So the pounding began on the street outside the Moore family's suburban home in Plymouth Meeting, Pa., where Salmons was far removed from Philly's grittiest neighborhoods and the family that had taken him in was inside while he worked.

"We had a Basketball court outside in the driveway, and John would start from the opposite side of the street, dribble all the way with his left hand until he made a left-handed layup and do that for at least two hours every night," said Chuck Moore, his closest friend and former high school teammate. "I was inside watching TV and doing whatever I was doing, and he was out there pounding the ball. ... With that drive and determination, I was like, 'This kid's going to make it, and he's going to be special.' "

Salmons always has moved to the beat of his own dribble.

When the Kings small forward was just 8 and still living with his mother, Sandra, in a small brick home in North Philadelphia, he would skip track practice to escape to Finley Recreation Center and be alone with the blacktop. The court was a quick right turn out his front door and just a few bounce passes down East Sharpnack Street. Salmons would slither through a hole in the chain-link fence just to work on the game that drew him in.

When his mother's decision to send her only child out of the city and into the suburbs for high school paid off with a state championship and scholarship offers, he shunned powerhouse colleges, including Kansas, for a Miami program that simply didn't compare. Four years of historic success later (the Hurricanes were 86-39 with him), Salmons entered the NBA with his hometown 76ers after they traded for the 26th pick on draft night in 2002.

When Salmons, then a restricted free agent, could choose his path out of frustration after four seasons (and five coaches) in Philadelphia in 2006, he kept two organizations dangling (Toronto and Phoenix) before backing out of a sign-and-trade deal with the Raptors to join the Kings. The move left even the most loyal members of his inner circle -- not to mention Basketball fans nationwide -- shaking their heads in disbelief.

"It's not like he had just had a four-year run like Kobe (Bryant)," an exasperated D'Onofrio said recently from his classroom at Plymouth-Whitemarsh. "People locally and in his inner circle are thinking, 'Is he crazy?' But he is going to do what's right for John Salmons, come hell or high water. And that's what he did. He is going to do what makes sense for him."

Faith has guided him The first man in Salmons' life had shared nothing more than a name with his son. John Salmons Sr. owned taverns in the Philadelphia area, meaning he wasn't home much even before he disappeared.

But Salmons, a devout Christian and teetotaler, found ways to fill the void when his father left for good just before he entered junior high school. He was, and remains, extremely close with his mother, Sandra. A nurse's aid while Salmons was growing up, she was the one who called the Moores one day to ask if her son could live with them as a way of attending Plymouth-Whitemarsh instead of the local Martin Luther King High School. While they lived in a somewhat serene lower-middle class neighborhood, changing schools put him at distance from some of the city's worst neighborhoods that were just blocks away. Salmons also grew close to his stepfather, Douglas Lillie, and Chuck Moore Sr., and eventually would call them father figures.

Yet Salmons said it wasn't until he watched his son grow day by day that he began to realize the impact of his father being gone. With his son, Josiah, approaching his first birthday and Salmons a happy family man with his wife, Taneisha, his perspective has changed.

"Yesterday, Josiah and my wife were just sitting by the pool (in their Granite Bay home), and I was just (thinking), 'I can't believe that's actually my son, that that's actually my family,' " Salmons said recently. "I look at (Josiah), and I can't comprehend, just can't even comprehend, how fathers abandon their child.

"Growing up, I was always like, 'I don't care, I don't need him, I'm good.' But the older I'm getting, the more I feel that void. ... It's like, wow, I really -- as a man -- can see how this person not being there has affected me as a person. I can clearly see.

"To me, that's probably my No. 1 duty in life is growing (Josiah) the right way, growing him in God."

The priority list always has started there for Salmons. His spiritual beliefs have guided his decisions and left Salmons unfazed when observers criticized or questioned his approach. (He is largely unaware, too, as he pays no attention to media coverage.) When he signed with the Kings and explained that Toronto "wasn't where God wanted me to be," many around the league took jabs in private conversations. It wasn't all that different from his decision to attend Miami, after which he said, "I had faith this would be the right school for me," when asked why he wanted to be a Hurricane.

