Jayson Williams grew up watching his father shoot people. His dad knew it, too — when Williams got drafted, his father reportedly told the team: keep that kid busy, because if he's not busy, he's going to get in trouble.
He was born in 1968 in South Carolina to a mixed-race family in the deep south, starred at Christ the King High School in Queens, and went to St. John's. He was the 21st overall pick in the 1990 NBA Draft, selected by the Phoenix Suns and immediately traded to the Philadelphia 76ers. His first three seasons were largely invisible. The Nets got him in 1992 expecting maybe eight to ten minutes a game.
That's not what happened.
Jayson Williams worked his way into the starting lineup and then into something nobody expected: legitimacy. In the 1997–98 season, he led the NBA in offensive rebounds and offensive rebound percentage, finished top five in total rebounds per game, made his one and only All-Star team, and set a Nets franchise record with 17 offensive rebounds and 20 total in a single game. He was the face of that franchise. He earned a six-year, $86 million contract in 1999.
Then, on April 1, 1999 — April Fool's Day — he collided with Stephon Marbury, shattered his right leg, and never played meaningfully again. He tried to come back. He broke his left foot in practice. He retired in June 2000, age 32, and collected nearly the entirety of the $86 million having played only 30 games on that deal.
A man with no job, no structure, $86 million, and a history of poor decisions around alcohol and firearms. His father knew what that formula produced.
On February 14, 2002 — Valentine's Day — Williams had hired Costas "Gus" Christofi, a 55-year-old limo driver beloved by athletes across the league, to drive him and a group of friends home from a Harlem Globetrotters charity game. Back at his 65-acre New Jersey estate, drunk, Williams was showing off a Browning 12-gauge shotgun. He snapped the barrel shut with one hand. The gun discharged. Christofi was shot in the chest and killed.
The accident was awful. What followed was worse.
Williams organized a cover-up. He wiped his fingerprints off the gun, placed it in Christofi's dead hands, jumped into his indoor pool to change his clothes, and coached everyone present — including four former Harlem Globetrotters who had been Nets teammates — to tell investigators that Gus had gone upstairs and shot himself. He reportedly made clear that sticking to the story was not optional. The 911 call and early witness statements followed the script exactly.
Nine days later, the charges were amended after investigators saw through it. The forensics made the suicide story impossible — Christofi had been shot from several feet away and had no gunshot residue. Once investigators separated the witnesses, the accounts fell apart immediately.
In April 2004, a jury acquitted Williams of aggravated manslaughter, deadlocked on reckless manslaughter, and convicted him on all four cover-up counts. His sentencing was deferred pending a retrial. The case dragged on for years while he spiraled — tasered by the NYPD after a suicidal episode in a hotel room, arrested outside a Raleigh nightclub, arrested for DWI after crashing into a tree in Manhattan just a week before his plea deal. In January 2010, he pleaded guilty to aggravated assault. In February 2010, he was sentenced to five years in a New Jersey state prison, paroled in August 2011, transferred to Rikers Island for the DWI, and released entirely in April 2012 — approximately 26 months in total.
This is the second HoM episode that ends with something like hope. Jayson Williams has spoken openly about severe alcoholism, described sobriety as his only job, and dedicated his post-release life to addiction recovery work. He co-founded the Rebound Institute, a holistic recovery program built around physical fitness. He launched Rebound on the Road with Nassau County and Nassau Community College — a free eight-week CDL training program for people with criminal records, homelessness, or substance abuse histories. Kevin and Jeff's honest assessment: he always knew right from wrong. He didn't always live it. But he got there.
Gus Christofi was beloved by the athletes he drove. He didn't make it home that night. That doesn't change.
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