A dialtone was all that connected Marvin Williams to the rest of his life. The silence held the balance of his future, interrupted only by the staccato thump of his heart and the murmurs of a telephone line reaching out across the country.

On one end of the phone was Marvin, all-state in basketball, who had held his own against Michael Jordan, who had moves and groves and highlights to go on for days.

On the other end was the coach of the North Carolina Tar Heels and Marvin’s dream, the baby blue uniform, the eyes of the college basketball world.

The Tar Heel coach picked up and the conversation was succinct. And when the receiver clicked into place and the voice on the other end of the line vanished back into 3,000 miles of American heartland, Marvin’s future drifted into the past like an autum leaf carried in the wind.

Marvin Williams would never be a Tar Heel.

At his Bremerton, Wash. home, his son waited for him. He was barely five years old, but Marvin Williams Jr. was already something special.

Marvin Williams Sr. smiled.

***

Years later in the same small town, Andrea Gittens has developed a schedule choreographed so precisely it would’ve made Mikhail Baryshnikov blush.

A single-mother of three and a bookkeeper in Seattle, she knew the ferry tables like you know your address. The morning ferry across the water sailed at 7:20AM and if she missed it, she would be stuck on the west side until 9:00AM.

Missing the ferry wasn’t an option, particularly if North Carolina was playing basketball.

Everything stopped when UNC played. Even the schedule gave way. Andrea and her mother would sit in front of the TV draped in their UNC gear. They would watch for a man to tap a tattoo on his shoulder before calmly sinking a free throw. The tattoo he taps reads “Andrea” and Andrea Gittens, the mother of Marvin Williams, Jr. smiles. The proud mother of an unflappably humble and courteous then 18-year old boy, Andrea Gittens smile because her dream had already come true.

Marvin Williams Jr. is the dream maker.

***

On a day hot enough to fade the Carolina blue sky, Marvin Williams makes his way into the Dean Smith Center, his home court for an impressive single-year in college basketball. The shadows of the arena coolly slide across his body revealing a youngish, smiling face that looks like it belongs more to a guy just learning how to handle Shaquille O’Neal on NBA Live, not a man who will be paid to bang with him in real life. He leans forward and sticks out a beartrap of a mitt.

“Hi. I’m Marvin Williams.”

Marvin Williams needs an introduction like the Grand Canyon needs a sign that says, “Caution: Hole.”

But these are the moments that make his parents smile.

Even when empty, the Smith Center roars. The building, which opened the same year Marvin was born, has played host to two national championships teams and more legendary players and games than even the most grizzled Tobacco Road veteran could count. The numbers of those who came before him gently flap above as if they’re still cheering for their namesakes – Jordan, Worthy, Ford.

But when Marvin enters the Smith Center, even the ghosts pay attention.

He is the boy who would be king and the king who would remain a boy. At six-foot-nine and stunningly humble, he outgrew everything except his own upbringing.

“We’ve been lucky here to have some tremendous kids come through,” says Francis Williams, the former director of Adidas grassroots marketing campaign in Washington. “Have we had anyone as humble as Marvin? I don’t know. He’s about his brothers, his family, he always will be.”

He’s about dreams.

His father always dreamed of playing at UNC. Marvin Williams Sr. moved to the small town of Wallace, N.C., a sleepy brick town a few long three-pointers away from Wilmington, when he was 10. The town now, as then, is known primarily as the place Michael Jordan’s family called home before moving to Wilmington. Jordan’s father, James, is buried in a small church just outside town.

For Marvin Sr., the path to Tar Heel stardom met a dead end. After crossing paths with Jordan during their childhood and adolescence, Marvin joined the Navy to play basketball for money. After four years he found a home in the Navy town of Bremerton, Wash., where he met Andrea.

On the court, Marvin Sr. taught his son the game from the ground up, watching legendary UNC Coach Dean Smith’s videos, the same Dean Smith that had turned down Marvin Sr.’s request to play at UNC years earlier. At 5-foot-11, Marvin taught his son the game from a guard’s perspective. As Marvin grew well past his father’s height, he developed a jumper as pure as a left-handed power stroke from the plate and a skill-set that would make him a sure-fire lottery pick.

Off the court, Andrea wouldn’t be Marvin’s coach, she’d be his hero.

What Marvin taught his son about basketball, she taught him about life. On the court, his father taught a guard’s game to a forward. Off the court, his mother taught the humble life to a undeniable star. He took care of his brothers and took a job at the local grocery store to raise extra money while NBA scouts talked about millions in his ear.

“I can’t stress how much she means to me,” Marvin says. “My brothers would say the same thing. She’s a strong lady. Off the court, my personality comes from her. She’s my hero.”

He became an older brother to two younger brothers, Demetrius and J’Tonn, but in time he would develop into even more. While other high school ballers found an off-the-court world of their own mild celebrity, Marvin’s world was his family.

“Marvin took on the responsibility to be someone that his brothers can look up to,” Francis Williams says. “He developed a relationship beyond just a big-brother situation.”

Now at 19 years of age, Marvin Williams isn’t just a product of his parents, he is a man of his own making.

His life thus far has been a series of stunningly independent choices. As one of the nation’s top high school players, Williams could’ve shunned his high school teammates and attended a basketball-factory boarding academy, but he chose to stay, out of loyalty. As he grew in national recognition, he kept his job as a bagger at the local Red Apple. He might’ve had the best jumpshot of any bagger the state of Washington has ever seen, but while other high school stars were flirting with the bling of the NBA life, the only ice Marvin saw was in the produce section.

Marvin’s greatest quality may be what he doesn’t do.

When the phone would ring in his Chapel Hill apartment on Friday night, Marvin immediately knew it wasn’t for him.

“By the end of the year, my teammates didn’t call me to go out anymore,” Williams says. “I am the most boring guy on the team, no doubt. All I do is stay at home and watch TV. I’m boring.”

While most UNC stars came out of the Michael Jordan line of the family, as well known for their game as well as their celebrity, Marvin came from the George Lynch side, not uncomfortable with his fame so much as unimpressed by it.

“I went out five times in my entire college career,” Williams says, “five times. Mostly it was for special occasions. I went out after we beat Duke, after we came back from the Elite Eight, and after we beat Miami in football”

Sitting beneath the honored jersey of Joe Forte, the 2001 ACC Co-Player of the Year who left UNC after his sophomore year only to find life off-the-court too challenging in the NBA, there could be no better reminder that it takes more than just talent to succeed in the NBA. His self-professed “boring” nature may prove to be his finest quality.

“You can’t help but look up to Marvin,” Francis Williams says. “It’s not even fair to call him a child, he’s a man… I’m 46 years old and I will admit that there are things I learned about how you’re supposed to live by watching Marvin. You can’t help but look up to Marvin”

As he sits on the verge of the rest of his life, this Marvin Williams has much more than a long-distance connection to his future, he’s all but locked in to a life of superstardom.

“There’s definitely pressure, but I know I can handle it,” Marvin says, “playing in the NBA is a dream and I hope it works out.”

The air conditioning kicks back on in the roof of the Dean Dome and the jerseys flutter again as if to answer his question. It will work out. He is the dream maker.