Polo Banchero put his frame into a children's chair. Children are warned against touching computer desks with "Don't Touch" signs.
It's not a scene where you would expect to see a young player. The purple suit that Banchero wore when he was the top pick in the NBA draft is not being worn anymore. The 19-year-old is wearing a hoodie and sweats that disguises his strength, but he is still dressed the same way he was six years ago.
He looked over his shoulder and into the homework room at the club. I was here a lot.
A cinder block beacon for a Central District neighborhood that has been bent, warped, shattered and rebuilt by change is the home of Banchero. The Black Panther's served free meals on Saturdays and Sundays. Sir Mix-A-Lot used to perform in the gym when he was a household name. The city's basketball talent has always found their way toRotary's aging hardwood, but few have gone on to national success. For the past three decades, two local coaches have been working to change that, turningRotary's neighborhood talent pool into one of the most successful AAU programs in the country. The biggest success story to date is the one that is called Banchero.
A McDonald's All-American last year at Duke and the odds-on favorite for the 2022-23 NBA rookies of the year, Banchero started playing basketball at this location.
He has a tattoo on his left leg that is the same number as hisRotary jersey. The cross streets are on his right bicep. The address where he sits today is the same one where he first heard about the program that led him to Duke.
"This place means as much to me as anything can mean to someone," he said before leaning in.
I wouldn't forgetRotary and they could wipe my memory clean.
A group of men sit in Dan Finkley's Central District apartment, flipping through a packet of information he had given them. He couldn't keep a dream to himself anymore.
Men are looking over his pages. Some people are shaking their heads. There are people in his living room. He believes his dream is DOA. The paralegal raised his hand.
The two friends played basketball in community centers and on outdoor courts. Eventually, they both took up coaching through Seattle's Central Area Youth Association (CAYA) and watched a local middle schooler who went on to become a high school champion, NCAA champion and NBA champion. The city had NBA-caliber players, but it lacked its own platform.
"They could wipe my memory and I wouldn't forget Rotary." Paolo Banchero
When high school stars from the city's minority-laden urban center were passed over by college scouts in favor of players from the suburbs, the two men looked on in horror.
Every year, Garfield and Franklin would win the state title. The players would go back to the streets after school. It was difficult to take that pill.
The bright lights of high school and city bragging rights were what the Central District kids in the '80s and '90s were interested in. Some would argue that the city's high school blue bloods carried as much clout as the Super Sonics. Gary Payton and Donald Earl "Slick" Watts used to play Sonics in tiny gyms.
The gyms were often at the top of their game at the same time.
The playground was a long way from us.
He grew up less than a mile from the club. He was hauled across town to Lincoln High because he was just a few blocks from Garfield. The busing era was designed to desegregate Seattle schools but it also stripped minority students of their support systems when they needed them most.
He and his peers felt out of place. The basketball court is located in the home.
His dribbling pace and ball handling were out of control, according to his high school coach. He quit high school basketball and started playing streetball.
Quin Snyder, who lived in a wealthy Seattle suburb, was featured at Duke and other major college programs. National powerhouses rarely came knocking for Seattle's urban talent pool, despite the occasional breakthrough like Doug Christie.
A group of kids never got a chance.
There is a plan in the living room. The program Seattle Style would get the next generation to places theirs never did.
B-LeGIT's new song "City 2 City" vibrates on the tape deck as Hennings opens the door of his car.
Just before 8 a.m., Maurice Murphy, Ed Roy, and Roydell Smiley Jr. pile into the back of a car. As Hennings points his ride toward the next house, the middleschoolers jigsaw-puzzle their gangly limbs into place. He jams six middleschoolers into his two-door car.
Hennings set aside extra money from his work at the firm to cover the rest, even though some lunch money came with it. He just got married and was saving to have a family of his own. He was turned from a head-down hard worker to someone his community depended on by coaching, according to his wife. She told him to show up.
The young coach had become accustomed to these weekends. A world away from the Central District's gridwork of corner stores and aging single- family homes, his mind wanders to the tournament in Bellingham, Washington. Each trip is a chance for his players to see where the game could take them.
Two years had passed since Finkley and Hennings decided to start hosting drop-in workouts at the Garfield Community Center. It was just weekend drills with a few local kids, but well placed flyers at elementary schools and word of mouth made a big difference.
Murphy was in seventh grade when he started working out. The future USC and Oregon State guards, as well as Murphy, were already playing and he saw a chance to be a part of something. Murphy saw a person who looked and dressed like him a few years ago in Hennings. In Seattle, he knew what it meant to be young and black.
"Daryll is from here and grew up in the neighborhoods we came from," Murphy said. He was able to relate to us.
The style lived up to it's name because of the up-tempo, exciting brand of basketball that ostracized him in high school. The fast pace turned heads and soon, a cast of Central District and South Seattle stalwarts, including Roy and his younger brother, a skinny guard named Brandon, flocked.
Players saw an opportunity to improve their basketball. Parents saw a mentor for their children.