None of which mattered to Salmons, who has found ways to shield himself from certain aspects of the professional sports world, in which he is atypical in so many ways. Before agreeing to speak for this story, Salmons -- who was interviewed at Chris Webber's Center Court restaurant -- declined a request to meet with his family at his home. He also requested his mother not be interviewed.

At a time in his career when most players would seek added exposure, Salmons is more private than ever. Fame, even as he became a starter for the first time in seven seasons, is not a priority.

In a league where so many players opt for fast living and wild times on the nightlife scene, he heads straight home after practices and games. Even his teammates, many of whom say they respect and even admire him for his ways, know very little about him beyond the court.

"After Basketball, after we leave the gym, I'm going home to my family," Salmons said. "There's not a whole lot of connection outside of that."

Those who do know him well hold him in high esteem.

"He's just a great individual, a great friend," said Minnesota guard Kevin Ollie, who played with Salmons for two seasons in Philadelphia and is among his few close friends in the league. "He's just an awesome guy to be around. ... Spirituality-wise, he's the finest you're going to find in this league."

Adversity allowed him to grow His spirits often were down during four seasons in Philadelphia, where playing professionally in his hometown was far from uplifting.

Salmons was his own man then, too, but he was far from "The Man." That title, of course, belonged to Allen Iverson, the then-Philly icon whose presence cast a long shadow over Salmons and most other 76ers.

For 3 1/2 years, Salmons has said, his relationship with Iverson was "great." But on Dec. 23, 2005, Iverson scored 53 points and Salmons misfired on three attempts late in a three-point loss. Their relationship, Salmons acknowledged, never was the same.

The head-coaching carousel didn't help matters, either: Larry Brown, Randy Ayers, Chris Ford, Jim O'Brien and Maurice Cheeks while Salmons was there. The undesirable result, Salmons said, was that he consistently -- and mostly unsuccessfully -- was trying to prove himself to the new boss.

The fans were another story. Salmons, whose pacifist persona is so inherently contradictory to the edgy and hostile image of Philadelphians, gave up trying to please them after his first game.

In 16 minutes against Milwaukee on Oct. 30, 2002, Salmons struggled and had two turnovers. Philadelphia won by two, but all the phone-in callers to radio station WIP wanted to talk about was how Salmons -- who was listening -- clearly was a bust. From then on, Salmons said he has avoided nearly all media coverage of himself or his team.

Yet Salmons said there was a benefit. He learned about himself quickly and his skin thickened daily as he came to realize his hometown no longer was where he wanted to be.

"I always say that all the struggles I went through in Philly were to help me become a man," Salmons said. "There's no way if I didn't go through all the struggles that I would've been (ready) to get married. I wouldn't have been grown enough, wouldn't have been mature enough. ... The struggles made me into a better person and a stronger man."

Ironically, no one understands that better than Iverson.

"One thing playing in Philadelphia will do is help you grow," he said. "There are so much ups and downs. You don't have ... space for failure. (The fans) won't tolerate it. Even with me. I could be the Player of the Week one week, and then have one bad game and you're in the doghouse."

Kings Basketball president Geoff Petrie saw a chance to free Salmons in Sacramento, although it wouldn't transpire as originally planned. Ron Artest's presence put Salmons behind a larger-than-life personality again. More patience would be needed.

But the wait is over. Salmons, whose personal style is far better suited to slow-paced Sacramento than his hometown, continues to pound out the professional conflicts. He is well aware of his on-floor reputation, how his habit of pounding the ball, as so many East Coast-bred players do, drives fans and even media to fits.

Still, he is averaging a career-high 18 points on 49.7 percent shooting, with every opportunity to take his career even further. He knows the uniqueness of his talents, how the work that began on the street outside the Moore home so long ago paid off in ways he can't ignore. As always has been the case, he will pound his way through this challenge as well. And he'll do it his way.

Sam Amick has more on John Salmons on the Kings blog. sacbee.com/Kingsblog

Read the Kings blog at www.sacbee.com/Kingsblog.