University of North Carolina Athletics
THM: Welcome To Holleywood
August 31, 2006 | Football
Aug. 31, 2006
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The following story originally ran in the September issue of the magazine.
By Adam Lucas
Jesse Holley's life began at the moment his mother walked out the door and didn't come back.
That doesn't make sense, does it?
Monica Holley was going to the store and she was tired. Tired of moving from slum to slum. Tired of mice on the floor and no food in the pantry and no air-conditioning and only sporadic electricity and drugs on the corner. Tired of trying to provide for three kids and never being able to get ahead. Tired of the father who wasn't involved in the lives of his kids at all.
They lived in the shadow of the Newark airport and saw the planes going overhead every single day. Those planes had people on them, people who were going somewhere. The destination didn't matter. And here she was stuck on the corner.
What was available on the corner spoke to her. And she couldn't stop listening.
So she went to the store. Took her kids to their aunt's house in Carteret, straight down I-95, and said she had to go get a couple things.
"Hey, Ma, can I get a bag of potato chips?" said 11-year-old Jesse Holley.
"Can I have a Slim Jim?" said 14-year-old Jamel.
"Sure," she said.
And then she left.
How long do you wait for reality when the reality is Mommy isn't coming back? An hour? A day? A week? What is the expiration date on hope?
"Night came," Jesse remembers now. "Morning came. The next night came. The next morning came. One week went by. Two weeks went by. A month went by. And then I started thinking she wasn't coming back."
What do you think as an 11-year-old when Mommy leaves?
"You think Mommy doesn't love us," he says. "You think she doesn't want us. When you're a kid, you never want to think anything bad about your mother and you definitely never say it out loud. So I always outwardly said she was coming back. But inside, there are those doubts. And you think, `Is she ever coming back?'"
The world stopped for the Holley boys but everything else kept moving. Their aunt kept them for the summer, but with the resumption of the school year fast approaching, something had to be done. There just wasn't room for them in Carteret. Child Services would have to be called. They were as close to orphans as they could be while living with a roof over their head. Jesse's father, Robert Qualls, had never been in the family picture. He wasn't an option. Carteret wasn't an option.
You don't admit to being scared in the tough parts of New Jersey. You just puff out your chest and swagger a little more. But when the lights went out and Jesse and Jamel were alone, they could admit it: Child Services meant potential adoption. Potential adoption could mean the inseparable duo being split apart. Being split apart could mean, well, they couldn't think about that.
That's when the angel arrived.
You can look for a different word than "angel" to describe Yvonne Holley, the kids' grandmother. But there it is, right there in the dictionary: "A guardian spirit or guiding influence. One who manifests goodness and selflessness."
Yvonne Holley swooped into Carteret just two weeks before school started and took her boys home to Roselle, New Jersey. No she didn't. First she took them exactly where they needed to go--on a vacation.
They went to Atlantic City and took a break. There were no worries about Child Services and no worries about when the next meal might be. There was just an 11-year-old and a 14-year-old, and for the first time in a long time they didn't have to pretend to be adults.
Their grandmother sat them down and told them something very simple and very meaningful.
"You're going to stay with me now. I am going to take care of you."
And that is how Jesse Holley's life began.
Jesse Holley knew how to push. Oh, did he. He'd been on his own for much of his first 11 years and this whole grandmother arrangement was still almost too good to be true. All his friends called Yvonne Holley `Grandma' too, because that's really what she was. She was the grandmother of the entire Victory Street neighborhood, the one who knew which kids needed a good scolding and which ones needed encouragement. She cooked breakfast for anyone who wanted to eat. When her boys outgrew clothes, she passed them to other kids on the street who needed them.
It was almost perfect. So Jesse had to test it.
He'd come home late, leave early, do all the things a pre-teenager can do to get in trouble. He picked up basketball not because he loved the game, but because he was running out of options.
"I played sports because there were some kids I had been getting in trouble with," Jesse Holley says. "And their parents put them in sports. All of a sudden I didn't have anybody to get in trouble with. No one wants to get in trouble by themselves. Misery loves company. So I played sports to kill time so we could go home together and maybe get in trouble on the way home."
Funny thing about that: as it turns out, he was good at sports. Eugene Brown coached a traveling AAU 8th-grade basketball team in Roselle. He watched Holley play as a sixth-grader for a couple of afternoons and immediately wanted him for his team. First, though, he had to do something a little distasteful--he had to cut the kid he wanted to one day be the star of his team.
