From its singular pork ribs and fried catfish to the wailing, rhythmic riffs of rock ‘n’ roll and the blues, Memphis has helped birth American cultural identity and ingenuity.But it’s also known as the place of an ending. Blocks from bustling Beale Street, on April 4, 1968, a bullet dashed one of our country’s greatest dreamers, a Southern preacher whose words galvanized the world.Willie Gregory, Nike Senior Director, Community Relations, was a teenager living in Memphis on that fateful evening. The moment changed him. Inside, it sparked something.In the nearly 60 years since Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. died on a motel balcony near Gregory’s old neighborhood, Gregory has firmly planted roots in the city, on a mission to reshape its narrative.He has served Nike for more than 30 years from here, working with others to create opportunities for employment and education while developing a reputation as the “unofficial mayor” of Memphis. From sitting on the board of trustees for city museums to serving on the city’s chamber of commerce to his role in bringing the University of Memphis athletics into the Nike family, Gregory’s impact has been immense.There is so much life in Memphis, Gregory says. It’s important to him that people feel that sense of energy and community while also honoring the past. Which is why he and his Memphis teammates helped launch <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/mission/initiatives/community-engagement" target="_blank">the Nike Kids 3K</a>, a late-summer race that begins and ends outside the Lorraine Motel, where Dr. King was killed.The building has since been reimagined as the <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://civilrightsmuseum.org/" target="_blank">National Civil Rights Museum</a>, dedicated to telling the story about the injustice Dr. King battled and how that fight has evolved in the years since his death. Today, the museum also serves as a key access point to movement and teamwork for children in the region thanks in part to the efforts of Gregory, who served on the museum’s board of directors from 2002 to 2015.Gregory joined us recently for a walk to the museum to discuss his city, his mission at Nike and how the company is helping him give back to a community that means so much to him.

When you think about this city, how does it make you feel? It makes me feel proud to be a Memphian, to be able to have employment that helps me make a difference in the city that I grew up in, a city that gave me so much. It makes me feel good to be able to give something back.They always say there’s no place like home. And if something goes wrong in your home, you fix it. We’re not perfect, but we’ve got room to fix it. So I want to be a part of the fixing situation.We have great people in Memphis. We have collaborative people. We have people who want to be guided. We have people who want to give back. One of the big things in Memphis is the community-based organizations. We’ve got great theater, we’ve got great sports, we’ve got great universities, we’ve got an HBCU, LeMoyne-Owen College.That’s what makes this city great. Do we have a lot of more work to do? Yes. We’ve got to get business, education and government investment all on the same page, then I think there’s more greatness to be seen.

Nike has held its Kids 3K here since 2018, and you were a key member of getting it off the ground. What has the race meant to you?The thing that’s so enlightening is to see 4-, 5- and 6-year-old kids at the end of the race, and they get an opportunity to visit a historical site in Memphis, the National Civil Rights Museum. To see those young people when they cross the finish line, that means that they’ve accomplished something. And I think that when you start at an early age of having accomplishments early in your life, that trend can continue all the way through adulthood.I really, really get geeked about it.

How do you think Nike is making a difference here in Memphis?We’re trying to make sure that we are great corporate citizens. The legacy of Nike, the beginning of Nike, is running. That’s the big thing. In this race, you will see a number of Nike employees who are giving back. They’re out here volunteering. They’re being a part of the community. A lot of them bring their kids, their nieces, their nephews, their sisters, their brothers. That’s the part that really, really excites me and I think excites a lot of other people too.Nike also contributes to education. Nike has a college degree program with the University of Memphis <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/mission/initiatives/investing-in-our-nike-teams" target="_blank">called Lane Four</a>. Nike pays 100 percent of our employees' college tuition, and they’re not compelled to work for Nike after they get a degree. We want to make sure that we pour into the community and the city, and we think that education is one of the ways that we can.

This city has such a civil rights legacy. You were born and raised here. You were in high school on April 4, 1968. Tell me about that day, and what do you feel when you look at Room 306 today?We had just finished track practice. Me and some of my track partners ran down here, and there was complete chaos. I looked up and saw 306 and said: “That’s where they tried to stop the dream.” But I don’t think it was successful. I think that what they did was accelerate the dream.Now I tell people, “Come, take a good look, process it, understand what happened.” You just envision why he was here. Dr. King was here because he wanted to stay at a hotel that was owned and operated by Black people, the Baileys. When I look up there and I see that wreath, I can say this is what really ignited us to get to where we are. It was part of the dream that Dr. King had.What our city needed was people who could pull together, collaborate and have an opportunity to heal. I wanted to be a part of that healing process, and I still want to be a part of the process. We’ve got a long way to go, but I’m just so proud to work for a company that gave me the opportunity to come home and to give to the community and the city.If he gave his life for equality, then I certainly can give what I can to maintain that fight for equality. And it’s still a fight for equality now.

Why is it so important for Nike to have a relationship with the National Civil Rights Museum?Because this is where our teammates live, work, their kids play, they raise their family. We want them to have an environment that is both safe and educational.This relationship with the museum was garnered back when Nelson Mandela received the Freedom Award in 2000, and Phil Knight came down from Oregon and gave it to him. So that built what I hope is a continual, long-lasting relationship with Nike and the Civil Rights Museum because one of the co-founders came here and gave the award to President Mandela. And the speech that he made that night, which I still have a copy of, made every Nike person that was employed here proud.

The man called the “unofficial mayor of Memphis” talks about giving back to the city that shaped him, creating opportunities for the next generation, and carrying Memphis‘ legacy forward.

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A’ja Wilson was at a crossroads. In 2023, the Las Vegas Aces forward was a two-time MVP, and she had reached the WNBA Finals for a second time. Her team was up 2-0 in the series. They could imagine the confetti falling. But self-doubt has no regard for the scoreboard. The Aces were short a few players due to injury. They had just lost Game 3. Suddenly, A’ja was staring down a different opponent: the negative, nagging self-talk, whispering to A’ja that she was in trouble.

