Keith Dambrot, LeBron James' first high school coach, is still influencing him

By Melissa Rohlin
FOX Sports NBA Writer

Keith Dambrot watched LeBron James crumble to the ground in pain, grabbing his right ankle. 

Dambrot saw the twisted look on the superstar's face. He understood the depth of the anguish he was feeling. And he instinctively knew the words James needed to hear at that moment. 

Dambrot, who coached James at St. Vincent-St. Mary High School, immediately reached out to James after he suffered a high right ankle sprain in a game against the Atlanta Hawks on March 20. The injury would sideline James for 26 games, robbing him of more than one-third of a season in which he was playing some of the best basketball of his career. 

But in a text message, Dambrot told James that this setback could eventually help him. 

"Even though it's a negative right now, he can build his legacy even more by coming back from this," Dambrot wrote. 

For more than two decades, Dambrot has been there for James whenever he has struggled. The 62-year-old, graying coach and the superstar athlete have had a profound influence on each other's lives.

Dambrot credits James with saving his career. James credits Dambrot with helping him during a very vulnerable time in his adolescence.

As James tries to win his fifth NBA championship and second with the Los Angeles Lakers, who are in the middle of a tough first-round series with the Phoenix Suns, he called Dambrot one of the most important people to his development, along with Frank Walker, who coached James in pee wee football, and Dru Joyce II, who also coached James in high school. 

For James, they're his Big Three.

"I think about them every day," he said. "... I wouldn’t be where I am, wouldn’t be succeeding the way I have in the best league in the world, the NBA, without the influence of those three guys."

Dambrot definitely wouldn't be where he is today without James.

When they met 24 years ago, Dambrot, who is now the head men's basketball coach at Duquesne University, was going through one of the most challenging periods of his life. 

Dambrot was fired from Central Michigan as the men's basketball coach in 1993 after he used the N-word in front of his players after a game. He asked for their permission to use the word and believed he was using it as a motivational tool. But when it was leaked that he had done so, he was suspended without pay and then terminated. Many of his players came to his defense and joined him in a wrongful termination suit, but it was to no avail. 

Dambrot's career was ruined.

He felt misunderstood. But most of all, he worried about the impact it would have on his mother, Faye Dambrot, who raised him in a liberal household and was a psychology professor at the University of Akron. 

"What I did was naive and not very professional, but I knew I wasn't racist in any sense of the word," Dambrot said. "... That was difficult because people are always going to paint a picture of negativity. It basically allowed me to teach people the power of decision-making. If you make a bad decision, it can affect you."

Dambrot couldn't find another coaching gig and reluctantly became a stock broker, trading in the sound of shoes squeaking against hardwood floors for the shrill sound of phones ringing.

As a way to hold on to his passion, Dambrot led free basketball clinics at the local Jewish Community Center in Akron on Sundays. Eventually, they became so popular that he had to start charging a $1 attendance fee.

Everything changed for Dambrot when LeBron James walked into his gym.

"He took an old, washed-up guy that probably would've never got a chance again and resurrected my career," he said. 

Dambrot's hourlong clinics were intense. The former college coach was used to pushing grown men, and he didn't change his approach for boys. He made them go at speeds they weren't comfortable with, even if it meant they'd lose the ball. 

James, who was 13 at the time, immediately responded to the bullish style. 

"The thing that I liked best about him is he was extremely coachable," Dambrot said. "He listened to everything you told him. And he pretty much absorbed it immediately."

Eventually, Dambrot caught a break and was hired as the boys' basketball coach at St. Vincent-St. Mary High in 1998. James and his close friends, Dru Joyce III ("Little Dru"), Willie McGee and Sian Cotton, who all played AAU basketball together, decided they wanted to play for Dambrot.

From day one, Dambrot told his players that they were going to be treated fairly but not equally. He was a drill sergeant who always wanted to prepare his players for the next level. Every day was a dog fight.

But Dambrot soon realized that he had an unusual challenge. 

James was different, both mentally and physically. As a freshman who was 6-foot-4 and 170 pounds, he wasn't yet the chiseled combination of brute force and incredible agility that he would become a few years later. But he was more advanced than anybody else Dambrot had ever seen. 

