By Zach Smart
It was a clear dark
night in West Philadelphia when the electricity suddenly cut off in Terrance
and Lawrence Williams' house near Malcolm X Park. Anita Whaley sent her two
middle-school sons to call for help.
Terrance and Lawrence
hurried to the pay phone just down the street. Suddenly, a gang of grown men
enveloped them.
"That's my
phone," Lawrence recalls one of the men saying, ripping the handset from
Terrance's grasp. "You don't use it unless I say so."
Lawrence, who had
already had a reputation as a quick-hit scrapper, answered the man's cold stare
without a trace of trepidation.
That's when the man
whipped out a revolver with a long skinny barrel, shoving the pistol directly
into the kids' faces.
"I
almost peed myself," Lawrence Williams recalled in a recent interview.
"When he revealed what was in his hand, I went into a state of panic. My
life flashed before my eyes."
The panic was temporary.
A ferocious voice boomed
through the night, and there was Whaley, confronting the armed man.
"If I ever see you
hoodlums giving my sons trouble again, you're going to have to deal with a lot
more than just the cops," they recall Whaley yelling as the man put his
piece away and retreated. "You're going to have to deal with me coming
back here and whipping all your sorry asses."
Lawrence and Terrance,
who say they've since committed their lives to shaping at-risk youth, break
into ear-to-ear smiles.
"From
that point on," Lawrence said, "we never had any problems on that
block. Whenever those guys saw us, they asked us if we needed anything. If we
needed any money, or clothes, or a ride to school."
It was their mother,
they say, who steered them out of harm's way and showed them right from wrong.
If it weren't for her courage, you might never have heard of Lawrence Williams,
a star cornerback at Lehigh University and a NFL draft prospect in the spring
of 2004.
You might never have
heard of Terrance Williams - now on the doorstep of a professional boxing
career - who piloted a Jim Dooley-coached Gettysburg basketball team as a
versatile guard a decade ago.
Lawrence, 31, and
Terrance, 29, have since settled in a house in Hanover twice the size of any
home they've ever lived in. It also reminds the brothers of how far they have
come from the hardscrabble streets of Philadelphia.
Family matters
The gangs, the shootouts
that frequently jolted them out of sleep, the drug-addled neighbors and
midnight marauders - ultimately led to the family's exodus from Philadelphia.
In the summer of 1996, Whaley moved the family to Gettysburg, where Lawrence and
Terrance were reunited with their older cousin, William "Chuck"
Warren.
Warren - a cornerback at
Dickinson College from 1993-1996 who was recently enshrined in the Adams County
Chapter of the Pennsylvania Sports Hall of Fame - provided yet another a positive
influence that had a lasting impact on the Williams brothers.
"Chuck has been
like a superhero to us," Terrance Williams said.
"He showed Lawrence
what it took to go from a high school star to a legit college athlete, and
there is a huge difference between the two. I think for me, he taught me a lot
about the mental aspect of sports. He's been there every step of the way. He's
also taught me what it is like to be a good father, as well."
"Bringing us closer
to Chuck, who's had such a positive impact on our lives," Lawrence agreed,
"I think it was the best move Mom ever made."
While Lawrence was away
at Lehigh, Terrance was in Gettysburg to care for their mother, who was
suffering from Lupus, a disorder of the immune system. Lawrence remembers the
pain he endured one winter day when he traveled home to Gettysburg to visit
Whaley and she didn't recognize him.
At the same time,
Terrance was making a daily commute to Shippensburg University, the school from
which he's now received two degrees.
"My aunts and
grandmother were a tremendous support, and often sent me away from the hospital
so that I could go do school work and make sure I was able to attend
class," Terrance said.
Their mother's health faltered, but Terrance did not want his older brother losing his football focus.
A concerned Lawrence
wanted to come home. He thought about transferring to Gettysburg College, but
Terrance deterred him, and eventually their mother recovered.
"It got real bad at
one point," Lawrence said. "But Mom is a fighter. I knew she was
going to stick it out. She's been a fighter and a survivor her whole life. I
don't think there is a stronger woman out there."
Recalling that time over
a green tea at a Starbucks in Hanover, Lawrence paused.
"Hey T," he
said to his younger brother. "I don't know if I thanked you enough for the
commendable job you did when I was away. Thanks, bro."
Bethlehem buzzing
Lawrence heeded his
brother's advice to stick out an arduous freshman season.
There were monstrous
double sessions in the weight room. There was a new commitment to speed and
agility work. Lawrence demonstrated a sharper focus on the Mountainhawks'
playbook. He thoroughly dissected the style of receivers he'd be covering that
season, examining their strengths and reciting their weaknesses.