A'ja Wilson on Self Doubt

A’ja Wilson on Facing Self Doubt

Learning that one of basketball’s most confident stars is vulnerable to the same crippling self-talk as any one of us might be surprising. But doubt often takes the form of cheap lies, and during certain moments, A’ja has heard them too: I haven’t worked hard enough. I’m not doing enough. The competition is better than I am. Early in A’ja’s career, her mind would drift to thinking about her opponent’s strengths, not her own. Now that she’s more experienced, she filters the dark mental chatter through a different lens: Are the critiques I’m making actually true? When she confronts the negative talk honestly, she reminds herself of all that she’s accomplished, which is no short list. The premise is the same for the rest of us: Reflect on all that you’ve done to prepare you for this moment. What did she remind herself of during that critical Game 4? That she was a freakin’ MVP. Once her confidence took over, the rest took care of itself.“Sometimes I wish people could see the game through my eyes, because they’d say, ‘A’ja, how are you even successful?’” A’ja laughs. “Like, I don’t see a face or a jersey. I just see a body. I’m out there thinking, how can I out-skill this body? Okay, they didn’t go for that fake, gotta try something else. That’s when the game starts to be fun: When you’re not dissecting your mind anymore, and you’re dissecting your opponent instead.”

The mantras that help A’ja fight through the mental noise are true team efforts. Important figures in her life, like her head coaches, all fierce competitors themselves, helped her transform negative self-talk into motivational fuel. But they didn’t coddle her. She remembers a practice at South Carolina where she was removed from an intrasquad scrimmage by her coach, <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/stories/dawn-staley-2-minute-pep-talk" target="null">Dawn Staley</a>. Her coach’s mantra was a hard look in the mirror: Never blend.Not meant to disparage her game, <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/stories/a-ja-wilson-and-dawn-staley-on-their-coach-player-bond" target="null">the comment was reminding A’ja of her potential</a>. You’re so talented, you should always stand out.“Comments like that are what get my motor running,” says A’ja. “Prove to me what I’m doing wrong so I can prove to you I can do it right.”

One voice that’s been a constant in A’ja’s life comes from her late grandmother, Hattie. Her phrase, The best is yet to come, has helped lift A’ja through some of her most challenging moments, like when she fought an episode of depression following the Covid pandemic. The self-doubt was wrecking her. Meanwhile, her fame was soaring. Her statue had just been revealed on campus in Columbia, S.C., memorializing her career on the same grounds where her grandmother was denied access generations ago. The best is yet to come, she could hear Hattie tell her. Positive self-talk comes from the positive forces in one’s life. Find those positive voices, says A’ja. Block out the rest.

A'ja Wilson on the Power of Positive Thinking

A’ja Wilson on the Power of Positive Thinking

The three-time league MVP and two-time league champion explains how to psych yourself up when the negative mental chatter gets loud.

Nike Basketball

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A'ja Wilson on How Pros Overcome Self-Doubt

NExt volume

If Cade Cunningham seems comfortable with his back against the wall, trust, he’s not resting. In the first Game 7 of Cunningham’s career, Motor City watched with bated breath as its stoic leader — two years removed from a 28-game losing streak, six weeks removed from a collapsed lung — willed the Pistons to their first postseason series win in 18 years.&nbsp; Despite being only 24 years of age, this was classic Cade. Bruising bully ball accented by ballerina pirouettes. Quarterback composure when the fans beat the thundersticks and the stakes skyrocketed. The strength, steadiness and stats in that game — 32 points and 12 assists, for those keeping track at home — have become expectations for fans, and have long been the calling card for Cunningham.&nbsp; That flair for the big moments was molded by enduring the difficult ones.&nbsp; In his own words, Cunningham recalls the Arlington upbringing that prepared him for his trial-by-fire NBA ascent. From studying Penny Hardaway to befriending Barry Sanders, hear how adversity and mentorship have forged a focus that teammates trust and opponents fear.

I hate to lose. My dad being a competitor made me competitive. He and my mom being hard workers made me competitive. Watching my older brother and sister compete in sports made me want to compete and be good at what I did.&nbsp; I wanted to be like my brother. It started when I was 4 years old. I was watching my brother play, and I just fell in love with the game. In Dallas, there’s competition everywhere. There’s a lot of talent and a real sports culture. Being around high-level athletes and competition in the grassroots realm is important, learning what it’s like to compete and seeing other kids who are good. Arlington doesn’t get that type of credit, but that’s how we feel. It’s an ‘if you know, you know’ thing for us. I try to clean up things from past offseasons. I try to be more efficient in how I get my work done and how I work on my skills. I’m trying to be a complete player on both sides of the ball and make sure my mind is in the right space. It’s a lot of one-on-one and one-on-none work. Playing five-on-five is the best way to replicate the real deal. I try to get as much of that as possible. I try to keep my body in the best shape possible.

Being confident in your body is a big part of being the player you want to be. I take that more seriously as I get older. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Every game there is high-level competition — especially at point guard. You’ve got to find ways to impose yourself. Growing up, I was a really good athlete, and I was bigger and stronger than other guys. Getting to the NBA was a big adjustment for me, finding my way against grown men. As I’ve gotten older, I continue to work at it, and I’m closer to where I want to be. Adversity builds character better than anything else. All the losses have made me the player I am and have allowed me to win the way I have lately. There’s still a long way to go, but I definitely lean on the adversity. It’s hard in the moment when you’re losing, especially as much as we were losing. But understanding all the things I’ve been through? Those losses didn’t make me feel like a loser. I still felt like a winner, somebody who bleeds winning. I had to find what it takes to win in the NBA, and over time, I started to. I’m not all the way there yet. The best coaches I’ve had coached me hard. Those are the guys that got me better the fastest. Being around people who are so knowledgeable about the game, I want them to use their knowledge to help me improve. People that aren’t going to do that? They’re not a great fit for me. I don’t try to prove to guys that I’m the leader. I allow guys to naturally follow me by being the type of leader that I would want. You have to know who your teammates are as people. Knowing what pushes them, what motivates them and how they react, while meeting them where they are. It’s about treating people the way they want to be treated, but also holding your frame.

