Doug Houser's paper-strewn office looks more or less like you'd expect an attorney's office to look, except for Shaquille O'Neal's size 23 basketball shoe and the Nike Cortez running shoe displayed in chrome.



Houser, 80, is senior counsel at the Portland office of the Bullivant Houser Bailey firm. But a close look around the office reveals hints at the other corporate life he led over the last 50 years.



Houser served on the board of directors for Nike or its predecessors going back as far as 1965. That came to an end last month. He retired as part of broad changes taking place on Nike's board, and his final meeting was September 17.



With Houser's exit, Nike has lost one of the last links to its earliest days. Co-founder Phil Knight - Houser's first cousin and former Eastmoreland neighborhood childhood chum -- is expected to step down as company chairman next year, completing the transition to the next generation.



Looking back now at the sweep of those decades, Houser marvels about the company that struggled mightily for survival only to emerge as a Fortune 500 behemoth and eventually the world's largest athletic footwear and apparel brand.



"And the day after I officially left," Houser joked, "the stock price goes up by $10 a share."



Interestingly, across all those years, Houser considers the most pivotal moment to be an early 1970s court case that could have stopped the company then called Blue Ribbon Sports in its waffle iron-soled tracks.



Bill Bowerman, the legendary University of Oregon track coach who co-founded the company with Knight, once described that case as "win or die."



Bowerman understated its importance, Houser said.



In 1973, Blue Ribbon Sports and Knight filed a lawsuit in federal court in Portland against Onitsuka Co. Ltd. Kobe-based Onitsuka had been Blue Ribbon's partner, allowing it to sell Onitsuka footwear, especially a running shoe called the Tiger, in this country alongside Bowerman-designed shoes.



The lawsuit "alleged that (Onitsuka) had breached their contract by soliciting new distributors and demanding that Knight sign over control of BRS for the right to go on distributing Tigers," says Kenny Moore's book, Bowerman and the Men of Oregon. "Knight also alleged that Onitsuka had infringed on BRS's trademark by selling the eight models that BRS had registered in the United States."



At that point in its history, Blue Ribbon was selling about $3 million worth of shoes a year.



Profit "would have been very slight because Knight put every penny back into the business," leaving little to fight a costly court case, Houser said. (He added that Knight, now a billionaire, "worked 26 hours a day and is entitled to everything he's got.")



Federal Judge James Burns ultimately issued a ruling that entitled Blue Ribbon Sports to damages but allowed both the U.S. company and Onitsuka to continue selling identical shoes. Critically, though, only Blue Ribbon was allowed to sell them under their U.S. trademarked names, including the Cortez.



Onitsuka appealed but eventually sought an out-of-court monetary settlement rather than re-fight in court, Houser said.



Up to that point, "We had turned down all settlement offers as inadequate."



This time, though, Houser said "they came up with a figure we felt was great. At the time it was an awful lot of money and it was to be confidential. And still is. I won't breach that in our conversation today."



Knight and Houser were asked to come to the San Francisco office of the law firm that represented Onitsuka. The pair was under the impression that they'd sign papers and there would be a transfer of funds into a Blue Ribbon account.



"So Knight and I go down and we appear in the San Francisco lawyers' conference room," Houser said. "And they have an old steamer trunk. Looks like a casket. A big steamer trunk, filled with cash."



The Onitsuka lawyer explained the unorthodox payment method as the result of the difficulty of transferring money out of Japan. He encouraged Knight and Houser to sign some documents.



"And I said, 'Is that X dollars?'" Houser said.



"And they gulped and said, 'Well no. It's illegal to bring that much money out of Japan. And we couldn't' bring it all. That's all you get. But it's a lot of money and you ought to sign.' They knew we were desperate and needed money badly.



"But it was grossly unprofessional. Grossly wrong. Morally wrong. Everything about it stunk.



"And Knight said, 'Eff you. We're out of here.'



"And we left the conference room and went out into the lobby, punched the elevator button and just like in the movies, just when the elevator opened, the conference room door opened and they hollered, 'Don't' leave. We've got the rest of the money.'



"So we went back into the conference room, they opened a door to an adjoining conference room where there was a second steamer trunk and they said, 'Now sign the papers.'



"And at that point we said, 'We're not signing anything until a bank has counted the money and we have a certificate of deposit in the company's name. This could be counterfeit for all we know and you guys have no credibility whatsoever.'



"I called the Bank of America, explained our problem at, maybe, 4 o'clock in the afternoon and they said, 'It's going to take awhile to count that. But we'd be delighted to stay open late and we'll have an armored car there in about five minutes.'



(The money was in $100 U.S. bills, Houser said.)



"And they came and got the steamer trunks and we went to the bank and waited and they gave us our certificate. We signed the release papers. The case was over. We had the certificate of deposit. We went out to celebrate. Had a wonderful dinner and drank too much."



Houser still credits that moment with making the Nike of today possible. A Nike he is proud to have served for five decades.



In his office, he stands in front of a recent photograph of board members, naming each of them and adding an attribute.



"The finest board there is," he said.

--Allan Brettman

503-294-5900

@allanbrettman