"I was enjoying making a difference in kids' lives where they weren't doing crazy things." They were given something to do on Saturdays and Sundays. There were not many Black role models. It was not a normal thing.
Two coaches did not have any of their own children on the team. For a long time, Arell wouldn't come through the program because of his father's influence. The charge was bigger than the family.
The goal was to take care of the 'hood. We are mentors, uncles, travel agents, counselors, parole officers.
The Style moved a 15-minute walk up the hill into the cinderblocks of theRotary Boys and Girls Club in 1996. One team quickly transitioned into a program. In addition to their boys' teams, the Style began to include an in-house, coed elementary school league and a fourth-to-eighth grade girls' program. TheRotary Style's head-coaching duties were taken over by the athletic director of the boys and girls club.
Their first group of boys went to the Nationals in 1995 and they came back in 1997 but there was more to come.
Before he became the pied piper of Seattle basketball, Jamal Crawford was known for dribbling a ball in the boys and girls club. The kid who wouldn't leave the gym and decided to see for himself was the one who called.
He had handles.
The three-time NBA Sixth Man of the Year moved to California after playing for CAYA for a year. Crawford says they paid for his travel bill even though he was the last man on the bench.
He was a 5-5 point guard when he came back to Seattle to play.
Crawford said that he was the worst guy on the team. I played for them again when I was the best. They looked out for me.
Things were going well for the two people. George Karl, the legendary Sonics coach, was looking to help bolster the upstart youth program with an equipment sponsorship. As the newly formedRotary's Friends of Hoop, they had the brand recognition of an NBA franchise, even though they had only two players.
The new squad put the nation on notice after Crawford joined.
Carlos Boozer and Tyson Chandler were two future NBA players. College coaches like Georgetown's John Thompson and UNLV's Jerry Tarkanian would wait in the lobbies of hotels to speak.
Karl started his own team, Friends of Hoop, after leaving theRotary style. According to Finkley, it was a mutually agreeable ending. Crawford was going to the University of Michigan, Murphy, Simmons, Haywood, and Smiley were going to Division I programs, solidifying theRotary foundation.
It meant a lot to me that I got a full ride. I knew we were on to something, but didn't know it would grow as big as it is now.
Outside of Terry, Crawford, Roy, Marvin Williams, Tony Wroten Jr., Dejounte Murray and others, there were first-round picks.
There are at least nine formerRotary players currently on NBA rosters.
That was not a reality in 1994. Even as their beloved NBA team left Seattle in 2008, the two men's devotion to maintaining and fortifying their neighborhood was still unquestioned.
As the area produced some of the best basketball talent in the country, the city shifted under their feet.
Slowly, Earl Lancaster side-stepped to the hair clippers. Lancaster's beard and midline are heavier than when he opened Earl's Cuts and Styles in 1992, but his well-manicured hands still move to a steady rhythm. Young men are going into his barber chair.
One of the first picks of the Super Sonics was Payton. After providing some of the startup cash needed to get the Central District shop off the ground, the future nine-time All- Star would get cleaned up between road trips, cracking jokes with local kids who showed up to catch a glimpse of the NBA star. The jersey was hung on the wall. Terry, Roy, Crawford joined The Glove's when some of their children made it big.
They are in a closet. A mosaic portrait of Lancaster hangs from the back wall of his shop, which was saved by a Seattle University community outreach grant. It was close to being so. Lancaster points a black comb towards his original spot on the opposite corner of 23rd and Union Street. The 428-unit apartment building is no longer in use. The liquor store is no longer open. The families who lined up for oxtail and fresh peach cobbler are also included.
Maps from the Civil Rights and Labor History Consortium at the University of Washington show that 75% of Central District residents were identified as Black in the 70s. According to the Seattle Office of Planning and Community Development, that number is down to 12.6% today.
Young basketball players still file out ofRotary and wander into the new Earl's, a nod of confidence that's not lost on Lancaster. A smile dances across his lips when he talks about the weekend parties that used to turn the neighborhood around. The girls went to the club for homework help.
He picked up tufts of black hair and put them in his bin. You can remember it for as long as you can remember.
Lancaster has seen his family and friends leave his neighborhood.
"It was never just about basketball; it's about improving the community and creating an ecosystem of excellence -- on and off the court." Maurice Murphy
It's difficult to keep track of all the businesses that have left the Central District over the years, but Lancaster can rely on the neighborhood pillars that have stood the test of time. One of them is theRotary club. He was one of the first local business owners to chip in when the firstRotary Style team began raising money for jerseys. Since its inception, the basketball program has relied on the community's older generation to prop up its youngest, a relationship forged in car washes, raffles, letter-writing campaigns, local donations.
The teams were on a toothpick thread.
Before her son starred at Louisville, his mother worked at a concession stand in Seattle to raise money for team trips. The parents of a former football player held cookouts in supermarket parking lots to raise money.
A lot of parents didn't have a lot of money but were willing to help out.
Jasen Moore is a barber in the Central District.
