When he opened his first auto dealership, someone suggested that Larry H. Miller use his middle initial as a distinguishing trademark.
Standing out would never again be an issue for him.
Miller was a character of his own design, while making the longest-lasting impact of any figure in Utah professional sports.
While it's true that this state will never be the same without Miller, the Jazz will live on here because of him. They would not be here without him, that's for sure. Only after he stepped forward in 1985 at huge financial risk to buy half of the team to prevent a sale and move to Miami, and then purchased the remaining half a year later to thwart a move to Minneapolis, did the franchise ever become stable in Utah.
That part of Miller's story was occasionally obscured, once his empire expanded to more dealerships and other entertainment pursuits. Investing in an NBA franchise became hugely profitable for him, but he could not have known that at the time.
It was an impulsive decision -- "The Jazz can't leave," he famously told his wife, Gail -- that appears shrewd now, but was driven far more by emotion than practicality.
And for all of his business acumen, that's how we will remember Miller: He cared. He was personally involved.
That's what will change as his son, Greg, administers the franchise. That's what I'll miss about Larry Miller, who never acted the part of a standard-issue executive. As a former fastpitch softball player at the world's highest level, Miller never stopped acting like he was on the mound or in the dugout, emotionally investing himself in every game.
Long before Mark Cuban arrived in Dallas, Miller was the original maverick NBA owner, becoming attached to his team. In his 60s, he no longer shot baskets with the players before games, but he still stood along the sideline during introductions and slapped hands with them.
He also visited the locker room at halftime while strategy was being discussed and was known to offer honest critiques in interviews that sometimes made his players bristle, and he even participated in a weekly radio show to discuss basketball.
He cared to an unhealthy degree at times. If not for team officials convincing him otherwise, he would have fired coach Jerry Sloan after not even a full season in 1989, short-circuiting what has become one of the longest tenures in pro sports history. He threw verbal jabs at opposing players during games, once attacked a visiting fan who taunted him, and at various times, chose to distance himself from his emotions by staying away from home games.
Ultimately, it was all part of his charm. During the team's "throwback" promotion, he once squeezed himself into an old-style Jazz uniform and walked across the floor before the game, then settled into his front-row seat to watch the first half before changing into his traditional golf shirt.
Who else would do that?
Not everything Miller touched in sports worked out as well as the Jazz and the Salt Lake Bees minor-league baseball team. He bought and soon sold the Salt Lake Golden Eagles hockey franchise, and he allowed his women's basketball team to move to San Antonio after one of the WNBA's inaugural franchises failed to establish itself in six seasons in town.
The Jazz, in contrast, have succeeded during a long stretch of consistency highlighted by their consecutive NBA Finals appearances in 1997 and '98. They lost to Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls, but they made Utah relevant in the basketball world.
They're here to stay. That's Miller's legacy. He may be gone now, but the Jazz are his team, playing in the arena he built on the property now adorned by the statues of legendary players John Stockton and Karl Malone.
There's room for one more monument. Miller belongs next to Stockton and Malone, because if not for him, they would have played only a season or two in Utah. Larry H. Miller helped make them immortal here, and he deserves the same distinction.
