The real Andre Emmett: Family, friends recall the late Texas Tech basketball legend

From the moment Andre Emmett stepped on the Texas Tech campus for his official visit, Grant McCasland knew there was something different about him.

As the director of operations under coach James Dickey, McCasland wasn't able to travel on recruiting visits. His only knowledge of Emmett came from film. The talent jumped off the screen. Meeting Emmett and his mother, though, brought another dimension into view.

"He gave a different expectation even when he walked in," McCasland said. "Some people you know they're gonna be great players, but some people you know can be great leaders, and he had that."

Emmett left Tech as the all-time leading scorer. He was among the first to be inducted into the Tech basketball Ring of Honor. The ceremony March 4, 2019 was a celebration of Emmett's legacy — the mark he left on a program that, prior to his arrival, didn't have a ton of history.

Regina Oliver, his mother, was on hand for the event, as were many family members, most of them loyal women who helped form the man Emmett became. Without much of a father figure throughout his life, Emmett gravitated toward those who stuck with him from the beginning, and welcomed many others into his inner circle.

He loved being loved, and showed just as much as he received.

Oliver's next trip to Lubbock came almost a full year later. The occasion was another celebration of Emmett, though for a very different reason.

On Sept. 23, 2019, Emmett was murdered outside of his Old East Dallas home in what law enforcement deemed a "robbery gone wrong." Oliver doesn't care for that label, but the result was the same. A mother had to bury her child over some jewelry and money.

"September is not a good month," Oliver told the Avalanche-Journal. "It will never be the same."

Oliver recalled the pastor at Emmett's funeral speaking of the dash on a gravestone between the dates of birth and death. So much life to be summed up in one punctuation mark.

"Andre made a great mark within his dash," Oliver said.

In the four years since his death, wounds haven't fully healed. Oliver said they never will.

During his 37 years, Emmett made an impression on everyone he met. Everybody has a story, a recollection of the shining star on and off the basketball court.

'Be true to yourself'

Emmett was a product of growing up around strong women. He was a momma's boy, something he had in common with Texas Tech teammate Mikey Marshall.

Teammates razzed the two Class of 2000 recruits for that in a light-hearted manner. Mostly because, as Marshall said, it formed Emmett into the man they came to know.

"The way he was brought up by his mom," Marshall said, "was always be authentic. Always be yourself. Be true to yourself. Be true to your family."

Emmett was all about family from an early age. Oliver was told her son may not be born due to her placenta pervia — which, according to the Mayo Clinic, is when the placenta covers the opening in a woman's cervix.

"I just kept believing," Oliver said, "and I (told the doctor) there was a higher power than her notes or a sonogram and that he was going to be here."

There were no complications or defects from Emmett's birth Aug. 27, 1982. He was rambunctious and mischievous as any child of the '80s.

When Emmett did get in trouble, he'd make sure to call his grandmother first to make sure she knew his side of the story before Oliver could get to her.

He liked to tell his mom, "I'm going to the source."

Darra, Emmett's older sister, was a cheerleader during her brother's little league football days. Before heading to practice, Emmett had to have either a honey bun or a glazed donut and some chocolate milk. The breakfast of champions.

While Emmett became a star at Tech, his mom, grandma, aunt and other family members would be at every game, seated above the team entrance so they could give him high-fives as he exited and entered the arena.

"If he did something spectacular or something," Oliver said, "he would look up in the stands ... and throw me a kiss or something like that."

Oliver loved when he dunked. Grandma was partial to 3-pointers.

One game, the family decided they were tired, so they'd skip. Emmett wasn't about to let that happen.

Spending the day guilt-tripping his mom from afar, Oliver and the rest of the crew made the trip from Dallas to Lubbock.

'It's my big brother'

Before entering Carter High School in Dallas, Emmett was told he had to choose: football, his first love in which he was a standout quarterback, or basketball, in which he also showed promise.

Oliver said Emmett was pushed toward basketball, though her son said, "Well, if I got to do it, I'm gonna be good at it."

Jabari Johnson was in ninth grade at Carter when his basketball coach paired him with Emmett, then a sixth grader, to be his mentor.

"My first impression was 'Oh my God, he's so immature,'" Johnson said. "So immature. He was playful. He was always smiling and all that."

Johnson's mentorship rubbed off. Emmett never lost his playfulness, but he saw the work ethic Johnson had and replicated it. Emmett yearned for more time on the court against the older kids, soaking up all the knowledge he could.

"That told me right then," Johnson said, "that he wanted to be the top of his class, his peers."

Without his father around much — Oliver said Emmett knew when he could and couldn't trust his dad, Andre Emmett Sr. — Johnson filled that void, to an extent. Once Johnson graduated, Emmett's stardom at Carter started to blossom. Whenever he could, Johnson returned to watch Emmett play.

"Andre would be so excited to see his college brother come home to watch his high school game," Johnson said. "So that was a big deal."

Emmett would do the same for Josh Washington.

As Washington starred at Monterey High School, Texas Tech looked to recruit the local product. Emmett found his way to a number of Washington's games. From there, they formed a bond maintained for years.

"I never had a brother growing up," Washington said, "so instantly that's what I connected with was like, hey, it's my big brother. And it was somebody who looked out for me. ... He was just always there for me in a way that no other teammate ever had been."

