I met him around this time of year in 1987. He was running his annual Pistol Pete basketball camp at Clearwater Christian College. I wasn't sure what to expect, whether he would be another pain-in-the-ass former superstar or something approaching normal.
Boy was I in for a surprise. I wasn't at all prepared for what kind of person he was, a genuinely kind and caring Christian soul with seemingly no ego who was willing to go way out of his way to ensure every one of the kids at his camp got the most from it. I remember looking at that tall, gangly frame with the thick brown hair and the mustache, now showing signs of aging, as if I needed reassurance that it was him and not some sort of imposter. People that famous weren't supposed to be that nice.
Lunch at the camp consisted of assorted greens and grains and tofus and not a hint of meat. Maravich was consumed with healthy diet, almost to the point of obsession. He must have known how it looked to the outside because he made a couple comments to me that indicated he was concerned there might not be something I liked on his vegan menu, almost as if he was self-conscious. I would later learn why it mattered. He was living on borrowed time and was trying to spread his own dietary gospel.
I think it was six months later that I opened the paper to learn he had died. I was blown away over having not known it was coming. My mind went back to the camp. It was still fresh in my mind and it all made sense. I'll remember Pistol Pete more for his acts of kindness than any of the things he did on a basketball court.