Jeff Seidel | Detroit Free Press

Kirkland Crawford, Detroit Free Press

EAST LANSING — After they pulled out guns and sprayed the block with bullets.

After both his “brothers” were murdered over the span of 17 months.

Raequan Williams almost dropped out of Michigan State and quit playing football. He wanted to go home to Chicago. To keep his family safe.

“Rae wanted to stop,” Latasha Williams said, of her son. “He was ready to come back. I told him, ‘No, it’s gotta motivate you more, so you do what you gotta do. Don’t let this stop you. Take it out on the field.’”

You think it’s hard to play college football? You think it’s hard to go to class and concentrate?

Matthew Mitchell Photography

Try being Williams, the Spartans' budding nose tackle, who did it after both his “brothers” were murdered, and he'd sit in East Lansing, worrying about the safety of his mother and his four remaining little brothers and sisters.

The first murder happened on Jan. 13, 2016, when Williams was a freshman at MSU. Antonio Pollards, Williams’ cousin, was on his way to school when a vehicle went by and someone opened fire. Pollards, one day from turning 18, was hit multiple times and died at a hospital.

“We were basically twins,” Williams said.

Williams and Pollards grew up together in the same two-bedroom house, eight kids crammed together, sharing a bathroom, beds, utensils — everything, really. “We were so close,” Williams said. “We called each other ‘brothers.’ ”

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At the funeral, Williams was stuck between two worlds, a college football player standing in a city known for gang violence, a place where 16-year-olds with guns are making life-and-death decisions, and the dead are sometimes martyred and glorified.

“Here is a kid who just got murdered — he got shot 13, 15 times, whatever it was — and it was like a parade; it was nuts,” said Bill Jeske, Williams’ high school football coach at DePaul College Prep. “They had a Harley Davidson with a hearse, like when Kennedy got killed. They had the casket on top. Kids were outside, drinking 40-ounce beer. Every typical thing you could say about kids getting high. They were wearing do-rags to show (gang) solidarity. And Raquan is nicely dressed. I don’t even think Raquan noticed. He was so upset.”

The second murder happened June 7, 2017, when Williams was a redshirt sophomore at MSU. Corey Hill Jr., Williams’ younger brother, was on his way to school and stopped to see some friends. A silver vehicle pulled up and someone wearing a mask and carrying a rifle got out and fired multiple rounds, according to the Chicago Sun Times.

“He never had a chance to make it to school,” Latasha Williams said, of her son. “Somebody came and sprayed the block.”

Hill was shot multiple times and taken to Mount Sinai Hospital, where he was pronounced dead. He was 16.

Both murders remain unsolved, according to Latasha Williams.

“Rae doesn’t say much, but it was tough on him,” said Tom Kleinschmidt, Williams' high school basketball coach. “It took a piece of him because that was his heart.”

Should he seek revenge? An eye for an eye? That’s the law of the streets. It’s a cycle of violence that never seems to end.

But Williams won't let that stop him.

Mike Carter, USA TODAY Sports

An outlier in a city of violence

You see Raequan Williams on a football field playing for Michigan State, and he looks like he is headed to the NFL.

You listen to his passion for helping others, and you wonder whether he will be a community activist someday. Or maybe, even a politician. The future mayor of Chicago, according to MSU coach Mark Dantonio.

You talk with his teammates and they break into smiles and blurt out statements about “respect” and “love” and “that’s my guy.”

You hear him talk about the upcoming season — the 11th-ranked Spartans will open their season against Utah State on Friday, which would have been Hill's 18th birthday — and you feel his excitement.

You get a glimpse of his heart, how he gives his old jerseys to his former coaches or will drive eight hours in one night just to show up for a special game, and you can’t help but like him.

And you can’t help but wonder: How did he turn out this way?

Raequan Williams is a remarkable success story, which is a testament to how he was raised by his mother; how he was profoundly influenced by MacKenzie Hyde, whom he calls his second mom; and how he has been shaped and guided by a strong group of men in his life — from the youth coaches in his neighborhood, to the high school coaches at a private school in Chicago, to the staff at MSU.

He represents a blueprint for change, especially for cities with violent reputations like Chicago, and even Detroit.

If you give a child the proper guidance and hope and let him dream and offer him choices, if you make them feel important, magic can happen. It doesn’t matter what kind of hell he comes from. The cycle of violence can be stopped.

Williams grew up in Lawndale and Garfield Park, neighboring communities that are among the most violent in Chicago.

“It’s a hotbed of crime in the city,” Kleinschmidt said. “Gang factions are not down the block, they are literally across the street. They can just shoot across the street. It’s crazy, just crazy. If there is a shooting, it’s usually in one of three areas and Rae is from the heart of it. He has seen a lot at an early age.”

