After a Violent Childhood, How Did Will Make It?

When he got to the road, he started to run as fast as he could. He didn't know where he was going: Home, his mom and his brother were behind him. He ran. Then he banged on the door of his friend Pumpkin's house and yelled: "Call the police. Call the police," just like his mother had.

Why did Marshall Williams walk away?

Will's sister, Manyka Gaither, thinks it was God's saving Will for a greater purpose.

That and Williams ran out of bullets. "He was a coward," and he needed the last bullet for himself, she said. Police found three bodies in the home.

His grandmother thinks it was Will's determination.

"I don't know," Kellibrew said. "Maybe I presented such a good case. I like to think that because that's just the kind of person I am." And he had made his choice: He wanted to live.

'What Doesn't He Do?'

It wasn't the first violence in their life, and it wasn't the last. Two other family members died suddenly that summer. The day after the slayings, on the way to make funeral arrangements, Will was with his grandfather when he got into a fight and exchanged gunshots. The next day was July 4, and it was years before Will could hear fireworks without thinking they was gunfire.

The children moved in with Short, in a relative's basement. No one talked much about what had happened. Will was chosen to be in a performing arts group out of Howard University and for a while he was okay. "I think God just gave me a few talents," he said and laughed. "He knew I was gonna need them."

He drifted between resolve and despair for years. He traveled with the performance group, singing, dancing and acting. He had breakdowns sometimes, thought about suicide and was hospitalized. He dropped out of high school, then decided to get his GED. He worked at restaurants, getting promoted to manager. He tried drugs and got into some trouble. "He wasn't no angel," Short said. None of the kids were; his brothers have served jail sentences, Kellibrew said.

The next turning point came when his grandmother had heart bypass surgery. He moved in with her for several months to nurse her to health. He decided that he had to return to school, to make sure that she didn't have to worry about him and to be able to give something back. It wasn't an instant transformation. He was only deciding to move forward, day by day. Now he gets good grades studying business administration at UDC, where he's known for his infectious laugh, his friendliness and his talents.

"What doesn't he do?" said Rina Daniels, president of the undergraduate student government association. (Kellibrew served the two previous years, the maximum term.) He has organized rallies to support the students at Virginia Tech and teams to help victims of Hurricane Katrina who have been sheltered in Washington. People bubble over with stories about students he's helped, encouraging them to stick with their classes or take on a challenge. "He's changed a lot of peoples' lives here," Daniels said, "one by one."

Many students covered their mouths when they saw him, on "Oprah," drive to his old house and break down crying. And they cheered when Bill Cosby, who met Kellibrew when he visited UDC last summer, hugged his grandmother, who was bursting with pride.