Central won the state championship in 2006, its first in thirty-one years and just the fourth in its long history. Then it repeated in 2007 and 2008. Four players—Josh Jones, Chris Griffin, Ronnell Grixby, and Lorenzo Wilson—were in on all three championships. Jones holds a special place in the Central pantheon because he came back from open-heart surgery—replacement of a diseased valve—before his senior season to lead the 2008 squad. Wilson’s father was Lawrence Wilson, a member of Central’s 1975 state champions.
With success came media, which Behrens handled with understatement and aplomb. “He never said anything that could be misconstrued as arrogant or negative,” said Tim Shipman, who taught AP Psychology at Central. “We’d hear or read the comments of other coaches and say, ‘Eric would never have said that.’ He never said the wrong thing.”
It was after the third title in 2008 that Behrens spotted Akoy on the Mason court. At that point, as Welling recounted, “We knew every kid from cradle to eighth grade or [knew] somebody who knew them. If you dribbled the ball in town, we knew who you were. We knew who could play and who couldn’t.” Behrens’s 2009 squad lost by a point in the district final, his first team to fall short of the state tournament. The 2009 squad had a talented scorer in junior Deverell Biggs, but it lacked a big man to guard the rim. Behrens thought Akoy might solve that problem as a freshman. Then again, as a freshman, he might not.
The O-Book for Akoy’s first year included an ode to newcomers titled “Create the Legacy”:
As new students and staff enter the doors of Central High they give much consideration to how they will change the school. Whether it be showing their school spirit at all the football games or creating new clubs, everyone adds some quality or characteristic to the school. Students try to create their own legacy from maintaining a 4.0 to becoming senior class president to just being recognized in the hallways by their peers. We all have four years to create our own identity and to achieve our own idea of success. The paths we choose may lead us in different directions, but our goal is ultimately the same . . . to create our ideal legacy. So it’s on that path that we start and at the unknown where it ends.
Akoy’s legacy, then just a seed in his imagination, would add to Central’s long and distinguished history. In the fall of 2009 the school celebrated its 150th anniversary with a tribute to its hallowed courtyard, which connects students to Nebraska’s frontier heritage. The courtyard sits on the footprint of the territorial capitol, the seat of government from 1859 until Nebraska attained statehood in March 1867 and for nearly two years after. The courtyard was open to rain, snow, and pigeons until a translucent skylight covered it and a floor was laid in 1981. The school’s history was put on display in artifacts, photos, and books. Food was served. Students mingled. Teachers and administrators hovered and chatted. Guests were entertained. Life unfolded. Caitlin Sorick wrote in the O-Book:
The courtyard is more than just the lunch room in the center of the building or a gathering place for a group of friends before the tardy bells ring. It is a place where gossip can be spread, laughter and shouting is audible, clapping or whistling can be heard, or even friendships or possible enemies are established. . . . Multiple changes have taken place throughout . . . the courtyard’s existence. The one thing that has remained the same are the brick walls that hold and carry countless memories and stories that are distributed and shared in the heart of the school.
Akoy made his way through the courtyard clamor and observed the rules of social engagement. One rule was to tiptoe carefully around the table occupied by Dominique McKinzie and Ed Vinson, two juniors on the basketball team. McKinzie, known as “Domo,” was as cool as his favorite rap artists—B-Hamp and Pleasure P. Domo and Vinson carried on a stream of trash talk and banter. “They made fun of everybody and anybody,” Akoy recalled. “Nobody sat at their table—everybody knew whose it was.”
McKinzie and Vinson ported their act into the locker room when basketball began in November. As the sole freshman on a varsity with three sophomores, three juniors, and five seniors, Akoy was an easy target. He took it in stride because nobody was spared and because in social matters he was determined to control his temper and project an affable self-possession.
More troublesome was his tension with the team’s best player, Deverell Biggs, a senior who was third-team All-Nebraska and second-team All-Metro as a junior. Over the summer Biggs had urged Akoy to come to Central, but now that Akoy wore the purple-and-white, his tone had changed. The senior had trust issues with the freshman. As the season got under way, their on-court chemistry threatened to make a mockery of “Four.”
