South Carolina tailback Kevin Harris never sought the spotlight. It found him anyway

The look said everything.

Derek Sills still remembers the first time he saw it. A 5-year-old Kevin Harris lined up in the backfield of Sills’ flag football team, his lip sticking out, quivering — not out of fear but eagerness. Harris had a determined, almost angry glare in his eyes that screamed give me the football.

Sills coached Harris from 5 years old all the way up to high school in Hinesville, Georgia, and in all those years, Harris never said much. He was a quiet, reserved kid and still is. But Sills loved Harris’ silent focus, his workman-like attitude, the way he’d carry his football helmet with him everywhere he’d go, keeping it shiny, holding it with pride.

Most of all, he loved that look — the protruding lip, the mad stare. Harris flashed it on the first play he ran as a 5-year-old. It was a buck sweep, and he executed it to perfection. Harris read his blocks, darted outside the box, then turned upfield.

The only problem? By the time he reached the end zone, Harris was 5 yards out of bounds.

“I was like, ‘Son, you see this white line?’ ” Sills recalled, laughing. “‘You’ve gotta keep it inside the white line.’”

Fourteen years later, Sills couldn’t help but smile as he watched a 19-year-old Harris run that same buck sweep play in a Southeastern Conference game at LSU on Oct. 24, 2020. This time, Harris stayed inbounds. Taking a handoff at midfield in the first quarter, the University of South Carolina running back found space down the left sideline and raced 45 yards for a touchdown, with five Tigers eating dust behind him.

“It’s weird. In my mind’s eye, I see all those years, hours upon hours of him running those same plays, and then now you see it in the SEC,” Sills told The State. “It’s just crazy. He’s just a grown man. I’m very proud of him.”

That touchdown at LSU was one of 15 that Harris scored in a breakout sophomore season for South Carolina. He came to USC as a three-star prospect and played just six games his freshman year, limited by a groin injury. But as a sophomore, Harris seized a bellcow role, pacing the league with 1,138 yards in the 10-game regular season.

When Sills watches Harris play for the Gamecocks, he has visions of a 9- or 10-year-old Kevin playing little league football, wearing the same No. 20 that he wears now. Sills’ Buccaneers team even wore the same garnet-and-black color scheme that the Gamecocks wear.

In many ways Harris is that same quiet, determined kid he was back then. His Gamecocks teammates describe him as reserved, humble, focused — someone who goes about his business without the need for attention. Even during his breakout sophomore season, Harris never reached for the spotlight. Never one for many words, his interviews with the media have always been concise and measured. He’s a star without the star persona.

“People don’t know me for real,” Harris told The State with a sheepish smile. Away from the field and away from the cameras, Harris is almost always smiling, a playful positivity in his eyes.

“You’ve got to understand me, and I don’t think anyone understands me yet,” Harris said, before joking, “That’ll probably take some years.

“My family knows. I don’t really tell people the full side of me.”

Though Harris has never gravitated toward the limelight, he’s also never been in the position he finds himself in now. No running back leads the SEC in rushing and then flies under the radar.

In truth, Harris doesn’t need to talk all that much. He expresses himself in other ways — through artwork, creativity, a passion for architecture. On the football field, his chiseled 5-foot-10, 220-pound frame does most of the talking, with thighs so muscular no pair of jeans could contain them.

But it’s the look on Harris’ face that says the most. It’s the same look he’s had since he was 5.

“The thing about Kevin that people didn’t understand was, in my mind, what made him great. He ran angry,” Sills said. “If Kevin got mad, you’d see his bottom lip poke out and you knew it was coming.

“Somebody was fixing to get trucked.”

A deeper side of Harris

The Simpsons. LeBron James. Michael Jordan. A self portrait.

Della Smith stores all of her son’s paintings at home in Hinesville — large canvases splashed with color that showcase Harris’ artistic talent. Smith has no idea how Harris inherited that ability, but from a young age he had a knack for looking at something and drawing it by hand. It started with cartoons, and by the time he reached high school Harris was painting stylistic portraits of basketball players like Jordan and James.