James would anticipate plays. His IQ was off the charts. He commanded the court with unprecedented poise and skill. "Three games into his sophomore year, I knew he'd never go to college," Dambrot said.

When James began to be touted as the best high school player in the nation, Dambrot made it his personal responsibility to make sure that James remained grounded. He was hardest on him.

During a meaningless summer league game after James' freshman season, he tossed the ball into the air in celebration with his team winning and only a few seconds left on the clock. The opposing team capitalized on his mistake, grabbing the ball and scoring at the buzzer, costing James' team the game. 

Dambrot was furious. He laid into James in front of the entire team, warning him that if he continued to approach the game so cavalierly, he was going to fall victim to his own hype. 

"He never made a play like that again," Joyce said. 

Dambrot didn't sugarcoat things with James. He didn't pat him on the back. On the court, he wanted James to grow into the best player he could become. Off of it, he desperately wanted him to stay out of trouble. 

Dambrot feared that the only person who could get in the way of James making it to the NBA was James himself. 

"When I knew he was great, I couldn't let him flush it down the toilet, you know," Dambrot said. "And I knew that the only thing that could catch him really was if he wasn't a great person or if he got involved with drugs or pregnancy or anything like that. 

"So I'll be honest, I was nervous. You get nervous because ... there's so many guys that have great ability that just don't get to the finish line. And I liked him so much that I wanted him to get to the finish line and get what he deserved."

Dambrot was much more than a coach. For many of his players, he was a father figure.

He'd pull his players aside and ask them about their grades and their families. He'd invite them to his home for dinner, where his wife would cook them meals and his children would run around them, playing.

Because he established that kind of trust with James, Dambrot was able to hold him accountable, even for the smallest of things.

James had a tendency to goof off with his teammates before games, but he was always able to flip a switch and have razor-sharp focus at tipoff. His teammates, however, didn't have that skill. After they goofed off, it would take them until the first or second quarter to get their heads into the game.

Dambrot taught James that he had to consider his teammates' vulnerabilities, not just his own. 

Dambrot also didn't let James get away with taking any plays off on defense. He didn't just want James to stop his man. He wanted him to unravel him.

"What I really stressed with him is, 'Look, you're going to be guarding high school guys now, but in two years, you're going to be guarding Kobe Bryant,'" Dambrot said. "So you better make believe you're guarding Kobe Bryant right now."

James took all of those lessons in stride — and quickly grew into a sensation.

His freshman season, he led the Fighting Irish to a record of 27-0 and a Division III state championship. His sophomore year, his team went 26-1, repeating as state champions. James' popularity ballooned so much that his team had to start playing some of its home games at the University of Akron to accommodate the thousands of fans and scouts who wanted to watch him play.

Everything was going perfectly, at least until Dambrot got an offer to rejoin the college coaching ranks at Akron. He agonized over the decision, but he ultimately accepted the position.

When his players found out, they were crushed. 

"It was a moment of shock," McGee said. "I think everybody didn't see it coming. And it was one of those things like, 'Man, you're leaving us? We came to this school because of you. And you're leaving us? We're mad right now, and we don't want to talk to you.'"

James and his teammates had chosen to believe in Dambrot at a time when no one else did. Their parents did, too. Now he was jumping ship?

But despite their ephemeral feelings of abandonment, everyone knew the truth: Dambrot was born to be a college coach. His life had been stripped away from him years before, and if he didn't seize this opportunity, another one might never come along.

Dambrot's new gig was far from glamorous, but it was deeply meaningful for him. 

"I went back to Akron for $34,000," Dambrot said. "I felt like I had to just prove myself again."

Before leaving St. Vincent-St. Mary, Dambrot did everything in his power to ensure that James and his teammates would remain successful. He advocated for Joyce's father, Dru Joyce II, who coached the boys' AAU team, to be his replacement. The school honored his request.

And Dambrot kept showing up in their lives. He'd go to their games. He'd regularly call them to check in.

He might've even saved them from what could've been a disastrous event in their lives. 

One night during James' senior year, James, Joyce and McGee bought BB guns at a local Walmart in Akron. The teenagers just wanted to play around and have some harmless fun. 

After leaving the store, they decided that their first stop of the night would be at Dambrot's home, and they popped over unannounced. Dambrot, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, welcomed them inside.

