Dwight Howard remains a humble star

Big men are supposed to glower, to intimidate, to dunk with extreme prejudice. "Nobody loves Goliath," the late Wilt Chamberlain famously observed.

At the onset of this postseason, "Sports Illustrated" magazine wondered: "Can Howard prove in these playoffs that the Biggest, Baddest Dude can also be the Biggest, Bubbliest Kid?"

So far, SI, the answer is yes. Howard is still playing and still fully carbonated.

Howard has not lost his ability to smile and actually project some sense of joy at making millions playing a child's game. But that's getting harder. Thursday's Game One of the Finals was a blowout, the lofty Los Angeles Lakers beating Howard's Orlando Magic by 25. From perimeter to post, L.A. looked solid.

Even so, why shouldn't Howard be smiling, asks those who knew him and nurtured him at SACA?

"The value system that he has came as a result of him being a Christian and having grown up in both the church and the school," said SACA's headmistress, Geraldine Thompson – Sister Geri.

"He's always courteous and always smiling because he knows who he is. He believes he can show his real personality on the court."

Austin Dudley was one of Howard's best friends from kindergarten through high school, a teammate on SACA's Class A state championship team of 2004. That qualifies him to weigh in on the emerging star's style.

"Kevin Garnett dunks on somebody, then he yells and tries to intimidate you like that," he said. "That's not Dwight's personality. He's going to play hard. But as far as the smiling and the laughter, that's not going to change.

"A lot of people take that as a weakness. I see that as a strength. Even when he gets frustrated on the court, he has that (attitude) to go back to. He's not going to get down on himself."

With the Hawks long gone, here is Atlanta's rooting interest in this last act of the NBA's annual hard-foul fest. Howard is as home grown as a backyard heirloom tomato.

Southwest Atlanta Christian was the only school Howard ever knew. It was with him from pre-school, with him through the prodigious growth spurts of adolescence and literally with him when he was taken first in the 2004 NBA draft. A busload of 45 SACA students and parents made the 19-hour trip from Atlanta to New York for the draft ceremony, providing much of the noisy celebration when the Magic called Howard's name first. The Knievel-like leap directly from high school to the NBA was done.

So, go ahead and try to find a Lakers fan anywhere near the old red brick two-story school building on Campbellton Road – once a YWCA – or the newest structure on site, the Dwight Howard II Gymnasium.

Between summer classes earlier last week, 5-year-old Noah Collins was asked the silly question about his Finals favorite. "The Magic, because (Howard) is better than Kobe," he answered firmly, eliciting a hug from the headmistress. Noah's premise may be faulty, but all support for the Magic earns extra credit around here.

These Finals are an opportunity for Howard, who blew up an expected duel between Kobe Bryant and LeBron James, to break through to another level of acclaim. Now, only 23, Howard joins Bryant atop the marquee.

Just five years ago, he, along with future pro Javaris Crittenton of the Washington Wizards, was elevating one little school's profile.

Revisiting the place where the Howard story took form helps to explain the kind of approachable, tattoo-free image he is bringing to the table.

Take some strong parents at home – father Dwight, for one, was a Georgia state trooper and still is the AD at SACA. Combine with some strict nurturing at school. Add the deluxe package of athletic gifts. Simple as that.

Howard was not raised in an environment of jock privilege or at a school where athletics wagged the dog. SACA didn't even have a gym of its own until Howard's senior year. The challenge that season was protecting the rims against Howard's assaults – his man-dunks snapped three of them.

He played for a coach – Courtney Brooks, now an assistant at Charleston Southern – and a school that didn't condone a lot of woofing and showmanship.

"(SACA) keeps you humble," Dudley said. "We didn't have a lot of luxury that players get. Our school was not basketball first; it was school first. We go out on the court and played our games. Then, when we came back, it was about school."

Howard was the whale in a koi pond, a nationally known talent who attracted all this disproportionate attention to a modest little school.

But when asked about a predominant memory of Howard during his senior year, Thompson didn't summon any particular game or national magazine headline. The headmistress remembered how Howard loved spending time on SACA's first floor, where he'd get away to laugh and carry on with the youngest students.

One school administrator tells a story about her son, a fringe player but an outstanding student who cringed when it came time to stand up during honors awards day. "My son was ashamed of being smart," she said. "But when Dwight stood up and clapped for him, that made him feel good."

Those who were on SACA's 2004 basketball team have gone on to become an audio engineer now on tour with R&B singer Keyshia Cole (Dudley), a deputy finance director for Thurgood Baker's gubernatorial campaign (Jimari Jones), a senior table tennis player at Texas Wesleyan (Aldis Presley) and a Georgia Tech grad who stubbornly persisted as a basketball walk-on (Gary Cage).

The one who skipped college didn't do so badly either, what with all the prime-time television exposure and the 11,000-square-foot house in Orlando.

Because of where they all came from, Howard's assent is a shared experience.