The basketball started in high school. The coach's wife was a reading specialist and spotted the twins in the library. She wrote a note to her husband and had Harvey deliver it. The note said something like, "Do you think this kid can help your team? There's another one just like him in the library, too." The boy was 6'6" and weighed 135 pounds. The coach figured he could use one, O.K., two kids that size.
Horace, with that nine-minute edge and his tough-guy disposition, was the early achiever on all levels. The part of the game that interested him was close to the basket, pounding people out of the way for rebound layups. Harvey liked the outside life of a jump shooter. Hollywood. In high school he worked on his shot and worked on it, taking tips from the coach. When he finally knocked home four in a row in an early game, he touched the coach's knee on the way back upcourt.
"I got it now, Coach," Harvey said. "I got it now."
The college choice was Clemson, mostly because there weren't many other choices. What coaches traveled to Sparta on great recruiting missions? For the longest time the twins thought nobody had seen them. Their only option was Anderson (S.C.) Junior College. They were ready to go to Anderson. Clemson, which had scouted them in only one game, was a late arrival. O.K., Clemson.
"We'd never been anywhere," Horace says. "Never been to Atlanta. Nowhere."
"Now we're in this huge college," Harvey says.
"We go there and we're roommates. Harvey never does his laundry. He never has clean clothes."
"Never have clean clothes? It's because you were always wearing my clothes. You were taking everything. That's why I moved out, roomed with someone else the second semester."
Again, Horace was in the lead. A bigger lead now. He was a part-timer as a freshman, averaging 20 minutes a game. Harvey was redshirted. This put him at a much, much slower pace for the first time in his life. Horace would be done with college eligibility in four years. Harvey's would stretch for five. Not a pleasant thought.
After a second year at Clemson, largely on the bench, Harvey was dismissed from the team for violating team rules and wound up at Independence (Kans.) Junior College. It was 1985-86. The break was made. Horace moved along, on a straight line: Clemson standout, the Atlantic Coast Conference player of the year as a senior, the Bulls' No. 1 draft choice in 1987, 10th overall. Harvey put in the year at junior college—surviving some legal problems created by his involvement in the theft of some stereo equipment—made J.C. All-America and transferred to Oklahoma. Freed from demands to play like his brother, Harvey played his own game. He was the jump shooter, the scorer. In his senior year he also was a suddenly affluent jump shooter-scorer.