The cavernous Assembly Hall was filled sparsely as a high school basketball game unfolded on its court in December 2009. Sitting by himself was Dietrich James Richardson, taking in the game from a remote A-level seat.

This was in Richardson’s freshman year at Illinois, but before he was named Big Ten Freshman of the Year. Before he started the most games ever as a freshman in Illini history. Before he punctuated an upset victory over No. 5 Michigan State with a thunderous dunk when ESPN’s College GameDay was on hand.

Richardson had finally played on the Assembly Hall court with an Illinois jersey on nearly two years after committing to the program, and Bruce Weber named him a starter immediately.

On this day, however, he was merely observing. As he watched, Richardson was undisturbed by the other spectators until an old lady in Illini attire approached.

“I bet… ,” the old lady started as she sized up the 6-foot-3 Richardson, “… this is the last time you’re going to go anywhere without people taking pictures and wanting your autograph.”

D.J. Richardson laughed at the old lady’s notion. Why would anyone take a picture with him? He was a stranger who played basketball to most people.

Three years later, Richardson is a senior staring down his final game ever in Assembly Hall. While recalling that moment his freshman year, Richardson chuckles and contemplates his career.

The old lady was right. He can’t do anything without being approached by a fan. He goes to the mall and signs an autograph. He goes to Wal-Mart for groceries and takes a picture in the aisles. Then he goes home and checks his Twitter where people have tweeted at him exclaiming that they saw him at the mall and at Wal-Mart.

“It’s weird going somewhere and seeing people sneak pictures of you when you’re eating,” Richardson said without a hint of disdain for the process. “It’s interesting. It’s fun.”

But he learned from that interaction with the old lady, too. Richardson knows that he represents one of the most prominent features of his state school, and he fully engages in any meeting with older fans of the team that stop him to wish him well, to congratulate or to talk.

“They take their time with their families to come watch the games, and I really respect that,” Richardson said. “So I’ll take the time out of my day to give them autographs or take a picture with them and also hold a conversation with them.”

*** 

After time expired on a defensive drill in a recent practice, Richardson was the first person to speak. He didn’t even let the coaches get a word in edgewise first.

“Put more time on the clock,” Richardson commanded to the team’s managers. “We’re doing it again until we get it right.”

No one argued. If his Illini aren’t doing a drill at 100 percent effort, they’re going to repeat it. Richardson wants to get something out of every drill, every exercise, to become better. It makes no sense to him to do something at 50 percent. That’s why they’re practicing.

“I don’t really care if (my teammates) like it or not,” Richardson said. “They’re gonna to have to like it. We’re going to do it again until we get better at it. And if we don’t do it right that time, we’ll do it again.”

Richardson has scored 1,407 career points, made 263 career 3-pointers and leads his team in scoring this year during Big Ten play — all numbers that come with the territory of playing that many games over a four-year career.

If Richardson is to be defined as a basketball player, it’s going to be on the end where he assumes his defensive stance and checks up the top guard on the opposing team.

That’s where he learned toughness and heart when he was growing up in Peoria, Ill. Playing at George Washington Carver Community Center — referred to as simply “Carver” by most Peorians — was the center of his basketball world as a youth. It’s where Illini greats like Frank Williams, Jerrance Howard and Sergio McClain hooped in the summers and where future NBA players Shaun Livingston and A.J. Guyton discovered the skills that would lead them to basketball’s highest echelon.

“Just playing at Carver, that’s where I learned to play defense,” Richardson said. “It’s all about the heart. It’s all about pride in doing it. That’s what I learned there.”

He can rattle off his most formidable defensive assignments, and the list he’s accumulated sags under the weight of such elite names:

John Wall in the AAU years. “He was pretty fast in transition. He was hard to guard.”

Michigan State’s Kalin Lucas in Richardson’s sophomore year. “If someone is hard to guard for me, I’m like, ‘Man, he killed me tonight.’ Kalin Lucas was really in a mode that game.”

Ohio State’s Player of the Year, Evan Turner. “Evan is a strong guard. They set a lot of ball screens, and he’s a big body.”

Penn State’s lights-out shooter Talor Battle: “I never guarded a player that had speed like him. They say players have one or two gears. He had a third gear. He’d come off screens and he could shoot from dang-near halfcourt.”

Richardson’s a vindictive defender. His demeanor rarely changes on the court, but the poker face hides a fury when his name scores on him.

“A lot of good offensive players, if they see someone get frustrated, it makes them want to go after you even more,” Richardson said. “I hate getting scored on, but I know how to handle it.”

He handles it on the next possession by forcing his player to take a tough shot, and he’s unrelenting. If D.J. leaves an imprint anywhere, it’ll be with his defense. Just ask his first-year head coach. John Groce has known him for 11 months and can only marvel in awe at Richardson’s contribution on defense. According to Groce, it’s at a level where the untrained eye will never appreciate it for its full value.

“People don’t understand how good he is on defense,” Groce said. “I mean, he’s unbelievable. He’s in the right position a lot. He knows when to help, when not to help. He knows how to guard just about everything you throw at him.”

It’s not hard to imagine Richardson being an ambassador for the program after he graduates and departs. He practically assumes that role right now.

Not only does he interact with the multitudes of fan support, he acts as a liaison to incoming recruits. Ask the recruits that have signed on to play ball at Illinois recently, and they all say the same thing. They love Illinois, and they love Richardson. They have Richardson’s phone number and can text or call him whenever they please. Richardson will text them occasionally, too, just to keep tabs on them. He knows the ropes and wants to be a big brother. He’s seen so much, and those recruits know so little. Like the kid talking to the old lady freshman year.

“When recruits come here, I know how to take care of them, talk to them and make them feel comfortable,” Richardson said. “Make them feel like part of the family.”

That’s the familiar D.J. Richardson that Illinois has come to know. His determination on the court and warm personality off it are invaluable assets. Because he has everyone’s backs, everyone else has his, including his coach, who went to great lengths to defend his senior during a shooting slump in January.

“I’m tired of people making a big deal about his (slump),” Groce said in a tour-de-force press conference. “He’s going to keep shooting because I’m going to tell him to keep shooting. He defends. He plays the other team’s best guy almost every night. Hardly anyone ever talks about that. He rebounds. He screens. He dives on loose balls, and he plays to win, and I’m not trading him. I love that kid.”

Most of Illini nation would never think to trade Richardson, but his time with them is passing. When his name is called Saturday at his last home game and the sold-out Assembly Hall elicits a deafening roar, he wants them to remember him. That he loved to win. That he was a defensive nightmare to offensive opponents.

And that he’ll always take a moment for a photograph with a fan, and a conversation with an old lady.

Thomas can be reached at [email protected] and @ThomasBruch.