By Adam Cancryn

The relationship between Yeardley Love and George Huguely deteriorated in full view of friends and teammates. Then, in private, it erupted.

In the spring of 2010, Yeardley Love's ex-boyfriend broke into her room, beat her and left her to die.

She would spend her final moments face down on her bed in a pool of blood, alone. She was 22 years old.

I was 22 years old that spring as well, and though I never knew Yeardley or her killer, George Huguely, the tragedy hit particularly hard. 

Part of it was proximity: Charlottesville, Va. was an hour away from where I lived at the time, and had a few things broken differently, we all could have been classmates. Part of it was the sheer brutality of the crime: The idea that all of the gruesome actions laid out in the court documents could be committed by one human being against another. Part of it was the attention it drew: Two privileged students who had grown up minutes away from each other at the center of a murder in a idyllic college town sounds like the plot for a Lifetime movie, not a real-life incident.

But above all that, what really got to me was that two popular college students could be so alone on the night their lives turned into a twisted wreck. Both were members of Division I athletic programs, both were, by all accounts, well-known on campus, and both had plenty of friends. 

So where were Huguely's friends when he was getting violently drunk, in the continuation of a well-established pattern? And where were they to stop him when he decided to march over to his ex-girlfriend's house to confront her? Where were Love's friends when she got into an altercation with Huguely two months before her death, and when he wouldn't stop harassing her even after that?

I suspect the answer is simple and all too prevalent. It's easy for anyone to ignore warning signs and gloss over dangerous habits, and even easier when the person exhibiting those signs and habits is a close friend. Dismissing it as just "so-and-so being so-and-so" is more convenient than intervening and putting a friendship at risk. And in college, when insecurity and awkwardness always rules the day, taking a stand can be just plain unpalatable. It's a choice every one of us has made at some point or another. Most times, these warning signs and habits evaporate over time, and it's something we can all look back at one day and laugh.

But here's the thing: Sometimes they don't. 

And by that point, it's too late. For Yeardley Love and George Huguely, a drinking habit and a volatile relationship went unaddressed, spiraled out of control and ended in murder.

It's the winter of 2012 now, and I'm 24 years old, the same age Love would have been. A week ago, a jury recommended that the judge sentence Huguely to 26 years in jail for second-degree manslaughter. The facts were clear, and the punishment fit the crime. All the big television channels were there for the trial, straining to catch a glimpse each time Huguely was ushered, alone, out the side door.

I caught part of it too, driving past the courthouse each morning, a now-Charlottesville resident on my way to work. And even two years later, the feeling of overwhelming sadness is still there. Both Love and Huguely saw their lives destroyed that night, and not one person was there to stop it.

Should the judge follow the jury's recommendation, Huguely would be 50 years old by the time he finishes his sentence. He would be a middle-aged man who robbed himself of his prime at the same time he robbed his ex-girlfriend of her life. I don't feel bad for him. But I do hope that, when he's released from jail all those years later, he still has some friends.

For more on Yeardley Love, you can find my 2010 column here.

Image via The Hook.

Adam Cancryn is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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By Adam Cancryn

I watched last Thursday's UVa.-Duke game with the most unusual, most inspiring student on campus.

It's taken Jerry Reid nearly 50 years to get to this point.

He'd had a chance once, those many decades ago. But he didn't take it. Instead, he went off to build a career and a family, all the while wondering what could have been.

Now, at 67 years old, Jerry is finally here, standing in the middle of a Charlottesville, Va. bar, 16 months away from a college degree and 13 minutes from what could be the defining moment of the season for the University of Virginia basketball team.

At this moment, Jerry is standing in front of the television, waving his arms over his head. It's a spirited, if dubious, attempt to distract Duke forward Mason Plumlee, who is lining up a foul shot 173 miles away in Durham, N.C.

"C'mon, miss it," he mutters.

Jerry's tactics work. Plumlee misses, and UVa. grabs the rebound, still down just seven points to the Blue Devils. He allows himself a quick fist pump before focusing in on the next possession.

Jerry has been passionate about UVa. basketball since he first laid eyes on the grounds as an 18-year-old, but lately he's not been alone. The Hoos, as they're affectionately known around town, are 14-1 going into this game. It's their best start since 1981-82, a run that has caught both the ACC Conference and the UVa. community off guard.

"I never went to a game in my four years here," a May 2011 graduate tells me during a commercial break. The more successful football, baseball and lacrosse programs have recently been the big three at UVa., she adds, with basketball trailing far behind.

But as the game resumes, our conversation ends. She's glued to the action on the screen, like most everyone tonight.

Jerry Reid met his wife, Susan, at a
UVa. fraternity party in 1966.

Indeed, the men's team has often struggled to keep up with the rest of the ACC, much less compete with perennial powerhouses North Carolina and Duke.

The Hoos have finished above .500 in the conference just twice in the past 10 years. By comparison, they've found themselves next to last in the standings three times during that same period.

Actually winning the ACC has proven even more difficult. In the program's history, UVa. has finished atop the conference just five times. Of those five, they have won the ACC Tournament once, back in 1976.

The school's recent record in the NCAA Tournament is equally discouraging. The last time the Hoos reached the Sweet Sixteen was 1995. Incidentally, that season was also the last time UVa. beat Duke at Cameron Indoor Arena.

But this year is different. Coach Tony Bennett is in his third year here ("More like second year, given what he had to deal with at first," Jerry says), and his teachings have begun to stick.

The Hoos play a "packed defense," a strategy that locks down the interior and forces opponents to hoist long-range shots. At it's best, it evokes the Spartans' phalanx from the movie 300, using teamwork to mask individual weaknesses. Court awareness is key, as defenders must switch off of players and fight through screens without distorting the squad's overall shape. When opponents do settle for a three pointer, the closest man has to break from the pack in time to contest the shot.