6
Trust
Eric Behrens called basketball a “trust game.” By that he meant that its flow—spontaneous and fluid—required teammates to intuit and sense one another. Behrens’s past teams were characterized by balance and distribution on offense, with shots and points spread among three or four players of roughly equal ability, knit by his gospel of trust.
This team was different in that Deverell Biggs was the singular talent, described by Behrens as the “alpha dog.” At 6-foot-1 and 175 pounds, Biggs was athletic enough to be the reigning state high jump champion. As an underclassman on the championship teams of 2007 and 2008 he had been teased about his skinny legs, but he had defended the best player, Josh Jones, in practice. As a junior he had averaged 16.6 points with a flamboyance that once got him a technical foul for hanging on the rim after a putback dunk.
As a senior Biggs would average 21.1 points and bring a dominant personality to the locker room. “Deverell could be demanding of his teammates; he was really competitive,” Behrens recalled. Junior varsity coach Jay Landstrom likened Biggs to NBA star Russell Westbrook. “He was a freak athlete, hard-headed and stubborn,” Landstrom said. “He wanted to win at all cost.”
To Biggs, Akoy was the new kid with a huge wingspan and a too healthy self-regard. Akoy didn’t take it well when Behrens did not start him in the first three games. “I was pissed,” Akoy recalled. Nor was he happy with his limited number of “touches” while the offense flowed through Biggs. “If Behrens doesn’t give me the ball, I’m transferring,” he told Hammer.
Biggs may have detected, or imagined, a bit of attitude in Akoy. He may have thought Akoy was slow to catch on to Behrens’s system. “Early on Deverell would drop off nice passes and almost hit Akoy in the face,” Landstrom said. “He got after Akoy.” As Biggs later explained to the Lincoln Journal Star, “I told Akoy he had to watch big men to see how they played. He didn’t have a passion for it.”
The team lost its opener to Burke and its fifth game to Lincoln. Biggs pushed Akoy to raise his game, and by that he meant rebound and block shots. “Once Deverell knew a player was capable of doing something, he wanted it done all the time,” Akoy recalled. “I may not block a shot, and he would be in my face: ‘Akoy, block that shot.’ He was a passionate guy; he didn’t like to lose. Sometimes his tone was angry or he yelled.” After Akoy made a crucial turnover, Biggs exploded, “You can’t do that—what’s the matter with you?”
Akoy struggled with the criticism. One evening Hammer received a call about Akoy from Behrens. “He texted me seventy-five times; he wants to know where to drop off his uniform because he’s done,” Behrens said. “He’s mad because he probably missed a layup he should have made,” Hammer replied. They both chuckled. “Well, I’m going to shut my phone off,” Behrens said.
Behrens, for his part, saw Akoy improve with each game. His defense was ahead of his offense, in part because he was not yet strong enough to post up deep. Defensively he had a rare knack for blocking shots without fouling the shooter. “As soon as you saw him play in a game, you saw his impact in terms of blocking shots,” Behrens recalled.
Behrens pulled Biggs aside for a talk. “He’s a freshman and we need him, and you can’t always beat up on him mentally,” Behrens said. “If you’re hurting his self-confidence, you’re hurting our team. You’re trying to win, but you’re going about it too
negative.”
“He makes mistakes,” Biggs said.
“Look, if we’re going to be good, we need Akoy to be not only good but confident,” Behrens said. “Even if he makes a mistake, we have to say, ‘Don’t worry about it; next time.’ We have to be more positive.”
Biggs’s discontent erupted for all to see in a game in late January 2010. Central was favored against Millard North, but the opposing coach slowed the tempo to keep the score close. When Biggs got into foul trouble in the fourth quarter, Behrens yanked him, to his visible disgust. He and Behrens had a heated exchange, after which Biggs remained on the bench and Central lost by two points. Their argument carried into the locker room, in front of the team. “You’ll end up playing at the YMCA,” Behrens shouted as he slammed his hand into a water fountain. “Water started gushing—super hard,” recalled Dominique McKinzie, who filled out the starting five with Josh Hackett and Sean McGary. “We didn’t know if it was okay to laugh.”