View | 16 Photos

Meet Michigan State defensive tackle Raequan Williams

There were 765 people murdered in Chicago in 2016, which is more than the total of both Los Angeles and New York City combined, according to the FBI.

Hearing gunshots was common where Williams grew up. “All day, every day,” Latasha Williams said. “Funerals even got shot up. In Chicago, it’s real messed up.”

He saw guns get pulled. He saw people get shot — one time ducking for cover and running for safety.

“Yeah definitely,” he said. “It’s a very rough area.”

But they made do.

"I remember times when we had to share silverware and stuff like that,” Williams said. “It was rough… Gangs. Drugs everywhere. You could easily get influenced down the wrong road. It can easily happen… A lot of abandoned houses. A lot of older guys selling drugs on the block. But there is good people there, too.”

Leon Halip, Getty Images

People like Tim Hall, the coach of the Garfield Gators, a youth football team in Chicago. Hall spotted Williams when he was in sixth grade.

“That first game, he played right away,” Hall said. “He wasn’t any good, but he played. In seventh grade, he was so-so. Just learning the game. He couldn’t get in a three-point stance. You wouldn’t think this kid would play football. They called him a gentle giant. You had to make him get aggressive. In eighth grade, he was a beast. He made the national all-star game.”

Hall took him to the all-star game, which was played before the Under Armor national high school all-star game at Tropicana Field in St. Petersburg, Fla. “I think it opened his eyes,” Hall said. “He got to see how football can take them a long way.”

Having a vision is critical.

If you can’t see beyond the next neighborhood, or the next funeral, life can become pointless and fleeting. That’s what creates 16-year-old killers with no care in the world.

"In the last 10 years," Hall said, "I think I have had eight kids murdered.”

Eight murders.

Eight funerals.

“All in the neighborhood, man,” said Hall, who also coached Pollards, Williams’ cousin. “To have one kid make it, it feels good. I’ve probably had 25 go to college, but Raequan is the first one who has a good chance to go pro.”

After Williams played in the 2017 Holiday Bowl for MSU, he gave his jersey to Hall.

“I got his jersey in a frame,” Hall said. “I played it off, but it meant a lot.”

Hall said he has been selected to the American Youth Football Hall of Fame and wants Williams to introduce him.

“He’s like the first kid who made it big, at a big-time school,” Hall said. “He’s the first one who stuck with it. On a scale of one to 10, he’s about a 10.5. I want him to introduce me when I walk up to get my ring.”

When Hall is inducted into the Hall of Fame, he plans to wear a tie bearing the names of the murdered players he has coached.

“Back in the day, when you played sports, nobody messed with you,” Hall said. “Now, it’s just crazy. They mess with everybody now.”

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A heart for troubled youth

Williams is in a strange place. He grew up in a rough area, but he’s no longer part of it. When he returns to Chicago, his two closest brothers are gone. They were the ones who told him what was going on in the neighborhood.

It would be easy for him to feel vulnerable. But he goes out of his way to greet the gang members, who stand on the corner.

Williams doesn’t see hopeless, violent criminals. He sees kids who smile and joke, just like him. He sees people who want a better life, just like him.

“They are still human,” Williams said. “That’s what I realize when I go back. I talk to them and ask, ‘Why are you here?’ and everybody is like, ‘Money.’ But they are still human.

"You can still talk to them. I feel that talking to these guys (will help). It’s your community.

"You gotta take care of it … . They are not necessarily bad. They were just born into a situation. I just try to show them, there is a better way.”

You see his compassion, genuine and free flowing, and it’s easy to be amazed.

“If I can save one life," Williams said, "going back there, talking to them, joking around with them, taking them to get food, showing what hard work is, if I can just save one life, that’s an improvement to me.”

Earlier this summer, Williams returned to Chicago and showed up at an outdoor basketball court, where he used to play as a kid, about three or four blocks from where he grew up.

Courtesy of Bill Curry

The event was called the “Homecourt/Block Party” and was organized by Breakthrough Youth Network, a nonprofit that works magic in East Garfield Park, where Williams was raised.

“We call them ‘Light in the Night’ events,” said Bill Curry, the Chief Program Officer for Breakthrough. “It’s the kind of league where there is a barbecue, bounce house and art projects happening around the league. We do it every Friday night throughout the summer.”

Williams just showed up, out of the blue. He helped serve food.

“Keep in mind, this wasn’t a photo op,” Curry said.

Curry and Williams started talking.

“He expressed an interest in wanting to coach or talk to the kids,” Curry said.

On that particular night, they were missing some coaches.

“So we just kind of threw him in,” Curry said. “Not many people you can do that with.”

Williams instantly gained respect of the kids he was coaching. He probably coached three or four games over a couple of hours. If anything, he coached too quietly. He’s never had a big, booming voice.