You have to stay good at things that you’re good at. I got to where I’m at by being a good athlete and a good passer. I’m never going to take that away from my game. But you’ve got to be able to tell yourself the ugly truth about yourself. I have to watch the film when I was terrible and learn from it. I have to talk to people who are great at what they do and dive into their minds. Those things help me. LeBron was my favorite player growing up. I looked up to him, the way he did things on the court and the way he carried himself off the court. KD was a big influence growing up too, and as I got older, I watched Penny a lot, his highlights and tape. That’s somebody similar in size to me whose game I liked.&nbsp; When I was young, we said Barry Sanders was the greatest running back ever. He was the coldest one on Madden. Being from Oklahoma State, going to Detroit, and meeting him and hearing he’s a fan of my game? It’s crazy to me, having a legend like that in my corner rooting for me. I’m a big fan of what he was able to do.

I always played in Nike. I always wore it growing up. So to be on campus now, starting my signature line? It’s a dream come true and a blessing. Going back to when I was a kid, the best athletes in every sport wore Nike. Even today, it has the aura of ‘this is what the best wear.’ It adds confidence to you.

I really want to make a great basketball shoe. It has to elevate my game and allow me to play at a higher level. And it’s all about the star for me. My signature logo, the star, represents something so deep. I want to push light into the world, to inspire people and help communities less fortunate than me. I feel like we’re all stars in that way, we’re all capable of sharing light. And I want everybody to feel like a star when they wear my shoe. Sometimes I turn my phone off. My loved ones and family don’t love it, but disconnecting from social media? I do that a lot. As much as I can, I get outside in the sun. I mix it up. I like going to a beach; I like playing golf or pickleball; I’ll go on a hike or ride a bike; I’m down. If I’m in the sun? I’m good.

The Detroit Pistons point guard has ascended from Nike EYBL MVP as a high schooler to All-NBA First Team in his fifth season. He says he’s thankful for all the bumps and bruises along the way.

For The Win

Cade Cunningham’s Composure Is Years in the Making

At this year’s Hyrox World Championships in Stockholm, Dylan Scott has unfinished business.One of the sport’s most ferocious competitors, the former Doubles World Champion finished third at last year’s Championships in Chicago. The Nike athlete, who now has his sights set on the coveted individual title, has competed at every World Championship since entering Hyrox in 2021. Each year, he has finished closer to the top. He arrives in Stockholm intent on finishing the job.&nbsp;That he’s here at all is remarkable. At 17, a career-altering injury derailed his dreams of becoming an elite runner and the future he’d always imagined for himself. Years later, after rebuilding both physically and mentally, he discovered Hyrox almost by accident. What followed was a steady rise through the sport’s ranks that eventually caught Nike’s attention. Last year, another long-held aspiration became a reality when he signed with the brand he’d loved for years.He’ll tell you that he’s not the fastest or the strongest. But Scott has something that’s harder to manufacture: grit.&nbsp;Here, in his own words, he reflects on resilience, identity and what it means to win the right way.

I come from Ninety Six, South Carolina — a town of about 2,000 people — and that place shaped the athlete I became.&nbsp;It’s actually a Revolutionary War battleground, and a lot of our training was out there at the historical site. I ran so many miles on that cross-country course that I could close my eyes and run it in my head. The high school track wasn’t even six lanes — it was five and a half, because you got to the back, and half of it fell off a hill. The weights in the weight room were all rusty. It wasn’t this pretty thing you get with Hyrox, this production. It was grit.&nbsp;You don’t always have access to the best things, the best facilities, but if you put your head down, you can start climbing that ladder. I came from doing workouts with tractor chains in the yard to standing on podiums at World Championships. That’s pretty cool.When you come from a really small town and ascend to a world stage, it instills humility and gratefulness. You start experiencing all of these things that are so big, with so much grandeur to them, but you know where you came from.

It really broke me down as a person when I lost the ability to run. I got injured right before I turned 18. I spent my entire senior year of high school either on crutches or in a cast, and at points in a wheelchair. It happened when I was running on a treadmill watching the <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/magazine/how-steve-prefontaine-set-the-pace-for-nike" target="_blank">Prefontaine</a> movie. My iPod fell, I did a weird shuffle step, and within 15 minutes my right foot was completely dead. Until that point, I had almost inextricably tied my entire identity to running. It was my emotional outlet, my social outlet, my sense of who I was. My sense of purpose was stripped away. I had to sit down and ask: “Who am I? What do I like? What else is going to occupy this space?”&nbsp;Over the four- or five-year span of recovering, my understanding of myself as a person grew so much. Looking back, I’m actually really, really thankful. As much pain as the injury caused me emotionally and physically, it created something in me as a person. It changed who I was and my entire perspective on life.Partnering with Nike was a dream I had that I’d almost let die. I’m so happy I didn’t give up. The path I’d always imagined — running collegiately, earning it that way — wasn’t going to happen after my injury. At some point, you have to look yourself in the mirror and go, “You’re not enough at this. You’re going to have to pick a different avenue.” That fire had really dwindled down to where there was almost nothing left. But for some reason, it didn’t completely burn out.When I did performance testing at the <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/magazine/lebron-james-innovation-center-nike-sport-research-lab" target="_blank">LeBron James Innovation Center</a>, I was working with people who could give me insights I couldn’t facilitate on my own at home. The things I could find out about my body, my abilities, things I should change. All of that within that building, it’s astronomical. It really could be the difference between where I am now and where I need to get to win it all.

