Karl Malone: the 'Mailman' delivers; NBA All-Star finds fame and fortune in the unlikely setting of Salt Lake City

Ebony, Feb, 1991 by Douglas C. Lyons

SEVEN minutes into the game and the fans at the Salt Palace arena can feel it coming. Karl Malone, is about to take another "special delivery" to the hoop.

Working underneath the basket, Malone spins and shoots. The ball bounces off the rim, but the player known as the "Mailman" is just getting started. He easily slips past his defender, grabs the rebound and lays the ball in the hoop for the score.

Count the basket. As the game's premier power forward, Malone is scoring points on and off the court as a legitimate NBA superstar.

The former Louisiana Tech University star is now the big gun for the Utah Jazz in Salt Lake City. He won the MVP of the 1989 NBA All-Star Game, and his 31 points-per-game scoring average last season was the league's second best behind Chicago's phenomenal guard, Michael Jordan.

Malone is also calling the shots off the court. He has negotiated a new contract with the Jazz that reportedly pays in the neighborhood of $3 million annually. He has also put together a deal for a new line of Karl Malone atheltic apparel and shoes that could potentially net seven figures, acted in a movie and purchased farmland in Arkansas--all without any assist from an agent.

On top of all that, the "Mailman" has become one of the sport's bonafide sex symbols. His drop-dead good looks and sculpted 6-foot-9, 255-pound frame have put him on the list of "most wanted" hardwood hunks for a growing legion of women.

Although he is the object of much affection, Malone says he is engaged to a lovely Black woman. The couple's picture hangs prominently in Malone's dining room, but he offers few details. "It's something real quiet and confidential that we keep to ourselves," he says.

Oddly enough, the 27-year-old Malone is making a big name in a small market. He plays for an NBA team that labors in relative obscurity far from major media centers. He lives in Salt Lake City, a town that practically closes down in the evenings and on Sundays, and where Blacks are scarce.

Is there any concern that the Mailman man one day change zip codes and seek the bright lights--and an even bigger paycheck--in the big city?

Don't bet on it. Malone and Utah match up nicely. "There are certain things that you can't put a price tag on," he says. "The important thing for Karl Malone is to be happy on and off the court."

Malone is a self-admitted "country person" who enjoys the slow, laid-back pace of Utah. He likes the outdoors and spends a lot of time working on his oversized 4-by-4 pickup truck, or watching a little TV. He enjoys an occasioanl country and western concert and sometimes uses a patented Southern phrase like "way back yonder" during an animated conversation.

Malone has become very much his own man, and he's now very comfortable with himself and his surroundings. "God, for three or four years, I've ripped and run the whole time, and I didn't know what I really liked," he says. "Now, I know what I like. I like to spend time in my house, and I like to be Karl Malone."

As a rookie in basketball's big league, Malone had a lot to learn about life and Karl Malone. His first lesson involved his new NBA home. When the Jazz drafted him in 1985, Karl--a young man who had never lived more than 40 miles from his rural Louisiana home--told fans how much he looked forward to playing for the "town of Utah."

There was also his early reputation as a ladies man. As a successfull and single NBA superstar, Malone had his share of come-ons, stares and outright invitations from beautiful women. And, as his nickname suggests, he has been known to occasionally, well deliver.

At a party in Los Angeles, he was once propositioned by a young Black socialite who asked him to quit pro basketball and live with her. And he sometimes find nude photos of women among the notes from fans taped to his truck at Jazz home games.

However, Malone is the embodiment of discretion, and he takes the role-model part of his game quite seriously. There is a line--including outlandish come-ons, such as nude photographs--that he will not cross. "Being the only [major sports] show in town, people know you just like they know anybody else," he says. "You can date a girl here and in about two days, everybody knows it."

The most humorous event in his adjustment to Utah occurred shortly after he moved into his posh mountainside home overlooking the city. Malone looked out his window one evening and saw what appeared to be a cross in his front yard. It was actually the wooden base of an overturned Christmas tree he had earlier put in the trash. But as the only Black person in the neighborhood, why take chances? "I swore the Klan had nailed a cross in my yard," he says with a laugh. "So I hit the floor and turned off the lights. It was really stupid."

Malone laughs about the incident and without missing a beat continues talking about the virtues of living in Utah. At times, he sounds like a Chamber of Commerce representative. It would be easy to dismiss his love affair with the state, except that he's so enthusiastic about it. "The only way you can get me out of Utah is if you talk, 'Trade Karl,'" he says emphatically. "That's when I'll go. But I'm not leaving Utah. I've laid a foundation here. I have my life on a track that I want it on, and I don't want to get off."