“My favorite player is LeBron — and I want to meet him, by the way,” Harris said, laughing. “People hate him so much, but he still comes out on top. He’s a good man, I feel like. He does everything right. And that’s what I try to do. I try to do everything right.”

Whether it’s art, schoolwork, weightlifting or football, Harris is the kind of person who locks onto the task in front of him until he reaches the point of mastery. His desire to do everything right comes from his mother, who instilled accountability in Kevin, and his older sisters, Makalah and LaCandace.

Smith has always told her children that they can do anything they want to do, as long as they work for it. She still tells her son before every game he plays, “When you get on the field, you show them who Kevin Harris is.”

“My mom, she’s very caring, very loving,” LaCandace, 25, told The State. “She’s very supportive. She’s just that mom. Not the mama bear, but kind of like that. She’s very protective, even though she’s very short. We’re all taller than her. But she does everything in her power to keep us safe.”

Smith attended every sporting event Candace danced at, every track meet Makalah ran in and every football game Kevin played in. When Kevin was 9 and played for Sills’ Buccaneers, Smith was so invested in her son’s games that she found herself running on the sideline, in the same direction as her son, every time he touched the ball.

Smith would see that same game-ready look on Kevin’s face that Sills saw, and she knew her son was on a mission. A small child for his age, Harris always had an inner desire to prove doubters wrong. When he played flag football, he was so short that his flags would scrape the grass as he ran — yet no one could keep up.

“He’s just strong-minded,” Smith told The State. “He has very strong willpower. And if he likes something, he’s really determined to be the best there is. That is something that’s instilled in him.”

Dates with ‘Bertha’

To this day, Harris groans whenever he hears the name “Bertha.” Visions of sweat-soaked days in Georgia flash through his mind. All those hours in the sun, up and down the field. Up and down. Up and down.

Sills was not the typical youth football coach. A high school coach for more than 30 years, Sills ran his little league practices the same way he ran practices for the older kids — without mercy.

In the seven years Sills coached him, Harris never missed a practice. Never complained. Always said “Yes, sir” or “No, sir.”

His mother would drop him off at the football field every Sunday, and Sills would yell toward Harris, “It’s time to kiss the girl!” That’s when Harris would latch onto a red weighted sled named “Bertha” and push it from one end of the field to the other, again and again for an hour. Then, Sills would construct an offensive line out of trash cans and have Harris catch passes in the flats, schooling him on the fundamentals of playing running back.

“When other kids were at home playing video games and eating Twinkies, he was out there catching passes for two hours and running plays for two hours,” Sills said. “I always told him there’s a price to be champion.”

Harris carried that work ethic into high school, where he quickly established himself as Bradwell Institute’s top player. Then-head coach Ross Couch remembers all the times Harris served as hero. Late in the fourth quarter against Lakeside High, Harris asked for the ball on third-and-8, ran over four defenders, got the first down and sealed the win. Against Wayne County, trailing by 20 points at halftime, Harris ran for nearly 300 yards in the second half to bring Bradwell within a touchdown.

“He put the team on his back,” Couch told The State. “And there’s countless examples of him doing that same thing over and over in high school. The more you give him a football, the better he gets. And when you need a big play, you put the ball in his hands and he makes the play.”

No one on the team worked harder in the weightroom than Harris did. As a senior, he posted the top bench press, power clean and squat figures on the team. These days, he can squat 600 pounds. When college recruiters started visiting Bradwell and questioning whether Harris had the long speed to break off big runs, Harris connected with the school’s track coach, improving his 40-yard dash time from 4.71 to 4.56 seconds.

At South Carolina, Harris has maintained that same workman’s mindset, both on the field and in the classroom. Rather than take an easy route, Harris is the rare SEC running back who majors in mechanical engineering — and makes good grades in a field of study that’s considered one of the toughest. Inspired by his love for art and his skill in math, Harris hopes to one day design his own buildings and become an architect, even if keeping up with his schoolwork requires added discipline.