It's the ultimate team defense, and after a tumultuous period that saw four of the players from UVa.'s six-man 2009-10 recruiting class transfer out of the school, Bennett finally has the cohesive unit that it requires.

Reid, third from left, in 1962. His
friend, William Lloyd Sturman (left)
introduced him to UVa.

Against Duke, it's been a clinic so far. The Hoos have shut their talented guards out of the paint and smothered Plumlee every time he touches the ball. Each possession is a war of attrition, with UVa. matching the Blue Devils move for move until Duke, frustrated, settles for a three. After averaging roughly 82 points a game this year, Duke will finish this one with just 61.

UVa. is similarly unhurried on offense. The team relies on basic plays, emphasizing quick cuts and screens to free up layups and mid-range jumpers. It's effective, but there's no flash involved.

Well, almost no flash. For UVa. has Mike Scott, a 6'8" do-it-all senior forward. He's the only player in the ACC that ranks in the top five in scoring and rebounds, and he's carried his team so far tonight. He pours in his 19th and 20th points to narrow the score to 50-44, and Jerry lets out a whoop.

"A man among children," he crows.

Scott is well known among basketball fans here, but Jerry has a special connection. Last year, he and his wife, Susan, made a poster that said, "Grrrreat Scott!" and gave it to Scott.

"We just admired the kind of man he was and the way he played," Jerry says.

Scott would tear up his ankle shortly after, an injury that required two surgeries and knocked him out for the rest of the season. But he held onto that sign. And when Jerry looked up at the JumboTron during this year's game against Miami, there it was, held aloft in the crowd.

Scott is back at full strength now, but despite his best efforts, Duke is threatening to pull away. A couple of quick baskets have stretched the lead to nine, and UVa. looks shaken.

"Same old UVa.," one of the bartenders says. "A first half team."

Reid racing his "nearly invincible"
Toyota at West Virginia's Summit
Point Raceway.

Jerry, though, is still upbeat. He's followed the team since 1963, when he visited a friend here. He didn't enroll himself; a self-professed rebel, it took Jerry an extra year to finish high school before heading straight to the working world. But he visited often. It was at a Chi Phi fraternity party at UVa. that he first met Susan. They would get married three years later. Over his next four plus decades as a journalist, racecar driver and entrepreneur, among many other professions, he stayed connected to the school through its athletics.

For all those years, though, Jerry was an outsider. He was in love with the University of Virginia, but never officially one of its own. So in 2009, 46 years older than the typical college freshman, he set out to change that. Jerry enrolled in John Tyler Community College, then took classes at another community college and finally moved over to Charlottesville's Piedmont Valley Community College. Over those three stints, he amassed a 3.8 GPA. In the spring of 2011, he was accepted to UVa. as an undergraduate through its Bachelor of Interdisciplinary Studies program. Soon after, he walked onto the school's storied lawn for the first time as a student.

"It was emotional, stunning and beautiful," he says. "I sat out on a bench and just thought about how blessed I was."

Since then, Jerry has busied himself within the community like a man trying to make up for all those lost years. He's a member of the Jefferson Literary and Debating Society. He received his class ring in October 2011, and shows it off at every opportunity. He sits in the student section for home basketball games, fourth row and center.

And in this increasingly crowded student hotspot, he knows seemingly everyone. The bartenders serve up his signature drink ("a ginger and ginger," he quips, adding that he doesn't drink alcohol) while undergrads file past, stopping to catch him up on what they did over winter break.

"Everybody knows him," says Matt Manley, a fourth-year engineering student. "I've seen him many a night, and he's up on the tables with us."

For those yet to meet him, Jerry has made it little easier. After being mistaken for a professor one too many times, he designed a sweatshirt that says, "We are UVA, and Jerry Reid is a student."

Reid, wearing his signature sweatshirt, with fellow
members of the Jefferson Literary and Debating Society.

He's wearing that sweater now, as the final few minutes tick down. UVa. has managed to stick close. Victory here would serve as the signature win on their tournament resume.

Jerry is hanging on to every possession. His eyes never leave the screen, except to admonish a fellow student for failing to appreciate the gravity of the situation.

"That's when my grandfatherly instinct kicks in," he says. "She said she only follows football. You've got to cheer for all the sports. It's a privilege to go here."

He extracts a quick "Go Hoos" from her and turns back to the game.

UVa. has fought to within five, with Duke's Ryan Kelly heading to the line. He misses both shots, and the Hoos grab the rebound and get a quick score to cut the deficit to three. Duke blows a layup, and the Hoos have the ball back. Forty-seven seconds now. Scott lines up a game-tying three from the corner. It's off, but UVa. maintains possession. One more try: Jontel Evans takes the shot, and it rims out as time expires. 

61-58, Duke.

Jerry braces himself against the bar for a few seconds in silent reflection. UVa. has closed the gap between it and the ACC's upper tier, that's for sure. But missed layups and defensive lapses doomed them. There is still much work to do.

Before long, he's smiling again. It's a Thursday night, and Jerry is a student at the only college he ever wanted to attend. That fraternity he met his wife at all those years ago? He's a member now, initiated last fall. He's signed up for an intramural flag football league that starts soon, and in the spring he wants to help out with the baseball team.

And UVa.'s showdown with rival Virginia Tech is next Sunday. That's the game that really matters.

Yes, life is wonderful for 67-year-old third-year Jerry Reid. But like his beloved Hoos, there's still much work to do. Setting down his ginger and ginger, he says his goodbyes and turns toward the door.

"I've gotta go," he says. "I've got a paper to write."

Adam Cancryn is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

All photos courtesy of Jerry Reid.

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