by Neil Hayes
In many ways, “TK” was too good to be true. He didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. He stayed away from gangs. He went home. He worked out. He studied. He slept. That was his vice. He loved to sleep. He went to bed early and slept late. He was sometimes late to school because he couldn’t drag himself out of bed.
Desperate for a running back after Bates was injured, Ladouceur moved Terrance from tight end to the backfield in the third game of the 2003 season. Kelly ran for 16 yards on the first play and for 65 yards and a touchdown on the second. He went on to average 9.2 yards per carry, score sixteen touchdowns, and register 122 tackles at linebacker during his senior season.
He had developed into one of the great players in De La Salle history and, more important, one of its greatest success stories. He had earned a scholarship that would allow him to escape Richmond for good. He couldn’t wait for college. He put a picture of himself in his De La Salle uniform above the words “Oregon Bound” on the wall of his room, next to his youth sports trophies and his prom picture.
Terrance, Cameron, Willie, and Jackie came home to visit friends and family before they would leave again for fall practices. Terrance wanted to say goodbye to his girlfriend, who was leaving for Atlanta, where she would attend college.
He drove her to the airport on August 12, 2004. He came home and told Landrin he was going to play basketball with friends at a local community center. He needed money for gas and something to eat.
Landrin gave him five dollars and tossed him the keys to his white Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme.
“Take my car,” he said. “I just filled it up.”
The phone woke Landrin later that night. It was Bevelyn. Where was Terrance? Why wasn’t he home packing for college?
Landrin called Terrance. Where are you? Why aren’t you home packing?
“Why are you trippin’?” Terrance wanted to know. He had just dropped off two friends. He was on his way home.
“I talked to my son and ten minutes later he was dead,” Landrin said.
Everything after that will forever remain a blur: the phone call informing him that Terrance had been shot and killed, Landrin rushing to the scene, the sight of Terrance’s lifeless, bare-chested body hanging out the open door of the white Oldsmobile, pocked by four bullet holes.
What Landrin remembers most is a sound that haunts him to this day, a sound that he will carry with him to his grave. It was Bevelyn’s desperate voice rising above the sirens and the hundreds of mourners drawn to the scene.
“Is that our baby?” was her anguished cry.
Bevelyn collapsed of a heart attack on the street when Landrin told her that it was. She would recover and attend the funeral of the grandson she raised, but she passed away less than two months later.
“The person who shot Terrance killed two people that day,” Cameron said.
The entire De La Salle community was rocked when news stations reported that the De La Salle star had been murdered. Why? That was what everybody wanted to know. Why would anyone want to kill Terrance Kelly?
Details began to trickle in, as unfathomable as they seemed. Terrance received a phone call from a sixteen-year-old family friend after he hung up with Landrin. The two were close. Terrance considered the younger boy a brother. The boy asked Terrance for a ride home from his girlfriend’s house. Terrance called him back to tell him he was pulling up in front of the house near the 300th block of 7th Avenue, in the heart of the Iron Triangle.
When the friend walked out the door no more than a minute later, Terrance was dead. Police had no suspects and no motive. Maybe it was mistaken identity. Or jealousy.
Many longtime Richmond residents have grown numb to the violence, pulling down their shades when they hear gunshots, which can be a daily occurrence, rather than calling police. This was different. Terrance was widely respected. Those who didn’t know him knew of him. Mourners left pictures, flowers, and candles on the blood-stained curb where he fell. Some wrote messages: “You’re in a better place. We love you, TK.”
“As young as he was, he was already a legend,” said Richmond’s Cean Harris, nineteen. “He was eighteen but he had an impact on people a lot older than him just by being such a positive person. He never gave bad advice. He was an outstanding, lovable guy. He was someone you wanted to be around.”
Early the next morning current and former players began arriving at the school, exchanging tearful embraces in the parking lot. Others sat in the locker room, wiping their eyes and staring blankly into space.
Colvin walked through the parking lot in nothing but shorts, his cleats thrown over his shoulder. It was a scene eerily similar to the morning after the night his mother died, when he shocked everybody by showing up early for a voluntary workout nobody expected him to attend. Now here he was again, on the way to the track, where he hoped by exhausting his legs and lungs he might begin to heal his broken heart.
“Terrance lived in a tough place but he wasn’t like that,” Cameron said. “He knew guys and lived there but he didn’t get into that stuff. He wasn’t a troublemaker. Terrance was always such a kindhearted person.”
De La Salle has known more than its share of tragedy. Terrance was the third former De La Salle player killed in three years. First, troubled Anthony Vontoure died after a struggle with police. Then Nathan Kirkham was killed by a drunk driver while riding his motorcycle. Terrance Kelly, someone everyone so admired, the 2003 team MVP, was claimed by the mean streets he was two days away from escaping at last.
“People always ask what it feels like to never lose,” Eidson said. “Believe me, we lose.”
The first practice of the season was still three days away but this was the ultimate defeat. Terrance was killed late on a Thursday night. Players and coaches gathered at the school on Friday. Instead of handing out equipment in preparation for Monday’s practice, Ladouceur led a private chapel service for Terrance instead.
