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Hundreds pay their respect to Darryl Dawkins

For everyone from the NBA to his current town, 'Chocolate Thunder' was 'one of us.'

Pallbearers carry the casket into the viewing for NBA great Darryl Dawkins.
Pallbearers carry the casket into the viewing for NBA great Darryl Dawkins.Read moreMICHAEL KUBEL / The Morning Call / Associated Press

CATASAUQUA, Pa. - "He was one of us."

That might have come from the former Sixer's teammate, or the former coach, or the first overall pick in the NBA draft. All of them said goodbye to Darryl Dawkins at St. Paul's Lutheran Church yesterday evening.

So did 500 other folks, mostly locals. They came in waves, filling the four hours of public viewing with quiet respect.

He might have been an NBA superstar visiting from Lovetron, but Dawkins coached in the Lehigh Valley, married a local and became Catty's own.

"He did not put on airs. He blended in here like everyone else," said Patti Sue Bedics, 48, who lives down the hill from St. Paul's. "He was one of us."

Dawkins died Thursday of a heart attack. He was 58.

Shocked and saddened, Sixers coach Billy Cunningham, heavyweight champ Larry Holmes, Sixers point guard Maurice Cheeks and Karl-Anthony Towns, the first pick in the NBA draft months ago, made their way down the church's side aisle, the advance guard of an army of celebrity types expected to descend upon the church at today's private service.

At the front of the church, Dawkins lay in an oversized casket, hands crossed over a Bible. The silk on the inside of the casket lid was, of course, embroidered: "CHOCOLATE THUNDER."

If things go as they should, he will approach the pearly gates in - what else? - a red suit, with bold pinstripes.

Nearby, his wife, Janice, flanked by Dawkins' best friends, heard again and again how wonderful her man was. But, of course, she lived his wonderfulness every day.

They met when he coached the USBL's Pennsylvania ValleyDawgs and she managed a local joint where he sometimes took his players after games. He made his intentions known quickly, but she wouldn't let things progress too quickly; she kept him at bay for two months. She feared Dawkins would get close to her daughter Tabitha, who has Down syndrome, and then he would be gone, and the little girl would be hurt.

Wasted fears.

Dawkins walked Tabitha to school. He took her and Janice to the Trivet diner, off Route 309 in Allentown, and fed her french fries. He loved Tabitha like his own, even after he married Janice, had three children together and settled in Catty, her hometown, just north of Allentown.

Yesterday, three panels of pictures greeted mourners as they entered the church; 300 photos of Dawkins with family and friends and teammates. In 299 of them, Dawkins smiles his big, infectious smile.

In the other one, he is consoling Tabitha; hugging her, their eyes closed.

That is what Catasauqua saw.

They didn't see a monstrous inside force that Cunningham tried to keep out of foul trouble.

They didn't see a big target who shattered backboards, the way Cheeks did.

They didn't see a mentor, a guide, a counselor, as Towns did.

Catasauqua saw a 6-11 guy taking his family to the pool at the park down the hill from the church.

"He was just everywhere," said Scott Toth, 45.

Toth, Patti Sue's neighbor, adjusted himself on his crutches, which he needs because of nerve damage that resulted from a back injury. He and his daughter, 11-year-old Haylie, accompanied Patti Sue to the viewing - on those crutches, up the hill, in 90-degree weather.

Impressive . . . but then, so was Towns, whom Dawkins has advised for years.

A Piscataway, N.J. native, he was driven to the viewing by his parents.

"He's family. I've grown up with him," Towns said. "He's like my uncle."

Dawkins offered similar counsel to anyone who asked.

Jason Thompson, the Mount Laurel, N.J., native and Lenape High product, spent the first seven seasons with the dysfunctional Kings before being traded twice this summer, finally landing with Golden State. Dawkins has known Thompson since he was in high school, and, lately, Thompson leaned on Double-D plenty. After all, few players understand the challenges of the NBA better than Dawkins: the first NBA player to skip college; traded by the Sixers; then, in 1987, traded three times in six weeks.

"I went through some adversity, and who better to talk to?" Thompson said. "You could be having a bad day and he would change it and make you smile."

Dawkins saw and shared two lifetimes' worth of smiles. It didn't matter whether he was acting as a devoted contributor to local and league community outreach programs or he was the guy who held open the door at the convenience store for Toth on those crutches. Dawkins' ebullient spirit filled the church yesterday evening, where tears often flowed down smiling faces, Thompson said:

"He wouldn't want us to feel sad."

Some were sad.

Construction workers in their company trucks; mail carriers still in uniform; guys in tank tops, guys in three-piece suits. They came by the hundreds.

Ironic, really, that Lovetron's interplanetary ambassador settled in this salt-of-the-earth town.

Fitting, though, that Dawkins should be laid to rest here.

He is one of them.

Forever.

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