DARKNESS DESCENDS

The date was May 4, 1996, and for me it was an evil day. I hate that day and always will. I despise that day because on that day fate punched a hole in my heart. I knew I would never be the same and I’m not. I never will be.

Death is not an easy thing to accept. When it comes to someone you cherish, and so unexpectedly, it can kill your desire to live.

Just two weeks earlier Sheryl had shown up at my house with her son. She had left her five month old with her husband, Marc. She told me she just wanted to spend some time. That was her way. You never knew what Sheryl might do. Right from the beginning she was the most upbeat kid around. Everyone knew that when Sheryl arrived the happy times would too.

That day was no different. We decided to play a little golf. After eight holes, my grandson Grayson determined he’d had enough. He wanted to go home and selected his mom to be the horse. I protested but Sheryl overrode my decision. She carried Grayson back. I could see by the time we’d arrived she was exhausted. Sitting in the great room she said she felt tired all the time. I figured, like a lot of moms, she was doing too much.

A week later I got a call from Marc. I knew something was wrong because good news seldom comes early. In an instant I was awake. Marc told me Sheryl had just been taken to the hospital. She wasn’t breathing. My mind recoiled. I collapsed into a chair. As I sat there, tears flooded my eyes. I could feel my life being sucked out of me one breath at a time. I had to do something but I didn’t know what. I got in my car and headed to the hospital. I don’t remember anything about that drive. Everything was a blur.

When I arrived, the doctor told me Sheryl was on life support. The look on his face told me her life was over. I couldn’t understand it, she had never been sick. It turned out she wasn’t. A valve in her heart had collapsed. No history, just a freak accident. I had to see her.

For the next six nights I stayed on a cot near Sheryl’s bed. I didn’t sleep. At night I walked the halls like a zombie. I was in so much pain. I’d sit by her and look at her face for hours. I’d caress her hand. I’d put it to my lips. God, I was in pain. I was teleported to other places and the memories exploded. I remembered my little girl and the Titans. I could hear her voice shouting for victory. I remembered walks on the beach and days in the park. I remembered wrestling around and throwing the ball. I remembered her senior year when her classmates thanked her for being Sheryl by voting her Homecoming Queen. I had been on football fields all my life but I had never been as proud as the night I watched her crowned.

I remembered our trips to the Kentucky Derby and the one when I talked Sheryl out of placing a large bet on Strike The Gold. He won but she never held it against me. There were so many things to remember. I remembered every moment in Sheryl’s presence I was taken to a better place.

The emptiness I was feeling made me sick. I cried and cried and cried some more. I asked myself a thousand times why it happened. I knew the answer. It was time for Sheryl to go. She died that day.

As the funeral procession rode down King Street we passed T.C. Williams. I looked at the stadium stands and I could faintly see the image of a little girl looking back. I knew it was my Sheryl because she had a smile on her face. I wept. An hour later I had buried my pal, my buddy, my love, and my best friend. It was Derby Day.

When you experience such grief, your energy and enthusiasm are destroyed. I decided it was time for me to quit coaching. I spent a year walking the beach in search of answers. I was alone most of the time. My despair was profound. I couldn’t shake it. Depression is an awful thing because no matter how much your mind tells you there are others things worth living for, your heart doesn’t care.

THE ROAD BACK

One day I picked up the phone and the voice at the other end identified himself as Gregory Allen Howard, a screenwriter. The former Titans were in town to celebrate a twenty-five-year reunion. The papers were filled with stories and that generated chatter. As Greg told me, he had stumbled into a barbershop to get a clip. The room was filled with conversation. A man was talking about the 1971 Titans. He mentioned it was the team that Richard Nixon said helped save a city. Now the difference between people that read the news and those that make it often lies in their ability to see an opportunity. I guess this one slapped him in the face. He began to ask questions and compiled some names. I was on the list. He asked me if I wanted to be a star. He might not have put it exactly that way but when he said Hollywood, I took it from there.

If you’ve been paying attention, you might have come to the conclusion that I wasn’t swinging in the Age of Aquarius. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I don’t cuss. Never did drugs. (I’ll remind you that I married three beautiful women so I must do something.) I will admit that I’m a low-key guy but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be a celebrity. I’m not talking Tony-Bennett-singing-at-my-birthday-type celebrity. Don’t want to paint my nails. I just thought it would be nice to have some of the perks that came with people knowing your name—newspaper in my own yard, mail off the ground, and a seat at my favorite coffee shop. Nothing grand.

At seventy-five I had accepted it was never going to happen. Greg proved me wrong. He invited me to dinner. He told me what he wanted to do. I got excited. I could see my paper landing on my porch.

“Not yet, Bill,” he said. Writing the story is easy. Getting someone to make the movie is another issue. He then handed me a contract and 100 to seal the deal. He picked up dinner.