"He was testing me," Brown says. "So I cut him. But after he got cut, he kept showing up at practice. He wrote us a 100-word essay about learning respect and apologizing. That's what got him back on the team."
And into the starting lineup. What did the 8th graders think of the kid two years younger than them who was suddenly the starting point guard?
It didn't matter. Brownie--that's what his friends call him, and that's what he wants you to call him--knew talent.
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It was Brownie who was sitting on the porch watching Jesse and a friend, Davon Paige, toss a football back and forth.
"I was sitting there," Brown says, "and I started noticing Jesse was making spectacular catch after spectacular catch. I said, `I want you to try football. Do it for me.'"
By this point, Brownie was the primary male adult influence in Jesse Holley's life. So the kid did it. He didn't love football like he loved basketball. But if it passed the time, he could try it.
His freshman year of high school, he made the varsity team in both sports. He was the first freshman ever to start for the varsity basketball team. And he was impressed with himself.
"You couldn't tell me anything," he says. "The freshmen had a separate wing in the school, but I thought I was supposed to be in the main wing. That's where my teammates were. I thought I should be hanging out with older kids and older girls."
Any time he got too full of himself, though, he had to contend with Yvonne Holley.
"We were over at my house hanging out," Paige says. "All of a sudden, here comes Grandma with a nightstick. She's chasing Jesse around and all I can think is, `What in the world did he do now?'"
His buddy never told him what had prompted the scene. But just the threat of Yvonne Holley's disappointment was enough to push her grandson onto a more narrow path. He was succeeding in athletics, succeeding like few in Roselle ever did. Colleges were calling for both basketball and football. He had too much to lose to get in more trouble.
He nearly committed to Virginia. He made the trip to Charlottesville, was blown away by the campus, and thought he had a chance to contribute to both the basketball and football teams. When he came home after his visit, he told his grandmother, "That's where I want to go."
He only had one visit left and committing would release the pressure of the constant phone calls and letters. He'd just call the coaches at North Carolina and tell them he couldn't come on that planned visit.
But Yvonne Holley didn't see pressure. She saw opportunity. She'd raised her boys to take advantage of opportunity, not run from it.
"You made a commitment to visit North Carolina," she told him. "You're going to honor that promise. What's the worst that can happen? You decide not to go there and you get a free weekend in North Carolina."
So he went. What was he going to do, risk the wrath of the nightstick again? While he was in Chapel Hill, he felt something he hadn't expected to feel--he felt at home.
Twelve games, just twelve catches. Those were Jesse Holley's freshman year statistics at Carolina. They made his grandmother proud. Made Brownie smile.
And made Jesse Holley impatient.
"I'm ready to get out of here," he told his grandmother.
"Be patient," she told him. "Your time will come."
"My time will come when?" he said. "I've been here three months."
He was the third receiver in a three-receiver package in the class that entered in 2003. Adarius Bowman was the tall, rangy athlete. Mike Mason was the lightning fast waterbug.
Holley was the blocker.
That's what caught John Bunting's eye the most. Not the fact that Holley's first two career catches were touchdowns. Not the way he was willing to go over the middle. His blocking.
That left the proud receiver with two options: he could go somewhere else, somewhere they'd appreciate him for his hands and his athleticism, or he could relish being the blocker.
You know which one he chose, of course. With a little help from his grandmother.
Ask Bunting now about signature Jesse Holley games. There are lots of them. He thinks, sits back in his chair. He fixes you with that steely-eyed look and says the following: "Clemson, '03."
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This is confusing. You have done your research on Jesse Holley. You know his big games. Know about the touchdowns and the first downs and the wins.
But Clemson '03?
You have to look it up. Carolina lost 36-28 in Death Valley on a controversial Darian Durant fumble on the goal line. Check the individual stats. It must have been another big day for Holley. Let's see...
One catch for zero yards.
His official media guide bio lists a highlight from every game in his 2003 season except the Clemson game. So what gives?
"That game was Jesse Holley," Bunting says. "He had about four tremendous knockdown blocks in that game. He was just crushing people."
The Tar Heels have what they call the Bunting Clips when they meet as a team every Monday. The clips are selected highlights--and some lowlights--from the previous Saturday's game. Bunting stands in front of the team, holding the clicker, and reviews them frame-by-frame.
"He kept replaying those blocks," Holley says. "Over and over. He'd show one and say, `This is what it takes to be a good player. This kid has no fear.'"
