California Lottery

By STEVE HENSON

June 24, 2001 12 AM PT

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TIMES STAFF WRITER

Every youngster looks up to somebody, even one who sprouts to 6 feet 8 at 12 and 7 feet at 16.

Tyson Chandler had a hero as he grew from precocious toddler to tormented elementary school oddity to the best high school basketball player in Los Angeles, one who will bypass college and earn millions as a lottery pick in Wednesday’s NBA draft.

Jordan? Johnson? Abdul-Jabbar? No, Chandler didn’t follow the pros enough to idolize ballplayers. And his hero was too busy making ends meet to mess with games.

But when Chandler showed interest in playing basketball, his hero welded a rim, attached it to a board of wood and nailed it to a tree next to the sprawling Hanford, Calif., farmhouse he’d built with his leathered hands.

It was there Chandler spent his first eight years and every summer since. Up before dawn, milking cows, slopping hogs, watering and weeding fields of okra, corn and greens.

Literally following in the footsteps of his grandfather, Cleo Threadgill.

“Tyson likes to be with me, even today,” said Threadgill, who with his wife of 52 years, Tecel, has seven children, 27 grandchildren and 32 great-grandchildren.

“He listens to me and his grandma. I tell him to be the best he can be. He mostly watches me to learn things.”

Chandler watched and learned that hard work is more than the mantra of every guy with a clipboard and whistle. That stability matters. That contentment comes from within.

“My grandfather taught me by example,” he said. “He’s happy and successful just by doing what he likes to do--working his farm--and caring for his family.”

Now it is Chandler’s turn to be a hero.

He stands on the court at Compton Dominguez High, the band playing crazy loud, the floor swarming with kids craning their necks and holding pens and scraps of paper as high as they can reach.

Chandler, 18, takes a pen from a small hand and signs his name. He has just scored 53 points in one of his last high school games. His teammates are already showered and dressed. A friend tugs at his arm impatiently, “C’mon, Tys.”

Chandler shakes his head, says, “I’m not done here,” and reaches down for another pen. He doesn’t stop until every youngster has an autograph.

“Thousands of people approached him the last few years,” said Victor Martin, a longtime Dominguez assistant and public address announcer. “ ‘Tyson, meet my nephew, meet my best friend, sign my shirt, meet my son.’ He is always cool. He remembers kids’ names.”

Several Dominguez faculty members privately asked Chandler to speak with their sons who had begun to stray. “He’ll listen to you,” one teacher told him.

Chandler displays unending patience with the children who clamor to him like Lilliputians to Gulliver. He stokes the fire, reading to students in Compton elementary school classrooms, then inviting the entire class to a game.

“Kids are naturally attracted to me, maybe because I’m always smiling and I’m big,” he said. “They aren’t scared of me because I’m smiling, but I’m big and they are fascinated by that.”

The sense of wonder is something he experienced firsthand. Shaquille O’Neal invited him to a Laker playoff game four years ago.

“That was the highlight of my year,” he said. “Anything he said, I was all eyes and ears. I remember how that felt and I want other kids to feel the same way. It’s a great tool if you can use it positively.”

Chandler became a Shaq equivalent at Dominguez, averaging 26 points, 13 rebounds and seven blocked shots as a senior. The team won three state titles and gained a No. 1 national ranking in 2000. Chandler earned every individual honor imaginable and played alongside Tayshaun Prince, Jason Thomas, Willie Hurst and others who went on to excel in college at one sport or another.

Yet Dominguez, in many ways an oasis in troubled Compton, is sometimes portrayed as a cesspool of everything wrong with high school sports. Few of the players live within the attendance boundaries and the team travels to national tournaments on Nike’s sponsorship. Russell Otis, the coach from 1987 to 2000, was acquitted in April of molesting a player, but during the season the team was in turmoil while the suspended coach’s case was tried.

Chandler was not immune to criticism. He never lived in Compton, gaining admittance through open enrollment. He chose Dominguez strictly for basketball and commuted first from San Bernardino, then from Buena Park. His intent to skip college was no secret, and he didn’t bother taking the Scholastic Assessment Test. He has driven a 1999 Cadillac Escalade since last fall, secured by a line of credit based on his future earnings.

To some, those choices made him part of the problem, another pampered athlete getting special treatment. Yet Chandler is the first Los Angeles high school player on such a fast track to the NBA, and the route lacks the warning signs and familiar protocol college-bound players follow.

At 14, he was featured on a “60 Minutes” segment that probed the influence of shoe companies on the club basketball scene. Chandler’s team, the Southern California All-Stars, was run by Pat Barrett, who drew a salary from Nike.

