Caleb Foster, the Duke Blue Devils’ unflappable junior guard and the steady hand guiding a reloaded backcourt through a 6-0 start, isn’t one for fanfare. Off the court, the 6-foot-5 sharpshooter from Sherman Oaks, Calif., blends in like any 20-year-old college kid—hoodie up, AirPods in, craving a low-key burger after practice. But Wednesday night at a nondescript Durham diner off Ninth Street, Foster turned an ordinary meal into an extraordinary act of kindness that has the ACC’s chattiest corners buzzing. The recipient? Lily Chen, a 24-year-old single mom and waitress scraping by on tips while juggling night classes at Durham Tech. What started as a quiet booth chat ended with Foster slipping a folded $100 bill under his plate—and walking out with that signature half-smile. When Chen unfolded it later? A crisp $1,000 check tucked inside, scrawled with a note: “Keep fighting, Lily. You’ve got this—and we’ve got your back. –C.F. #1 (but you’re #1 too). P.S. Root for Duke Saturday?”
Chen, eyes welling up as she recounted the moment to WRAL reporters outside the diner Thursday morning, clutched the check like a lifeline. “I had no clue who he was at first—just this polite guy with great manners, asking about my shift and laughing at my bad jokes about the menu,” she said, voice cracking. “He ordered the double cheeseburger, extra fries, tipped 20% in cash on top… then that bill. I opened it in the back, saw the zeros, read the note—and just lost it. Sobbing like a baby. My boss thought I won the lottery.” For Chen, juggling $800-a-month rent, daycare for her 3-year-old son, and a mountain of student loans, the windfall isn’t just cash—it’s rent paid, books bought, a holiday without panic. “It changed my life,” she tearfully added. “Duke’s got a real one in that kid.”
The Meal: Undercover Star in a Greasy Spoon
Foster, averaging 12.4 points and 3.2 assists through Duke’s early romps (including a 92-67 dismantling of Army last week), ducked into “Ninth Street Grill” around 8 p.m. Wednesday—post-film session, pre-Thanksgiving break. No entourage, no autograph hounds; just him, nursing a chocolate shake and scrolling highlights on his phone. Chen, pulling a double shift after dropping her son at her sister’s, chatted him up about the weather (“Too cold for hoops?”) and local spots (“Try the pie—it’s killer”). Foster, ever the connector, shared a nugget about his high school days at Notre Dame Prep: “Used to sneak burgers like this before games—fuel for the fire.” He footed a $28 tab with $6 cash, then the “folded bill” sleight-of-hand as he zipped up. “Thanks, Lily—great service,” he called over his shoulder, vanishing into the night.
It wasn’t until her break, unfolding the bill in the kitchen, that the tears hit. The $1,000 personal check—drawn from a modest Duke student account, per bank confirmation—came with that handwritten PS, a nod to Chen’s “Fight On” name tag (a tattoo tribute to her late mom). “He must’ve seen it when I cleared plates,” she marveled. “Who notices that?”
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