Fear, tirelessness shaped late Utah Jazz owner Larry Miller's successes

This is the third of an eight-part series on "Driven: An Autobiography" about the life of Larry H. Miller written by Deseret News columnist Doug Robinson in collaboration with Miller. Each begins with Robinson's personal observations and experiences from the project, followed by an excerpt from the book. "Driven" is available at Deseret Book.

This is part of a chapter that begins with a story well-known to anyone acquainted with Larry H. Miller. Originally, I wrote this as a later chapter in the book, but its placement troubled me each time I reread the manuscript. Finally, halfway through the writing of the book, I faced up to it, even though it meant extra work: I reworked the chapter and moved it to the front of the book for the opening chapter. Larry liked the move. The reason we did this is explained through Larry's voice early in the chapter.

I can remember precisely the moment my life changed forever. I had an epiphany one morning while I was at work, and nearly every detail of that moment is burned into the hard drive of my brain. It was March 1971, and I was at work, managing the parts department at a Toyota dealership in Colorado. I had just taken a 21-line Corolla crash parts order over the phone from a body shop, and I was checking to see what parts I had in stock when, like a bucket of cold water, it hit me.

Here I was, soon to be 27 years old, married, with two children and one on the way, and I was responsible for raising and supporting those children, providing food and shelter and college and housing and much more, while preparing for old age and retirement, and I realized I had nothing to fall back on. I had no college education, no special training. All I had was my energy and whatever talent I had been blessed with.

It scared me. The feeling was so overwhelming that I stopped what I was doing to ponder the matter.

I decided I had to be extremely good at something, and the thing I was best at was being a Toyota parts manager. That night I worked until 10 o'clock. It was the start of my 90-hour-a-week work schedule. From that moment on, I began working from 7:30 in the morning until 9, 10 or 11 at night, six days a week. I did this for 20 years.