9501130971
DETROIT FREE PRESS
950411
Tuesday, April 11, 1995
METRO FINAL CHASER
1C
Photo Color JOHN COLLIER
:
Like fellow Murray-Wright student Robert Traylor, Kevin Jones,
right, will also be attending U-M on a scholarship. But unlike
Traylor, Jones didn't announce his decision at a news
conference; he had to wait for U-M to accept him.
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1995, Detroit Free Press
WHY DO WE FOCUS ON BODY OVER MIND IN HIGH SCHOOL?
The little chocolate doughnuts were in a box, next to the coffee urn.
Normally, high schools don't provide food for their assemblies, but today was
special, all these TV crews, radio people, sports writers. A table was
arranged near the front of the room, and a reporter set down a microphone,
alongside a dozen others. "Testing 1-2 . . . . . . testing 1-2," he said.
Suddenly, the whole room seemed to shift. The guest of honor had arrived.
He didn't enter first. He was preceded by an entourage of friends, coaches,
his grandmother, his aunt, his baby brother, more friends, more coaches and
his girlfriend, whom he identified later as "my girlfriend." She wore a black
dress and jewelry and had her hair pinned up, as if going to the prom, even
though it was mid-afternoon and math classes were in progress upstairs.
Her boyfriend took his seat. He wore a stud earring and a colorful jacket.
Only 18 years old, he was the largest person in the room, 6-feet-9, 300
pounds. It was for his body -- and what he could do with it -- that these
people had come.
"Good afternoon," Robert Traylor began, reading from a sheet of paper. His
voice was deep as a businessman's, but his words were those of a nervous
teen. "I'd like to welcome everyone. . . . My dream is to play in the NBA one
day. . . .
"I've chosen the college that can best help me achieve my dream. . . . "
The crowd held its breath. For three years, a parade of grown men,
employed by major universities, had been coming to Detroit to watch Robert
Traylor play. They called him at home, they called his friends, they called
his relatives. They showed him videos, promised him stardom. They wooed him
like a golden child.
Now, the payoff.
"The school I will be attending," Traylor said, "will be the University of
Michigan. . . . "
The room erupted in applause.
U-M got 2 blue-chippers
Down the hall, sitting alone by a computer, was another high school senior
named Kevin Jones. Like Traylor, Jones is black, lives in Detroit, and is
being raised with no father in the house. His mother supports the family by
working as a janitor.
Like Traylor, Jones will also be attending Michigan next fall -- on a full
scholarship.
But unlike Traylor, Jones, a thin kid with a disarming smile, got his
scholarship for studying three hours a day, getting the highest grades,
keeping his attendance over 95 percent, and never violating school conduct
rules.
Kevin Jones is the most important currency in the city of Detroit, a kid
with a brain. He did not announce his college decision at a press conference;
he had to wait for Michigan to accept him. A letter finally arrived at the
house his family shares with another family in northwest Detroit. He peeked
through the envelope and saw the word "Congratulations." He smiled. His
grandmother hugged him and said, "I'm so proud of you! I'm so proud of you. .
. . "
Back at the press conference, reporters were yelling questions:
"Robert, when did you decide on Michigan?"
"Robert, do you think you'll start?"
"Robert, what did the Michigan coaches say?"
Traylor smiled at the last one. "I don't know. I haven't told them yet."
Not that it mattered. At that moment, it was being announced all over the
radio.
He'll stay the course
This is crazy. A press conference for a high school ballplayer? What
message are we sending the other students at Murray-Wright High School, who
were peeking through the doors, wondering what the fuss was about?
Don't misunderstand. Robert Traylor is a bright young man with a special
talent. But a press conference about where he will dribble and shoot? Isn't
there enough spotlight on these kids already? Besides, encouraging inner-city
teams to shoot for the NBA is like encouraging them to win the lottery. Most
will be disappointed.
Several years ago, a high school star named Chris Webber had one of these
press conferences -- and two years later, he held another to say he was
leaving school for the pros. Someone asked Traylor about that Monday.
"I hope (I can) leave college in two years," he said excitedly.
Later he tried to correct this, but everyone knew what he meant. In his
dreams of swimming in NBA waters, college is the diving board.
It is more than a diving board to Kevin Jones. He has no plans of leaving
early. "I want to study business and open my own one day," he said. He showed
a resume he had done himself. It noted his awards in the Navy ROTC, and his
computer literacy in IBM and Macintosh systems.
This is no nerd. This is a good-looking kid who hears bullets in his
neighborhood and remembers what his grandmother said, "When there's trouble,
just keep walking." He works hard, because he was taught to work hard, and he
doesn't read off a sheet when he says, "One day, after I get my business
going, I'm gonna come back to this school and teach math."
Which is more important than coming back to sign autographs.
The doughnuts were mostly gone now. Traylor's aunt was being interviewed,
so were his friends, who mugged for the cameras. Traylor himself posed,
wearing a maize and blue Michigan cap.
Down the hall, the computer flipped on, and a young man began a new
application for room and board money. He started with his name, "Kevin Jones."
No offense, but if there had to be a press conference Monday, it should
have been his.