He says that the dream was visible because of the work of theRotary club.
Donnie Cheatham, a basketball player at Franklin High, lost his sight in a shooting and dreamed of playing college basketball. He doesn't want to part with his jerseys.
A lot of us would never see things like that in Seattle. You're going to get bigger than your own neighborhood because of that little round ball.
Kids in Central and South Seattle walk a tightrope between the court and the pressures of everyday life. Some of the Central District's most promising talent was derailed by gang violence in the 1980's. Cheatham was near the outdoor courts at the playfield after dark. After Cheatham lost his sight, his high school teammate and top 100 national recruit, Jordan Daisy, was charged with murder after a drug deal went wrong.
He knows that someday he'll be out of prison and looking for a second chance. He wants to give him a gift.
He says great kids, great athletes, but they made a bad decision.
Cheatham or Daisy are examples of one of the Crawford arcs.
They've seenRotary alumni use basketball to improve their lives, not necessarily in it.
Maurice Murphy captained Columbia's basketball team, earned his doctorate from USC's Marshall School of Business, and is now an assistant professor at the University of Georgia. Murphy is trying to get Black and Latinx kids into tech. He remembers that he was told to attend a more academically challenging high school in order to get more playing time at a rival school. Murphy was given more time on the circuit.
Murphy said that he pushed them to achieve their dreams. It wasn't just about basketball, it was also about improving the community and creating an environment of excellence.
A few miles from where he played high school ball with Brandon Roy, a University of Washington associate head coach, and where he is still imposing years past his playing prime, is a gym where Roy's son, Riley, is a player. He is noticeably lighter on wood. His black sweats hang loose, and theRotary logo he designed, complete with a Space Needle rising out of a Carolina blue basketball, is on his hoodie.
Coach, how is it going? Teenagers pass by with fist bumps as the echo of dribbling stops. The last player is hanging out with his old man. Legend Smiley returns to the layup line.
The world saw the talent of the first in his family to play Division I ball. He came back as well. His father used to play there. Legend also does as well. The legend's head coach is at the club. There is a person named Finkley.
It means everything to seeLegend with the same coach.
He came back to coach after helping out with older kids on his son's team. He worked with the under-16s and the under-15s last year.
This has become the program's most valuable asset and gift, because it is a self-Sustaining Ecosystem of talent.
TraeAnna Holiday is a Central District-focused activist, filmmaker and media director at Washington-based nonprofit King County Equity Now. It's what real mentorship looks like when you connect with young people in your hometown.
Crawford is one of the best examples of that mentorship.
While balancing an NBA schedule, Crawford brought other stars to his backyard. For more than a decade, he's hosted The CrawsOver Pro-Am, a popular summer tourney that pits local high school, college and pro athletes against each other. Local youth can see the sport's biggest stars for free.
The CrawsOver is credited with the legacy of theRotary club. When his son started playing, he went back to the institution he knew best.
Crawford says he had only one coach that he could have him play for. I know what theRotary stands for. I didn't knock on anyone's door, but I did live it.
Soon, Crawford wasn't just dropping his son off at practice, he was coaching, joining a bunch of high-level alumni who roam the sidelines.
"Maybe they went to play somewhere else, but their baby is playing atRotary," says Joyce Walker, LSU's all-time leading scorer and a three-time NCAA All-American. They will always find their way back.
The talent is also present, as are the coaches. The youth cram the players in with barely enough room to stand without stepping onto the court.
The Brandon Roys are one of the people mentioned. Cheatham says you are right there with them. You could be 5 or 6 years old and watch the big guys practice. Everyone is watching because they want to be like that.
Parents from as far away as Oregon send their children toRotary because of the program's history and reputation. The two men are still looking for any chance to support talent at home.
The roots are still growing despite the deep planting.
Legend is a sophomore shooting guard who just got offered a scholarship to the University of Washington. Small forward Jaylin Stewart is going to the University of Connecticut in the fall.
If they step away, the house they built will not topple, but they will have to hang it up. It's too early to say if an NBA team will return to Seattle.
It was supposed to be my last. I had them through high school. I have a seventh- grade team that could be my last.
He looks around and smiles.
I have a couple of nephews that are good as well.
Polo Banchero caught the ball near the free throw line. He dribbles once, spins, makes contact with the Pistons' Saddiq Bey and sinks the short jumper for the Magic's first basket of the season. It's the first basket of the season for Banchero.
In the fourth quarter, he catches an outlet pass at halfcourt on a fast break, dribbles twice and dunks over Joseph for an emphatic slam.
After 48 minutes in the NBA, Banchero has contributed 27 points, 9 rebound, 5 assists, and 2 blocks.
The cross streets of 19th and Spruce are larger than the rookies bicep.
Rhonda, Paolo's mother, was a basketball star at the University of Wisconsin and went to high school with Hennings. Paolo was playing pickup games with his dad at theRotary. Paolo used to go to summer camps there four or five times a week.
He says this is where he grew up.
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