by Terry Crews
“I’m going to Illinois State. It’s going to be great.”
And then it was time for signing day, the day on which the college teams signed all of the high school players they wanted. That day came and went, but my phone never rang. So I called Illinois State and got their football coach on the line.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Well, if you’d like to come and walk on, that would be great,” he said.
“But I thought …”
It turned out there was no scholarship for me. That was so awful. It really hurt. But I knew I had to scramble and try again. My art teacher, Mr. Eichelberg, had been one of the greatest champions of my art talent. He really believed in me as an artist and was as influential for me in art as Coach Lee was when it came to football. He started applying for everything he could on my behalf. We were coming down to the wire when, finally, Western Michigan University came back with a $500 art excellence scholarship.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” I said. “They want me.”
Well, after that, I looked into Western Michigan University’s football team and saw they’d had a superstar linebacker, John Offerdahl, who had been drafted by the NFL and was playing for the Miami Dolphins. To me, the fact that he could go pro from there proved that I could do it, too. It wasn’t the University of Michigan. It wasn’t Michigan State. Those were the two big schools. But I hadn’t even been able to gain entry to Michigan State’s high school football camp. So I had to be realistic about my options and accept that I was going to have to walk on to the Western Michigan University football team. That was my only way out of Flint.
I went home and told my mother they had given me this little bit of money. It wasn’t much, but I hoped it would be enough for me to at least get started.
“You have a year to earn your scholarship,” she said.
So that was it, I had one year. By that point, I would have done anything to get out of town, and out of my house. Before my high school graduation, we had an awards ceremony at my high school. My relationship with Big Terry and Trish was so acrimonious by that point that they didn’t attend, even though I had invited them. I was voted most likely to succeed, and I was being given the school’s highest honor, The Spirit Award. As I heard my name announced, and I strode onto the stage to accept my plaque, all I could think was: My parents are not here. Maybe they didn’t realize what a big deal it was. Maybe Trish wanted to teach me a lesson. Maybe Big Terry thought I’d gotten too full of myself. That was it. I was more than ready to go.
NOW THAT I’D GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL, AND I was almost eighteen, Trish couldn’t control me anymore. I finally got to go on a date. Throughout my last three years of school, I’d been close friends with three white girls who hung out together, and over the years, I’d had a crush on all of them at one time or another.
During my senior year, I’d been hanging out in the halls with all three when I was called into my high school guidance counselor’s office, about a matter of utmost importance. The counselor was a very pretty black woman who was the object of many adolescent daydreams among the boys of Flint Academy.
As I sat in her office, I measured her tone, which was very serious. She sighed.
“Terry, you have a very bright future,” she said. “I just want to warn you about one thing I see you doing that could become a big problem for you.”
I perked up in a major way. I couldn’t wait to hear what this life-altering problem was, and what I could do to fix it.
“Terry—stay away from white women,” she continued. “They are no good. They are just going to lead you down a path to destruction.”
“Really?” I said, trying to sound respectful.
“Yes. Listen to me. You have no idea how conniving and evil they can be.”
Wow. This was the biggest, best advice she thought she could give me about my future. And it was pure nonsense.
“I hear you. Thank you.”
I’d avoided her until the school year finally ended.
Now I was out of school. I was a grown man. I called one of the three girls, Sophia. “Would you like to go out with me?” I asked. “You know, why don’t we go to a movie and get some pizza?”
“I would love to,” she said.
I was totally freaked out because, even though I was seventeen years old and about to leave for college, it was my first date. At least we were already friends and used to hanging out at school together. We laughed and had fun during Rodney Dangerfield’s movie Back to School, and as we ate pizza, and then we parked in front of Sophia’s house. We were listening to Janet Jackson’s “Funny How Time Flies (When You’re Having Fun),” and I was so happy. Everything was going so well.
“Hey, Sophia, this is cool,” I said. “Thank you. I had a great evening.”