“He was perfect honestly,” Curry said. “In that league, we are looking for role models. The goal in that league is not winning. It’s creating safe places in our community where kids can come out and play and feel safe.”

The children were drawn to Williams — this big, genuine, confident college kid, who exudes compassion.

Afterward, Curry talked with Williams and became enamored with his passion to help kids. Curry offered Williams a job at Breakthrough after he graduates.

“I told him, ‘You are from here, you understand what is going on, yet you have been able to break out,’ ” Curry said. “There are people who break out of the cycles. But his heart, to be here and be impactful here, that is to be commended but it also is to be coveted. To where we would desperately want him to be on our team.”

Courtesy of Bill Curry

Hard work and trust

Williams showed his loyalty and compassion last February when Kleinschmidt was having his number retired. Kleinschmidt was a star basketball player at Gordon Tech, which became DePaul College Prep.

“Raequan got in a car, after a workout, and drove to Chicago,” Kleinschmidt said. “Oh, man, it was unbelievable. He walked in the gym. The place was packed and everybody went nuts. He had all the MSU green on. He had a big smile. He was the mayor, shaking hands. He talked to everybody.”

Yes, there’s another person comparing him to a mayor.

After the ceremony that night, Williams decided to drive back to Michigan.

“Here is the 20-year-old kid, driving 8 hours and smart enough to get back,” Kleinschmidt said. “His maturity level, for what he has been through, is incredible.”

But their relationship didn’t start out very strong.

Williams didn’t trust Kleinschmidt at the start. Not when he was a sophomore in high school.

“He didn’t trust anybody,” Kleinschmidt said. “I remember walking down the hall and I said, ‘What’s up?’ to him, trying to build a relationship. And I got a head nod and walked by. I’m 6-5 and 270 and he’s 6-5 and 280 as a sophomore. And I’m trying to say what’s up, and I get a head bob.”

The trust came slowly.

About a month later, after some practices and open gyms, Williams started to open up.

“Are you married?” Williams asked his coach. “Do you have any kids?" Kleinschmidt laughs at the memory.

“He was interviewing me,” Kleinschmidt said. “I said, ‘Yeah, I got a wife and a daughter.’ Then, he kept moving.”

Kleinschmidt is a former McDonald’s All-American, who was the 1991 Illinois Mr. Basketball and played at Depaul University.

“We steadily formed a relationship that will be lifelong,” Kleinschmidt said. “He’s a son to me.”

That season, Kleinschmidt named Williams a captain.

As a sophomore.

Williams asked to speak to him after practice.

“I don’t think I have the experience to be a captain,” Williams said. “I don’t think, as a sophomore, I have earned the right to be a captain.”

Which is exactly why he named him a captain.

“As far as grades, he had a rough start, as a freshman and sophomore,” Kleinschmidt said. “He needed like three A’s and a B in his last semester to be eligible to play college football. It wasn’t easy classes. It was like statistics. It was crazy classes. He sat with Sister Patricia (Burke), a nun. Every day, he sat with her and she tutored him and mentored him. Now, when he comes back to school, you would think he would come see a coach, but he goes right to Sister Patricia and says, ‘Hello.’

"It’s such a testament to him. He needed four A’s and a B and the kid worked his tail off and the rest is history.”

A mayor in the making?

One of the most important people in Williams’ life has been Hyde. She was his third-grade teacher, who later became a lawyer.

She is best described as his "second mom," or godmother.

“He started staying with MacKenzie beginning his sophomore year,” Latasha Williams said. “Because he had trouble with the transportation and he was late for school. He stayed up there until his senior year.”

It was an admirable act by Latasha Williams, allowing her son to live with somebody else. But she did it for him. She knew it would be in his best interest. It was safer, for starters. And she trusts Hyde completely.

“It was real hard as a mom, but I gotta do what I gotta do,” Latasha Williams said. “I left him in great hands. She helped him a lot. She didn’t just help him, she helped my other kids, too. She is trustworthy. She helped us out a lot. She helped me out, she helped my other kids.”

Hyde is extremely tough on Raequan Williams, but also protective.

When I contacted her for this story, she grilled me for 20 minutes before agreeing to an interview. She does not want the attention.

“She is everything,” Williams said. “She is part of the reason that made me think about helping everybody. I didn’t do anything to deserve her. She just came around. She saw something genuine in me and she wanted me to be my best. She made sure that has happened.”

Hyde went to every game, cheering for him and keeping a close watch, making sure to protect him. She drilled his coaches with questions.

“She was incredible,” said Jeske, Williams’ high school football coach. “She was on him with us. She wanted to know his whereabouts. What time we practiced. She would get on us about his grades. She was incredible. She was kind of a pain in the (butt), but she was a good pain in the (butt). She was totally looking out for him.”

Hyde deflects any credit, and instead focuses on all the others who have played a role in Williams’ life — his mother, his coaches and the Breakthrough program.