But as soon as he saw the BB guns, his demeanor changed. 

"He's like, 'Man, what are y'all doing?'" McGee recalled. "We're like, 'They're just BB guns. We're just playing.' He's like, 'Do y'all understand that you're African Americans in this neighborhood with BB guns? Y'all can't be riding around. These cops pull you over, and they're going to act like those are guns before they know that those are BB guns.'"

Dambrot insisted the boys go straight home. A toy gun could have easily been mistaken for the real thing, he said, cataclysmically changing all of their futures. 

The boys listened. 

"I just figured, especially when LeBron's in the car, you're better off to not be involved in anything," Dambrot said.

A few months later, James' dreams were realized. After leading St. V-St. M to another state championship in his final high school game, he was selected by the Cleveland Cavaliers as the No. 1 overall pick in the 2003 NBA Draft.

James stayed in touch with Dambrot. His teammates did, too. In fact, Joyce and Romeo Travis decided to play basketball for Dambrot at the University of Akron, and McGee eventually went on to work for Dambrot as a graduate assistant. 

"He's part of who we are and how we got to where we are today," McGee said. "One of those pivotal coaches that helped change our lives, honestly. I'll tell anybody: He turned boys into men."

Through the ups and downs of James' 18-season NBA career, he has repeatedly turned to Dambrot for advice.

They spoke after James left Cleveland for the Miami Heat in free agency in 2010 and then failed to win a championship, a dizzying time for James in which he transformed overnight from the league's hero to its villain.

"He'd never really been involved in a situation where people didn't love him really, right?" Dambrot said. "We just talked about going back to the beginning and playing for the love of the game and just relaxing and having fun."

They also had a meaningful conversation during James' first season with the Lakers in 2018-19, when he suffered a groin injury that sidelined him for 17 games. The Lakers didn't make the playoffs, which was very deflating for James, who had been to the NBA Finals in eight straight seasons.

Dambrot helped James keep things in perspective, telling him that things would turn around. The next season, James led the Lakers to their first championship in 10 years.   

In turn, James has constantly supported Dambrot.

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During Dambrot's 13 seasons as the head coach at the University of Akron, James would visit the team's practices and speak to players. Dambrot became the winningest coach in the program's history, leading the Zips to a combined 305-139 regular-season record.

James has also used his massive social media influence to publicly support Dambrot. In 2013, he tweeted that Dambrot is "one of the Masters at getting the most out of a kid." After the NBA was suspended in March 2020 because of the pandemic, James posted a video to Instagram of him working out in Duquesne gear, writing, "S/O MY GUY COACH D."

James is well known for his intense loyalty to the people who helped him during his rough childhood, a time when he sometimes struggled for food and bounced from couch to couch with his mother, Gloria, who gave birth to him at age 16.

During James' early high school years, Dambrot and his teammates were a huge source of support for him — and one another. Whenever a player struggled, teammates would call a meeting in the locker room, and they'd talk through the issue together. And if one of the boys didn't have enough money for food, another would bring an extra sandwich to school. 

Over the years, nothing has changed.

McGee, who is now the athletic director at St. Vincent-St Mary, said James served as a reference for him when he applied for the job. When McGee's mother died a few years ago, James showed up at her funeral with an unexpected gesture. 

"He gave me a Ziploc bag of money to pay for the whole funeral," McGee said. "A Ziploc bag of money in aluminum foil. People don't know that. That's always how he's been."

As for Dambrot, James gave him something invaluable: a second chance. 

Every once in a while, Dambrot remembers when his career was in shambles and a boy by the name of LeBron James walked into the JCC, unable to afford the $1 cost of workouts and needing to be spotted by a friend.

That serendipitous twist of fate changed everything for Dambrot. Ever since then, his career has thrived.

Dambrot jokes that James has the Midas Touch. Everything The King touches turns to gold — even a self-proclaimed washed-up, old coach. 

"I just can't believe that I had the opportunity to coach him," Dambrot said. "Just the destiny of that is unreal."

Melissa Rohlin is an NBA writer for FOX Sports. She has previously covered the league for Sports Illustrated, the Los Angeles Times, the Bay Area News Group and the San Antonio Express-News. Follow her on Twitter @melissarohlin.