And then we kissed. It was my first kiss, and I was done. I was in love.
“Bye, Terry,” she said as she climbed out of the car.
“Bye, Sophia,” I said.
But what I was thinking was: I would die for you.
I floated home. There hadn’t been any sex, and I was glad. I didn’t want any of that to corrupt the way I felt for her. To me, pornography was dirty. And this was pure. She cared. I cared. I didn’t want to mess any of that up. Our kiss was perfect.
———
I’D RECEIVED A FULL SCHOLARSHIP TO A PRESTIGIOUS SUMMER arts program, Interlochen Center for the Arts, located in northwest Michigan, and I left for six weeks soon after my date. Interlochen was a seismic shift for me. So many talented, creative people have gone there, from Dermot Mulroney to Mike Wallace to Norah Jones, and it meant a great deal to me to be in such illustrious company. Interlochen was also my first immersion in another culture. I was living outside of the city for the first time. I met people from California and Germany. I also took my first video production class, in which I made a rap video with my Flint Academy classmate Ron Croudy, who is still a close friend to this day. After this experience, I was more convinced than ever that I’d make it to the world of entertainment someday. On top of that, during a group competition among ten of us young artists, a judge from the Art Institute of Cincinnati picked my drawings as the best. That was a really important affirmation of my artistic talent, and I savored the joy of receiving his praise. But before I could turn my attention to my love of arts and entertainment, I had a college football scholarship to win. And before that, I had a girl to see, and maybe kiss again.
We had no cell phones back then, so I wrote Sophia long letters all summer. She sent me one letter, and then, just like that, I didn’t receive any more letters from her. I kept writing, but she didn’t write back. When I was able to call her from the pay phone, she was always busy. But I didn’t let that dampen my feelings, or my hope.
As soon as I got home from Interlochen, the first thing I did was go to the phone and call Sophia. I was so happy just to hear her voice.
“Hey, I’m home,” I said. “Can we go out? I figured we could do something.”
She paused for a long moment.
“I’m sorry. I have a date. We can’t go out.”
“But I thought—”
“No, Terry, we’d be better off just being friends.”
I was crushed. I mean we’re talking about the first girl I’d ever kissed, and six weeks of buildup about all of the things we were going to do together, and how I would see her on my school breaks and visit her when she went away to college the following year. I had a whole scenario laid out in my mind, and in my heart. Because I’d never gone through this when I should have, at age thirteen, or sixteen, I was very naive. I was stunted. And then, just like that, my heart was broken.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I hung up the phone and went back to my room, all of these horrible feelings from my childhood were being stirred up inside of me, feelings that I was worthless and unlovable, feelings that if I wasn’t absolutely perfect, then no one would ever love me. All I knew at the time was that I felt unwa
nted. I hated it. And I never wanted to feel that way again. So I made a vow to myself:
I have to be someone. I have to get out of Flint. I have to make it so somebody will want me. And then I’ll show everybody.
Soon after that, my father drove me up to Western Michigan University, and I set it out for him just as clearly as if I were reading directions from the map.
“I’m gonna be a pro football player,” I said.
“Well, you know, only one in a million makes it,” he said.
“I’m one in a million,” I said. “I’m one in a million.”
“Okay,” he said, not exactly sounding convinced.
“Yep,” I said, rolling my eyes at him and his doubts.
I had no use for anyone telling me the odds. I didn’t care. I knew I was going to make it because I knew I would do whatever it took. Not only that, but I decided to use any bit of rejection I’d ever received as fuel. Looking back, I’m not sure how healthy that was. But at the time, it worked. It made me work out harder, lift more, and strive to be somebody. And I never, ever stopped, even when it got tough—and let me tell you, it got a lot tougher for a long time before it started to get easier.
