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The First Soldier

Stepping as lightly as possible on the chiseled concrete that ushered visitors into Harmon Gymnasium, the sixteen-year-old Bay Area native looked nervously at his friend. The two El Cerrito High School students had agreed to sneak into the gym, to see what it was like to play the game they loved on the biggest court they could reach on the bus. But as they pulled the imposing wooden doors open, they found themselves faced not with the mecca of basketball arenas, but with the hostile glare of a policeman's flashlight.
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Sixteen-year-old Hashim Alauddeen didn't yet know that just a few years later he would gain admission to Cal, or that he and his friend, Calvin Andrews, would found one of the biggest AAU programs in the country -- where kids who loved basketball would be welcomed, not escorted out.
In 1990, just down the street from Harmon Gymnasium, Alauddeen and Andrews opened their doors to young basketball players from the Bay Area, through a program that would eventually number dozens of household names, including LeBron James, in its ranks. With the help of a few former Cal basketball players, Hashim Alauddeen gave Bay Area youth -- many of whom had few material possessions at all -- something that could intractably belong to them: the Oakland Soldiers.
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Alauddeen had long loved Cal basketball, but that night at Harmon would forever solidify not only his admiration, but his gratitude. As the policeman eyed Alauddeen and Andrews, an extremely tall figure walked by. Thinking quickly, Alauddeen grabbed desperately at the first thing he could think of to elude whatever authoritarian sanctions awaited him.
Pointing at the tall young man, Alauddeen exclaimed, "That's my cousin!"
The policeman turned to the tall figure to confirm. The star of the Cal basketball team at the time, Butch Hayes looked the two hapless interlopers up and down, and immediately understood their plight.
"Yeah, that's my cousin," Hayes bluffed.
Not only were Alauddeen and Andrews immediately absolved of any gym-sneaking charges, they quickly befriended Hayes, who welcomed them inside. They began playing regular pickup games with the team.
When Alauddeen began his tenure as a Cal student four years later, he was resolved to join the team, as a legitimate member of its roster.
"So I tried out for the team," Alauddeen says. "I had some pajamas on, some Chuck Taylors, a military jacket, and back then, I had a tail."
He motions to the back of his head, where the since-abandoned hairstyle used to be on display.
"I got no hair now," he laughs. "Back then, I had a purple tail. So, I mean, I was out of People's Park."
Alauddeen grins the entire time he describes his first tryout.
"I said, 'I'm gonna go do this for the people!' Mario Savio type stuff. So I went in there. And I got cut!"
Today, Alauddeen laughs about his resilience in knocking on the Cal basketball door.
"In between me getting cut the first time, I came back three other times. I think I got cut the most in Cal history! I got cut every year!"
While he infuses his descriptions with self-deprecating humor, Alauddeen doesn't hesitate to note the formative nature of the tryouts, and their relation to his future endeavors.
"I decided to go and say, 'well, I'm going to help other kids so they don't get cut.'"
He wears what many people might have internalized as rejection proudly on his sleeve, sharing the story with the 12-year-old Soldiers squad that he currently coaches.
"My whole thing is to work with young black males to help them get in college," Alauddeen explains. "If I didn't get cut, who knows what would have happened? I always tell the Soldier kids, 'Getting cut is actually a benefit in some ways, because there are bigger things you can realize.'"
Now working on his PhD in education at Cal, Alauddeen is recognized not only in the Bay Area at large, but around the Cal campus for his contributions to the development of young members of the community.
"He's a legend," says Mohamed Muqtar, who knew Alauddeen back when Alauddeen was an El Cerrito High School student sneaking into Harmon Gymnasium and Muqtar was an undergrad at Cal. Muqtar now works in student services for Cal Athletics.
Before it was part of the national conversation, according to Muqtar, "Hashim involved Bay Area basketball. He was there with the Soldiers from the get-go. All the big stars from the Bay Area -- they came from the Soldiers."
Rather than the storied coach-mafioso stereotype of AAU clubs, at the root of Alauddeen's interest in youth basketball is a deep interest in education.
"His idea was to bring all this talent together," Muqtar says, "so these kids can get a higher education."
And Alauddeen certainly walks that talk -- Muqtar is quick to mention Alauddeen's academic and intellectual accolades in addition to his community leadership.
"Hashim got his undergrad from Cal. He got his masters at Cal. He's getting his PhD from Cal. He did it all."
One of the goals of Alauddeen's continuing education is to understand how to avail educational opportunities to young African American men who come from impoverished communities like East Oakland. His involvement with the Soldiers also remains constant. He currently coaches the 12-year-old team, whose members include his own son, as well as the sons of Andrews, and, notably, Cal head coach Cuonzo Martin.
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Today, Alauddeen is an appreciated visitor at Haas Pavilion. He and his 12-year-old son are welcome at Cal games and practices. His son, who is almost the same age his father was when he first snuck into Harmon Gymnasium, can shoot a basketball on the sideline as the Bears run up and down the court during practice. He can sit directly underneath the basket, watching with rapt attention as the team does a rebounding drill.
Because of Alauddeen, "the community has something to be proud of..." explains Muqtar. "The younger ones have something to look forward to."
On game days, you might see Alauddeen walking through the arena's corridors with 5-star big man Ivan Rabb's mother, or sitting in the stands surrounded by a contingent of young Soldiers whose academic and athletic success Alauddeen hopes to enable.
"The Soldiers give a sense of pride," says Muqtar. "That there's something belonging to this child."
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