HOLMES' HAVEN: THE BRASWELL BUNCH; MATADORS COACH IS ALSO STRICT UNCLE TO FRESHMAN RECRUIT.

Byline: KAREN CROUSE

Bob Braswell runs the Cal State Northridge men's basketball program as a benevolent dictatorship. It's his way or the highway. So it seemed incongruous the other day when the second-year coach abruptly ended practice an hour early because all of his yelling couldn't scare a decent performance out of his players, and then turned around and asked a freshman guard, whom he had been riding particularly hard, for a lift home.

Why would Carl Holmes cheerfully agree to act as a chauffeur for the man who had just spent two hours driving him like a rental car? Because a few years ago, when Holmes arrived at a crossroads in his life, Braswell and his wife Penny stopped, opened their door and offered to give a kid they barely knew a lift.

The Braswells steered Holmes down a path of righteousness, religion and, yes, rebounds. All roads now lead to the Northridge street where the Braswells live with their children Jeffrey, 11, Christopher, 7, Kyndal, not quite 2, and Holmes, 19, the son they've raised as their own for the past five years.

For this special family, every day is one of thanksgiving. Holmes is grateful for the guidance he has received and the Braswells feel blessed to have such a loving, such an exemplary, big brother for their children.

A going-away party is where it all began in the spring of 1992. Braswell had resigned his assistant-coaching job at Long Beach State to accept a similar position at the University of Oregon and was being feted by family members and friends. During the course of the celebration, Holmes, whose mother at one time was married to Braswell's brother Jimmy, shyly approached Braswell, gave him a big hug and wished him well.

The 14-year-old's gesture left a lasting impression on Penny Braswell. Later, as she and her husband jetted toward their new life, Penny mentioned to Bob that it would be nice if they invited Holmes and his younger brother to spend the summer with them in Oregon.

Carl was only too happy to flee the temptations that loitered in the streets of Los Angeles. His brother Ansar was less enthusiastic. He missed his friends and also the freedom he enjoyed at home.

The house rules set down by the Braswells that Ansar considered overly constricting were a comfort to Carl, an indifferent student who could sense trouble around the bend if he continued along the same course. At summer's end, he made the difficult decision to stay with the Braswells rather than return to L.A. with his brother.

``I just wanted a change in my life,'' Holmes said. ``In L.A. there was nothing there for us but trouble.''

It was no easy task breaking the news to his mother, Jeanette Tate, with whom Holmes is close. Nor were the first few months of the rest of his life a breeze. The Braswells insisted Carl repeat the eighth grade and mandated he spend two hours a night studying. If he finished his homework before then, he was free - to read a newspaper.

Holmes can laugh about those days now, but at the time quite a few tears were shed. Not all of them were Carl's.

All the Braswells knew about parenting, they had learned from their toddlers. Suddenly they had a teen-ager with wounds that required more than a simple Band-Aid. Holmes, in addition to dealing with the usual adolescent angst, had the added burden of a past that continued to haunt him.

Holmes was 8 when his biological father and namesake was murdered. Holmes kept his feelings about his father's death bottled up inside for years. They escaped only at night.

``I'd have dreams,'' Holmes said softly.

It wasn't until he found religion in the Braswells' home that he lost the fear he'd meet the same terrible fate as his father. Penny and Bob spent many hours praying with and for Holmes, who said, ``I don't worry about my father's death anymore. I just think God has replaced my dad with Uncle Bobby.''

The Lord certainly works in mysterious ways, bringing together a man and a woman so the man's brother and the woman's firstborn might some day connect. The link, once established, grew stronger every day. Holmes found a father figure and Braswell discovered a pretty good guard.

Holmes had never played organized basketball until he moved in with the Braswells, who became his legal guardians in 1992. From backyard games against his uncle, Holmes graduated to a four-year varsity career - the last three as a starter - at North Eugene High. His scoring average rose during his time there, but more significantly, so did his grade-point average and self-esteem.

Of course, there were people who recognized Holmes was special long before he did. His new classmates gravitated to the quiet kid from California in the same way callers are drawn to Dr. Laura. It wasn't long before students were confiding in Holmes.

``People spoke to me about personal things,'' Holmes said. ``I was always able to talk to them because everything that was told to me had happened in my own life.''

The introvert who had allowed himself to be sucked in by the tide in L.A. had learned to swim against the current and carry others along in his wake. Holmes' transformation was so pronounced, Bob Braswell brooded before accepting the coaching job at Northridge, his alma mater, in April of 1996. He and Penny worried Holmes might come undone if his ties to L.A. were cinched.

Said Bob Braswell, ``We wondered, would our returning to L.A. put him in a bad situation again?''

Holmes stayed in Oregon long enough to collect his high school diploma, then rejoined the Braswells as the coach's second Matadors recruit. Being the coach's kin is no free ride. Braswell demands unwavering concentration and commitment from all of his players, but he is especially hard on Holmes.

Usually, Holmes said, ``I just take it because I'm pretty sure what he's telling me is right.''

But earlier this month Holmes had one of those days mothers warn their children about. He couldn't execute the simplest of drills. The more Braswell screamed at him, the more mistakes Holmes made. By the end of practice, both were emotionally raw.

Said Penny Braswell with a sigh, ``I feel sorry for Carl sometimes.'' So do his teammates. ``Man,'' they'll tease him, ``You've got to go home and hear it too?' '' Holmes smiles, but when the laughter dies down he is left flushed with the knowledge he wouldn't change a thing.

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Photo

PHOTO (color) Carl Holmes with the Braswell family. Behind him are Penny, holding Kyndal (22 months), Chris, 7, Jeffrey, 11, and coach Bob Braswell.

Bob Halvorsen / Daily News