WHEN I HIT WESTERN MICHIGAN AND TRIED TO GO right into football camp, the coaches told me I had basically missed it while I’d been at Interlochen. They let me join the team as a walk-on and be a part of the practice squad, but I had to really fight my way up from the bottom. And so I got beat up, literally. But I didn’t care. I had my little art scholarship, and my mother was paying for the rest for a year, and I was just so happy to have my pads on.
I knew it was up to me to earn a scholarship to cover the rest of college. From my first practice, I was doing my thing, hitting people. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. It was a challenge, but I loved it. Like I said, I never minded hard work when there was a clear purpose and something to be gained.
Football was great, but the rest of my college experience was a major disappointment, almost immediately. After being under my mother’s strict control for so many years, I was sure I was going to go crazy as soon as I tasted my first bit of freedom. That lasted for about a week, and my version of wild was tame compared to what we’ve come to see as the normal college experience. From my first night at school, it seemed like everyone around me was falling-down drunk. I immediately thought of Big Terry and knew I didn’t want to be that foolish.
“I’m not drinking,” I said.
That was fine. No one was going to force me to drink. But the problem was, all that drinking turned me off from everyone else. I didn’t like being around drunk people, and so there really weren’t many people for me to be around. But I wanted to be around somebody. So I joined the Western Michigan University branch of the Maranatha Campus Ministries, which was keen on a brand of Christianity called discipleship. Given my extremely religious upbringing, this world felt safe to me. As much as I’d wanted to rebel from Trish, now that I was on my own, I was drawn back into the same strict structure without even being conscious of it. I truly believed in my heart that something horrible would happen to me if I didn’t do right by God, and so it felt comfortable to join a church where everyone lived by the same beliefs. It was like the island of misfit toys, a group of people who were hurt and broken, but when we were together it was easier for us than it was in the outside world.
And so, at first, I didn’t protest when my new pastor told me I couldn’t listen to the rap music I loved. And when I was instructed that, if there was a girl I wanted to date, I should go through our pastor to make sure God wanted us to be together, I opted not to date. As long as I had a few people to hang out with on the weekends, I was fine. My main obsession was earning a place on the football team, and from there, a scholarship, and I didn’t want anything else to distract me.
I was working extremely hard and putting a tremendous amount of pressure on myself, and so when I felt overly stressed, I began acting out in familiar ways. When my roommate left for the weekend, I snuck out to the drugstore and bought porn. And then, before he came back to school, I put it in the trash. I felt really guilty and threw myself more resolutely into the church, but my prayers never made me stop. I didn’t share my problem with anyone, and so I just learned to live with it.
———
I DID VERY WELL DURING THE FALL FOOTBALL SEASON, BUT then the university had a coaching change, and I had to win over a whole new crop of coaches. That spring, we had a second football camp, and this was a major moment for me. I had to earn my scholarship in order to come back in the fall. If I didn’t, that was the end of college for me. I threw myself into that camp. I was outrunning, outjumping, outlifting all of the other guys. I played my heart out. I mean I really did everything I could.
Finally, my linebacker coach had had enough.
“Somebody beat Terry Crews,” he screamed at the other players.
He wanted to prove I wasn’t good enough for a scholarship, but I didn’t care. People were trying so hard to beat me. They were throwing up all around me. They were passing out. But I just worked that much harder. I wasn’t going to let anybody beat me. I knew this was my way out. And I actually impressed the coaches. This was the beginning of me seeing how fitness could help me determine my own destiny. Not only could it change my body, but it could also change the way people viewed me and what I could do. And so it could change the opportunities I had in my life.
I had high hopes when I met with Coach. I sat down across from him and looked at him expectantly. We talked for a little while, and then I came right out and asked him for an athletic scholarship. He broke it down for me.
“You’re not good enough,” he said. “If you want to stay, it will have to be on your own dime. And if you want to leave, well, good luck.”
