Growing Duke Hard
Fist fights in the sand lot
Art Heyman and Larry Brown grew up together: Heyman in Oceanside, New York, and Brown in Long Beach. They competed in the playground across the street from the bakery owned by Brown’s grandfather. Even though they were just kids, this was fierce competition at a very high level. Because of this, only the best young players were allowed to play on these uneven courts. Maybe you could never tell that Art and Larry were actually close friends. Both boys were tough and mean, and even then there were fist fights, but there was also mutual respect. In fact, they were chased by Frank McGuire in North Carolina until they both agreed to play for him. That was until Duke entered the picture. But that’s another story for another day. Suffice to say, this pairing was as tough as New York can produce, and a Heyman unleashed was a terrifying prospect for any opposing team. He proved it at Duke to a very pleased Coach Bubas.
the magnificent warrior
In the grim, murderous neighborhood of North St. Louis where Chris Carrawell grew up, he recalls three shootings in one summer, a scenario he said he wouldn’t dare wish on many people. “Learn to defend mine” was his 11th Commandment. “My basketball was my thing; I had to fight older guys to keep it from me,” says Carrawell. Carrawell had no one else to defend him when he was a child. His father didn’t exist, he was the man of the house, and most of the time it seemed like no one cared if he ever enjoyed a modicum of success doing anything anywhere.
He claims that the only reason he and his siblings were able to do it was because of their mother’s harshness. “She kept us in church, she was very religious,” he says. “Seeing her be there for us every day and keep us away from things that you can counter by growing up in the neighborhood we grew up in. She was the strongest person I know to this day.” And thanks to her, Carrawell became excellent at the one thing he could excel at above all others: basketball.
He had some serious injuries, one might even have questioned why Mike Krzyewski pursued Carrawell for Duke, knowing he may have chronic problems. Perhaps it was the boy’s fighting spirit, his refusal to back down. Well, in any case, Coach K’s gamble paid off and Carrawell became a giant killer. At just 6’6″ and 215, he was assigned to Tim Duncan in college and defended well. However, he was also the backup point guard and was usually assigned the other team’s best perimeter shooter. In the end, Coach K called Carrawell “the magnificent warrior”, and it was a fitting title for a young man who never gave up, who gave his last ounce of effort in every game, who had learned to stay cool even in the most pressured playing conditions.
When Daniel Stopped Crying
A native of Missouri City, Texas, Daniel Ewing grew up in a large, competitive family with some heartless older brothers. When they played basketball as a family, you’d think Daniel’s brothers would give him a break, give him a break, a free throw or two. But no way. Ewing was tortured, beaten, pushed and pushed until he ran to his father crying for mercy. Nonchalantly, his father used to simply say, “Go back out there and stop crying…” So Daniel learned to fight with all his heart for every rebound, every possession, every shot, and in the process, he became one. of the best high school players in America. As a shooter and point guard at Duke, Ewing was involved in more wins than any other player in the nation. He seemed mild mannered, but he believed in the extreme effort he expended in every game and as team captain for two years.
competitive as they come
At first glance, Bobby Hurley looked like a short, pale 15-year-old with a smug pout. But woe to the basketball coaches and players who underestimated him on the court! Hurley’s father was a successful high school basketball coach and both he and his son were very competitive. This resulted in some ruthless one-on-one games between the two while Bobby was still in elementary and middle school. Hurley Sr. was almost inhuman in the little things he did to make Bobby nervous or throw him off his game, to undermine his confidence. Eventually, he couldn’t get inside his son’s head anymore and Bobby graduated to inner-city court. He was sometimes the only white kid on the courts. If he lost a game, he was likely to wait at least an hour before getting another chance. Eventually, Bobby’s teams almost always won. He arguably became the best point guard to ever play for Duke and still holds the NCAA career assist record at 1,076. He was good for two national championships.
Some critics act as if only rich, privileged kids who grew up playing on gold-plated hard courts ended up at Duke. But it is only children who are the best brains in the nation. Or it’s just those who worship at the massive Krzyewski Shrine perched in the middle of the Durham campus. No. Many of Duke’s best players came up the hard way, fighting and scratching their way against equally determined players on cement roads and asphalt courts from the slums of St. Louis to the boroughs of New York City. .