Many in the room had never lost someone close to them. How Ladouceur and Eidson handled this difficult time would influence how their players dealt with tragedies in the future. They understood the weight of that responsibility. It played on their minds all day. What were they going to say to the kids? As always, Ladouceur was honest.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he told them. “We’re just as confused and angry as you are. But it’s okay. We’re going to get through this together.”
Ladouceur talked about how a tragedy is a test of faith. He told players that his own near-death experience convinced him Terrance was in a better place.
“I wanted those guys to understand that when I was having my heart attack I knew I was in peril and I was unsure of the outcome but I felt very peaceful, very calm. I had a resignation that no matter what happened I’d be okay. I felt a certain presence and I wanted to tell those kids that if what happened to Terrance was anything like what I got a glimpse into, not to worry. Don’t cry for Terrance. He’s okay.”
Terrance had touched everybody in the room. They talked about how he had taken them under his wing or given them valuable advice. He cared about others. That was the theme as player after player recalled their fondest memories of their fallen teammate.
“He was making something of himself and he was doing it the right way,” Alumbaugh said. “He was carving a bright future for himself, and that’s something kids notice and respect a lot more than people give them credit for.”
Eidson talked about how knowing Terrance had made him a better person. Then he cried—something nobody had seen him do in twenty-three years at the school.
“What makes this tough is the senselessness of it,” he said. “There are so many things that can go wrong with kids, but to have a situation where a kid made it through high school and made something of himself and gets a scholarship and then for his life to end in such a senselessly violent way is difficult to deal with for everybody.”
A fifteen-year-old was arrested and charged with Kelly’s murder. Police said that the motive may hav
e been a perceived slight in a pickup basketball game the previous year.
The arrest came on the same day more than 3,500 people filed into Hilltop Community Church in Richmond for Terrance’s funeral. The day Terrance’s body was laid to rest was supposed to have been the day he practiced in an Oregon uniform for the first time.
De La Salle players filed off a bus wearing their De La Salle jerseys and somber expressions. Politicians and community leaders, teachers, and coaches filled the church. When all the seats were filled people sat in the aisles. When there was no more room, more gathered around video monitors in the parking lot to watch the three-hour service.
Landrin and Bevelyn, released from the hospital a few days earlier, sat in the front row, dressed in white, heartsick. Willie and Cameron, numbed by the loss, flew down from Oregon with several Oregon coaches. Maurice Drew and countless other former De La Salle players attended.
Ladouceur delivered the eulogy. He told the mourners how Terrance always seemed bigger than he really was, as if his strength of character gave him three extra inches and twenty extra pounds. He received three rousing standing ovations when he spoke about tests of faith, Terrance’s capacity for love, and not allowing anger and grief to be channeled into violence. But the most stirring words were Terrance’s own. Joyce Glasper, Willie’s mom, read a letter Terrance included with his college application.
When she was done the congregation stood and cheered.
Throughout my life I have been faced with several challenges which could have potentially disrupted my education. Luckily, I have developed the necessary skills to confront and overcome these circumstances. One circumstance that I have had to overcome was to stay focused in an environment which has not always been conducive to obtaining a solid education.
Many people imagine the life of a teenager as being carefree and simple, but that is not the case in the city I live in. While growing up in Richmond, California, there have been a lot of distractions. For example, the murder rate of young African Americans is very high, drugs are rampant in the community, and not very many youth in the community understand the importance of education, much less if they live or die.
Many youth place more importance on being in a gang than an education. A large number of the youth don’t even graduate from high school. They drop out, go to jail, or unfortunately get murdered. Something as simple as sitting down and doing your homework can be a challenge. While trying to study I have often had to contend with hearing gunshots and ambulances or police cars racing up and down the streets. The library is just a shelter for the homeless and a baby sitter for young children waiting until their parents get off of work.
Through all of this I have established high expectations and standards for myself. I am determined not to end up like so many of my peers. I have a strong sense of purpose and direction in my life. I am motivated to strive to be the best person I can be, with the understanding that a solid education can lead to self-improvement as well as social and economic empowerment.
Sixteen days after Terrance Kelly’s funeral, Ladouceur gathered his players inside the tunnel at Qwest Field in Seattle. His team had already completed its pregame warm-ups and was moments away from taking the field in the season opener before a crowd of 24,987 when he did something he had never done during the previous twelve straight undefeated seasons. Ladouceur usually limits his pregame comments to a few seconds of general advice, but he had never had a team this inexperienced playing on this big of a stage this early in the season. He gathered nervous players around him at the mouth of the tunnel leading to the field. His message was simple: don’t panic.
Terrance’s death had cast a pall over preseason practices. Players struggled to master basic concepts like getting off the ball, striking, and moving opponents. Injuries kept several key players from practicing in the days leading up to the game.
Players didn’t understand how to practice and prepare, but you couldn’t convince them of that. Coaches had warned the players: if you don’t start striking, hitting, moving people off the ball, if you don’t start playing with more speed, energy, and passion, you’re going to get blindsided.