Midway through his
sophomore year, Lehigh reeled off a staggering 20-plus wins, surging into the
Patriot League's upper-crust. Having arrived at pre-season camp stronger,
faster, and having smarted from the wounds he sustained while buried on the
depth chart, the Gettysburg graduate had found his way to a starting role at
nickel back. Fortifying the secondary, Lawrence evolved into an All Patriot
League defensive back as a junior.
As a senior, he
solidified his status as a hard hitter. During a road game against Georgetown,
Williams registered five tackles, picked off a pass and had a fumble recovery.
He had a pick-six during a televised game against Towson, high stepping to the
end zone as Terrance and Warren soaked in the moment.
"We were going
nuts," Terrance recalled.
Lawrence Williams
remembers former Lehigh head coach Kevin Higgins pulling him aside before one
practice.
"You're heating
up," Lawrence remembers Higgins, who spent time as the quarterbacks and
wide-receivers coach for the Detroit Lions, saying. "You're at the point
where you can get paid to play this game."
As a 5-foot-10,
205-pound cornerback, Lawrence was bent on proving himself as pro-ready. His
grit and mental toughness were evident in the weight room.
NFLdraftscout.com had
Williams ranked 85 out of 115 cornerbacks with draft potential. Williams had
met with New York Giants coach Tom Coughlin. He sat down with Philadelphia
Eagles personnel. The Arizona Cardinals also expressed considerable interest.
"The Giants were
interested," Lawrence said. "That didn't mean they were going to
draft me, but they were interested."
But there was one
glaring issue. During the second semester of Williams' senior year, he
underwent surgery on his right knee. It hindered his mobility.
"My senior year, I
took the (NFL) wonderlic test," said Lawrence. "Behind the scenes,
I'm not sure if people know what it's like. They really treat you like cattle.
They measure your wingspan, they measure your wrist. They measure your butt. They
try to move your body parts all around, but they saw the weakness that the
microscopic surgery had on me."
Rewind the clock to
April 25, 2004. It was the final day of the NFL draft. Lawrence Williams was
sprawled across his dorm room bed, his eyes glued to the television screen.
Watching the names being
selected from the screen, watching countless players step behind the podium and
squeeze the NFL fitted cap - with the team logo emblazoned across the front -
on their heads, Williams battled rushes of nerves. He dialed up his agent
numerous times.
The laundry-list of
names continued. Williams waited, waited, waited. He made a weak attempt at
self-distraction, logging onto AOL Instant Messenger and dishing out a few
texts to friends.
His mind wouldn't
wander.
Williams dialed up his
agent again. The phone rang several times. No answer.
Lawrence Williams' name
was never called.
He chucked his dorm
phone across the room. He turned off his cell phone, logged off AOL, took a few
deep breaths, and went outside.
Staring up at the sky as
rain erupted, Lawrence Williams' thoughts morphed into words.
"God does not want
me to play football anymore," he remembers saying aloud. "Instead, he
wants me to teach and coach."
Giving back
At River Rock Academy in Palmyra , Lawrence has served as an alternative education teacher and helped shape at-risk youth. Terrance works as a child therapist at the Hoffman Houses in Littlestown.
Both try to get similar messages across, illustrating that the power is in the pencils.
Before Lawrence's gig as an assistant coach at Dover, both Terrance and Lawrence were volunteer coaches for the Gettysburg middle school basketball team. On the team were a boatload of athletic youngsters, including Evan Lewis, who recently wrapped up a four-year football career at Penn State.
The Williams brothers said Twitch Athletics has the potential to turn out a crop of top-flight athletes with the same hunger, drive, and mental savvy as Gettysburg's Lewis
During their time coaching basketball, the Williams brothers' ingrained in their players an original commandment list, which hung from the locker room wall. It was called the "Ten Hoops Commandments," Lawrence recalled.
"One of the commandments was 'thou shall not ..."
"'Not know how to play tight D,'" Terrance chimed in, with laughter.
Terrance Williams has been training religiously with trainer Ricky Clark in Harrisburg. On days when he's not sparring, it's Lawrence who puts him through a rigorous workout.
"We want to prepare athletes in this area for the next level," Lawrence Williams said.
Their mother, Anita Whaley, helped show the Williams brothers a more promising life. She taught them life values. She showed them right from wrong. She taught them to never give up and never let anyone push you around.
Now, the Williams brothers want to instill that same never-say-never mentality into this area's athletes. They want to give back to a community their mother made a key decision to bring them to.
"We want to teach them how to maximize their athleticism and prepare them for when they cross the threshold into the world of Division-I athletics," Lawrence Williams said. "This area has turned out some talent, no question, but we feel there's work to be done. We want to raise the bar. We want these athletes to grow and prosper."
Terrance and Lawrence Williams continue to finish what their mother started.