When teary-eyed mothers thank Stephon McQueen for the attention he gives their sons, he graciously accepts their gratitude but smiles to himself.
Because he knows, he said, that he's not giving them anything. He's merely repaying a debt. You see, when McQueen was growing up in Raleigh's Halifax Court public housing, he said, he was on the same track that too many young black boys without fathers get on - a track that would've led him to, at best, a marginalized life; at worst, prison or death.
"I got kicked out of every public school in Raleigh" for bringing a gun to campus after two older boys threatened to beat him up, he said. The gun had no bullets, but his public school days were over. "When they hear my testimony, you can see their eyes light up. ... They'll say 'Coach Steph brought a gun to school in seventh grade and got into all that trouble and he still made it.' They realize they can, too."
McQueen, fortunately, had two assets that most kids don't have: exceptional athletic ability and a family besides his own, one that wanted him to succeed. Tony Ratliff, a family friend, "came to my mother and told her 'You don't understand how giftedStephon is. If we don't do something, that gift will be lost.' "
Ratliff enrolled him first at Cathedral School in Raleigh, then at Ravenscroft School, where he won a football scholarship to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. "My adoptive parents said they didn't want any money [for taking me in]," he told me. "They said they wanted me to reach back and help one kid. I want to reach back and help one thousand."
That's about how many have been through his camp, which will be held Friday and Saturday at Ravenscroft in North Raleigh. When I wrote about the new camp in 2006, I noted that, as a bail bondsman, McQueen might put himself out of business if his football-and-life camp became too successful: He might run out of misbehavin' young dudes who needed to be bailed out of jail.
T'ain't gonna happen. McQueen estimated that 70 percent of the boys who attend his camp are raised by single mothers. A recent study showed that that's the same percentage of black children in America born out of wedlock last year.
Oy. With numbers like that, I fear, there'll always be dudes who need bailing out.
McQueen uses such words as holistic to describe how he addresses kids' needs, but don't expect to be greeted by some milquetoast in cleats who's going to tell the kids how wonderful they are lest he hurt their wittle feelings.
"We teach them life lessons," said McQueen, who is 6-foot-4 and 260 pounds. "I'll give them a tongue-lashing if I need to. A lot of mothers will say 'Oh yeah, Stephon. We're going to bring him to you 'cos I know you're a stern man.' "
At 27, McQueen took in four of his siblings - the youngest was 7 - when their mom died three years ago. He has no problem taking in several hundred more. Don't thank him, though: He's just repaying a debt.
For more information, call McQueen at 919-761-3225.