Months passed. I got a call telling me Disney was interested but they would do nothing unless Denzel Washington played Boone. More months went by. Denzel didn’t become Denzel by not knowing a good part when he saw it. He said “yes.” Will Patton said he would play me. Disney said “go” and Jerry Bruckheimer was asked to bring the magic back.

Right before the movie started to shoot I got a copy of the screenplay. It had one daughter in it. They decided to go with Sheryl because she had been such a Titan fan. Now any parent who has children knows equal treatment is a must. Snub one child, even if it’s not your fault, and you will hear about it forever. I saw the script and sweat broke out on my brow. I was a Hollywood newcomer and I didn’t know what to do. When I thought about, facing the wrath of three girls that had been raised by Betty Watson, the choice was easy. I told Jerry Bruckheimer a mistake had been made. He explained why the script had been written the way is was and then apologized. Jerry Bruckheimer is a nice man. He said he would have the director Boaz Yakin call my other daughters and explain it to them. He did and everything was fine.

I’ll have to admit, the filming of Remember the Titans was pretty exciting for me. It took me into a different world. I got to see how movies were made. Boone and I were flown to Atlanta. We were put up in the five-star Henry Grady Hotel. We were given an expense account and told to give it some exercise. I ran mine around the block to a yogurt shop.

Every day a limo picked us up. We were treated like royalty. It made sense. We were “consultants.” Herman believed it and took the job seriously. One day during a take Boone noticed that the director had it wrong.

He never carried his playbook in his right hand. He wore his cap at an angle. He noticed other things. The chinstrap was loose. The socks were the wrong color. He began to huff and puff. I could see the agitation. So did Boaz Yakin. He turned to Boone and gave him a smile. “Herman,” he said, “it’s just a movie.” Boone felt better.

I also got to experience what happens when people know your story is coming to the cinema. When you don’t have any money, you spend a lot of time listening to the radio. I got hooked when I was in the service. Hour after hour I would listen to anything that took me away to parts unknown. I especially liked music. Porter Wagoner, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams. One day as I was changing the channel I heard a song titled “Diana” by Paul Anka. I soon became a fan. Over the years I’d heard him referred to as a giant among singers, as big as they get. One DJ said Paul Anka was huge. I had images that when he wasn’t singing he was dunking for the Harlem Globetrotters. I could see him patting John Wayne on the head.

Fifty years later I was sitting in a restaurant after a TV appearance. Paul Anka walked up. At five feet two inches I didn’t recognize him. He introduced himself and as we talked his personality filled the room. He was big, just in a different way. The subject of kids came up. He told me he had five daughters. I told him I had five daughters. We both agreed it takes a real man to make women. We couldn’t believe it; between the two of us we had fathered ten girls.

It gets better when the movie is done. It was 2000 and the premier of Remember the Titans was front-page news—at least in LA. Disney had spent a lot of money promoting the film and this was going to be a night for the history books. You know the drill. It started by filling up the Rose Bowl with 55,000 groovy dudes. They added five hundred trumpets to the USC marching band. Hot dogs were four feet long and two feet wide. It was a cosmic event. The instructions to the supporting cast were simple. Cheer, stomp, yell, and shout. When the Titans and the stars that played them arrive, you must go insane. The objective was obvious. We want people to think that without the Titans, America was a third-world country. As the producer broadcast what he wanted done, the crowd understood the game. They began to shake, rattle, and roll. The insurance policy was in place. Do what we tell you and you get a party favor. If nothing else, those Hollywood promoters knew something about motivation.

The signal was given and the production kicked off right on schedule. The night became day as a billion watts lit the sky. The limousines that were queued to the Canadian border began to arrive. The stars, starlets, dignitaries, and VIPs exited cars as long as Long Island. They smiled, waved, and strutted their stuff.

As we were introduced the crowd went bananas. People were foaming at the mouth. It’s amazing to see what free Milk Duds can generate. I looked over at Herman Boone and his eyes were glazed over. His smile told me everything. It was his moment in time and I knew what he thought. On Samson’s best day he couldn’t carry his playbook. What Herman didn’t understand was people in LA would give a standing ovation to a Pet Rock if it meant a free coloring book.

After a couple hours the fanfare moved to a theater to preview the movie. I stepped out of my limo and the light bulbs flashed. I heard someone shout my name. My chest swelled with pride. I began to fantasize. On Herman Boone’s best day, he couldn’t carry my playbook. It’s dangerous to believe your press clippings. We moved into the theater.

I watched in awe as Will Patton brought me to life. The hayseed had come a long way. The movie concluded to arousing applause. The party moved on. It was a famous shiny place with lots of mirrors. The shrimp were as large as my fist and the caviar was bigger than the shrimp. “Champagne, Coach?” a waiter asked. “No, thank you,” I replied. “I’d like one of those pink things with the feather in it.” “On its way,” he responded. As I looked around the room I couldn’t believe the people in attendance. Mickey Mouse was connected. A while later a reporter approached. She wanted some insight. I was feeling a little full of myself. I was going to give her the best stuff I knew. “Fire away,” I responded. She popped a question. “Are you and Denzel lovers?”