I don’t just want to be a winner for the sake of being a champion. I was drawn to Nike because of that same spirit. Nike wins. That’s what they do. But they want to win the right way.&nbsp;With respect for the sport and my competition, I’m going to be the best I can be. I’m going to compete against the best competition. But I’m not going to race dirty. I’m not going to sh*t-talk you publicly or try to belittle you. I’m going to create an environment around the race where whoever wins won it fair and square, and against the best version of their competition. I want to be a champion where people say, “This guy did it the right way.”I’ve always been willing to go to a dark place in training, but I’ve learned not to go there too often. A lot of athletes in sports like Hyrox really value the ability to suffer and sometimes test it too much. You keep checking in: “Am I tough enough? Can I hurt enough?” And what tends to happen is you just burn your body out, because there’s only so often you can go to that well and actually handle it and recover from it.Still, I’ve always told myself that when I refuse to go to those places in training anymore, that’s when I’ll retire. When I’m at the 45-minute point of a workout, knowing that at 55 minutes we’re going to enter that spot, I think, This is going to be hell. But today I’m choosing hell, because I still want to be a world champion.

I give a lot of kudos to my wife, Maria, for pushing me to be uncomfortable and not cling to the past. I was working a corporate job and I was afraid to move on from it because of the security it represented. She said, “You can do this. Please take the step.” I was making it work before, but there were leaks in the ship. We’re in a new boat now. It sails a lot better. Fewer holes.When you’re around your kid, you get to rediscover things through their eyes. Having my son, August, has brought so much joy and perspective into my life. He doesn’t care if I’m on top of the podium or not, he just yells for Dada, and that’s it. Sometimes right before a race, if I’m in a weird emotional state, I’ll think, Let me just hold my son for a second. Twenty seconds of a big hug. And then I’m like, All right, we’re good, let’s go. Sometimes that’s all you need.I value effort over almost anything else. Outcomes take care of themselves when you put enough into them. I want my son to see that. He sees fitness as a lifestyle, he travels to races with us. The first beach he ever went to was in France. I want his life to be full of movement and culture, and I want him to see his dad doing it the right way.I never thought I’d be a world champion or even close to that, but as I stacked bricks over time, I kept getting closer. I kept moving up the podium, and now I’m at a point where it’s like, It wouldn't make sense if you didn’t apply yourself, didn't try. You’re too close to it. So the mindset has shifted from just doing something and happening to be good at it to committing to and pursuing being a world champion.

The Nike athlete has his sights set on the coveted individual title and knows exactly what will get him on top of the podium: grit.

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January 25, 1964. Saturday.The Beatles registered their first number-one hit song in the United States: “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”And on a cold, rainy day in Portland, Oregon, a coach and his former athlete met for lunch at the Cosmopolitan Hotel to discuss a possible business partnership.One hour later, Phil Knight and <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/magazine/bill-bowerman-nike-s-original-innovator" target="_blank">Bill Bowerman</a> stood, reached across the table and shook hands. Blue Ribbon Sports was born.To understand how two Oregonians arrived at that moment — and why it held — we have to go back a decade, to a teenager who had just been cut from baseball.

The Handshake That Started It All

The Beginning

Phil Knight grew up in Southeast Portland and went to Cleveland High. As he tells it, he was the last cut on the sophomore-and-under baseball team — a decision that stung.“I was heartbroken but my mom said, ‘You are not going to mope around the house. You’re either going to get a paper route or go out for track.’ Well, that was easy. I went out for track.”That decision set him on a course that would change his life, and, eventually, the sports world.Knight tried out for track and quickly found his stride. While he was physically smaller than his teammates, he was fast, competitive and willing to work.At one early meet, his father, William, a labor lawyer who would later become publisher of the Oregon Journal, introduced him to Oregon track coach Bill Bowerman. The two older men had gone to college together at the University of Oregon. That day was his first introduction to the coach who would later shape his life.By then, Knight was already starting to win and place in local races, enough to earn a name in Oregon’s competitive prep scene. During his junior year, he spotted a headline that stuck with him: Bill Dellinger, a runner from the University of Oregon, who had just won the mile at the national championships under Bowerman’s coaching.“It was startling,” Knight said. “It was a huge headline in The Oregonian and that’s when I became aware of Bill Bowerman and what a phenomenal program he had.”

The Hamburger of Runners

Although small and lean, Knight never let size hold him back. In 1955, he played on Cleveland’s city-championship basketball team, finished second in the league 880-yard run and took fourth at the state meet. By fall, he’d earned a spot on Bowerman’s track and cross-country teams at the University of Oregon.Long before his first practice, though, his father had already turned to Bowerman for guidance — an early glimpse of the connection that would define both men’s careers. Curious to get the coach’s perspective on whether Phil should attend college or join the military, William Knight wrote to him that fall.Bowerman replied with his trademark mix of bluntness and care.“My first concern is for your young man’s education,” he wrote. “All will not be fun and frolic. It takes hard work for success in anything … it is a privilege to have your son here, also a responsibility for me, for you and for him.”

Like many freshmen before him, Knight soon learned what that meant, struggling under the bombastic Bowerman. “After my freshman year, I had to sit down with myself and ask if I was going to go back to that crazy man, or not,” Knight recalled. “I realized if I go back, I’m just going to have to do things his way because he’s not going to change. So I went back.”That decision proved pivotal. Bowerman saw potential in Knight —&nbsp;not as a star runner but as an ideal test subject. “I wasn’t one of the best runners on the team,” Knight admitted. “Bowerman knew he could use me as a guinea pig without much risk.”He called Knight the “hamburger” of runners — hearty stock, forgiving, determined — and began using him to test early shoe prototypes. In August 1958, Bowerman sent Knight a letter outlining his summer training plan and added a postscript: If you have a pair you think would make good flats, send them down. They’ll be ready when school starts.The pair Knight received that fall featured an experimental white, rubber-coated fabric — “the kind you’d use for a tablecloth you could sponge off,” Bowerman later said. They were crude, functional and a glimpse of what was coming. The coach was still years from finding a manufacturing partner but his drive to build a faster, lighter shoe had already found its first willing tester.

