Five years ago this month, Rick Welts and Peter Guber boarded separate flights to the same destination. They met up a few hours later in Atherton, at Joe Lacob’s house. By the end of the night, the Warrior franchise had taken its next big step back toward respectability.

The meet-and-greet was scheduled for an hour. The interview went longer than three. There was talk of a long-term plan to move to San Francisco. Welts was intrigued. Then the three went to dinner. Then there was an agreement. Welts would join the franchise as the team’s president. No reason to posture. It made too much sense for both sides.

Five Septembers later, so many are linked prominently to the Warriors’ rapid rise: Stephen Curry, Draymond Green, Klay Thompson, Bob Myers, Lacob, Guber, Jerry West, Steve Kerr.

The list is immense. Welts should be included right near the top.

In May of 2011, Welts became the first prominent American sports executive to come out as openly gay. Unshackled from the secret, which he announced in the New York Times, Welts left his post as president of the Phoenix Suns to move to the Bay Area, where his partner lived. It was a personal decision. He just happened to stumble into some professional gold. The Warriors were the beneficiaries.

On his first day, Welts gathered everyone from business ops into a conference room. He warned of an impending culture change. Too much losing, he said, had bled into every corner of the organization.

“That’s just how it always was,” Welts said. “Everybody got raises, everybody kept their job. It was, well, ‘We’re not necessarily gonna sell out games. I understand why sponsors aren’t gonna sign up with us,.I understand why fans complain about the basketball team. That’s just kinda what goes working with the Warriors. That’s kinda who we are.’”

“But that wasn’t who we were gonna be.”

That day, Welts told everyone they’d have a chance to stick around. But if they expected things to remain status quo, “it might be time for us to talk about parting ways.”

The organization unearthed some gems in that room. But within 18 months, Welts also estimated that “we probably turned over 50 percent of the organization.”

He then went about identifying the deep-rooted issues, both small and large. Perhaps the biggest, he said, was the organization’s preference for isolation.

The NBA has a division called TMBO. It has around 45 people. Its primary job is to collect, examine and share among all 30 franchises how each franchise goes about driving financial profit. Welts, having worked in the league for decades, knew the value of its information. The previous Warriors regime had basically ignored it.

“For whatever reason,” Welts said, “before we arrived, they said ‘Forget it, we’ve got it. We don’t need the league’s help. We don’t need other team’s help. We got it.’ That’s such a missed opportunity.”

Welts told everyone within his department to make friends across the league. Reach out to your respective counterparts. Share information. Get information. Those lines of communication will help a business thrive.

Then in that same vein, he met with Bob Myers. Friction between basketball and business operations can often rot at the core of an organization. Is one too overbearing over the other? Are the sides too separated?

Welts didn’t want either issue. So he extended a friendly invite to Myers. Whenever he wanted, the general manager was welcome in any meetings among executives. It was something he’d also done in Phoenix when Steve Kerr was the team’s GM.

“That’s pretty unique in the infrastructure of the NBA,” Myers said. “He’s worked hard to invite me into any of those discussions, kinda unconditionally, which means a lot to me.”

There’s been a payoff, too. They suddenly found their roster loaded with marketable stars. That’s great for business. It’s easier to sell tickets and make money when you have figures like Steph Curry to plant on billboards, film commercials and send out in the community.

As a former agent, Myers understands that. But winning is paramount. Which means those marketing commitments need to be carefully dispersed. So when the schedule is released, Myers meets with Welts and the other execs to formulate a plan. Don’t put this guy here after a back-to-back. Don’t force this guy to do something when he’s visiting his hometown. Those type of things.

“Then we’ll decide from March 15 on, that’s it,” Welts said. “No players will do anything beyond practicing and showing up for games. We want them to focus on that.”

Welts does this all, Myers said, with “a really pleasant demeanor.” He called him an elite communicator, doing so in a personable way. “A lot of companies, when you’re walking down the hallway and you see someone, you want to walk in the other direction,” Myers said. “Rick is someone you want to walk towards.”

Two Januarys ago, Under Armour unveiled Stephen Curry’s first signature shoe. He was months from his first MVP trophy. He was already a megastar. Myers didn’t think much of it. Welts wrote Curry a hand-written letter congratulating him.

“I grew up an agent and it was, oh, signature shoe,” Myers shrugged. “But for Steph, it was a big deal, a big moment for an athlete. I guess I was blind to it because I’d seen it before, but Rick has a way of personalizing his job and that was an example of understanding a big moment in someone else’s life outside of your own and acknowledging it.”

Welts’ first NBA job was as a ballboy for the Seattle SuperSonics back in 1969. He rose up the organizational chain over the next decade and started with the league office in 1982. Over the next 17 years, he’d hold various capacities there, including executive vice president and chief marketing officer. He’s been credited with the creation of the All-Star Weekend concept.

In 1992, Welts was the president of NBA properties. On August 10 of that year, a young Adam Silver arrived for his first day of work. He’d been hired as the special assistant to David Stern. He quickly latched onto Welts.

“I came from outside the sports business and Rick was one of the first people to tutor me on the essentials of sports marketing and licensing and marketing partnerships,” Silver said.

For the next seven years, Silver estimates that “he and I dealt with each other virtually every day.” Welts would commonly hold meetings. Silver would sit and observe.

“I learned a lot from Rick on how to make presentations to groups,” Silver said. “I always paid attention when he spoke. He’s been one of the true innovators in this industry.”

Silver, of course, is now the NBA commissioner – a pretty powerful ally for one to have. Welts has him on speed dial, just like basically any other influential figure in the industry. His rolodex is vast and invaluable. It’s commonly known within the Warriors organizational walls. Need someone on the phone? Welts can make it happen in a flash.

“Rick is a pleasure to deal with because he’s always reasonable and because of all the different positions,” Silver said. “He understands all sides of every issue. So when he presents something to me, he says ‘Now I know, from your standpoint, you’re probably thinking the following. But here’s my response to that…’”

The Warriors are massively popular because of their transcendent on-court talent. Points and wins lure eyeballs and interest. But sustained success hinges on so many aspects of an organization.

Five years ago this September, Rick Welts joined as the team president and the Warriors took another step toward where they are today.