The Janitor Who Gave LeBron James Extra Gym Time Now Lives Alone—LeBron Finds Him

For 40 years, Earl Wilson kept a secret—he was the janitor who unlocked the gym door at St. Vincent-St. Mary High School for a determined teenager named LeBron James.

Each night, while Akron slept, Earl mopped floors and emptied trash cans while LeBron practiced relentlessly, perfecting the skills that would make him a legend. Earl never sought recognition for his small act of kindness—not when LeBron hit the game-winning shot in high school, not during the NBA championships, and not even as “King James” became a global icon.

Now, at 84, Earl lives alone in a run-down house, struggling with health problems and forgotten by the world—until a small-town reporter uncovers his story and the greatest basketball player of all time discovers the man who gave him his shot.

Earl Wilson pulled his old blue pickup truck into the empty parking lot of St. Vincent-St. Mary High School. The digital clock on the dashboard blinked 8:15 p.m. He was early for his shift, just the way he liked it. Earl had been the night janitor at St. V’s for nearly 15 years and enjoyed the quiet moments before he had to start working. He sat in his truck and looked at the gym where he spent his nights. The school had been built in the 1950s, and even though it had been renovated, it still looked familiar.

“Just like old times,” he muttered to himself. At 45, he was getting a bit old, but Earl didn’t mind. Old things had character, and he liked it that way.

Earl grabbed his lunch pail and thermos of coffee. The November air was cool as he walked across the parking lot. His keys jingled as he found the right one to open the side entrance. The heavy door creaked as he pushed it open and stepped into the dim hallway.

“Evening, Mr. Wilson,” called a voice from down the hall. It was Mrs. Davis, the math teacher, who always stayed late to grade papers.

“Evening, Mrs. Davis. Working late again?” Earl asked.

“These algebra tests won’t grade themselves,” she sighed. “I should be out of here in about an hour.”

“Take your time. I’ll start on the other wing,” Earl said.

That was one thing Earl liked about his job—he could decide where to start cleaning each night. No boss looking over his shoulder, just him, his mop, and a list of rooms that needed to be cleaned by morning. He made his way to the janitor’s closet and changed into his gray work uniform. The name patch on his shirt was faded from years of washing, but you could still make out “Earl” stitched in red thread. He collected his supplies and headed toward the east wing of the school.

As he pushed his cart down the empty hall, Earl thought about the basketball game on TV later tonight. Earl loved basketball; he had played in high school back in the 1950s, but a car accident during his senior year had messed up his knee. The doctors fixed him enough to walk, but his dreams of playing in college were over. He had made peace with that, a long time ago. He still enjoyed watching the game, though. Akron was basketball country, and even the high school games could be exciting.

Laney’s team was supposed to be good this year, though Earl hadn’t seen them play yet. As he mopped the floor near the science labs, Earl heard a sound that seemed out of place. It was faint at first—a rhythmic thumping that echoed down the hallway. Someone was bouncing a basketball. Earl frowned. The building should be empty except for Mrs. Davis. He leaned his mop against the wall and followed the sound. It was coming from the gymnasium.

The closer he got, the louder the sound became. Now he could hear the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor and the clang of a ball hitting the rim. Someone was shooting hoops in the gym and wasn’t supposed to be there.

Earl pushed open the double doors to the gym and stepped inside. The lights were partially on—just enough to see the basketball court. A skinny black kid, maybe 15 or 16 years old, was practicing alone. He dribbled toward the basket, jumped, and released the ball in a smooth arc that swished through the net. The boy was tall for his age, but not remarkably so. What caught Earl’s attention was the way he moved—there was something special about it, a kind of grace and purpose that Earl recognized from years of watching the game.

The boy grabbed the ball and turned, finally noticing Earl standing by the door.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the boy said quickly. “I know I’m not supposed to be here after hours.”

Earl studied him for a moment. He recognized the kid now—he’d seen him in the hallways, a sophomore if he remembered right.

“What’s your name, son?” Earl asked.

“LeBron James, sir.”

Earl nodded slowly. He knew he should tell the boy to leave, it was his job to make sure nobody was in the school after hours, unless they had permission.

“You’re on the JV team, right?” Earl asked instead.

Surprise flashed across LeBron’s face. “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

Earl shrugged. “I pay attention.”

He didn’t mention that he sometimes watched practice through the gym doors when he was supposed to be cleaning the hallway.

“Coach won’t let me on varsity yet,” LeBron said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “Says I need to get better.”

Earl looked at the boy’s determined face and then at the basketball in his hands. He thought about his own dreams from long ago.

“So that’s why you’re here, to get better?” Earl asked.

LeBron nodded. “Yes, sir. My dad built a court in our backyard, but it gets dark early now. The gym has better lights.”

Earl scratched his chin. He knew he should send the boy home. If the principal found out, he could lose his job. But something about LeBron’s determination reminded him of himself at that age.

“How long are you planning to stay?” Earl asked.

“Just an hour or so,” LeBron said. “Hopefully, I won’t make a mess.”

Earl looked around the empty gym. It wasn’t hurting anybody for the boy to practice, and Earl would be cleaning this area anyway.

“I didn’t see nothing,” Earl said finally. “But you lock up when you leave. Don’t tell nobody I let you stay. You hear?”

Relief and gratitude spread across LeBron’s face. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“LeBron?”

“Yes, sir?”

“That jump shot looks pretty good. But your left-hand dribble needs work.”

LeBron grinned. “Yes, sir. I’ll work on it.”

Earl nodded and turned to leave. The door closed behind him, and he heard the bounce of the basketball resume.

That was the beginning.

As the weeks passed, Earl continued his quiet work at Laney High. He let LeBron practice in the gym after hours, offering small tips, and watching him grow—not just as a player, but as a person. Eventually, LeBron made varsity and went on to become one of the greatest basketball players of all time.

But Earl never sought recognition. He just unlocked the gym door.

Now, 40 years later, Earl was living alone. At 84, his health was failing, and his home had fallen into disrepair. The same determination that had driven LeBron James to greatness could not help Earl now. He was struggling, and the world had forgotten the janitor who had helped a teenage LeBron become the legend he was today.

But sometimes, the past has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it.