From Track to Business

By the time Knight graduated from Oregon in 1959 with a degree in business, his competitive drive had shifted from the track to the classroom. The next stop was Stanford where he enrolled to pursue his MBA.At first, his path seemed uncertain. But during his final year, a class called “Small Business Management” caught his attention. It was a class that would quietly spark the idea of a lifetime.“It was the only entrepreneurship class so it was one of the classes that I was most interested in,” Knight said.&nbsp;He developed a strong rapport with his professor, Frank Shallenberger, who assigned the students a simple but open-ended project: invent a new business, define its purpose and create a marketing plan to support it.Knight had recently overheard a conversation among photographers at the Oregon Journal, where he’d worked summers during college. They were talking about a surge of inexpensive Japanese cameras that were starting to rival the more powerful and costly German models.“Electronics was a popular topic at that time and the smart kids chose to write about things like that,” Knight said. “But I didn’t know anything about electronics so I wrote about something that I did know about — shoes.”Drawing from his experience as one of Bill Bowerman’s wear-testers, he built his hypothetical company. By 1962, German sports shoes were on the rise in the U.S. — high quality, yes, but expensive. Knight saw an opening.He turned the idea into a paper he wrote almost literally overnight with a single bold hypothesis: Can Japanese sports shoes do to German sports shoes what Japanese cameras did to German cameras?Knight argued that Japanese-made running shoes could compete on both price and quality with the dominant German brands. Knight received an “A.” When the assignment was over, he couldn’t shake the idea. “I wrote a letter of inquiry to virtually every Japanese shoemaker that I could find.”Only one company replied: the Kow Hoo Shoe Company of Hong Kong. The letter, written in imperfect English, was polite but discouraging.“It is with regret to inform you that due to lack of [such] equipment and material, we can hardly manufacture [such] type of shoes and trust that every shoemaker in Hongkong (sic) fails in doing so. We are expert in manufacturing Golf shoes, Skating boots and Bowling shoes etc.”It wasn’t the answer Knight had hoped for, but it didn’t matter. A seed had been planted that would soon take root.Shaken but not deterred, he was about to face the opportunity of a lifetime.That story — and more — will come in future Department of Nike Archive features on The Record.

Born of need and elevated by expertise and diligence, today the Department of Nike Archives (DNA) cares for hundreds of thousands of artifacts and a limitless vault of connected stories.&nbsp;The brand archive began organically in the 1970s and officially became DNA in 2006. The department’s purpose is to both preserve and accelerate the ever-evolving and interconnected story of Nike. “Knowing who you are and the fights you’ve come through can do huge things for morale, inspiration, and creativity. That’s what DNA provides.” - Phil Knight

Department of Nike Archives

Go behind the scenes of the famous business deal between Phil Knight and Bill Bowerman — co-founders of Nike.

Nike Heritage

Walk through NIKE, Inc.’s global campus in Beaverton, Oregon, and you’ll experience a place defined by both its scale and the life within it.This isn’t an office park or even a corporate headquarters. It’s a world. And it’s one built around sport, where movement, the landscape and daily life intersect in ways that feel all-encompassing.Spanning more than 400 acres, this rolling campus has buildings named for legendary athletes and running paths that wind past soccer fields, a lake and cutting-edge innovation labs dedicated to the future of sport. It’s an intentional, expansive environment.Last fall, this city within a city, teeming with thousands of employees, was given a new name: the Philip H. Knight Campus, honoring its visionary co-founder whose restless belief in athletes&nbsp;and innovation helped build the company from a fledgling startup into a global force.But long before this campus existed — before the full-size track, the 11-lane pool and 30-foot-high rock-climbing wall, the hundreds of thousands of square feet of athlete buildings or the world-renowned <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/topics/next-level" target="_blank">Nike Sport Research Lab</a> — Nike had no headquarters at all. In 1964, it was known as Blue Ribbon Sports, and it had far humbler surroundings.

Before There Was a Campus

In April 1964, a shipment of 300 pairs of shoes arrived at the home of Bill and Lota Knight on SE Claybourne in Portland. Their 26-year-old son, Phil Knight — known to friends as “Buck” — was beginning his shoe business, and he stacked the boxes in the basement laundry room.This space became, quite literally, the company’s first office.“I don’t remember if I asked them,” Knight later recalled in an interview with the Department of Nike Archives. “I just moved the shoes in.”

From there, Knight would load the shoes into his Plymouth Valiant and drive to high schools around Portland, trying to sell them directly to runners. Sometimes the athletes didn’t have cash on hand, so they would come by the house later to buy a pair.“It was pretty amazing that they could find their way,” says Knight. “We were on a one-block street that was hard to find.”As Knight’s shoe company, Blue Ribbon Sports, grew, it decamped from his parents’ basement, but stability was still years away.The first official office opened in 1967 at a small building at SE 50th and Powell Boulevard in Portland. Rent was only $50 a month.“It was cheap,” says Knight. “Cheap and available.”Inside, the tiny space served as nearly everything at once: home office, warehouse, sales office and retail store. Orders were packed in the back, invoices typed at the front desk, and shipments mailed out by hand.“We’d get an order and go back and pack the shoes in a box,” recalled Bob Woodell, an early employee and the company’s first chief operating officer. “Then we’d come up front and type up the invoice, address and stamp the envelope, and mail it out. Those were the days when if you could get a 10-pair order, you’d be in heaven.” It wasn’t exactly a quiet office space. At exactly 4 p.m., the jukebox next door at the Pink Bucket Tavern would kick on, its bass vibrating through the wall.“You could set your watch by it,” recalled Woodell. “Boom, boom. You’d know it was 4 o’clock.”The Powell office was the first stop in what became a nomadic stretch for the young footwear company.During the next decade, Blue Ribbon Sports moved repeatedly — from its first offices in southeast Portland to Tigard’s Horace Mann building then to Beaverton and back to Tigard, near Nimbus Drive, before returning to Beaverton, where the company operated out of a pair of offices on Murray Boulevard known internally as “Murray I” and “Murray II.” Along the way, it also established its first dedicated product warehouse on Burnside in Portland, separate from its office spaces. By this point, it had claimed its permanent moniker —&nbsp;Nike, after the Greek goddess of victory.By the early 1980s, Nike employees were scattered across more than 20 buildings throughout the Portland area. The company was growing rapidly, but it didn’t yet have a true home base.

