Hollywood

I called him "Hollywood."

It was a razz, given by an opposing team's fans in a high school baseball game. That day he was in left field in a late afternoon game, and he wore sun glasses to fight the glare of the setting sun. The year was 1978, and although the practice is common among baseball players today, it was unheard of then.

But the truth was, the nickname kind of fit.

Hollywood was a good baseball player, but he really excelled in football. A natural quarterback, he had speed, scrambling ability, and a rocket arm. He was also a quick thinker, the piece of the puzzle that is sometimes missing in otherwise gifted athletes.

He was flashy on and off the field. I guess you could say he was the "big man on campus" in our little high school. A good looking guy with a big smile that all the girls probably dreamed of dating. He was cocky and brash but knew when to talk and when to shut up. Some of the guys didn't like him--were jealous that he seemed to have it all--yet I don't recall him ever being in a fight. If a situation started to turn nasty, he simply walked away.

But off the field things maybe weren't as good as they seemed. He came from a broken home, and worse than that, it was a broken home with money. As is often the case, parents in such situations may try to compensate a kid with money and gifts. I don't know if that was the case with Hollywood, but it sure seemed he didn't lack for cash in his pockets. There were rumors that he did a lot of partying--but marijuana and alcohol were as easy to get in those days as they are now, and lots of kids took advantage if they had the means.

His football prowess became evident his junior year, when he lead a young team with low expectations to the first playoff game the school had seen in several years. Opposing teams quickly learned that Hollywood could beat you with his arm or his feet. He put up big numbers, and the college boys began to pay attention to the kid from the small town.

His senior season was a repeat performance. The team had some talented players on offense, and Hollywood ran the show. I will never forget one crisp Fall night, when he threw a long touchdown pass to a kid we called "Redbone." It was a streak route, straight down the sideline, and it was delivered on target forty-five yards down field. Caught over the shoulder in full stride. I don't think I have ever seen a pass thrown any better. It was a throw that Drew Brees or Manning would admire.

As that season went on, rumors began to circulate that the Tennessee Vols had paid a visit. They liked what they saw, and a scholarship might be forthcoming. Hollywood had a future beyond our small town--a chance to perform on the big stage in front of thousands instead of a few hundred.

But the promising season came to an abrupt end when we lost the final regular season game. Unlike today, when teams with losing records can still make the playoffs in Alabama, in those days one loss could keep you out. So the magic ended, and Hollywood was unable to showcase his talents in front of larger playoff crowds in bigger towns.

I'm not sure what happened after that. I just know that things went south for Hollywood in a hurry. The Tennessee Vols didn't come through, and football was over.

I had already left for college when I began to hear the gossip. Hollywood had been arrested. He had gotten some bad cocaine, probably "cut" with rat poison, and it had messed up his mind. His behavior had become increasingly irrational. He told everyone he was going to buy a nightclub at the beach. He took a corvette out for a test drive and didn't bring it back. Someone even said he had some business cards printed that listed him as an "attorney at law."

What is truth and what is fiction I can't say. But I do know that soon after, I heard the news that Hollywood was dead.

Suicide is always a tragedy, but it is especially painful for those of us who are left behind when it happens to someone so young--someone with so much life ahead. It is a reminder that things can sure go from good to bad in a hurry, and sometimes those who seem to have it all are secretly filled with pain.

Now thirty years later, I sometimes step outside my home on a crisp Fall Friday night. If conditions are right, I can hear drum beats and a crowd cheering for the team at the local stadium about a mile away. On these occasions I sometimes close my eyes and think of a kid who was the king of Friday nights way back then.

I wonder what might have been.