Photo courtesy of F.A.M. Photography Chris Herren addresses a capacity crowd of high school students at the Physical Education Complex at Jamestown Community College on Thursday.

JAMESTOWN — I’ve been attending events at the Physical Education Complex at Jamestown Community College since it opened its doors 46 years ago.

I’ve seen basketball games, volleyball and wrestling matches, graduations and concerts. Heck, during my years as a student — 1979-82 — I made sure to arrive at men’s hoops games an hour before opening tip so that I could get a seat behind the Jayhawks’ bench. Yes, the gym was packed to the rafters back then.

In more recent years, the building on Curtis Street has been the site of the Section VI basketball playoffs, spanning the end of February and the first week in March and featuring the Class C and Class D semifinals and finals for both boys and girls. The bleachers on the track above the court on those nights are always pulled out and are filled for almost every game. And those fans who can’t find a seat stand along the railings. It’s a pretty special environment for players, coaches and spectators.

But for all the memorable moments I’ve experienced there, nothing can eclipse what I witnessed Thursday morning.

On behalf of the 1,500 students who sat shoulder to shoulder in that venue for about an hour and 15 minutes, I want to thank Collaborative Children’s Solutions who helped bring Chris Herren to town.

Because the message he delivered likely got their undivided attention.

How do I know?

Well, you could have heard a pin drop on the hardwood when the 46-year-old Fall River, Massachusetts native spoke.

And it had nothing to do with basketball.

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ESPN first aired a documentary on Herren about 11 years ago. Entitled “Unguarded,” it chronicles his days as a McDonald’s All-American, but at the same time tells, in excruciating detail, how he lived a double life.

On the outside, he was a decorated athlete, having scored more than 2,000 points at Durfee High School, earning him scholarship offers from the biggest programs in the country. After playing at Boston College and Fresno State, Herren was drafted by the Denver Nuggets of the National Basketball Association and, ultimately, was traded to his beloved Boston Celtics. Married with a family, he seemingly had it all.

But the only thing he truly had from ages 18 to 32 was a raging drug problem that resulted in four oversdoses, seven felonies and thoughts of suicide.

Now 46 and sober since August 2008, Herren has, by his count, spoken to almost 2 million young people across the United States on the topic of “Changing the Conversation on Substance Abuse.” He’s also presented to NFL and Major League Baseball teams as well as on college campuses and to prison inmates. On Wednesday, he addressed students at Fredonia and Dunkirk high schools followed by sharing his journey at SUNY Fredonia.

On Thursday morning, students from the Southwestern, Falconer, Frewsburg, Brocton, Bemus Point, Chautauqua Lake and Sherman school districts had their chance to hear Herren’s message, too, after being introduced to his life story by a nearly 30-minute video.

Herren didn’t sugarcoat anything.

Not one single, solitary thing.

Instead, he challenged the teenagers.

“Unfortunately, doing this 250 times a year in front of 200-plus high schools, every single one I walk into there’s a kid struggling,” he said. “And the saddest thing about struggling at this age is that nobody says anything. Your friends are sitting with you in this gym right now and they’re watching you struggle, but they’re afraid to tell you. … If they had the courage to speak from their heart, they would pull you to the side on Friday night, look you dead in the eye and simply say, ‘None of your friends want to tell you this, but we hate what it does to you.'”

Herren saw what addiction can do years before he became an addict — his father abused alcohol. Finally, his mom found the courage to leave. Herren was 10.

“I walked up to her,” he recalled, “hugged her and … said, ‘If you’re going to leave my dad, please take me with you. … I’d rather live with you. … And I want you to know one thing, Mom. You will never, ever have to worry about me, I promise you.”

Herren broke that promise three years later when he began drinking his dad’s beer.

“I hated that beer as a child and I started drinking that beer as a child,” he said. “That was the first major red flag that went up in my life, and that was the red flag everyone ignored.”

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Like a true coach, however, Herren provided his new 1,500-member team a game plan.

“The reality is I want you to forget me,” he said. “This is your story. As you sit on the bus going back to school, I want you to think about the kid you’re becoming. I want you to think about your mom and dad, and whether they really know you anymore. I want you to go home from school and hug that little sister, high-five that little brother, look them in the eye and say, ‘I’m going to be better for you.’

“This talk is not easy, and it shouldn’t be. … Every single gym I walk into — no matter the size — I’m nervous. My heart is beating, because I look up in the bleachers and I see kids crying and I see kids who totally understand this. … I see kids who don’t get Christmas because of drugs. … I see kids who have lost a mom, don’t have a dad. I hope you walk out of this gym and talk about the tears. I hope you’re willing to trust someone with those tears.”

Before he left the building, Herren told the students that it was his “honor” to speak to them, adding it’s a “responsibility I’ll never take lightly.”

“As I walk behind that screen (where the video was shown at one end of the gym), I’ll say a little prayer.”

It was all of two words. Two syllables, actually.

“Just one.”

“I hope and pray,” Herren said, “that that one kid is in here today.”