“At the time, ’60 Minutes’ was a plus,” said Chandler, who said he didn’t immediately grasp the segment’s negative implications. “I was a kid and wanted to get on TV. I didn’t care what it was about. I didn’t quite understand until I got older. I went back and watched the tape, and, bam, I realized what it was about.”

But Chandler has a different view of Barrett, who provided him with opportunities to play with and against the best. They remain friends. Another Barrett protege, former Pepperdine standout Tom Lewis, 33, is Chandler’s personal coach and closest advisor.

Powerhouse high school and club programs fueled by money from shoe companies particularly benefit an elite prospect such as Chandler. For less-talented players, the shower of adulation and goodies can result in false hope and a misplaced sense of entitlement.

Chandler recognizes that now, but grins when he says he is still “a Nike guy.” He’ll continue to wear the shoes and, no doubt, will be paid handsomely for doing so.

The system, however flawed, worked for him and he offers no apologies. But the media has characterized him as a symbol of that system.

A February national magazine story citing problems at Dominguez and on the club circuit focused on Chandler without accusing him of wrongdoing. As recently as Friday, a Washington Post columnist commenting about the draft wrote, “I’d . . . be awfully suspicious of a kid like Tyson Chandler, who has been a pro, for all practical purposes, for five years.”

Is the criticism deserved? Is Chandler sensitive to the big picture?

For the most part he brushes it away, but he is bothered by the confusion reflected in the eyes of the kids who look up to him.

“Kids see that kind of stuff and it hurts them because they don’t know what to believe,” he said. “They know me and who I am, then they read something that is opposite of who they know. That’s why it hurts me. That’s what I care about.

“I’m nice to everybody. That’s the way I was raised, that’s the way I grew up. Then people take negative shots at me. I’m like, ‘Wait a minute. I’m kind and respectful, what makes you want to take a shot at me?’ I’m human. That kind of stuff hurts.”

Chandler retreats from the scrutiny by going to the place he calls “Granny’s Farm.” Cleo and Tecel’s Hanford spread was his first home and has been a favorite hideaway ever since. The family still gathers there several times a year.

“It is a place of love,” said Vernie Threadgill, Chandler’s mother. “Tyson was blessed to be around grandparents and adults who watched over him. I was a working mom and my parents helped raise him.”

Vernie took a job in San Bernardino in 1992 and moved there with her son. Still, every summer and holiday were spent at Granny’s. Cleo put Chandler and his cousins to work. Those were the best days of their lives. Long days too.

“We’d wake up at the crack of dawn, none of this 8 o’clock stuff, and do everything with my grandfather, just follow him,” Chandler said. “After the cows were milked and the animals fed, he’d assign me and my cousins to tractors and we’d drive out into the fields and plow.

“Afterward, we’d all go fishing. When we came home, there would be food. A whole lot of food.”

The sense of belonging and unconditional love was shattered in elementary school. Kids called Chandler names because he was over 6 feet and looked 16. His clothes didn’t fit for long and he grew out of his shoes every month.

“My height didn’t correspond with anything positive,” he said. “I was tall and clumsy. Sometimes I had holes in my shoes. Other kids thought I was held back in school. I was teased without mercy.

“Imagine a 12-year-old looking like he’s 17. Adults say things to a 17-year-old they wouldn’t say to a 12-year-old. I got a lot of information early I probably shouldn’t have heard.”

When Chandler was 8, his mother married William Brown and had three more sons, now 13, 8 and 2. A former Marine, Brown brought discipline and structure to the household, as well as another steady paycheck.

Chandler considers Brown his dad, although he met his biological father, Frank Chandler, for the first time a few years ago. Frank is married, has children 11 and 9, and lives in Valencia.

There’s no doubt where Chandler got his height: His father is 6-9.

“He wants to be a part of my life, but it’s hard,” Chandler said. “I want to have a relationship with him, and he is trying.

“He’s a Christian now and all the things he did wrong in his life, he’s going back and trying to make amends.”

Religion is also important to Chandler. He bows his head and says grace before meals. His mother and grandparents are devout. His family believes his upbringing will enable him to stay grounded after he launches a pro career.

“I don’t think he’ll forget about his teachings and the love our family has,” Tecel said. “We have such strong ties to one another.”

From the innocence of children to the uncomplicated discipline of farm life, Chandler is drawn to simplicity and structure.

That’s why he has never been happier. His routine is as rigorous and predictable as it was helping his grandfather on those scorching summer days.

Chandler stopped attending school after Dominguez won the state championship in March and took independent study classes until graduating with his class June 14. But there is no sleeping in or coming home late.

Six days a week he reports at 9 a.m. for two-hour weight-training sessions in Mission Viejo supervised by personal trainer Marv Marinovich. After lunch it’s off to the court with Lewis, whom he has lived with since the high school season ended.

