It was only a month ago that Darrent Williams, a 24-year-old Broncos cornerback, died from a gunshot wound in a drive-by shooting after a night out with friends from his old Fort Worth, Texas, neighborhood.
Williams’ uncle wonders how it all happened on that tragic New Year’s night in Denver, whether it’s true that those friends – budding rappers being promoted on the player’s new record label – might have been involved in an argument that led to his nephew’s death.
But Demond Williams insists he is not mad at those young men from the rough Carter Park neighborhood in south Fort Worth, the place where Darrent found so much trouble as a youth.
Instead, Demond Williams wonders why his nephew risked his future by stepping into his past.
“It was my biggest fear that hanging with his old crew would get Darrent in trouble,” said Williams, whose nephew planned to vacation today in Miami for Super Bowl XLI. “It was a constant battle. We always talked about it.
“But Dee had a big heart. He had trouble saying no.”
The story of Darrent Williams has played out on streets from California to Florida to New Jersey, just with different names and faces: a rags-to-riches athlete with a limitless future is drawn to his friends from the old neighborhood, buddies who still roam the streets.
It’s a conflict athletes who grew up among poverty and crime often face. Strike it rich, and leave those who struggled with you behind? Or potentially threaten your future but keep one foot firmly on the streets?
“Guys really believe that these are their true friends, homeboys who were there when you were kids, when none of you had money and you couldn’t afford to eat,” said James Washington, a former Dallas Cowboys defensive back who played in two Super Bowls in the 1990s.
Two of his closest friends were murdered and two others went to prison, Washington said, after he left his Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles to attend UCLA. He left Watts for good when someone pointed a gun at his head after a pickup basketball game.
“There’s guilt there,” Washington said of players who don’t return to their former neighborhoods, “like you have no brotherly love if you don’t keep these people around. You’re going to get called a lot of names.”
Dangerous decisions
But the results of maintaining those associations can be disastrous.
In 1996, Heisman Trophy winner and former University of Nebraska running back Mike Rozier was shot three times while standing outside a bar in his hometown of Camden, N.J., a city he frequented during and after his professional playing days.
In 2004, Baltimore Ravens running back Jamal Lewis pleaded guilty to federal charges of using a cellphone to help broker a cocaine deal for a childhood friend. Lewis received a four-month jail sentence he served after the season.
And last year, 25-year-old Tank Johnson, a Chicago Bears defensive tackle who is facing weapons charges in Illinois, allowed a childhood friend to live with him and act as his body guard. The friend, William Posey, was arrested Dec. 14 for possession of marijuana during a police raid at Johnson’s home. Two days later Posey was shot and killed inside a Chicago nightclub.
Johnson, who is playing in the Super Bowl today, had to ask a judge permission to leave Illinois. He now looks back on his relationship with Posey and wonders if he should have handled things differently.
“You have to be careful,” Johnson said last week. “You may worry that your friends will call you a sellout and put other labels and pressures on you. Yes, these may be guys who you knew since you were both wearing Pampers, but they have to realize that we have a job and family responsibilities.
“But it can be hard.”
Keeping friends close
For years, the National Football League has tried to combat the pull of street life, asking its players to make better decisions off the field.
The league hires investigators to check young, draft-eligible players’ backgrounds. These days, the research also incorporates friends’ lives, meaning one bad apple can potentially cost an athlete hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of dollars.
“When you see great players fall in the draft, it’s often because of the friends they have,” said former Dallas Cowboys executive Gil Brandt, who works closely with incoming NFL players. “Players have to be careful who they spend time with or it could cost them.”
Still, many athletes say old friends are safer choices than new people they meet in their adopted cities.
“I don’t know if you like me because you like me, or because I have money and some fame,” said Nuggets guard DerMarr Johnson, 26, who grew up in Washington, D.C. “These guys were my homies back before I made it, before I had money.
“They’re the ones I can trust. Why would I ever leave them behind?”
Chicago cornerback Ricky Manning Jr. said he feels “guilt” when he hangs out with friends from his hometown of Fresno, Calif. But he added it would be awkward if he allowed those friendships to lapse.
“Look, I knew I wanted to change, but I also couldn’t forget,” he said. “Just because you start getting money, you can’t forget where you came from.”
“Everything is bigger now”
Former Broncos linebacker Tom Jackson, now an analyst for ESPN, said today’s NFL players have more off-field obstacles than past generations, mostly because of money. The NFL’s median salary for 2006 was roughly $1.2 million per year.
“It forces these guys into situations,” said Jackson, who played for the Broncos from 1973 to 1986. “They have so many more hangers-on than in the past. Everything is bigger now… and there are people who want a piece of that world.”
At the NFL’s annual rookie symposium, the issue of neighborhood friends is often discussed. In light of Williams’ shooting, the topic likely will assume a greater meaning this summer.
But, said Ray Anderson, the NFL’s senior vice president of football operations, “We can’t ask players to abandon their community, to abandon their past. We just have to hope they make the right decisions.
“Guys have to be responsible and not hang out with people who are going to lead them the wrong way.”
During Williams’ funeral last month, Broncos owner Pat Bowlen told the congregation that teams and the league must come up with a plan to prevent further tragedies. NFL commissioner Roger Goodell agrees but no plans have been announced.
In Denver, the Rev. Leon Kelly, who leads the Open Door Youth Gang Alternatives program, is taking the first step.
Kelly will talk with Broncos players early next season about the risks of bringing friends from the streets to the Mile High City. Kelly also plans to work with the Nuggets and Rockies.
“You have to let these kids know that this isn’t Chicago, Detroit, Washington or Baltimore,” Kelly said. “You are not back home, so you can’t act like you’re back home. And if you have friends who want to come here with an attitude, it’s going to get you hurt because the streets here can be just as rough as any other place.”
Why?
While details of Williams’ night out remain sketchy, his family said the football player’s friends – signed to Williams’ label, Ryno Entertainment – got into a verbal confrontation with some people outside the Shelter nightclub shortly before the shooting.
There has been no verification that the argument led to the murder.
And though the shooting remains unsolved, Denver police have turned attention to the Tre Tre Crips gang because a sport-utility vehicle involved in the drive-by was registered to a known Tre Tre member.
Williams left behind a son, Darius, 7, a daughter, Jaelyn, 4, and questions his family might never be able to answer.
Darrent’s “old friends didn’t mean any harm to him, but Dee was a big thing to them,” Demond Williams said.
“Sometimes, I just wish he chose his friends more carefully.”
Staff writer Bill Williamson can be reached at 303-954-1262 or bwilliamson@denverpost.com.
Staff writer Robert Sanchez can be reached at 303-954-1282 or rsanchez@denverpost.com.