A Place to Unite the Team

Nike knew it needed to bring everyone together in one location.“We were spread out in buildings all over Washington County,” says Knight. “When we could move to a central place, we felt we could improve communications between the various departments.”There was also a perception problem. The company was gaining momentum as a major global business, but it didn’t yet look like one.

“[We] had some traction, but we had no presence,” recalled Jim Robison, who joined the company in 1979 and later helped lead the campus project. “People were flying in from Asia and Europe, and they’d come to a little 40,000-square-foot building across the street from K-Mart. Then they’d have to get back in the car and go someplace else for a meeting, have the meeting, then get back in the car and go back.”Nike needed more than space. It needed an environment that reflected what it was becoming.

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In 1984, the company found that physical grounding in a 75-acre parcel just north of its existing offices in Beaverton. Nike purchased the land for $5.5 million in cash, securing the footprint for what would eventually become its permanent world campus.But construction didn’t begin right away.“We decided we didn’t want to move on building the headquarters until we really understood what our brand stood for,” says Knight.That clarity came in 1987, when Nike <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/magazine/full-court-press-how-nike-found-its-footing-in-college-basketball" target="_blank">sharpened its core identity</a>.&nbsp;“By 1987, we said we were going to be a performance company,” says Knight. “We were going back to our roots — that was our focus.”With that came a bigger question: If Nike was becoming a global company, what should its world headquarters look like?

Designing a Sense of Place

When construction began, the goal wasn’t just to bring people together. It was to create a place that felt fundamentally different from the offices it had outgrown.“We wanted a campus atmosphere because everybody is a junior in college at heart,” says Knight. “We wanted a place where you could get your work done, but also a place you wanted to be.” That idea became the foundation for everything that followed.

Rather than a single high-rise, the new headquarters would take shape as a collection of buildings organized around shared spaces, more like a college quad than a corporate office park. There would be room to move, gather and think.&nbsp;Early buildings were designed with places to eat, meet and reset. The Joan Benoit Samuelson Building, for example, functioned similarly to a student union, with a cafeteria, small shops and informal gathering spaces that drew employees together throughout the day. Weekly gatherings like the “Thirst Thursday” summer beer garden brought together employees across roles and tenures in a way that blurred the lines between departments.

“Everyone from rookie hires to senior executives bumped elbows and lifted pints together,” recalls Nike historian Scott Reames. “It was a relaxed atmosphere that encouraged employees to let off a little steam and also meet Nike colleagues from across every department.”Nearby, the Bo Jackson Fitness Center served as a campus recreation space, with workout facilities and fields that hosted intramural sports.“Employees would be surrounded by each other all day, every workday — in their offices, at lunch, at the gym and on the jogging trails. This proximity promoted spontaneous interactions, facilitated collaboration, and fostered a sense of community,” says Reames.

Incorporating Natural Elements

Nature wouldn’t be pushed away or relegated to an afterthought. It was central to the campus design.At the heart of the grounds, a manmade lake was introduced, with buildings arranged carefully around it. Rather than treating water and landscape as obstacles, the team chose to build with them, shaping the campus around the environment rather than forcing the environment to conform.

The earth that was removed to create the lake became a berm surrounding the campus — a quiet, tree-lined buffer that separated the company’s space from the outside world while creating running paths that looped through the property.The effect was intentional. Drawing inspiration from the contrast of dense urban life and quiet interiors he had experienced in Japan, Knight envisioned a place that offered a sense of calm after the intensity of work travel.“You’d go out and fight the wars,” he says, “and you’d come home and just want a place where there was peace.”

Even the buildings themselves reflected that thinking. Kept relatively low in the beginning, they were spread across the landscape to take advantage of light, space and the surrounding environment. With more land available, Knight and his leadership team made the decision to build outward rather than upward, favoring four-story structures over taller towers. Inside, design decisions prioritized openness and movement, with elements like expanded stairways introduced to bring in more daylight, even at the expense of usable office space.From the beginning, the campus wasn’t just built to house a business. It was built to reflect its identity as a company shaped by athletes and the environments they move through.

Built Around Athletes

As the campus took shape, even its buildings’ names reflected the company’s values.Early plans that referred to the buildings simply as “A,” “B” and “C” were scrapped in favor of a system that better aligned with Nike’s sports culture.“I said, ‘If you want to name our buildings that way, you’re going to have a heck of a time,’” recalled project leader Howard Slusher. “‘It doesn’t seem like who we are. Why don’t we just name them after our athletes?’”That thinking reshaped the plan. Buildings were named for athletes who stood apart in their sport — Hall of Famers, figures who were head and shoulders above their peers.The first buildings were named for icons like Steve Prefontaine, Joan Benoit Samuelson and Michael Jordan, a precedent that would continue as the campus grew.

The original campus came to be over a two-year stretch, beginning in 1990 with buildings such as Mike Schmidt and Michael Jordan, and continuing through 1992, culminating with the Nolan Ryan Building.For the first time, the company had a place designed for how it worked — and for what it aspired to become.It wasn’t just a headquarters. It was a foundation.“Bringing the Footwear Design and Apparel Design teams together created amazing synergy,” recalls former Design Director Wilson Smith, who spent more than 40 years with the company. “We were separated only by an internal bridge between the two sides of the building...I don’t think it was coincidental that we look back on the 1990s as the golden age of product design.”

