Stephen Curry returns to his high school: What he does for an 80-year-old custodian amazes the entire town
He thought he was just visiting his old gym. But when Stephen Curry found the same janitor who once believed in him still scrubbing floors at 80, he made a decision that would shake the entire community.
It was a sunny morning in Charlotte, North Carolina, when NBA superstar Stephen Curry decided to take a leisurely visit to the school where his basketball dream was born: Charlotte Christian School . After a short break before training camp, Curry, now in his mid-30s and still one of the most respected athletes in the sport, just wanted a moment of reflection.
Wearing a simple navy sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sunglasses, Curry arrived unannounced in a modest SUV, hoping to blend in. Inside the building, the echoes of teenage voices had faded; the school day had long since ended. He wandered the halls, nodding to a few teachers who still lingered. The smell of waxed floors, old books, and faint chalk transported him back to his formative years.
But when he entered the gym, something made him stop.
At the far end of the court, a janitor was slowly mopping the floor with firm, rhythmic movements. His back was slightly hunched, his hair as white as snow, and his uniform faded but immaculate. The man hadn’t seen Curry yet.
It wasn’t just nostalgia: it was recognition.
“Mr. Wilson?” Curry shouted.
The janitor stopped, turned slowly, and narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”
“It’s me… Stephen.”
A moment passed. Then the man’s eyes widened. “Little Steph Curry? Lord, have mercy!”
They hugged, and the old janitor laughed softly. “I didn’t think I’d see you around here.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you working yet,” Curry replied sweetly. “How long has it been since you’ve worked?”
“Forty-eight years old this fall,” Mr. Wilson said with quiet pride. “I turned 80 last week.”
Curry was stunned. “And you’re still working full time?”
“Someone has to keep this place clean,” Mr. Wilson smiled.
But Curry couldn’t shake that thought. Mr. Wilson had been more than just a custodian. He was the one who opened the gym early so Curry could shoot before class. He was the one who cheered him on after losses. He was the one who gave him a towel when no one else noticed he needed one.
After a brief chat, Curry asked if Mr. Wilson would have dinner with him that evening. “Just a burger and a milkshake,” he promised. “Just like old times.”
Mr. Wilson chuckled. “Only if you’re going shopping.”
That evening, over hamburgers at a local restaurant, Curry learned that Mr. Wilson and his wife, Martha, were barely making ends meet. Martha had suffered a stroke three years earlier and was now wheelchair-bound. Their home—a modest, one-story ranch—was falling apart. It leaked. There was no accessible bathroom. There were no funds for repairs.
And yet Mr. Wilson continued to work, not just out of pride, but out of necessity.
Curry listened with a heavy heart. This was a man who had helped him when he was a nobody. Now, with all the fame and resources at his fingertips, Curry decided it was time to return the favor.
What began the next morning would become known locally as Project Homecoming .
Without telling the Wilsons, Curry assembled a private team of contractors, designers, and medical specialists. He called in favors, wrote checks, and worked all night drawing up plans. He cleared his schedule, canceled media appearances, and quietly coordinated logistics from a local hotel.
The Wilsons were transferred the following Friday under the pretext of an alumni event at a lakeside hostel. While they were enjoying boat rides and chatting with other staff members, a team of more than 40 workers arrived at their home.
In just ten days, the house was transformed:
A new roof replaced years of leaks.
The bathroom was completely rebuilt, now accessible with a roll-in shower, grab bars, and wider doors.
The bedroom was redesigned with a hospital bed so Mr. Wilson and Martha could sleep together again.
The kitchen countertops were lowered and the appliances adapted so Martha could cook from her wheelchair.
A beautiful raised bed garden was planted in the backyard, Martha’s favorite pastime before her stroke.
Meanwhile, Curry remained mostly in the background, visiting the site at night and overseeing every detail.
On the 11th the Wilsons returned.
When they pulled into their driveway and saw the new ramp, the fresh paint, and the dozens of people waiting quietly with smiles and flowers, they were overwhelmed.
“Stephen… what is this?” Mr. Wilson asked, holding back tears.
“It’s your home,” Curry replied. “But now, it’s the home you deserve.”
Inside, each room had been lovingly and thoughtfully redesigned. A custom-made display case housed Mr. Wilson’s decades-old scrapbook, filled with newspaper clippings about Curry, other students, and long-buried mementos.
And on the kitchen table there was one last envelope.