I’d heard that Hollywood was a different place.

I guess it was.

There was a second premier in Washington, D.C. Sitting in the front row it appeared even the President of the United States wanted a piece of the action. It was the first time a President had ever gone to a premier. Someone said it was because the movie had cheerleaders. It didn’t matter. It was nice to have him on board.

I didn’t see much of that movie. Sitting right behind me was Wonder Woman. I spent the two hours peeping at Linda Carter. When the movie ended, the President wanted to get on stage with the original Titans. The Secret Service was having a fit. They hadn’t heard that Julius was no longer hanging with the Panthers. It was a wonderful night.

You don’t know what other people’s lives are like until you get to walk in their shoes. Over the years I heard about what living in New York was like. I read what was required to make ends meet. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. Then the summons came and I was asked to be on Good Morning America. The first thing I thought was that I needed to cash a check. I decided 100 would get me to and from New York and allow me to have a night on the town. I figure after seventy-four years of scrimping I’d earned one night of big-time fun. The teller asked me how I wanted my money and I told her to give me five 20 bills. I told her I was going to the Big Apple.

It was the most pocket money I’d ever carried and I was feeling a little like Daddy Warbucks. I landed and a limousine picked me up. I felt I should give the driver a tip. I gave him a twenty and held out my hand for change. He put the twenty in his pocket, looked at my hand and gave it slap. I met the doorman at the Trump Plaza. All I had was another twenty. I asked him for change. He said he didn’t have any. I was down to 60 and going south. The bellman took my bag to my room. I wanted to stiff him but I just couldn’t. I knew he had family to feed. He was happy to take my twenty. I got into my room and put my money on the table. I hadn’t been in New York an hour and my net worth had been cut by 60 percent. I decided maybe I should employ a little “cotton picker” frugality to the situation. I’d get a burger for dinner. I found a deli down the block. Hamburger—15.95. Coke—4.00. Apple pie—7.05. I looked at the check and wanted to leave the waitress a dime for her tip but I just couldn’t. I knew she had a boyfriend to feed.

As I was leaving the restaurant I had a panic attack. Did I have enough for breakfast? I thrust my hand into my pocket and pulled out the remaining money. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d be okay.

The next morning I went and grabbed a menu. I took a peek and decided I wasn’t all that hungry. I ordered a coffee—6.95. I wanted a piece of toast but didn’t have enough money. The waitress asked me if I would like anything else. I asked her how much the pats of butter on the table were. She smiled and said no charge. I told her to give me two . . . over easy.

As Remember the Titans played in theaters and became one of the top grossing movies of all time, my phone began to ring. People wanted the guy on the screen to be part of the action. I was invited to everything. At a sport trade show in Las Vegas I was given the royal treatment. I sat at my table with a number of VIPs but they were nothing in comparison to the others that filled the room. At one table sat Babe Ruth. In the distance, Hercules and Jim Thorpe were chewing the fat. I looked around to see who else was coming. As my eyes glanced at the entrance my heart began to pound. I was hyperventilating. Venus, aka Cory Everson, the women’s world body building champion had just arrived. She had dominated the sport for years and I was one of her biggest fans. Not only could she bench press a house but she also looked great in a thong. To be honest I had a crush. It seemed every man in the room wanted Cory to sit with him. She looked around and approached my table. At seventy-six, your giddy-up is not supposed to get so excited. Mine was doing back flips. “Mr. Yoast,” she said. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Thank you Jerry Bruckheimer!

TELL ME ABOUT THE MONEY

I didn’t want to bring it up. Yes, there was lots of money made and to this day, Disney and gang continue to reap financial rewards. Remember the Titans is one of the most popular movies of all-time. And now it’s on television, video, cable, and DVD. I heard they were showing it at football camp in Shanghai.

Denzel Washington wanted to build a monument to Boone and me in his courtyard. It turns out he has made more money off that role than anything he has done. I can’t guess how many people have a new Ferrari because I didn’t get the job. I can tell you there are two that don’t.

For years I went to my mailbox looking for an envelope with a Hollywood return address. I knew it would be filled with cash. It never arrived. Remember that 100? At least it was tax-free.

People have asked me if I’m angry about my payday. How could I be? Over the past five years so many wonderful things have happened. I’ve been given keys to the city, trophies, plaques, and kisses on the cheek. My name is on a barbeque. I’ve dined with “the beautiful people” and governors know my name. So does the President. A couple parades asked me to be Grand Marshall. The All-American High School East-West Bowl lets me be a coach. But best of all, I’ve been invited to share my thoughts on teamwork, leadership, and racial diversity across North America. I’ve been given the opportunity to look into young men and women’s eyes and shake their hands.

Someone once said “wealth exists not in what we have but in the fewness of our wants.” I want for nothing. No, I didn’t get much of a payday and really don’t care.