“They felt they were entitled,” Ladouceur said. “We didn’t have seniors with insights to say this isn’t the way it’s done and to show them the way it’s done.”
Even though the warnings remained unheeded and practices remained flat, there was still a belief that De La Salle would find a way. It wasn’t Bellevue that coaches feared the most, although they knew this De La Salle team wasn’t good enough to assume anything.
Still, they had watched Bellevue on film and had not been overly impressed. Mission Viejo was the team that had the best chance of snapping The Streak, and that game was still several weeks away.
“A lot of people were thinking, ‘Why are the coaches worrying so much?’ ” Danny Ladouceur said. “We were kind of nonchalant about it.”
Something strange happened as the team lined up in the tunnel after Ladouceur’s uncharacteristic pregame speech. Players walking hand-in-hand toward the field without showing any outward signs of emotion is a De La Salle trademark. Ladouceur considers players who act too fired up to be a sign of weakness. This team was screaming and yelling and doing what their coach calls saber-rattling. They were so inexperienced they didn’t even know how to take the field.
The game began like the majority of the 151 games that preceded it. De La Salle marched robotically down the field and scored on a 45-yard run by Eduardo Lopez. It was just the type of confidence-building drive a green team needed in a big game.
A moment later, a surprised roar from the crowd sounded like a jet plane. Ladouceur and Mark Panella had their backs to the field while making blocking adjustments behind the bench when the crowd noise took them by surprise.
“What happened?” Ladouceur wondered aloud.
“What did they do, rip off an 80-yarder?” Panella replied jokingly.
This was no joke. J. R. Hasty, the son of former NFL safety James Hasty, took the handoff on Bellevue’s first play from scrimmage and in a blink was all alone, speeding past would-be tacklers untouched en route to a stunning 74-yard touchdown run.
Bellevue runs the wing-T offense, which relies on deception and features three running backs in the backfield. It’s a widely used attack and one De La Salle has seen perhaps more than any other through the years.
They had never seen anything like this, however, not even on the Bellevue film they studied. Sophomore quarterback Eric Block was only fourteen years old but had mastered the offense during the summer and was a magician with the ball, faking to one running back before handing it off to another or keeping it himself. Nobody—defenders, fans, reporters, the public-address announcer—could find the ball.
By the time Bellevue scored again to take a 13–7 lead, it was apparent that the Wolverines were quicker off the ball, more physical, and more precise.
De La Salle tied the score before Bellevue took the lead for good at 2013 with 8:08 left in the half. By then it was obvious De La Salle could not stop Bellevue. Their three running backs were faster than anyone on the Spartans’ roster.
It was a stunning turn of events. Bellevue was doing to De La Salle what De La Salle had done to 151 straight opponents. Bellevue’s offensive line was dominating, and Bellevue coach Butch Goncharoff was masterfully taking advantage of De La Salle’s inexperience with a game plan that exploited their aggressiveness and discipline.
“It was like they broke into our camp and stole all our stuff,” Ladouceur said.
Goncharoff’s teams had won three straight state titles by emphasizing discipline and team play, but they knew they were overmatched the first time they saw De La Salle.
“Why are we playing these guys?” his assistants asked. “We can’t win this game.”
“That’s when we decided to map out a plan to match their commitment and then some,” Goncharoff said.
They watched every De La Salle film he could find and read eve
rything he could get his hands on—including this book—and in so doing unlocked the secret to beating the Spartans and ending The Streak.
The way to beat them is to emulate them. That’s what Goncharoff concluded from the beginning. If you want to beat De La Salle you have to match their work ethic during the off-season, their explosion off the ball, and their commitment to one another.
“Credit De La Salle for the things that changed in our program,” Goncharoff said.
He got his players in the weight room in January, just like De La Salle. His senior-laden team not only accepted the challenge but raised the bar. They attended as many as 120 off-season weight-lifting sessions when only eighty-five were mandatory. They doubled the length of those sessions from ninety minutes to three hours and began working out on days off because they knew that’s what De La Salle players did.
Goncharoff even brought in life coaches and nutritional experts.
“Prepping for De La Salle made us realize there’s a whole new level of potential out there,” said Bellevue strength and conditioning coach Blaine Davidson. “Win or lose, we’re a new team, and I’m not just talking about X’s and O’s.”
Goncharoff had never seen a team get off the ball as quickly as De La Salle and decided to make that the cornerstone of his program as well. When his players learned that the Spartans fired off the line forty times after every practice they decided to do those forty “get-offs” and twenty more for good measure.
Bellevue players even began to talk like De La Salle players.
“The team that beats them won’t be the most talented team but the team that cares about each other the most,” linebacker E. J. Savannah said before the game.
Ladouceur and Eidson didn’t know they were playing their mirror images until the ambush was underway. Bellevue was playing at a level that De La Salle could never have anticipated, scoring on its first five drives, averaging 12.6 yards per carry in the first half, and taking a 30–20 halftime lead before stunned onlookers.