What no one knew was that prior to that moment, Jesse Holley had plenty of fear. He was afraid maybe things wouldn't work out at Carolina. Maybe he'd made some wrong choices. Maybe he was going to have to go back to Roselle humbled.
As he sat there watching the Bunting Clips, though, he realized that Bunting was right. He had what it took to be a good player. He had no fear.
Almost two years later, he watched from the bench as Carolina won the NCAA basketball championship. He played one minute in the Final Four victory over Michigan State. It would be his last official minute of basketball competition.
It is so easy for those of us who can't play either to tell an athlete he has to choose a sport. One or the other. Football or basketball. Just pick one. There are no consequences for us.
Jesse Holley chose football. And in the process he left behind his first love.
When he talks about playing sports as a kid, he almost never mentions football. His game was hoops. That's where he first excelled, that's where he led Brownie's AAU team, that's how he thought of himself: Jesse Holley, basketball player.
Now he was making the conscious choice to end that part of his life. It wasn't easy.
"Basketball was always my number-one sport," he says. "But at this point in my life, the requirements for both of those leagues are so tough. You have to have a tremendous amount of attention to detail. When those details aren't addressed they become bigger problems. I felt like some of those details were starting to show because football wasn't getting 100 percent of my attention."
It's OK to be skeptical of Jesse Holley. He understands.
The first time you meet him, you're charmed by him. The second time, you laugh frequently. The third time, though, you start to wonder. Is anyone this outgoing all the time?
See him in the morning--he's smiling. See him in the afternoon--he's smiling. See him at night--he's smiling.
"He just bubbles when you're around him," Bunting says.
It has to be an act. His brother, Jamel, is in politics in Roselle. You know what they say about politicians. When the cameras go off, this can't be real.
Can it?
"This is how I know it's real," says Paige, his oldest friend. "Because he has never changed. Even with all the hype and the articles and the billboards, he's still the same Jesse. That's exactly how he was before he had anything."
You're still suspicious, aren't you? You see the big smiles and high fives for strangers when he's in public. You see the constant willingness to sit for interviews.
So you wait. You wait until a hot summer day when he's just gone through a lengthy practice. He still has his practice jersey on, he has class the next day, and he hasn't even had time to take his cleats off.
A two-year-old wearing a blue number-9 jersey walks up to him. She wants a picture. Finally, the charade will stop. You look around. Everyone else has left the practice field. This is how you find the real Jesse Holley. The cameras are off. There's no one to impress. There's just a tired college kid and one more photo request.
"Hey, big girl!" he says to his smallest biggest fan. He crouches down so they're close to the same size and flashes that same smile he gives to ESPN.
The quintessential Tar Heel entertainer has just won another fan.
By simply being himself.
Jesse Holley's life began at the moment his mother came back in the door.
That doesn't make sense, does it?
A mother leaves her children without so much as a goodbye, she doesn't deserve a second chance. Could you forgive? Would you forgive?
That's what Monica Holley wondered when she began to try and get back into the lives of her sons about 18 months ago. She was clean, she told them. She had made mistakes, she told them. I will do better, she told them.
Jesse Holley was 21 years old, just a kid really, when his mother reappeared. But a kid doesn't say what he says when he's asked why he decided to forgive:
"I can't ask other people to forgive me if I can't forgive other people. I saw her getting her life on the right track and I thought, `Who better to give forgiveness than her sons?' You would think we would be the people it would be hardest for, but that just means it means that much more coming from us. I don't want people to think I'm the same person I was in the past. So I couldn't think that about her."
With that, he let his mother back in her life. They grieved together when Yvonne Holley died just a few months later, at the beginning of the 2005 football season. The toughest woman anyone in Roselle ever knew finally succumbed to cancer.
Tears fell all along Victory Street.
Her grandsons still talk to her. Jamel Holley saved her answering machine recording and keeps it at his house. Sometimes, Jesse calls him and says, "Let me hear the machine."
At that moment, sitting in his room listening to a recording, she is there.
Just like she promised, still taking care of him.
Adam Lucas is the publisher of Tar Heel Monthly and can be reached at alucas@tarheelmonthly.com. He is the coauthor of the official book of the 2005 championship season, Led By Their Dreams, and his book on Roy Williams's first season at Carolina, Going Home Again, is now available in bookstores. To subscribe to Tar Heel Monthly or learn more about Going Home Again, click here.