“I know the engineering people, they don’t really care I play football,” Harris said, smiling. “I mean, they care, but they still give me a zero for my work if I don’t turn it in.”

Harris’ mother always emphasized academics with her children. Smith’s oldest, 26-year-old Makalah, is a detective for a police department in Cordele, Georgia. By this time next year, Candace will have a law degree from Georgia State. She and Kevin often do their homework together at the team hotel after USC games.

“I don’t care how old your children get,” Smith said. “Believe me, as a mom, a parent, you have to applaud them, to tell them they’re doing great, just keep pushing and encouraging, let them know that I see all the greatness in all the achievements that they have achieved, and I’m very proud of them. I always tell them that.”

Introducing Jamar Harris

Kevin Harris needed a fake mustache — and needed it fast. So he went to Party City.

The call came unexpectedly in early August. A Bojangles’ representative asked Harris if he’d be willing to create his own Bojangles’ commercial, something student-athletes are allowed to do under the new name, image and likeness rules set by the NCAA. Right away, ideas started forming. Harris thought about Chris Paul’s commercials with State Farm, where he dresses up as fictional twin brother Cliff Paul.

Hours later, Jamar Harris was born — an alias borrowed from Kevin’s middle name. Donning a fake mustache and glasses, Harris played both himself and Jamar in the goofy 30-second commercial, posted to social media. His Gamecocks teammates found it hilarious.

“Jamar so ugly,” center Eric Douglas said in an Instagram comment, adding laughing emojis for good measure.

Back home in Georgia, Smith and Candace were laughing, too. Even more, they felt a sense of joy that Harris was sharing his lighter, facetious side with the world — a side that usually only his family and close friends get to see.

“These are signs that he is coming out of his shell just a little more,” Candace said. “I’m not sure how far he’s gonna come out of his shell, but I think each and every year that he grows more comfortable, he definitely opens up more.”

In Shane Beamer’s first season as head coach, Harris is expected to retain his role as lead back, pairing up with the electric MarShawn Lloyd. Though Harris has not yet been cleared for practice after having a minor procedure on his back this summer, Smith said her son will be ready “well before” the team’s opener on Sept. 4.

“I’m good now,” Harris told The State, brushing off any doubts about his health. “I’m ready to go. I’m mobile.”

With so much uncertainty in the wide receiver room, the Gamecocks are expected to lean heavily on the running game, with Harris being the focal piece. New running backs coach Montario Hardesty said Harris reminds him of Browns running back Nick Chubb in terms of both his quiet demeanor and powerful running style. But even in the short few months Hardesty has worked with Harris, he’s seen the junior tailback become more expressive.

Where in the past Harris might’ve shied away from the attention, he’s now taking ownership of his elevated status, going so far as to design and trademark his own official logo. In recent months, Harris has tried out a new nickname with his teammates and coaches, a combination of his first name and middle name — KevJam.

It’s caught on.

“We’ve got to get KevJam going,” Hardesty told The State, laughing. “KevJam gotta show some personality.”

Harris might never be the loudest voice or most vibrant personality in the room, but he doesn’t need to be. The people who know Harris best know that Harris speaks most powerfully without words: through his actions, through his art, through that look on his face when he lines up in the backfield, his bottom lip quivering, eyes sharp as daggers.

“The way that he carries himself, he knows who he is. He knows that he’s that guy,” Douglas told The State. “And the way that he walks around, he backs it up.

“So he might not be the biggest vocal leader, or he might not be the biggest talker to the media and stuff like that. But when he steps on that field, and he puts them pads on, that’s all the talking he do. He runs over people. He’s elusive. He’s just Kevin Harris.”

This story was originally published August 18, 2021 at 5:00 AM.

Michael Lananna

The State

Michael Lananna specializes in Gamecocks athletics and storytelling projects for The State. Featured in Best American Sports Writing 2018, Lananna covered college baseball nationally before moving to Columbia in 2020. He graduated from the University of North Carolina in 2014 with a degree in journalism. Support my work with a digital subscription