If you walk into the gym at Simeon Career Academy on Chicago's South Side, you'll feel it. The air is different. There’s a jersey hanging there—No. 25—that carries more weight than any piece of fabric should. It belonged to basketball player Ben Wilson, a kid who wasn't just good at sports; he was the hope of an entire city.
People called him "Magic Johnson with a jump shot." Honestly, that wasn't even hyperbole. At 6-foot-8, Benji had the handles of a point guard and the vision of a floor general. By the summer of 1984, he was the consensus No. 1 high school player in America. Think about that. In a city that eventually produced Derrick Rose and Anthony Davis, Benji was the first one to ever hold that top spot.
Then, in an afternoon, everything stopped.
The Day That Changed Chicago Forever
It was November 20, 1984. Just a normal Tuesday, or so it seemed. The season opener was only two days away. Benji was walking down Vincennes Avenue during his lunch break, trying to patch things up with his girlfriend, Jetun Rush. They’d had a baby boy, Brandon, just ten weeks earlier, and things were tense.
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He was distracted. Frustrated.
He bumped into two teenagers, Billy Moore and Omar Dixon. In a city already on edge from rising gang violence, a simple "watch where you're going" turned into a confrontation. Moore was carrying a .22 caliber revolver. He later claimed he felt "punked" by the much larger Wilson.
Two shots. One in the groin, one in the abdomen.
The news hit Simeon like a physical blow. You’ve got to imagine the scene: a school full of kids who thought their hero was invincible, suddenly watching him get wheeled into St. Bernard Hospital.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Aftermath
There’s a lot of talk about the shooting, but the medical tragedy is what really stings. Because of the emergency protocols in 1984, the ambulance had to take Ben to the nearest hospital, not the best one for trauma. St. Bernard wasn't equipped for this. No trauma surgeon was on duty.
Benji laid there for hours while his aorta leaked. By the time they got him into surgery, it was basically over. His mother, Mary Wilson, eventually had to make the impossible choice to take him off life support the next morning.
Basketball player Ben Wilson died at 17.
His death actually forced the city of Chicago to change its entire trauma system. Because of Benji, the city stopped sending gunshot victims to the closest building and started sending them to specialized trauma centers. It’s a grim legacy, but it’s one that has saved thousands of lives since 1984.
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The Myth and the Reality of No. 25
After Benji passed, the No. 25 jersey became a sacred object at Simeon. It wasn't just retired; it was earned. Only the best of the best got to wear it. Nick Anderson wore it. Derrick Rose wore it.
I think people sometimes forget how dominant he actually was. In his junior year, he led the Wolverines to their first-ever state title. He wasn't just a volume shooter; he was a winner. He stayed out of gangs. He studied. He did a talk show with Father George Clements about being a "winner" in life, not just on the court.
- 1984 Ranking: No. 1 High School Player in the US.
- The Nickname: "Benji" (to the neighborhood) or "Magic with a jumper" (to the scouts).
- The Impact: His funeral was one of the largest in Chicago history, with over 10,000 people showing up to say goodbye.
The trial of Billy Moore and Omar Dixon was another layer of the tragedy. They were young—16 and 15. The city wanted blood. They were both handed massive sentences (40 and 30 years respectively). Moore eventually told his side of the story in the famous ESPN 30 for 30 documentary, "Benji." It’s a messy, heartbreaking look at how two lives can collide and disappear in seconds.
Why We’re Still Talking About Benji in 2026
It’s been over 40 years. You’d think the memory would fade, but it hasn't. Why? Because basketball player Ben Wilson represents the "What If" of Chicago.
What if he’d gone to DePaul or Illinois? What if he’d played alongside Michael Jordan in the 80s?
His story is the foundation of Chicago’s modern basketball culture. It’s why the city plays with such a chip on its shoulder. When you see a kid from the South Side hitting a game-winner today, they likely know the name Benji.
His son, Brandon, actually grew up to play ball too, wearing No. 25 at Maryland-Eastern Shore. He even became a police officer, trying to fix the very streets that took his dad. Tragically, Brandon passed away in a car accident in 2022, adding another somber chapter to the Wilson family story.
How to Honor the Legacy Today
If you want to understand the impact of Benji beyond the stats, there are a few things you can actually do to see the ripples he left behind:
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- Watch the "Benji" 30 for 30: It is arguably the best documentary ESPN ever made. It captures the 1984 Chicago atmosphere perfectly—the house music, the Reagan-era tension, and the raw talent.
- Support Youth Programs: Organizations like the Chirusalem Peace Project are currently working in Chicago to turn the trauma of Benji’s death into a movement for peace. They focus on mentoring, much like Benji's own mentors tried to do for him.
- Understand the Trauma System: Recognize that when you see an ambulance bypass a small hospital for a Level 1 Trauma Center, that’s Benji’s law in action.
Ben Wilson wasn't just a kid who could dunk. He was the "warm spark of promise" in a cold city. He taught Chicago to aim high, even if the flight was cut short.
Actionable Insight: If you're a coach or mentor, use the story of Benji not just as a tragedy, but as a lesson in "the power of the moment." Everything changed because of one interaction on a sidewalk. Focus your players on emotional discipline—it's as important as their jump shot.