columbia.
  "That schoolyard? Used to hang around there a lot . . . "
  "This here street, see that alley? Kids would jump you there. They'd say
'Gimme 50 cents.' I'd  say, 'Uh-uh.' They'd say, 'You better give up that 50
cents.' I said, 'I ain't gonna.' They'd push me. We'd fight. But I wasn't
gonna give it to them."
  He turned the wheel with one hand. "Sometimes  I see those guys now," he
said, "and I say, 'Remember when you used to shake me for money?' And they go,
'Aw, noo, man. It wasn't me.' And I say, 'Yes it was.' . . . I never forget.
Uh-uh. I never forget."
  He chuckled and drove on. Things have been turned upside down for Dantley
-- he is suddenly a Detroit Piston, after seven years in Utah -- and a ride
through the old streets seems to remind him how  to begin again, like putting
all your checkers back on their squares.
  "Where do the Pistons hold their training camp?" he suddenly asked.
  "In Windsor, Canada," came the answer.
  "Is that,  like, close enough to where the houses are so you can go home
after practice?"
  "Yeah, should be."
  "So I could practice and get home and unpack things and still get back for
next day's practice?"
  "Uh-huh."
  "Good. All right. That's good."
  Begin again.
Yes, Detroit, guess who's coming for winter? Adrian Dantley. But which Adrian
Dantley? The 6-foot-5 point machine, two-time NBA scoring  champion, who can
post-up almost anyone and still pop it in? Or the brooding, self-possessed
small forward who was suspended by his coach last season for "disciplinary
reasons," that, truth be told,  had more to do with silence than with words.
  "I can't handle his mood swings," Utah coach Frank Layden said recently,
"Or his agents."
  It was no secret that Layden -- who doubles as Utah's general manager --
wanted to trade Dantley, but found it tough to move his $950,000-a-year
salary. The Pistons had a similar problem with forward Kelly Tripucka, who
made $971,000. Pistons general manager Jack  McCloskey had liked Dantley since
1978, when both were with the Los Angeles Lakers, McCloskey as an assistant
coach.  Layden was determined to make a move. . . . 
  It was a trade that excited neither  player. Since getting the news,
Tripucka has played hermit on the Jersey shore. "He wants to be alone" his
wife said over the telephone, "He was very upset with the way it was handled;
the Pistons didn't  even speak to him, they left a message with his brother."
  Meanwhile, Dantley, though admittedly at odds with Layden, had grown
comfortable in Utah. He turned 30 last February. His wife had established  a
law practice in Salt Lake City. They are awaiting the birth of their first
child. 
  He was in a nearby weight room Thursday night when an acquaintance spotted
him.
  "Did you hear about the trade?"  the guy asked.
  "Who got traded this time?" Dantley said.
  "You got traded," the guy said. "To Detroit. You and a couple second-round
draft choices for Kelly Tripucka and Kent Benson."
  "Naw.  You're kidding me."
  "Uh-uh."
  Begin again.
See this house?" Dantley said, pointing to a tidy two-story in a much nicer
section of town. "I bought it for my grandmother. She was the first person  I
bought a house for, because she really brought me up."
  Another few blocks. Another house.  "See this one?" he said, pointing to a
sprawling, white brick home, "I bought that for my mother. She  lives there."
  Another few blocks. Another house. "For my aunt," he said.
  He drove on. Then he turned to his visitor. "I'm not bragging about this
stuff," he said. "I'm showing you because you probably heard bad things about
me."
  Adrian Dantley is a curious man in a curious position. He is grim and
reserved when playing, yet sees himself as a leader and is not afraid to make
unsolicited  suggestions to teammates. He is near the top of the NBA scoring
list season after season -- his career average is 26.5 points a game -- but he
is joining his fifth team in 11 seasons.
  Every season  he gets older, he seems to get younger. Coming out of Notre
Dame he was a pudgy, round-faced rookie. Now he is lean and well-muscled and
-- save for periodic back spasms -- in excellent condition. On  this
particular afternoon he will go to a gym with "my sparring partners" and
engage in a series of full-court one-on-one games. He gets a fresh opponent
every five points. With no rest in between.
  So he works out hard, and takes his playing seriously, yet this stigma
follows him -- "my rap," he calls it -- of being withdrawn, aloof, surly, the
kind of guy who is compelled to remind people he  is not appreciated.  His
contract holdout in 1984 -- he missed training camp and the first six games of
the season -- was a major scandal in the Utah sporting scene. And although he
did get a new contract  out of it -- "the owner went over Frank's head,"
Dantley says -- the incident stuck to him like his shadow.
  "The bottom line is I would still be in Utah right now if I hadn't held
out," he said.  "Frank never forgave me for that. He had to show who was boss.
People hold out everywhere else. But not there.
  "I wasn't unhappy there. I liked it in Utah fine. I didn't want to leave. I
got along  with the other players. I could deal with management . . . "
  He paused, and shook his head at what was becoming more and more clear.
That was not the problem, him dealing with management.
