Too often, Robert “Apache” Paschall had seen young adults fall victim to the difficulties and dangers of growing up in New York City. He was almost one of those victims.

He was well aware of the consequences of poor situations and poorer decisions. Apache had that in mind when he sat down four troubled players in the Henry Street gym in the Lower East Side of Manhattan before practice.

One of those girls was high school freshman Taylor Ford, who at the time was stuck befriending the wrong crowd. She’ll never forget his words from that day.

“Don’t be the person that people don’t want to be around with,” Apache told them, lecturing them for 20 minutes in a storage room. “You are who your friends are. Be the person who everyone wants to be around.”

“Apache actually changed my life,” said Ford, now a sophomore forward at Syracuse. “Without him, I don’t know where I would be. I don’t know if I would be at a Division I college or home or whatever. Because of him, I’m where I am now.”

Apache was the head coach at St. Michael’s Academy in midtown Manhattan from 2002 until it closed in June 2010. He then moved on to Nazareth Regional High School in Brooklyn, bringing with him Ford and other St. Michael’s players, where they won the state championship. The next season, current SU sophomore Brianna Butler moved to New York from Pennsylvania and joined Nazareth.

Apache died on Jan. 3, 2012, at age 38 — midway through Butler and Ford’s senior year — of cardiac arrest related to complications from skin cancer. This January marked the two-year anniversary of his death.

Throughout his coaching career, Apache talked nearly every day with his longtime friend Quentin Hillsman, who is now in his eighth season as Syracuse’s head coach.

“He died giving his heart away,” Hillsman said. “He didn’t get rich in this game. He didn’t make money. He was pretty much on welfare and helping kids. That’s what he did.”

The game of basketball saved Apache’s life, so in return he dedicated many years of his life to keeping as many girls off the streets as he could. He became one of the most well-known basketball coaches in the city, thanks to his two state championships at the high school level and the success he enjoyed with the Exodus AAU program he founded in 1996.

And not even his cancer would stop him from coaching and influencing lives until the very day he died.

“He had the heart of a lion. His heart was enormous,” said Lauren Best, Apache’s assistant coach and fiancée. “The day he passed, we were going to go to his treatment and then practice.

“He could barely stand up but he said, ‘I’m not going to let my kids down.’”

**

Apache’s mother spent 16 years in prison for selling cocaine and his brother also did time for selling drugs.

One of his uncles was killed while attempting a robbery and another uncle admitted to murdering five people.

Apache easily could’ve gone down the wrong path himself, but basketball became Apache’s escape. So he made it his goal in life to teach girls that the game could be their outlet, too.

His players became his daughters. He made sure they ate. He made sure they had winter coats. He made sure they had a shoulder to cry on and a friend to call at 3 a.m.

“He wasn’t just a basketball coach,” said Ron Kelley, Apache’s assistant coach. “He wasn’t just a guy that showed up when it was time for practice or the game and then headed home until next time.”

**

Before Apache’s words changed Ford’s life, his actions may have saved it.

“Taylor Ford is one of those young ladies that had some issues at home,” Kelley said. “Apache grabbed her, saw she had a little bit of talent, and just didn’t let go.”

Ford’s parents separated when she was 10, and her mother worked two jobs to try and support her four children. In middle school, Apache introduced Ford to serious basketball by bringing her to his AAU Exodus program.

Ford never thought she could earn a scholarship for basketball, but Apache saw just enough potential to push her to achieve one. When her visit to Penn State disappointed her, Apache was on the other end of the phone to comfort her.

But as Ford put in the work to develop Division I potential, her overall attitude lacked because of the people surrounding her. She wasn’t particularly friendly or outgoing.

Apache’s advice that day before practice at the Henry Street gym changed that.

“I started to watch what they were doing and I realized I shouldn’t be around them,” Ford said. “He made me a more fun person. He made me happy about life.”

**

When Butler joined Exodus, she played behind a group of superstars. She was unselfish on the court and deferred to those players, but Apache thought she was doing it all wrong.

And he let everyone in the gym know it.

“He would just get at her during games and almost had to force her to shoot the ball sometimes,” Kelley said. “And by the time she was a senior, she had developed into this really aggressive scoring machine.”

All of the yelling Butler took from Apache served as motivation. She’d spend an extra hour after practices working on her 3-point shooting, pull-up jumpers and ability to attack the basket. Butler sought to become more of an offensive threat and less of a passive player.

Her dedication paid off in an out-of-state tournament game, where Butler had what Apache told her afterward was one of the best games he had seen her play.

And by the time Butler left high school, she was the No. 13 recruit in the country.

“If he’s yelling at you, you know he wants you to do well,” Butler said. “He taught me to be a killer and not back down from a challenge.”

**

Late in their friendship, a very ill Apache grumbled to Hillsman about having to drink protein shakes.

“Listen, you have to drink this,” Hillsman told him.

“You think this is so damn good? Then you drink some,” Apache retorted. Just so Apache wouldn’t have to drink one alone, Hillsman drank one – and it was “pretty nasty,” he said.

Hillsman laughed as he reflected, then slowly become more solemn.

“That was the last moment that he and I had together. You kind of knew that this was a moment you need to cherish, because he wasn’t doing well.”

The two first met when they were in high school. As their coaching careers began to take form, they crossed paths enough in basketball gyms across the East Coast and realized they had much in common. They became a sounding board for each other, whether they spoke about basketball or life beyond the game.

When Apache had three players that needed to get out of New York, Hillsman took them in to his Laurinburg (N.C.) Institute program. That team went 22-0, en route to the 2002-03 prep school girls’ national championship.

With that, a pipeline was born.

“Our players were our babies,” Best said. “You can’t send your child to play for just anybody. You got to send them to somebody who will take care of them, and Coach Q took care of our babies.”

When Best found Apache unresponsive on the day of his death, her first call was for the paramedics. Her second call was for Hillsman to console her.

**

Butler and Ford don’t bring up Apache intentionally. Even two years later, his absence is still new to them. But once in a while a moment surfaces, and his words and mannerisms return as vividly as ever to the roommates.

“We just stay strong for each other,” Butler said, “and we just know that he’s in a better place.”

Both of their Instagram accounts pay homage to Apache and his favorite saying: “Love is love.”

Behind Butler’s left ear is a tattoo that commemorates Apache and Exodus.

They miss his pregame speeches, which were full of intensity and a single wisecrack. During practice, some of Butler’s tendencies remind Ford of the times Apache raised his voice at her. Each time Ford eats seafood, one of Apache’s favorite meals, she thinks of him.

He may be gone, but he’s certainly not forgotten.

“Every now and then,” Hillsman said, “you can just see his influences over our program and over those two and even over me, because we were so close.”

Published on January 28, 2014 at 2:21 am

Contact Phil: pmdabbra@syr.edu | @PhilDAbb