Expansion and reinvention

Growth came quickly — and in waves.By the late 1980s, construction was moving in step with the company’s momentum, with new buildings added as demand surged. Nike officially dedicated its new headquarters in October 1990, bringing together employees who had long been spread across the region.The pace didn’t slow. Within a decade, Nike expanded the campus significantly, roughly doubling its footprint as the business surged in the 1990s. The athlete-naming tradition continued, with buildings honoring figures like Ken Griffey, Jr., Mia Hamm and Jerry Rice, reinforcing the connection between the company and the athletes it served.

The next phase wasn’t just about scale but also capability.As Nike entered the late 1990s and early 2000s, the campus evolved to reflect a company no longer building with contingency in mind, but rather with confidence in its trajectory.“The original campus was laid out in such a way that if Nike’s business took a sharp downturn — which was a threat in the 1980s — one or more of the buildings could be sold off or rented to another company,” explains Reames. “But the explosive growth in the 1990s cemented the idea that the second expansion would need no back-up plan, and the layout of the new buildings reflects that air of permanency.”New facilities were larger, designed to support a rapidly expanding workforce and the increasingly complex demands of a global brand. Additions like the Tiger Woods Center, dedicated in 2001, created space for large-scale gatherings, from sales meetings to product launches, that previously required off-site venues. Each building expanded not just how much space Nike had, but what the campus could do.

The evolution culminated in a sweeping modern expansion that reshaped the campus once again.Beginning in the late 2010s, Nike undertook a major development project that included three major new buildings across thousands of acres and more than 1.1 million square feet of new space. The expansion introduced a new architectural language — darker, more minimal structures designed with sustainability, performance and collaboration at their core — and brought together research, design and product creation in closer proximity than ever before.“Nike leadership wanted world-class architecture that captured the ethos of the brand and reflected Nike as a leader,” says Gene Sandoval, partner, ZGF Architects, who led the design of the Sebastian Coe Building, which opened in 2018. “Seb Coe was designed to represent movement, dynamism and be an inspirational creative office space nestled in the North Wood Forest.”Nike knew what it wanted from its structures. When Sandoval would bring plans to Knight and Howard Slusher, they would tell him to “go bigger.” Knight's philosophy was simple: if Nike was going to do this, it was going to do it big. Sandoval says he was continually struck by how seriously they took the idea that architecture should carry the culture and ethos of the brand.That vision shaped every detail of the Seb Coe Building. Nestled in the North Wood Forest — and originally named for that forest — the building was designed around preservation. They were asked to preserve as many trees as possible, and they wanted the interiors to feel like you were part of the surrounding woods. This can be sensed strongly in the cafeteria, with the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the forest. The building was meant to feel like it was coming out of Oregon.In its cantilevered front, a water element anchors the structure’s most striking feature. The original plans called for the cantilever to reach 60 feet from base to tip — until Sandoval showed them to Mark Parker, who pushed for more. They ended up doubling it. At 120 feet, it stands as an engineering marvel unlike any other building in Oregon.At the center of the architectural transformation was the <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/newsroom/releases/inside-the-nike-sports-research-lab-lebron-james-innovation-center" target="_blank">LeBron James Innovation Center</a>, which opened in 2021, representing a sea change in how Nike develops product. At its core was the groundbreaking Nike Sport Research Lab (NSRL), a world-class innovation laboratory built to study athletes in motion. Equipped with hundreds of motion-capture cameras, dozens of force plates and advanced testing environments, the lab allowed researchers, designers and engineers to observe performance in real time and translate it directly into innovation.“The NSRL is the epicenter of where we work with athletes of all abilities, all backgrounds, all skills and all sports,” says Matthew Nurse, Nike Chief Science Officer.If the LeBron Building represented a leap forward in sport science, the <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/newsroom/releases/inside-the-serena-williams-building" target="_blank">Serena Williams Building</a> reflected an equally ambitious investment in creativity.

Opened in 2022, the 1-million-square-foot structure is the largest on campus and one of Nike’s most significant commitments to design. It brought together teams across product, insights and merchandising in a single space, designed to accelerate collaboration and push new ideas from concept to reality. Dedicated labs, immersive environments and expansive showrooms allowed teams to test, visualize and refine ideas at scale.“The whole building takes your breath away,” says Serena Williams of the building named after her. “Every element, everywhere you go, is an opportunity to be inspired.”The more recent additions marked a new era for the campus, one characterized not just by growth, but by integration. Science and creativity, research and design, all working side by side.

A Rare Workplace

Taken together, decades of considered decisions have created something rare at the Philip H. Knight Campus: a workplace that operates at the scale of a global company, but can feel like a personal, immersive home for its teammates.For first-time vistors, the impression is immediate. Walk the campus, and open fields and tree-lined paths reshape your sense of distance. Crossing from one side to the other can take 15 minutes or more, and the setting shifts constantly, from wide-open spaces to scenic stretches that feel hidden within the landscape. Like any special space, the people give it its energy. Teammates pass one another between meetings, mid-conversation or mid-stride in moments that feel closer to a college campus than a corporate office, raising quick waves as familiar faces cross paths throughout the day.

It’s the kind of place Phil Knight envisioned early on. Somewhere you come back to reset and prepare to go again.“I worked at Nike for 30 years and studied it closely as the company’s historian for 17, and I truly believe that the creation of what is now the Philip H. Knight Campus was a catalyst that fostered an unprecedented era of creativity and innovation,” says Reames.&nbsp;“If the Nike campus is the nucleus, then its employees are the electrons, bouncing off one another to create energy, light and ideas.”