Behrens put Biggs through a punishing running regimen in practice and did not start him in the next game, which soured Biggs’s mood. Afterward Biggs harangued the athletic director and was slapped with a one-hour suspension in the classroom of Rod Mullen, who taught African American history. Mullen took Biggs to task. “You can’t make this all about you,” Mullen said. “You’re supposed be the leader of this team. Well, then, lead it.”
Mullen’s classroom featured a “Wall of Fame” with photos and clippings of Central’s most successful athletes. Biggs pointed at the wall. “If we win state, does my picture go up?” Biggs asked.
“You can put up any picture you want,” Mullen replied.
Biggs reconsidered. He knew he had to be a better leader to win state. He knew that wouldn’t happen unless he and Akoy were on the same page. He knew that Akoy’s defense and rebounding were luxuries that enabled him to gamble more on the press. He knew that Akoy’s upbringing was every bit as hard as his with a single mother on the Near North Side. Whatever resentments and misgivings he may have had about Akoy, he locked away. “Something clicked in him,” Behrens said.
From Akoy’s perspective, Biggs “cooled down and we got rolling.” They won five of their last six games after Biggs’s meltdown. They blew through the districts and first round of state with minimal resistance. Fast forward to the state semifinal—the game that forever defines the chemistry between Biggs and Akoy. Their opponent, Lincoln Southeast, was led by Derrius Vick, a 6-foot-1 200-pounder whose first sport was football and who would go on to quarterback Ohio University. Southeast was 20–3 and had come to state on a roll.
As expected, the game was a struggle, marked by tenacious defense and numerous lead changes. Biggs carried Central with a career-best 35 points, including consecutive three-pointers that turned a 37–30 deficit into a 39–39 tie. “He might have hit four NBA threes in the third quarter,” Behrens recalled. But when Vick sank a pair of free throws with 11.2 seconds to go, Southeast led 52–51.
Then it happened. Biggs took the inbounds pass and split two defenders in the backcourt. He darted across half court toward the basket. As he entered the lane, two defenders were in front of him and another at his left elbow. Biggs went up, and all three defenders lunged to mess up his shot. But the best offensive player in the state did not shoot. No, he flipped a soft pass to a teammate closing on the left side of the lane.
“I actually wasn’t ready,” Akoy recalled. “I was in position to rebound in case he missed. Next thing I know, the ball is coming to me.” Akoy caught the pass and put it in—no rim, only net. In Behrens’s words, he “put it up with a little touch.” Central won 53–52. Akoy scored the winning basket on an assist from Biggs!
As pandemonium overtook the Central crowd, the meaning of the play sank in. Biggs summed it up best when he told a reporter, “I was trying to shoot the rock, but I saw Akoy. He was right there and I trust him.”
Behrens saw it the same way. “I don’t know if Deverell makes that pass the first game of the year,” Behrens told me. “He scored 35 points, and he dished it off. Obviously he trusted Akoy at that point. And if Akoy misses, it was still the right play.”
The stunning semifinal finish made Central’s victory over Norfolk in the state final almost anticlimactic, except that Akoy’s stat line—18 points, 15 rebounds, 9 blocks—stamped his passport to stardom and gave him his first ring.
In the ensuing days, weeks, and months, the game everybody talked about was Lincoln Southeast. Years later, when members of the 2010 team got together, they talked about the Southeast game—and the pass from Biggs to Akoy, senior to freshman, with trust.
“I still can’t believe he passed me the ball,” Akoy said.
7
Stardom
Stardom came to Akoy like the bolt of lightning on Harry Potter’s forehead. He emerged in the spring of 2010 as the next big thing. ESPN named him to its Top 100 prospects list for the Class of 2013. The Lincoln Journal Star wrote that Akoy had “made a statement” and had been “mature beyond his years” in the state final. The Omaha World-Herald, Nebraska’s largest newspaper, named him Honorable Mention Class A All-State and third-team All-Metro.
