(U-WIRE) SYRACUSE, N.Y. — Less than 20 miles from a run-down portion of Philadelphia… (U-WIRE) SYRACUSE, N.Y. — Less than 20 miles from a run-down portion of Philadelphia where a cold-blooded murder terminated the life of a young man sits Glen Mills High School.

It’s a place no family wants to see its son attend, but it’s also an oasis of hope and rebirth. The school — a home where judges send troubled boys — was founded on two mandates: “To change behavior from anti-social to pro-social” and “To develop skills that will help sustain that change.”

This is where Omain Gullette went to school.

About 260 miles north on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and Interstate 81 is Syracuse University. One mile from the main campus is Manley Field House and the adjoining fields, where the SU football team practices.

That is where Gullette wanted to be.

But those plans — along with all of his other hopes and dreams — evaporated when three still-unidentified gunmen riddled Gullette’s chest with 13 bullets on June 29 in southwest Philadelphia.

Gullette, 19, was walking along Glenmore Avenue near 62nd Street when three men approached him. Reports vary as to what happened next. According to the police report, the incident may have stemmed from an argument over drug sales on the block. It’s unclear what Gullette was doing in the area.

Some time between 2 and 2:15 that afternoon, the three men, wielding two handguns and a rifle, opened fire, killing Gullette and critically wounding 25-year-old bystander Ikeem Johnson.

But before Gullette’s life ended, he inspired those who knew him best at Glen Mills and those who hoped to know him at Syracuse. Here are their perspectives on a life turned around, only to be abruptly cut short.

Trouble seemed to find Gullette. He was arrested for dealing drugs and was involved in fights at his previous high school.

After his final arrest in 1999, a judge sent Gullette to Glen Mills, where head football coach Ken Banks met a confused young man with remarkable talent and a lackluster work ethic.

“He didn’t have a whole lot of confidence,” Banks said. “He was pretty apprehensive about the whole experience. He had to be pushed a little bit to work, but that had a lot to do with his apprehensions.”

Gullette quickly became a force on the football field. At 310 pounds — the neighborhood kids called him “Fats” — Gullette developed into a dominant offensive and defensive lineman.

Early in 2000, Gullette left the school, having finished his court-appointed program. But before the year ended, he reenrolled at the behest of his mother, Pamela Reynolds. According to faculty at Glen Mills, she felt Gullette was on the cusp of returning to trouble.

When he returned, Gullette impressed the faculty and football staff with his emotional growth.

“You could definitely see the growth and maturity in him,” Banks said. “In the last three to six months of his life, you really saw a dramatic change in the way he was looking at things and dealing with things. He had obviously become more goal- and future-oriented. It showed on the field.”

When Gullette returned to Glen Mills, he was placed in the dormitory headed by defensive coordinator Steve Walsh, who also witnessed a dramatic turn in Gullette’s attitude.

“His second placement, the second time, you could see that he was more focused,” Walsh said. “You could see that it was time to stay out of trouble. He became a leader, was more self-disciplined. He was moving in the right direction.”

Gullette became so well-respected among his peers that they voted him student government president his senior year. Jay Halverson, Glen Mills’ student government faculty adviser, worked closely with Gullette in his final year at the school.

“He was a big, fun kid to work with,” Halverson said. “He appreciated people giving him advice, and he took that advice.”

By June, Gullette’s anticipation for college swelled so much, “all he ever talked about was what he was going to do after school,” Halverson said.

After passing his GED and final exams and signing a letter of intent, Gullette participated in the Glen Mills graduation ceremonies June 20.

Nine days, three gunmen and 13 bullets later, his life was over.

News of Gullette’s death spread quickly through the Syracuse athletic department.

Just hours after the incident, a Philadelphia newspaper contacted Reggie Terry, SU’s director of football operations and player development. Terry then contacted assistant coach Chris White, who recruited Gullette.

White called several other Syracuse recruits in the Philadelphia area but most already had heard the news.

White met Gullette in the spring during a recruiting trip to Glen Mills. Soon after, Gullette visited Syracuse and met with the rest of the coaching staff.

“He had a great personality, always an upbeat guy,” White said. “He always wanted to be the best at what he did football-wise.”

When he talked with White, Gullette layed out his goals at Syracuse. Priority No. 1 was taking care of his single mother, who worked in construction to support the family.

He also mentioned that goal when he met several of his fellow Syracuse freshmen-to-be for a photo shoot at Glen Mills.

Two of those players — Brandon Darlington, a tight end from Downington, Pa., and Justin Outten, an offensive lineman from Chalfont, Pa. — remembered a funny kid with a big smile. They both said Gullette talked extensively about his excitement at coming to Syracuse.

Both were shocked by the news of his death.

“My sister told me,” Darlington said. “She said, ‘Do you know a kid named Omain Gullette?’ I said, ‘Yeah, why?’ She said, ‘There’s an article in the paper about him. I’m going to let you read it.

“I read it, and I couldn’t believe it. It was unreal. I can’t believe something like that could happen.”

Said Outten: “I heard it on ESPN, and I didn’t know what to think. I wanted to do something, but I really didn’t know what.”

White was the sole SU representative at Gullette’s funeral. He described the ceremony as private. He watched as Gullette’s mother peered into the casket and saw what three assailants did to her son.

Everyone else saw what Gullette had become, what he could’ve been — and, now, what he’ll never be.