We are at a point in our history where black teenagers constitute the most unemployed and undervalued people in our society. And instead of making a real investment in education that could pay itself back many times, our society has chosen to pay the price three times: once, we let the kids slip through the educational system; twice, when they drop out to a street life of poverty, dependence, and maybe even crime; and a third time when we warehouse those who have crossed over the line and have gotten caught.
The cost of neglect is immense—in dollars and in abuse of the human spirit. We must educate our children. We don’t have a choice. Once we’ve let it reach this point, the problem is virtually too big and too expensive to solve. But we can make a difference, if we go back into the schools and find the shy ones and the stragglers, the square pegs and the hard cases, before they’ve given up on the system…and before the system has given up on them.
Then we say to those children: “You’re important to our world and to our future. We want you to be successful and have the things you want in life. But being successful and reaching your dreams takes work. It means being responsible for yourself. It means being willing to go to class and doing your homework and participating in the opportunity to learn, then you have no right to complain about the unfairness if you are not willing to do that. You’re not alone in all of this. But only you, the student, can do the work that will make you free.
“If you wait until college—or even until high school—to get serious about an education, you may be too late. It’s hard to go back as an adult to learn what you missed in the third grade. It’s important to dream, but it’s through learning and work that dreams become reality.” We must, as I said, educate our children.
But we can’t preach responsibility to our children if we don’t accept it ourselves. We as parents—especially in the black community—must accept that we bear responsibility for our children. We must work with them. Not just by developing their hook shots or their throwing arms, but by developing their reading and their thinking abilities, and if we don’t have the skills ourselves to pass on, we can still encourage them, reward them, and praise their academic accomplishments. We can educate our children.
We shouldn’t put down athletics, because that teaches children the value of teamwork and disciplined effort. But we must insist that our children take school seriously. And if they can’t handle the demands of both, then maybe athletics should go. Finally, you and I, all of you out there, all of you who hear and see this speech, can make a difference as members of our communities. We can’t just leave it to the schools, or the social workers, or the police and the legal system. We ultimately pay the cost of our educational system’s failures. But we also have the solutions without our power. If we educate our children.
We can support the schools and the teaching profession instead of complaining about them. We can honor students and teachers who excel with the same rewards and recognition that we honor our coaches and our athletes. As it stands, how can we expect kids with poor self-esteem and shaky reading skills to pursue academics when often the only reinforcement they get is athletics.
Now these words may seem simple to the people on the front lines who have seen too many of the lost and too few of the victorious. The jobless single mother may have too little hope for herself to share some with her children. To the kid surrounded by drugs and violence and acres of rotting city, a job in a law firm may seem as unrealistic as me being here on the steps of the Hall of Fame today. And so we, who have been insulated by our successes for a loss of hope, must not turn our backs on these children. We must not concede their lives to the forces that have worn down so many children.
Yes, the things I’m suggesting are simple. But I’ve learned from school, from football, and from the law that even the biggest, scariest problems can be broken down to their fundamentals. And if all of us cannot be superstars, we can remember to repeat the simple fundamentals of taking responsibility for ourselves and for the children of this country. We must educate our children. And if we do, I believe that will be enough.
Dick “Night Train” Lane
Los Angeles Rams, Chicago Cardinals,
and Detroit Lions Cornerback
Class of 1974
A seven-time Pro Bowl selection, Lane intercepted sixty-eight passes for 1,207 yards and five touchdowns. As a rookie, Lane intercepted an NFL record fourteen passes.
A total of eighty-one enshrines are in just by coincidence—that was my playing number. I would like to pay a personal and heartfelt tribute to my teammates—the other players who were not so fortunate to last as long as I did in the National Football League. They didn’t reach the glory, but they were men who made the business what it is today. They are the cornerstones of this foundation of the NFL. Those were really the days.
We didn’t fly first class. We didn’t stay at Holiday Inns. We didn’t even have Gatorade. We just played some of the best football ever. We were paid at least $3,500 and I didn’t make that much more, yet I still maintained the perspective of the definite sense of professionalism. I find it disturbing today that when professional football is the most popular sport of America, the future of the NFL is in limbo.
I can only hope that the offers of the owners, the coaches, and the players past and present will direct toward betterment of the league and not for personal gain. I can only hope that the owners can understand that football was, and still is, and always will be, the game for the players and the fans who fill the stadium and shout their names, inspiring them on through the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.
I can only hope that while the players are striking for improvement, that the black players will take this opportunity to band together and deal with the problems of no black coaches, no general managers, and no quarterbacks in the NFL—or, should I say, a few. It is not fair or pardonable for blacks to be treated like stepchildren in pro football. It was wrong in my day and it is wrong today.
In the league that we have established, management must realize that times have changed and must adopt a new philosophy and different approach with the players and the game. I know that some people voice opinions that retired players shouldn’t have an opinion about the present situation between the players and management. I disagree because these players are fighting for some of the very things that I wanted in my career.
