g$$
11-14-2007, 04:43 PM
**From this week's Houston Chronicle, nice reflective piece on a Sweeny legend then & now. Enjoy.**
http://130.80.29.3/disp/story.mpl/sports/campbell/5293664.html
By STEVE CAMPBELL
Records, Elmo Wright is here to tell you, are not all they're cracked up to be. Records are fragile, as prone to warping and distortion as Bob Dylan or Jimi Hendrix on vinyl.
Sooner, later, sometime, almost every statistical record under the sun or dome gets eclipsed. Or broken beyond recognition.
Or just plain forgotten.
Wright definitely is an authority on the matter. He collected handful after handful of records with the Houston Cougars nearly four decades ago. One of those records went blowing in the wind last month. Donnie Avery had 346 receiving yards in a game against the Rice Owls, whooshing past a UH standard set by Wright in 1969.
No matter what barriers future Cougars may break, though, nobody can supplant Wright's place in football history. Wright, 58, is the founding father of the touchdown dance.
He introduced his rendition of an end zone celebration — a high-stepping, running-in-place maneuver, punctuated by a quick exit to the sideline — to college football. He took it with him to the NFL. End zones have never been the same since.
''People would say, 'Why do you dance?' " Wright said. ''The bottom line is, when you put out that kind of effort, to me it was natural to emote. I would simply ask someone: What is it in your life that you feel so passionate about that once you accomplish it, it made you feel like dancing? What is it? When you finish, you somehow have actually gotten to the point you know that this is it. It's not going to get any better.
''And then when it's over with, 60,000 people are cheering. That's an unusual situation to be in. And just imagine: Before you do it, you just went running down the field, people trying to knock your head off."
With that, Elmo Wright belted out a big laugh.
• • •
It turns out that when Avery was running free through the Rice secondary on a Saturday in October, Wright was playing tennis. A friend teased that not only was one of Wright's rec-ords about to fall, but it might go down in the first quarter.
''I thought he was kidding; he almost did," Wright said. ''He shattered my record."
Wright belted out another big laugh. He set the Cougars' single-game record for receiving yards on Nov. 22, 1969, at the Astrodome. Asked if he remembers the opponent or any of the circumstances, Wright shook his head helplessly. For the record, Wright's 262-yard rampage came at the expense of Wyoming in a 41-14 victory.
''It was Wyoming?" Wright said. ''Really? Wyoming?"
And he laughed again.
The receiving records are as much of a blur to Wright as he was to opposing defenses. Despite playing in Bill Yeoman's run-oriented Veer offense during an era (1968-1970) when freshmen were not eligible for the varsity, Wright remains the Cougars' career leader in touchdown catches (34) and is second in receiving yards (3,347). His 27.7 yards per catch in 1968 remains an NCAA record.
Wright's real record
''When you say 'my record,' my record to me is that I studied engineering and got an MBA and worked a job," Wright said. ''You mean how many yards I got 40 years ago?"
Wright let out another lusty laugh. A sleek 6 feet and 190 pounds when he wore No. 23 for the Cougars, Wright has fought a losing battle of the bulge since his playing days. He grew up more into Al Hirt than Al Davis, playing in the school band from grades 3-10. When the band director belittled him for getting a lip busted playing around with a football, Wright quit and tried out for the football team as a junior.
Late start and all, Wright helped Sweeny High win the 1966 state title. He was a consensus All-American in 1970 and a first-round pick of the Kansas City Chiefs the next spring. Yeoman ticked off Wright's attributes: strong, swift, smart, sure-handed.
''Other that that, he had nothing going for him," Yeoman deadpanned. ''He was as good as there was."
A knee injury late in the 1970 season was the beginning of the end of Wright's ascent. Surrounded in Kansas City by Hall of Famer Len Dawson at quarterback and Houston native Otis Taylor at receiver, Wright never blossomed. The 26 passes Wright caught as a rookie turned out to be a career high.
''I talked to Len Dawson at the time," Yeoman said. ''He said he didn't have the arm to take advantage of Elmo. Elmo Wright was a truly special receiver."