The Central High Register featured him in an article in which he told student reporter Daria Seaton, “I want basketball to take me to college.” Akoy emphasized his diligence in conditioning and said his inspiration was NBA star LeBron James. Later in the spring the O-Book ran the same feature. Now when Akoy walked Central’s wooden hallways, his head was up in the air—and not only because he was tall. As Behrens recalled, “There was a bit of ego, a little of ‘I know everything.’”
That was how another teacher, Jen Stastny, sized up Akoy. He was in Stastny’s PASS (Positively Affecting Student Success) class, which was a directed study hall for students who needed help. From the beginning Stastny had looked past Akoy’s basketball persona. “I think I was one of the only people treating him like a kid,” Stastny recalled. “He was a ninth grader but he was so huge, he didn’t look like a ninth grader. And he wasn’t being treated like one by a lot of people.”
Stastny, who taught English, was “hard on Akoy” to focus him on his course work. After the state tournament, she doubled down. “He let it go to his head,” Stastny recalled. “I talked to him about his big ego every day. He had senior girls following him around; it was gross. The girls were insufferable. They would stop by the PASS classroom to say hello to him. I would say, ‘Go. Leave. Scram.’ He was fifteen. They were eighteen.”
Stastny insisted Akoy apply himself to his course work. “I’m with this girl,” he would say. “I don’t care,” she would reply. “She goes. You study.”
Akoy settled on one girl—Jessica Vorthmann, a freshman—and enjoyed the perks of celebrity. Life was good at home as well. His family had moved out of the Mason after more than six years and into its own two-story home with attached garage, located about a mile and a half north of Central, on the southern fringe of the Near North Side, the majority black neighborhood gripped by poverty and disinvestment. The tidy new house was on a street of new construction so that it appeared to be what it wasn’t—a home in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood in the western suburbs. The nonprofit Habitat for Humanity had built the house and had helped Adaw and Madut finance it. Home ownership had been in Adaw’s plan when she arrived in Omaha.
“At first they want to put us in a three-bedroom house,” Adaw said. “But I said no; we need four bedrooms, and we got four bedrooms. “To me it was a dream. My uncle told me as a girl that one day I would be married and have a house. Now I am married and have a house. It was great.”
Citizenship was the other part of Adaw’s American Dream. The naturalization test given to all applicants had tripped her up once or twice, which only steeled her determination. Hammer’s wife, Leisha, arranged for the mother of one of Hammer’s players, Angela Lallman, a teacher in the Omaha system, to tutor Adaw. Their sessions stretched over three months in the summer of 2009. “I have to really study,”
said Adaw. “I learned about the Constitution and a lot of history. How many justices. How many representatives. How many states at first and then what happened. I have to ask the children for help with some of the words.”
Adaw took the test at the field office of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services near Eppley Airfield. “They give you a pen and a paper and you try to remember what you learned,” Adaw said. This time she passed. Near the end of September 2009 she took the Naturalization Oath with Madut at her side. His English had not developed to where he could take the test, but he shared her pride in the moment. “That’s when you say, ‘Woohoo—I am an American!’” Adaw recalled. “So many people having freedom. You realize America have a lot of people when you see so many colors and languages at the ceremony: Italian, European, Sudanese, Arabian, Indian—like one hundred people. Everybody is hugging. . . . You are here, you have freedom, you can vote. You just cry. Even if you been here a long time, you cry tears of happiness. You feel like it’s your country, like you belong here. You think, ‘I have a life, I can work, and I don’t feel afraid. My children can grow up in a positive way.’”
From a practical standpoint, now Adaw could return to South Sudan and see her mother without travel restrictions imposed on non-citizens. She didn’t know when, but a visit seemed more plausible.
On the tenth World Refugee Day in June 2010 President Barack Obama cited the work of the late senator Edward M. Kennedy, who had died the prior August. Kennedy had spearheaded the Refugee Act of 1980, which created the federal Refugee Resettlement Program and codified into law the right to asylum for refugees. Kennedy’s 1980 bill incorporated the UN definition of “refugee” and standardized resettlement services for all refugees admitted to the United States. The law provides for nonprofit agencies—Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service and eight others—to assist the government in resettlement.
Citizen Akoy Page 6