The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
More than just a face in crowd at Cameron
Death of fan with Down syndrome evokes memories of 37-year relationship with Krzyzewski, Duke hoops.
DURHAM, N.C. — You may never have known his name but his face may well be familiar, if you’ve ever watched a Duke men’s basketball game played in Cameron Indoor Stadium anytime in the past 37 years.
Because every time broadcast cameras inevitably panned onto coach Mike Krzyzewski sitting, standing or screaming on the sideline, Steven “Steve” Lee Mitchell was right there, sitting behind him.
Guards, forwards and centers, assistant coaches and trainers have all come and gone throughout the Coach K era, but Mitchell was always there, sitting and watching, cheering and cursing through nearly all of it.
Mitchell, of Durham, was born with Down syndrome on Sept. 5, 1954, and died June 4.
“He learned some words from Krzyzewski Momma and Daddy didn’t like to hear,” said his brother, Crafton Mitchell. “He had trouble pronouncing some of them. He said, ‘Doddamn it!’”
But Steve could holler a long, protracted s-word curse as well as anyone else, Crafton Mitchell said.
Coach K — who enters the arena to deafening cheers, flanked by serious-faced men in suits as Cameron’s Crazies pay homage — walked over to the 5-foot-2 Mitchell and shook his hand every time for three decades.
“I think it was a mutual feeling,” Mitchell’s sister Janice King said of her brother’s and Coach K’s game-day shake. “I think they gained strength from each other.
“I cannot speak for Coach K,” she added.
Krzyzewski said in an email: “Steve became a good friend, one who had some challenges. He was loved deeply by his family. It always felt good shaking his hand before games because I admired him and was proud of him.
“Steve never asked for anything. He just wanted to be down there to support us. I always felt like he had my back. That felt good.”
Christmas gift
In the winter of 1980 the only thing Mitchell wanted for Christmas was a Duke basketball ticket. As a new coach spurred life into Blue Devil fans, the demand for tickets rose, making them hard to find.
But Mitchell’s brother ran a construction and restoration company with a job that winter to fix up that new coach’s house.
Working on the Kryzewskis’ home, Crafton Mitchell asked the coach how one might find a purchasable ticket and explained his brother’s Christmas wish.
“He can sit behind me,” Kryzewski said.
Mitchell got a ticket, right behind the bench.
The following season, 198182, Mitchell sent Coach K a handwritten letter saying, “Coach, I know we’re going to have another great year. I was hoping that I could sit near you again.”
Coach K sent Mitchell a handwritten letter saying that, “yes,” he could.
The coach and Mitchell exchanged nearly the same letters every season thereafter. A single ticket, reserved for one “Steve Mitchell,” always awaited pickup at will call before every game.
From 1980 to 2017, rarely did a day go by that Mitchell didn’t wear Duke-themed attire.
He was born with Down syndrome at a time when there was less understanding of intellectual disabilities and of how to care for those affected. Immediately following Mitchell’s birth, a pediatrician recommended that his father and mother leave their “retarded” newborn in the care of the Murdoch Developmental Center in Butner.
They said they’d be keeping their son at home.
On Sunday mornings, Mitchell’s parents dropped him off in the church nursery with the congregation’s other infants while they listened to the week’s sermon.
In the 1950s, Mitchell was considered a “peculiarity” and some parishioners slipped out of the church’s service to poke their heads in the nursery to glimpse him.
For years, the entire Mitchell family pooled tens of thousands of dollars to afford an annual Iron Duke fee and secure a season ticket so someone could watch over Steve.
Barry Black, his brotherin-law, took over the job. He couldn’t sit with Steve behind the bench but monitored him from a second-tier, Iron Duke seat.
“You see, Down syndrome individuals give us a chance to see joy even in the most boring or tense times,” said Mitchell’s niece Anne Stubbins Powers.
“They say what they think, dance when they hear music, are loyal and loving until your last days, routine and predictable, and they are passionate about what they love.”
The competitor
Steve competed in Durham Special Olympics throughout his life on basketball and golf teams and in his youth in swim meets.
In 1981, Mitchell, then 25, and his little sister, Candace Black, then 23, were at home alone and swimming together in their parents’ pool when Candace Black had an epileptic seizure and began to drown. Mitchell swam well.
He pulled her to the water’s edge, propping her on pool steps, and called 911, but the operator couldn’t understand him. He called a brother-in-law who lived nearby: “Clint, there’s an emergency in the swimming pool, come quick!”
Candace Black slipped off the stairs back into the water. She floated face-down without a noticeable pulse and wasn’t breathing by the time Clint King and Crafton Mitchell arrived to deliver CPR. Bethesda volunteer firemen revived her.
President Jimmy Carter sent Mitchell a handwritten letter congratulating him on being “a hero.”
In Raleigh, Gov. James Hunt presented Mitchell with the Governor’s Award for Bravery and Heroism on Sept. 10, 1981, for saving his sister’s life.
Cameras flashed as Mitchell strode right up to North Carolina’s governor amid applause and flatly said, “Thanks, Hunt.”
Confidence builder
Mitchell was an N.C. State fan until his sister Candace married Barry Black. Mitchell thought Black, who drove him to Cameron and walked him in for the past 20 years, was one cool dude.
Mitchell’s going up to the will call window on his own, asking for his ticket and getting to his seat was one of the few things he did in life unmonitored by caretakers.
“It was tremendous for his confidence,” Crafton Mitchell said.
“He really felt like he was part of the team,” Steve’s sister Janice King said. “He was friendly, very friendly, positive, a great, outgoing person. He wasn’t afraid to shake hands with anybody.”
When former Duke players like Gene Banks, Christian Laettner, Danny Ferry, Shane Battier, Grant Hill, J.J. Redick and Bobby Hurley came back to Durham to catch a game they’d stop by, chat with Mitchell courtside and shake his hand.
Once when Barry went to retrieve Mitchell after a game, Mitchell suddenly bolted for the other end of the court. Barry panicked as Mitchell rammed right through four security guards standing between himself and Dick Vitale. “Hey, Dick,” he said. “Hey Steve,” Vitale replied. Mitchell retired after 32 years of work at Durham Exchange Club Industries. He lived with his parents until he was 50.
His aging parents searched desperately for a home for their son to live in after they died. After the first retirement facility for intellectually disabled residents in North Carolina, Spring Glen Retirement Community of Residential Services Inc., opened in Durham, Mitchell moved in on May 26, 2005.
Both of his parents died within six months.
“It was as if they were living to find a place for Steve,” said Spring Glen staff member Miranda Isaacs.
Steve kept up routines like a pregame close shave, but the transition was hard.
The Spring Glen staff loved to watch Duke’s away games with Mitchell.
Mitchell kept his face 2 to 3 feet away from the TV screen, clapping at shots made and cursing like Coach K at the misses. He started to like Spring Glen after all.
Mitchell had a stroke on May 23 and went to UNC Hospitals, unable to speak or swallow. His room overlooked the Tar Heels’ Dean Smith Center.
“We didn’t tell him what it was,” Candace Black said.
Every year, Mitchell would spend November with his sister Janice King, shopping for small gifts to give every one of his more than 40 family members on Christmas Eve.
“If I forgot anyone, he’d say, ‘Janice, what about ...’ ” King said.
“He didn’t forget anybody. That’s what I’ll miss the most.”