Bill Willis
Cleveland Browns Guard
Class of 1977
A four-time All-NFL player, Willis was one of the first African American men to play pro football. He signed with the Cleveland Browns one year before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball with the Brooklyn Dodgers. Willis’s success opened the doors of sports to other African Americans.
Presented by Browns Coach Paul Brown
First of all, I want to thank Bill for asking me to have the honor of presenting him. When you are a football coach, you never know for sure just what some of your players might think of you and, as you know, I have never been known for my humor or being much of a comedian.
If there is one thing that stands out about Bill, it would be his quickness and speed. I think he was the quickest down lineman in the history of football. I always likened his defensive charge to that of a snake going at them.
I first got to know him at Ohio State, where I was coaching. He came there with his high school coach, Ralph Webster, who was always telling me about this guy. They played on our national championship football team of 1942 at Ohio State. I went into the navy and when I got out, we started the Cleveland Browns.
We were at camp at Bowling Green and I had an idea. So I called the sports editor of the Columbus Dispatch, and I said, “Would you please try to find [Bill Willis] and bring him to Bowling Green, and all you have to do is just have him ask for a tryout.” I had him get a hold of [fullback] Marion Motley, and just come up and ask for a tryout. Well, they did, and the rest is history.
I say this to you so we understand each other. This was no so
cial idea. I am looking for guys to play football, for people who are men among a bunch of men, and this guy really measured up.
Bill Willis
I have often said that Paul Brown saved my life, and if it had not been for Paul Brown, I am certain I would not be here receiving this honor today. Because it was he who afforded me the opportunity to play pro football when it was not the popular thing to do.
I was the first black to play in the All-American conference and Paul Brown arranged for me to play. Without fanfare, he simply gave me the opportunity to make that ball club of his, and in his own quiet way, he did have to defend his actions in those days.
It also was a week later that he brought [Hall-of-Fame running back] Marion Motley to camp. Motley and I became fast friends because we had to be fast friends. We had to go through a lot together and we had to depend on each other. However, we not only depended on each other, we had our teammates to depend upon.
When I first started playing with the Browns many years ago, I had no idea whatsoever—the thought never entered my head—that one day I would be standing here selected to go into this Hall. I had but one purpose and one goal in mind in those days and that was to make the ball club and do the very best I could to make my club the winning team.
Playing the game of football, I did learn the secret to success. I tell every young person that there is a formula for success. That formula is to always do the very best you can with what you have, wherever you are. And you will find if you do the very best that you can, under any and all circumstances, that the best will come back to you. The best has come back to me. It has been a long time coming.
I say to you Paul Brown, you are a remarkable fellow and one day someone really ought to write a book about all of the innovations that this man brought to modern-day football. Many of the things that we see today, many of the formations, many of the plays, many of the techniques, were brought about by Paul Brown.
One of the innovations that anyone would have to write about in this book is the process of you introducing a player to the game of football who was selected for his ability to perform and not for any other reason. It was because you gave me that opportunity, Paul.
David “Deacon” Jones
Los Angeles Rams, San Diego Chargers, and
Washington Redskins Defensive End
Class of 1980
A unanimous all-league selection in six consecutive years, Jones specialized in quarterback “sacks,” a term he invented.
Presented by Rams and Redskins Coach George Allen
In this year of elections, when so many groups are debating the merits of hundreds of candidates, it is with great honor to participate in the election of a man that dedicated fans across the nation will agree was one of the finest defensive players in the history of modern football. David “Deacon” Jones, number 75, a premier defensive end for the Rams, Chargers, and Redskins, is the candidate.
I had the great pleasure of coaching David on both the Rams and the Redskins, and I can truly say that regardless of who wins the presidency this fall, the first cabinet appointee should be Deacon Jones as secretary of defense.
David Jones
Violence in its many forms is an involuntary quest for identity. When our identity is endangered, we feel certain we have a mandate for war.
In 1957, David Jones—a tough, unwavering, outspoken student from the black South Carolina State College—declared his own private war against the racial injustices that were prevalent at the time, the inadequacies facing him in education and in business. He lodged his own campaign of aggressions against a group of society that would spark his persistence and determination and reinforce his identity for many years to come.
This quest for identity had its roots in Eatonville, Florida, when, at the age of fifteen, there were no neighborhood boys clubs, there were no local YMCAs, there were no Pop Warner little leagues. Thus the tribe and trial began with David forced by the circumstances of his surroundings to formulate his own game plan, devise his own strategy, never losing sight of that vision of success.
The self-determination would lead him to develop the nickname “Deacon,” to institute the head slap for which he would eventually become known, and to create the term “sacking” the quarterback.
It is with great pride that I reminisce with you today about that young tenacious student that remained true to his vision, and it is with great pleasure that I stand before you to receive the supreme recognition of the professional football world that honors the joy and admiration of one’s own ability. Early in life I learned that all life is a purpose for struggle, and our only choice being a choice of a goal.