In six NFL seasons, Wright caught six touchdown passes. He limped away after three knee operations.
''No one saw from me what they saw in college," said Wright, who drifted from the Chiefs to the Oilers to the New England Patriots. ''In those days, if you had a knee operation, they had other players."
Here in the real world
Another rude awakening came when Wright started looking for a real job. One job interview in particular left him reeling.
''I was proud of what I accomplished (in football)," Wright said. ''I walked in confident. I said, 'I can catch passes. I've got good speed, good moves. I know how to score. I'm your man.' He said, 'What else do you do?' "
Wright may have looked like a clown prince to the outside world, but inside lurked an electrical engineering major and academic All-American. He pursued a career in real-estate development, working for The Woodlands entrepreneur and developer George Mitchell. Wright picked up his undergraduate degree in civil engineering and a masters in business administration. Next thing Wright knew, he was chief of staff for Harris County commissioner Jim Fonteno.
Along the way, it became clear to Wright that the end zone wasn't an end-all. He attended football games only if dragged. Watching his only child, daughter Eliza, walk across the graduation stage at Barnard College was a substitute for getting into the end zone.
''I could talk myself into going to games and getting back into it," Wright said. ''But right under the surface are guys who got hurt, guys whose dreams were shattered, guys who went to prison. I see these players now, and I still feel a personal responsibility to go out and live my life and do it successfully to provide a track for other people to say, 'If that guy did it, I can do it.' "
Through it all, Wright maintains a strong tie to his alma mater. It's just not a visible one. Nearly a quarter of a century under Fonteno, along with a stint as a Harris County finance officer, taught Wright it was best to stay under the radar. On Sundays, Wright has a standing tennis game with some of the university administrators.
''I have not met Avery, but if I met him and talked to him, I would say to him: Make sure you keep your learning skills together," Wright said. ''Your learning skills are going to be more important to you than the great hands and great legs. Because when it's over with, somebody is going to ask you, 'What else can you do?' "
• • •
Elmo Wright attended segregated schools through the 11th grade. Just three years before him, Warren McVea became the first black to play football for the University of Houston. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in the spring of Wright's freshman year in college.
In such turbulent times, the end zone was a pure escape. Wright caught a touchdown pass in the 1969 season opener against Florida and broke out into dance. Hey, give the NCAA some of the blame: It had outlawed the spike, which Texas Southern's Homer Jones introduced to the NFL in 1965, without putting in any provisions about dancing. Wright high-stepped a trail for the Funky Chicken, the Sack Dance, the Lambeau Leap, the Fun Bunch, the Electric Slide, the Ickey Shuffle, the Mile High Salute, the Dirty Bird and the assorted shenanigans of Terrell Owens, Chad Johnson and Randy Moss.
Time and place to dance
''When I see these guys dancing in the end zone, it's a different context," Wright said. ''What those guys are doing is high comedy. I'm thinking, 'Would you dance at Ole Miss in '69? Would you dance in Georgia? You guys are funny, you're killing me, but would you dance against Bear Bryant?' "
Wright cackled again. He splits his time between two places, a house in the west side and a downtown condo. He has enough of a sense of humor about his past to keep a dancing Elmo doll in the condo, which on a clear day offers a view of UH and Reliant Stadium. Then he turned reflective.
''I ask people, 'What is it? What makes you dance?' " Wright said. ''A lot of people don't know. And that, to me, is the saddest thing. Many of those people who were criticizing me were criticizing me because I knew. I knew what it was. I knew — and I still know — it's important to have those things you really want to do clear in your mind."
Wright is so committed to that concept, he makes written lists of goals covering everything from personal growth to career objectives to building the dream house. Though Wright left government work last November, he considers retirement a temporary condition. He is planning a start-up company designed to help businesses with cash-flow problems from going bankrupt. When it happens, the father of end zone celebrations will be dancing again.