  They  couldn't deal with him.
Somewhere along the line you get the sense that Adrian Dantley was left alone,
left to do for himself, and he learned how to do it just fine, thank you.
Except the price he pays  now is that when people want to get close to him,
want to share his thoughts, his down moments, they cannot. "I basically don't
trust anybody," Dantley admitted.
  Nor can he fake it. Layden, who,  according to Dantley, likes to run his
team with a chummy, familial atmosphere, couldn't understand why his star
player, for example, would walk into the hotel restaurant and take a table
separate from  the coach, even after being invited to sit down.
  "I don't know what would happen if I ever hugged A.D.," Layden once said.
  "What would happen?" Dantley answered, while driving his car. "I'd say,
'Get away from me.' I mean, I wouldn't make a big fuss, but it would be phony,
that hug. Insincere. I don't like that. I can tell just by looking at a person
when he's insincere."
  Dantley grew up  an only child, and his parents were divorced when he was
three years old. He rarely saw his father. The fights he got into on the
corner of Sherman and Columbia were kept to himself.
  "Who would you  go to when you had a problem as a kid?" he was asked.
  "I wouldn't go to anyone," he said.
  "What about now?" he was asked. "Is there anyone you completely trust with
your deepest secrets, your  well-being? Anybody like that?"
  He thought about it for a second.
  "No," he said softly.
  He stared out the windshield, his arm resting atop the steering wheel. It
was quiet for a few seconds.
  "Do you think there's something wrong with that?" he suddenly asked.
  The visitor shrugged.
  "I don't know why I'm that way. It's the only way I ever remember being . .
. 
  "You know, I see  my father now sometimes. It's kinda like, he came around
when I became popular. And now, it's like, 'Why don't you come around the
neighborhood?' I say, 'Why don't I come around the neighborhood?' You  didn't
want me around there when I was younger."
  There was no sadness in his voice, no edge of regret. There was only what
is. There is no one.
Dantley will be hustled to Detroit for a press conference  this week. He will
likely be contacted by some of his new teammates -- most notably Isiah Thomas,
the Pistons' star guard. Dantley had the biggest spotlight in Utah.
  "Doesn't bother me at all," he  said when asked about co- existence with
Thomas. "I'm not like that. I never care if some other player gets more
attention."
  He is still not certain why Detroit made the trade for him, especially
after hearing some of the criticisms of Tripucka -- too small, no defense --
criticisms he has heard of himself.
  "Did Tripucka have problems there?" he asked.
  "Some," came the answer.
  "But  what? They weren't happy with his attitude -- was that it? See, I
won't have any attitude problems. I'll come to work. It's like I tell my
friends, I gotta be ready to play in Detroit. They say, 'What  do you mean?
Look at all you've done in the league.' I say, 'That's not my way. I've got to
prove myself.' "
  He steered the car toward home. What is, is. He is a Detroit Piston now. He
will figure  out where the arenas are and where he should look for a place to
live. That's what a disciplined person does, and Dantley cherishes discipline
as much as he does privacy. So much so that he limits himself  to a regular
"allowance" of his own money. He adheres to strict conditioning programs. He
diets regularly.  "I'm on 1,500 calories a day right now," he said. Even his
key chain reads, "Think Thin."
  "I'm not a problem person," he said, looking out on his hometown. "I'm
quiet and a lot of times, people don't understand quiet. They think it means
you're aloof. But it's not that. we won't have any  problems in Detroit. We
won't. It'll be good."
  Yes, he tells himself. Things will be put in order, and Adrian Dantley will
get on with what he does best, playing basketball -- under new colors, in  a
new part of the country -- trusting his instincts, his perception, and
himself. Only himself. As he did in his old neighborhood. As he has done ever
since.
  Begin again.

A.D.: From D.C. to Detroit
* PERSONAL: Adrian Delano Dantley. . . . Born Feb. 28, 1956, in Washington,
D.C. . . . 6-5, 210.
* COLLEGE: Averaged 25.8 points in three seasons at Notre Dame. . . .  Led
U.S. to gold medal in 1976 Olympics.  . . . Returned to Notre Dame to get B.A.
in economics.
* PRO: Selected by Buffalo in first round (sixth overall) in 1976 . . . rookie
of the year (1977) . . . won scoring title (1981, 1984) . . . comeback  player
of the year (1984).
* TRANSACTIONS: Traded by Buffalo with Mike Bantom to Indiana for Billy
Knight, Sept. 1, 1977. . . . Traded by Indiana with Dave Robisch to LA Lakers
for James Edwards, Earl  Tatum and cash, Dec. 13, 1977. . . . Traded by LA
Lakers to Utah for Spencer Haywood, Sept. 13, 1979. . . . Traded by Utah with
two second-round draft picks to Detroit for Kelly Tripucka and Kent Benson,
Aug. 21, 1986.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
ADRIAN DANTLEY;BIOGRAPHY;COLUMN;BASKETBALL;DPISTONS;Pistons
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