Tom Lubin, who helped develop former NBA centers Swen Nater and Mark Eaton, pops in twice a week, and Chandler often works out with Jeff Trepagnier of USC and other local players.

Gaining strength and improving his fundamentals around the basket are primary goals. Chandler has tremendous ballhandling and shooting skills for his size. His game is fluid, and he is compared by scouts to Kevin Garnett, Rasheed Wallace and Marcus Camby. But Chandler was tested in high school only during tournament games against NBA prospects Eddy Curry of suburban Chicago and Ousmane Cissie of Montgomery, Ala.

“Darius Miles [of the Clippers] told me I needed to be stronger,” Chandler said. “He said the stamina of playing 82 games is not a problem because we have young legs and are used to playing year-around, but the pounding will take its toll.”

Three months into his regimen, Chandler has gained 15 pounds--he’s up to 228--and the definition in his arms and chest has increased.

He has had workouts for most NBA teams with lottery picks, including the Washington Wizards, who pick first, and the Clippers, who pick second. Michael Jordan has supervised two Wizard workouts with Chandler and invited him to Washington for a third workout on Monday, which will also include Kwame Brown, a 6-11 high school player from Glynn Academy in Georgia.

“I’ve improved more during this little segment of my life than in all four years of high school,” he said. “I’m a whole different person now, playing at a whole different level. My cousins put on my high school game films and I can’t even watch. I get disgusted with myself. I see myself going up and down the court lazy. What was I thinking?

“When you see your body start to change and shots start to fall and you can move people around, it makes you want to get out there and work hard.”

Chandler had less resolve a week into the training. He told his mother one morning he didn’t want to go back to Marinovich’s gym.

“I’m so sore, I can’t take it anymore,” Chandler told her.

The farm girl who watched her father rise before the sun every day of her life stuck a pitchfork in that notion.

“You’ve been waiting all your life for this,” she replied. “Get off your rear end and start working.”

For years Vernie Threadgill had college plans for her son. Chandler was a Michigan fan when he began high school and constantly daydreamed about leading UCLA to national championships.

But a standard contract for an NBA lottery pick is $6 million to $10 million over three years. Then comes the real money. Chandler can be eligible for free agency about the time his peers complete their college eligibility.

“It just became more and more clear that [skipping college] was the best decision for him,” Vernie said.

Most draft projections have Chandler going in the top seven picks, along with three other high school players--Curry, Brown and 7-0 DeSagana Diop of Oak Hill Academy in Virginia.

Of course, there is no guarantee any of the high school players will become stars. For every Garnett, there is a Leon Smith.

Drafted out of high school, Garnett eventually landed a $126-million contract with the Minnesota Timberwolves--at the time, the biggest contract in the history of sports--and has been an NBA all-star four times.

Smith, a first-round draft pick of the San Antonio Spurs, clashed with coaches, spent time in a psychiatric ward after attempting suicide and was arrested for threatening an ex-girlfriend and smashing the windows on her mother’s car.

Those who know Chandler are confident he is mature and talented enough to avoid such pitfalls.

“I just want to get somewhere the assistant coaches and head coach can teach me the game,” Chandler said. “I want to fight for my position on the team. I’m not going to be on the bench for long, regardless. I’ve worked too hard and there is no way I can be held on the bench.”

His mother plans to help him settle in wherever he must relocate, and Lewis probably will live with him during the first year.

Surrounded all his life by loved ones, Chandler has taken an active role in assembling a team of advisors he can trust. Dwayne Peltier, his financial advisor and a 1972 Pittsburgh Pirate first-round pick, is a close friend.

It is by design Chandler chose an agent, Jeff Schwartz of Artist Management Group, and business manager, Lester Knispel of Boulevard Management, with strong ties to the entertainment industry.

“There will be a lot of endorsement and marketing opportunities for Tyson that I don’t think will be far off,” Schwartz said. “A lot depends on how quickly he plays and how well the team does. But someone with his charisma has the potential to create partnerships that develop as he grows.”

First things first. Chandler has debts to pay.

“My grandparents and parents made me family-oriented and morally strong,” he said. “I have a way to thank them by performing on the basketball court, using that tool to give them the finer things they never could afford.”

Rewarding Cleo and Tecel Threadgill requires thought. His grandparents are profound examples of stability and contentment. What could they possibly want?

“I’m thinking a nice motor home,” he said. “One they can take on fishing trips, anywhere they want to go.”

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

HIGH SCHOOL ENTRANTS

The six high school players available in this year’s draft:

Kwame Brown, 6-11, 250

Forward, Glynn Academy (Ga.)

Tyson Chandler, 7-0, 228

Forward, Compton Dominguez High

Ousmane Cisse, 6-8, 250

Forward, St. Jude Catholic High (Ala.)

Eddy Curry, 6-11, 290

Center, Thornwood High (Ill.)