“If you don’t give young men a purpose, something significant and feel like they matter and make a difference, you are going to lose them,” she said.

Williams’ youth team, the Gators, made him feel like he mattered.

And his high school made him feel like he mattered. He became fully immersed, wearing the school colors — grey and orange — nearly every day for two years straight.

“The high school genuinely cared about him and made him feel part of the high school,” Hyde said.

She kept Williams safe and made him open his eyes to everything that was in front of him.

“He took advantages of opportunities that he was given,” he said. “I pointed out to him, when he was being given opportunities, that he had a choice of going to take this opportunity or not take this opportunity. But it's not easy. It's hard. And it takes hard work. A lot of young people miss an opportunity because they don’t see it. If I did anything for him, it was, ‘Hello. This is here.’ ”

Like going to an all-star game in Florida.

Like going to a private high school.

Like having the chance to play college football. And taking advantage of the platform that comes with it.

At Big Ten media days in Chicago, Dantonio made a prediction about Williams:

“Raequan Williams — he’s going to be the mayor of Chicago one day,” Dantonio said. “You watch.”

It wouldn’t surprise those who know Williams best.

“If he ran for something, I wouldn’t be surprised if people voted for him,” Jeske said. “He’s incredible. ... When I see him now, he’s everything you would want. He’s got a lot of leadership abilities. He truly, truly cares about everybody.”

Williams is genuine, with a layered personality, who wants to be everything to everyone. He wants to take care of everyone. He wants to make everyone proud.

And he is still dealing with his “brothers’” deaths.

“My brothers, they got caught up in the wrong road,” Williams said. “I lost brothers to the streets.”

When he hears media reports about the violence in Chicago, he gets mad.

It doesn’t make sense to him.

“There are a lot of things not right,” Williams said. “People losing their lives — 30 people shot in one weekend. It’s just not right. When you think about it. One night. People shouldn’t have to raise kids in an environment like that. I just want to better that environment.”

There is no pity in his voice.

It’s more like determination.

“I can’t feel sorry for myself,” He said. “There are a lot of people still in that situation fighting. Trying to find a way out. I’m here on a college campus with a great opportunity in front of me. I try to take advantage of it.”

More from Seidel: Program taps unusual weapon to stop killings: Respect

'I know what I'm capable of'

Williams has grown at MSU. After redshirting his first season, he started three games at nose tackle as a freshman.

Still, he felt insecure.

“Last year, I went into the season unsure,” Williams said. “I started a few games my freshman year. But you really don’t know. I was really unsure of myself.”

He emerged as a dominant force in 2017, starting all 13 games and being named honorable mention All-Big Ten. He also received the MSU Iron Man Award for strength and conditioning.

Mike Carter, Mike Carter-USA TODAY Sports

Williams enters this season as the 11th-ranked defensive tackle in the nation, according to WalterFootball.com. He's expected to play a key role on a team that's expected to contend for a Big Ten title, and perhaps a College Football Playoff berth.

“Now I know what I’m capable of,” Williams said.

Dantonio thinks the world of Williams. “Raequan is an outstanding young man," Dantonio said. “He's got a great personality. I think our players look at him as a leader… He's a very good athlete. He's an outstanding basketball player, very smooth athlete. I think he's scratching the surface really, to be quite honest with you, in terms of how good he can be. I think he's gotten much better. I think he's poised to have a good junior season, but he can be a dominant football player. He's very charismatic, can laugh at himself, has fun. Players love him."

He's a leader, now, even if it didn’t come natural.

His voice has grown.

“At first, I wasn’t comfortable talking,” Williams said. “It’s my voice. That’s probably why I don’t like talking. I feel like I should have a big, strong voice because I’m so big. But it’s just not gonna happen. I tried to talk with a deep voice.”

Now, guys are sitting next to his locker after practices and his leadership role is increasing.

“I enjoy leading the guys,” he said. “Everybody wants to win. Like coach (Dantonio) said, a team is better player-led. If I’m a guy who is telling everybody to get to practice 5 minutes early, it’s better than a coach saying it. It makes guys believe it more.

“We do that all the time. Everybody does. It’s important because it gives us time to get ready and to focus. That’s a small thing that means everything.”





Al Goldis | For the Lansing State Journal

Maybe, Williams will play in the NFL.

Or maybe, someday, he will return to Chicago and work with inner-city kids.

“Kids should have the freedom to go to the park and play and not have to worry about getting shot,” Williams said. “That’s huge.”

“I mean, maybe, one day,” he said smiling, about the thought of being a mayor. “I see myself going back to the neighborhood where I was raised, showing kids a different way. I can see myself giving back to my community. That’s something I’m really passionate about.”

You hear his compassion and sense his commitment and realize what he has overcome and you feel something powerful.

A sense of hope.