The Truth Revealed

So, yes, it makes perfect sense that in an era when stars bounce city to city, Pierce emerged in the Celtics' shakiest era as their one constant. It makes sense that his college coach, Roy Williams, can speak about Pierce's ferocious desire and then talk of throwing him out of practice for wearing "that casual, careless, it-doesn't-mean-that-much kind of look." Or that Pierce, who early on undermined Rivers by snarling, "Why the hell'd you take me out of the game?" for all of Boston to hear, revered Red Auerbach, treasuring each foul cigar the Celtics patriarch slipped him as if it were made of gold.

And that, of course, may be the most delicious contradiction: Paul Pierce sitting with Red, beginning a career that now ranks as one of the greatest in the franchise's history. Because growing up in Los Angeles, Pierce hated the Boston Celtics.

For the longest time his vision of the future was tinted purple-and-gold, and it wasn't just a dream of basketball. It was the dream NBA life that a 14-year-old boy saw when he'd sneak into games at the Forum in Inglewood or see the players' sweet rides parked outside the gym at Inglewood High, where they sometimes practiced and where Paul would become a star. Paul would worm his way into some of those practices, too, trying to glimpse the collective spark igniting that high-octane offense, the blinding passes. Magic, Kareem, Worthy: They were winners, those men, deep-voiced and cocky. They had such a presence.

Pierce didn't have that at home. As a kid growing up in Oakland, he had Steve Hosey and another half brother, Jamal Hosey, eight and 14 years older, respectively, and for a time they filled the dad role. Chubby and feisty, Paul hated to lose any game. In kindergarten, he'd survey their awards and declare, "I'm going to have more trophies than both of you guys put together."

But when Paul was eight, Steve got a scholarship to play baseball at Fresno State, and Lorraine moved to L.A. with her youngest son to be near her ailing mother. There she scouted out coaches and pastors who could make good role models, and made sure Paul became more than just another kid to them. There was an uncle who kept him in line, and another to take him to play in the grown-men games on Saturdays at Athens Park. But Lorraine worked as a nurse and, though she made sure to drive her son to every practice, when extra shifts came open, she'd grab them, and at dinnertime Paul would be making noodles in an empty house. He was on his own. You could feel the longing.

George Pierce never lived with Lorraine. Paul was no more than six the last time he saw his dad.

Cornelia Pierce, George's wife, answers the phone at their home. She's cordial but has little desire to open old wounds. "I'm a strong woman," she says. "I've prayed over it and I've accepted the whole situation; in fact, I watch many of Paul's games. I feel that Paul is an innocent bystander, as well as I am. I'm a Christian woman, so I look at things from the positive side and I don't have any regrets, or any attitude or anything. George and I have been married for 45 years."

Paul and Lorraine moved to Inglewood in 1988, and that year Jamal Hosey saw George Pierce one last time. "I yelled at him, 'You know, you got a great kid! You at least could call him, you bum!'" Jamal says. "Then my wife pulled me, and I walked away."

SPRAWLED BENEATH the jet paths of the L.A. airport, hardscrabble Inglewood didn't expect much of Paul Pierce. When at 13 he announced that he wanted to be a garbageman, his middle-school teacher replied, "That's pretty good." But he was also studying those Lakers and playing ball every chance he got.

Briefly sent down to junior varsity in his sophomore year at Inglewood High, Pierce was the team's star by season's end. The next year he was one of California's top recruits, turning up for classes still sweaty from the 5:30 a.m. sessions run by assistant coach Scott Collins, a local policeman. "If it was making a pass, getting a rebound, the last-second shot? Whatever it took to win, that was Paul Pierce in high school," says Inglewood High coach Patrick Roy. "He was everywhere."