A new name, a lasting legacy

For more than three decades, the campus has been known simply as Nike World Headquarters, the center of a company that grew from a basement operation into a global force.In 2025, it was officially renamed the Philip H. Knight Campus, cementing its connection to the company’s co-founder.“This is more than a name change,” wrote <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://about.nike.com/en/magazine/elliott-hill-ceo-of-sport-interview" target="_blank">Elliott Hill, President &amp; CEO, NIKE, Inc.</a>, in a letter to Nike employees. “It’s a tribute to the man whose vision created a global movement. And it’s a reminder,&nbsp;to every one of us who will walk these paths and run these fields, of what can happen when belief meets action.”The renaming will be formally marked on May 21, 2026, a moment designed to bring the Nike community together around the legacy — and future — of a space that has shaped the company for more than 35 years.In that sense, the renaming doesn’t mark a new chapter as much as it clarifies the one Nike has been writing all along. From a basement laundry room to a world headquarters spanning hundreds of acres, the throughline remains the same: a belief in athletes, in innovation, and in knowing that the greatest is always yet to come.

From a basement laundry room to a global headquarters spanning hundreds of acres, the throughline for the space remains the same: a belief in athletes, in innovation, and in knowing that the greatest is always yet to come.

The Definitive History of Nike’s World Campus

In 1971, Watergate was just a hotel, NASA was preparing Apollo 15, and a small Oregon company had just sold its first pair of shoes.The shoe — a football boot called “the Nike” — retailed for $16.95. Its defining feature was a checkmark-shaped stripe created by a Portland State University student for $35. Few noticed the shoe, but the mark would long outlast it.At the time, Nike wasn’t yet the global sports brand it would become. Phil Knight and Bill Bowerman were still operating as Blue Ribbon Sports (BRS), a small distributor of Japanese running shoes. But contracts with their supplier were winding down, and Knight knew the company’s future depended on more than someone else’s product. To succeed, BRS needed a shoe of its own — and with it, an identity.That February, Knight contracted a factory in Mexico to produce a black soccer cleat with a white sole. To distinguish it from Onitsuka Tiger models, he needed a brand mark. He turned to Carolyn Davidson, a design student he’d met while teaching accounting at Portland State.

Two years earlier, Davidson had been overheard in a hallway telling a classmate she couldn’t afford an oil painting course. Knight offered her $2 an hour to make charts and graphics for his side business. Over time, she created ads, brochures and catalogs. Now he asked her for something bigger: a stripe for the side of a shoe.

Davidson sketched half a dozen options. In a Tigard, Oregon, office, Knight gathered two employees to review them, including Jeff Johnson, Nike’s first full-time hire. None made a strong impression. “It came down to a matter of which was the least awful,” Johnson recalled.The group settled on Davidson’s curving checkmark. She thought it suggested motion. Knight was unconvinced. “Well, I don’t love it,” he told her, “but it will grow on me.”The stripe — not yet called the Swoosh — was rushed to Mexico so production could begin. Davidson sent Knight an invoice for $35.

Those first shoes carried the new mark into the world, but it looked different on nearly every model. On some, the line stretched wide. On others, it pinched tight. One runner joked that the curvier version resembled a “dead fish.” Factories stitched it however they could, and designers adjusted the angle depending on the shoe’s shape.

Yet the stripe was already making appearances in the right places. At the 1972 Boston Marathon, two of the top American finishers crossed the line wearing Nike shoes marked with Davidson’s design — the first confirmed appearance of a Swoosh in a major race. The company highlighted the feat in its marketing materials the following year.Apparel presented another challenge. On shirts and bags, the asymmetry of the mark seemed awkward. Johnson experimented by fanning multiple Swooshes into a circle, creating what became known as the “Sunburst” or “Pinwheel” logo. Borrowed in spirit from the 1972 Olympic design, it gave Nike something bold to put on warm-ups and team gear.

Geoff Hollister, Nike’s third employee —&nbsp;who would go on to pioneer the company’s early marketing efforts —&nbsp;pressed the Sunburst onto singlets and tracksuits. He also applied the Swoosh alone in unconventional ways. In 1974, Steve Prefontaine appeared at a meet in Tacoma, Washington, wearing a tracksuit with a lone, backwards Swoosh across the chest. That marked the first time the logo stood by itself on apparel.In those first years, the design was far from consistent. Some called it the stripe. Others thought it looked strange, even unbalanced. But on marathon finish lines, in Olympic Trials and on the chest of America’s most famous runner, the mark was already doing its job: it was sticking.What began as a reluctant choice — a student’s sketch rushed off to a factory — had become the emblem of Nike’s earliest wins. The Swoosh wasn’t yet the global icon it would become, but it was already proving it had staying power.

In the decades since that first soccer cleat, the Swoosh has taken on countless forms. It was paired with bold Helvetica in the 1970s, broadcast to millions in Dennis Hopper’s 1993 football ads, stretched across Niketown Portland’s architecture, and splashed across caps at Wimbledon. It has been oversized, miniaturized, multiplied and, at times, overused. It has been guarded by Nike’s “brand police,” celebrated by athletes and parodied by critics.Through all those shifts, one through line has remained: the Swoosh endures. What began as a quick sketch by a college student has become one of the most recognized symbols in the world. More than a stripe, it’s a global shorthand for speed, innovation and possibility.

Before Nike was a worldwide sports brand, it was an upstart company in need of an eye-catching visual identity. Here, the real story of the Swoosh.

The Nike Swoosh Logo: From Humble Beginnings to Global Icon

50-Plus Years of History and Heritage

A montage of film clips that show how NIKE, Inc. brings inspiration and innovation to every athlete — and if you have a body, you are an athlete.

WE SERVE KIDS, PROS, DREAMERS, WOMEN, TEAMS, COACHES, MEN, BEGINNERS, GIRLS, REBELS, ATHLETES.* *If you have a body, you are an athlete