During winter breaks, Tech players were still on campus, often having two-a-day practices. Between sessions, Washington and Emmett would hop in Washington's pickup truck and head to McDonald's. Enjoying cheeseburgers and fries, the pair would sit in the parking lot listening to local rapper Lil Melv's album before heading back to the gym.

"Those little memories," Washington said, "now that I'm thinking about them, that's what I miss about him the most."

'He was who he was'

Tech's locker room could be a wild scene whenever Emmett arrived.

Ronald Ross, who broke the news of Emmett's death to many of their former Tech teammates, said at any given time, Emmett could be Frank Sinatra, Ginuwine, Drake, the best dancer of all time or the funniest stand-up comic alive.

These talents led to a number of nicknames for Emmett, some of which he bestowed upon himself.

"At one point," Andy Ellis said, "he decided he was going to start calling himself Andre 5,000. I don't know why, but that was him. He was gonna be genuine to that."

Ellis and his teammates didn't argue. If he wanted to be called Andre 5,000, that's what he was going to be called.

"That's one thing I can say about him that will never change, and nobody can ever make me believe anything different," Ellis said, "is that he was a genuine guy to himself and to others. You weren't going to get some false pretense. He was who he was, and you either liked it or didn't."

At one point, Jesus Arenas, a former walk-on, thought he may have ended both of their careers.

In the early 2000s, Tech players had a game called "Chest and Ribs." The object was simple: without hurting each other, two guys would start punching each other in the chest and ribs. It was supposed to be a playful way to toughen up one another.

Once, it almost ended in disaster, thanks to a pile of soiled practice gear.

"(Emmett's) kind of coming forward," Arenas recalled. "I'm going backwards and he slips, so we're both kind of punching each other. He slips on the laundry, his head drops right where I'm swinging at his chest, and I hit him in his jaw."

Emmett went unconscious for a bit, sending Arenas into a panic. Once Emmett bounced back, the two were fine.

"I remember that day, man," Arenas said with a grin. "... Thankfully he was OK."

'Good for each other'

Most probably remember Emmett's time at Tech thanks to his hot-and-cold relationship with late head coach Bob Knight.

When Knight — who died earlier this month — took over the program after Emmett's freshman year, he instituted a haircut policy that banned dreadlocks, which Emmett was sporting. Not willing to question it, Emmett got clipped to adhere to the new rules.

Things weren't always symbiotic between player and coach. Emmett's teammates recall it being akin to rams butting heads who respected each other more with time.

"There was definitely an understanding between the two of what the relationship was gonna be," Ellis said. "... They both were good for each other, and it created a lot of success."

Knight's abrasive style was known to break players before building them up. Emmett wouldn't be broken, not even when he was suspended his junior year and forced to run what wound up being about 1,500 sprints to rejoin the team.

"He had the mental fortitude to push through that and do whatever he had to do," Ross said. "... He wiped his hands clean. That door pushed one way and he kept moving forward because I think he really understood what his big goal was."

'Dre love the kids'

Before becoming a second-round pick in the 2004 NBA Draft, Emmett competed in a collegiate dunk contest.

His final attempt, which won him the competition, involved Emmett leaping over a group of kids huddled in front of the rim. He avoided all of them — about six total — and celebrated with the group during his award presentation.

"Dre love the kids," Emmett told the ESPN broadcast.

Emmett's passion for others didn't center around those he knew. He took his basketball stardom and turned it into charitable efforts in the Dallas area, starting with the Dreams Really Exist Foundation (DRE) and continuing today in his honor with the Oliver Family Charities.

Emmett held his first basketball camp in Lancaster, a proud accomplishment of his, Oliver said.

Days before his death, Emmett met with Johnson to coordinate another charitable endeavor for kids in the community.

Before they could put their plan together, though, Emmett had to go to California for some business. That was the last time Johnson saw him.

Emmett's two daughters, Kennedy and Zara, were also a big part of his life. Being a parent wasn't planned, but those close to him could see how maturely he handled the responsibility.

"Becoming a father was the best thing that ever happened to him," Johnson said. "He was completely different. ... The weekend he got killed, he was rushing back to Dallas so he could be with his daughters and be there when they woke up."

'His job was finished here'

Around 2 or 3 a.m. on Sept. 23, 2019, Oliver awoke to the sounds of Kennedy screaming and crying. She wanted her daddy.

Oliver tried to console the 3-year-old, taking her into the living room to rock her back to sleep.

It was around this time Emmett was running down Monarch Street, trying to evade his killers. He survived the gun shots long enough to get the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.

The scene played out just down the road from Oliver's home.

Nearly 1,000 people, spanning his entire life, attended Emmett's funeral. Then-Tech coach Chris Beard chartered a private jet so former teammates could attend.

Emmett's final years saw him compete in the Big 3 basketball league, which brought the likes of Ice Cube and Nancy Lieberman to pay their respects. He left a big impression on those people in a few short years.

"When you go see anybody from any team," former NBA champion Stephen Jackson said, "you're gonna want to see Andre, because the hug is gonna be genuine. The vibe is gonna be genuine."

Zara and Kennedy placed a baby Smurf doll in Emmett's casket to be with him, Daddy Smurf, as he was laid to rest.

"I miss him," Oliver said, "but I thank God for 37 years. He loaned him to me, anyway. ... He was called home. His job was finished here."

This article originally appeared on Lubbock Avalanche-Journal: The real Andre Emmett: Family, friends recall the late Texas Tech basketball legend