I’d like to share five points that make a champion. They are teamwork, hard work, pride, determination, and competitive spirit. In all champions is the feeling of excitement in solving problems, the delight of taking on a new challenge, and the eagerness to meet another hard challenge.
The “secretary of defense” would like to leave you with one last thought. Every man is free to rise as far as he is able or willing. But it is only the degree to which he thinks or believes that determines the degree to which he will rise.
Gene Upshaw
Oakland Raiders Guard
Class of 1987
The premier guard of his era, Upshaw played in ten AFL/AFC championship games, three Super Bowls, and seven Pro Bowls.
Presented by Raiders Owner Al Davis
Gene Upshaw came to the Oakland Raiders in 1967 out of Little Texas A&I as a first-round draft choice in the first AFL-NFL draft. He captained the west team in the college All-Star game. Gene, when drafted, was approximately six-foot-five, 260 pounds, and he had never played guard in his life, and he did not want to play for the Raiders. He thought they were renegades. Today the word is “mavericks.”
On the stand today is twenty-one Super Bowls, eleven victorious Super Bowls in the group, and the reason I bring it up is that there is one person on this stand who was there for all of it. He was there as a player. Gene Upshaw, you were there. And I take you back to the Oakland Coliseum, and I can hear the roar of the crowd and the chills go through my body and I can see those famed silver-and-black uniforms.
Gene Upshaw, I can see you walking to the center of the field to greet the opposing captain with the famed number 63 on your jersey, the while collar, the white-taped forearms, that Raider battle-scarred helmet in your hand.
You know, the Raiders have always believed that what wins is great players and great organization. Gene Upshaw was the consummate organizational player. He wore that Raider uniform with pride, he wore it with poise, he wore it with class. He was a star amongst stars. But he was a man for all seasons. He was the thunder and lightning of the awesome battles, but also the serenity and wisdom of the council room.
It is a great honor and a privilege, and I offer my respect and remembrance to the Upshaw family. They have been a great part of my life, and certainly it has been an emotional and inspirational experience for me to be here today.
In short, as if it were ordained from the beginning, Gene Upshaw was born to achieve excellence and to achieve eternal enshrinement in our own Valhalla, our own Mt. Olympus of legendary heroes, the National Football League Hall of Fame.
Gene Upshaw
I am involved in a pretty controversial position as a representative executive director of the Players Association in the National Football League. The advancement, the strides that we make as a union, will be rooted in my upbringing in Texas, my college career, and the years I spent with the Raiders. We will do the right thing, we will do what is best for the players. We will remember what it takes to play the game of football.
It takes players, it takes owners, and it takes fans. I love the game of football. I love what it has given me. This is the greatest honor you could ever receive as an individual and I must say, I will cherish it. But I don’t walk in the Hall alone. I walk in there with everyone I met, everyone that has had a part of my life, everyone that has p
ushed me when I didn’t feel like going.
I had what it took because I was afraid to fail.
Carl Eller
Minnesota Vikings and
Seattle Seahawks Defensive End
Class of 2004
A fixture on the Vikings’ “Purple People Eaters” defensive line, Eller was an All-Pro five times and selected to six Pro Bowls.
Presented by His Son, Regis Eller
I cannot count the times growing up when I’d been introduced to someone, and the first thing they would say is, “Oh, you’re Carl Eller’s son.” I’d always respond, “Yes, but my name is Regis.” Like many other sons of renowned people, I’ve tried most of my life to distance myself from simply being my father’s son, to be recognized for myself.
However, when my dad honored me by asking me to be his presenter and give this speech, I started to think about who my father is and what I’m distancing myself from. I began to recall my childhood memories and what I believe are indicative of the Carl Eller I have been fortunate enough to call my father.
My dad taught me that it’s okay to take risks as evident by his acting career. He took risks whether it was on the field or on screen, but no one can say he lived his life by sitting on his hands. His filmography includes such films as Busting, Taggart, and The Black Six. You haven’t seen them? Me neither. They weren’t exactly general release films.
One of the funniest things is the parts that he tried out for but did not get. In such films as Throw Yo Momma from the Train. You know Meet Joe Black, it was originally Meet Black Joe starring Carl Eller. Of course, The Black English Patient. All great films of course, but the credits and roles always listed him as big black man. Obviously, they were roles that really tested him as an actor.
My dad didn’t always take himself seriously, thank God, but he definitely took his roles in life seriously. My dad operated a drug treatment center for many years. And I remember how important his clients and their sobriety were to him. As a kid I did not understand when my father would come home from work emotionally distraught and unable to interact with me. My mom would explain it. A client of my dad’s rehab center who had been making good strides toward sobriety had inexplicably left the program prematurely. My dad would be visibly shaking in fear for the patient. Dad took this as a personal failure and it resonated through him. However, he wore his disappointment on his sleeve because it was impossible for him not to. However, he would never give up, and he relentlessly attempted to get that client back into the program as if fighting for his own sobriety.
The Class of Football Page 22