I was hurt and disappointed. My parents couldn’t afford to pay for another year of school. I’d promised to earn a scholarship, and I’d failed. That summer, I returned to the harsh reality of life in Flint. The once-booming auto factories that had been the lifeblood of the city’s economy were continuing to be phased out one by one. Crack was the drug of choice for users and dealers. If I didn’t find a way out, soon, I’d be trapped. I heard Coach Lee’s voice in my head, and I knew I couldn’t give up. Football, for me, was never the end goal. It was always a means. Without it, I had no way to go anywhere. I begged my parents, particularly my mother, to give me one more chance, one more semester to try and earn a full-ride scholarship.
Trish was in the kitchen washing dishes. She threw down her dish towel.
“Why do you have to dream so large?” she asked. “I can’t stand to see you be so disappointed all of the time, to always be wanting more and never get it.”
I stared back at her, feeling guilty. I knew it seemed unfair to ask them to focus so much money and attention on what I was trying to do, when Marcelle and Micki had needs, too. But I don’t think I really understood at the time exactly how much of a strain I was putting on my parents. All I knew was that, if I succeeded, not only would my tuition be paid for, but I would also be truly independent of them.
“Please,” I said.
“You know, Terry, I’m just going to give you one more semester,” she said. “That’s all I can afford. Right now, we’re already in debt, and it’s bad. I can’t hold this burden anymore. I really can’t hold it.”
That was a heavy thing to take on, but I was so relieved.
“I’m gonna make it,” I said. “You’ll see.”
THAT SUMMER, MY FATHER SAID I NEEDED TO GET A JOB. I told him I wanted to be in movies and TV. The only thing resembling that in Flint at the time was the local ABC affiliate, WJRT-TV12. So Big Terry took me down to the station with some of my drawings and paraded me in front of the receptionist.
“My son’s an artist,” he said. “He’d like to get a job here.”
“O-kay … let me get someone who can help you,” she said, keeping a wary eye on us both. I just wanted to get through this embarrassment. I was sure we were abou
t to get kicked out of there.
The visual arts director came out and Big Terry said the exact same thing. One of Big Terry’s best traits is his consistency. The director looked at my portfolio.
“When can he start?” he asked.
I couldn’t believe it. I worked at Channel 12 all summer, drawing backdrops for newscasts and coming up with ideas for anything that required creativity. I even cleaned up around the station when it needed it. Then I got my big break, replacing their usual courtroom-sketch guy during the biggest murder case in Flint at the time. The station manager loved my work and told me if I ever needed any help in this business, to give him a call. My first job in entertainment was a success.
IN AUGUST OF 1987, I PUT MY CLOTHES IN GARBAGE BAGS and headed back to Western Michigan University for football camp. The pressure was on. Hustling hard in practice, I would not be ignored. Still undersized and skinny, I worked out in the dormitory weight room on my own and was inspired by the athletes who walked around campus in the letterman’s jackets distributed by the athletic department.
I earned the right to play in games that year and was the only walk-on player to do so. After a five-win, six-loss record, and with one week left in the semester, I waited for my scholarship offer but heard nothing. Finally, I needed to know where my future stood, so I scheduled a meeting with the head coach.
I entered his office and sat across from him at his enormous desk. He looked up as if he had better things to do. I plowed ahead.
“Coach, my parents can’t afford to pay for school anymore,” I said. “If I’m going to continue playing for the university, it will have to be on scholarship.”
“We don’t have any more scholarships left,” he said.
I could barely make out his words as he said something about “getting on financial aid.” I nodded but couldn’t speak.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, already standing.
I got on my bike and rode back to my dorm room. I’d made a promise to my family, and I’d blown it. I’d asked my parents to gamble, and I’d wasted all of their money, which they couldn’t afford to lose. Maybe I can go to art school, I thought. I knew asking my parents to sacrifice again was out of the question. I had no choice but to go home and work. But all of the factories were closed. And even though Channel 12 might be a possibility, I didn’t want anything to tie me down to Flint. If I was going to be broke, I at least wanted to be broke in a place I could love.