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GREENSBORO - That's Tee, better known as Terrace McKinnon.

He's loping through Ray Warren Homes, wearing his old basketball shoes, as he plucks from his big black bookbag fliers for next Saturday's gang forum. He passes them out to everyone he sees.

Or he's inside the Bluford Library at N.C. A&T. He's reading, learning and researching ways to pay for school. He wants that degree in history, with an emphasis in social work, so he can improve his city.

At 39, he's a college sophomore. Yet, for Tee, it's not too late.

He's been working with kids, teenagers and parents from Greensboro's low-income rung. He tells them the same thing: be "aware," be "knowledge-based," see "education as the great equalizer."

Tee uses these words a lot. But should people listen?

He's got no money, no car, no credit, no roots, no clout. His mother is dead. His father is nonexistent. His rap sheet is a portrait of a petty criminal.

He takes the city bus everywhere. Or walks. And he lives at a local boarding house in a small room at the top of the stairs where he has just a bed, a table, a TV and his mother's high school graduation picture.

It's the only memento of his mother he still has.

So Tee doesn't have much. But look at his college transcripts. In 1989, during his first foray into college, he made F's. Today, he's making A's.

Follow him for an afternoon. He talks about his goals, dreams and the late activist Ervin Brisbon, his mentor, his friend.

Then catch up with a judge, his former probation officer, two A&T professors and a woman who gave Tee a room more than a decade ago when he was homeless and straight from the street.

The picture changes. The focus shifts. Tee, the bearded man in the beat-up sneakers, turns into what Guilford District Court Judge Susan Bray calls one of her all-time favorite success stories - the "rare real deal."

"I've seen a lot of people go downhill and keep sliding," Bray said. "But Terrace has been able to come back up. And here he is helping others, making A's in serious academics. I've never seen that before."

A few years back at Ray Warren, Tee got shot in the right thigh when a house party there got out of control. He still has the scar. It's as big as a dime on his outer thigh.

Today, he goes back to Ray Warren. Except this time, he passes out fliers. And people respond.

"I can't be Ervin," he said the other day. "But I can be me."

Let's rewind.

At age 13, two weeks after his birthday, Tee lost his mother. She died of a brain aneurysm. He left Newark, N.J., moved south to Greensboro with his older brother and sister, and lived with his aunt.

At age 15, his aunt kicked him out. He bounced from friends' couches to abandoned buildings and survived on the street, where he went hungry, got angry and became a street-fighting young man.

His two felonies, more than a decade old: common-law robbery and possession with intent to sell and deliver cocaine.

Tee's explanation: He got drunk, got into a fight and robbed somebody of $40. He tried to sell $40 worth of crack cocaine and turn it into $80 so he could pay an overdue light bill.

His life, involving a combined $80, was altered forever.

In the fall of 1988, thanks to Brisbon, he enrolled at A&T.

But he felt caught between two worlds - the street and the college classroom. He dropped out four times, disappearing from campus for years, until one day four years ago when he ended up in jail.

He got caught with a half blunt, a marijuana cigarette that cost $5. And there, during his month-long stint in jail, he remembered Brisbon, his friend and mentor, who died at age 46 in June 1999.

"I'm not supposed to be here," Tee said to himself. "What did Ervin say? 'You stand up and be a man and follow through.'"

He has.

Tee re-enrolled at A&T, got involved in his community and earned the respect of Bray. In September 2007, Bray terminated Tee's probation on the marijuana charge because she was "so impressed" with his progress.

He's only been able to afford two semesters, most recently last spring. His old job as a fry cook, where he earned $7.50 an hour, could only go so far to cover both tuition and his monthly child support payments.

But today, Tee is looking for a better-paying job. He's not in the life of his daughter, now 15, like he'd like to be. But he's in the lives of other kids, other teenagers because he believes the new Tee has some lessons to share.

So, should people listen? You bet.

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com