''The dance will be different," Wright said. ''But there will be some dancing. And my thought is this: Nowadays, I'm not particularly interested in dancing myself. It's causing someone else to dance, finding a reason for other people to dance. I think that's what life is all about."
http://130.80.29.3/disp/story.mpl/sports/campbell/5293664.html
By STEVE CAMPBELL
Records, Elmo Wright is here to tell you, are not all they're cracked up to be. Records are fragile, as prone to warping and distortion as Bob Dylan or Jimi Hendrix on vinyl.
Sooner, later, sometime, almost every statistical record under the sun or dome gets eclipsed. Or broken beyond recognition.
Or just plain forgotten.
Wright definitely is an authority on the matter. He collected handful after handful of records with the Houston Cougars nearly four decades ago. One of those records went blowing in the wind last month. Donnie Avery had 346 receiving yards in a game against the Rice Owls, whooshing past a UH standard set by Wright in 1969.
No matter what barriers future Cougars may break, though, nobody can supplant Wright's place in football history. Wright, 58, is the founding father of the touchdown dance.
He introduced his rendition of an end zone celebration — a high-stepping, running-in-place maneuver, punctuated by a quick exit to the sideline — to college football. He took it with him to the NFL. End zones have never been the same since.
''People would say, 'Why do you dance?' " Wright said. ''The bottom line is, when you put out that kind of effort, to me it was natural to emote. I would simply ask someone: What is it in your life that you feel so passionate about that once you accomplish it, it made you feel like dancing? What is it? When you finish, you somehow have actually gotten to the point you know that this is it. It's not going to get any better.
''And then when it's over with, 60,000 people are cheering. That's an unusual situation to be in. And just imagine: Before you do it, you just went running down the field, people trying to knock your head off."
With that, Elmo Wright belted out a big laugh.
• • •
It turns out that when Avery was running free through the Rice secondary on a Saturday in October, Wright was playing tennis. A friend teased that not only was one of Wright's rec-ords about to fall, but it might go down in the first quarter.
''I thought he was kidding; he almost did," Wright said. ''He shattered my record."
Wright belted out another big laugh. He set the Cougars' single-game record for receiving yards on Nov. 22, 1969, at the Astrodome. Asked if he remembers the opponent or any of the circumstances, Wright shook his head helplessly. For the record, Wright's 262-yard rampage came at the expense of Wyoming in a 41-14 victory.
''It was Wyoming?" Wright said. ''Really? Wyoming?"
And he laughed again.
The receiving records are as much of a blur to Wright as he was to opposing defenses. Despite playing in Bill Yeoman's run-oriented Veer offense during an era (1968-1970) when freshmen were not eligible for the varsity, Wright remains the Cougars' career leader in touchdown catches (34) and is second in receiving yards (3,347). His 27.7 yards per catch in 1968 remains an NCAA record.
Wright's real record
''When you say 'my record,' my record to me is that I studied engineering and got an MBA and worked a job," Wright said. ''You mean how many yards I got 40 years ago?"
Wright let out another lusty laugh. A sleek 6 feet and 190 pounds when he wore No. 23 for the Cougars, Wright has fought a losing battle of the bulge since his playing days. He grew up more into Al Hirt than Al Davis, playing in the school band from grades 3-10. When the band director belittled him for getting a lip busted playing around with a football, Wright quit and tried out for the football team as a junior.
Late start and all, Wright helped Sweeny High win the 1966 state title. He was a consensus All-American in 1970 and a first-round pick of the Kansas City Chiefs the next spring. Yeoman ticked off Wright's attributes: strong, swift, smart, sure-handed.
''Other that that, he had nothing going for him," Yeoman deadpanned. ''He was as good as there was."
A knee injury late in the 1970 season was the beginning of the end of Wright's ascent. Surrounded in Kansas City by Hall of Famer Len Dawson at quarterback and Houston native Otis Taylor at receiver, Wright never blossomed. The 26 passes Wright caught as a rookie turned out to be a career high.
''I talked to Len Dawson at the time," Yeoman said. ''He said he didn't have the arm to take advantage of Elmo. Elmo Wright was a truly special receiver."
In six NFL seasons, Wright caught six touchdown passes. He limped away after three knee operations.
''No one saw from me what they saw in college," said Wright, who drifted from the Chiefs to the Oilers to the New England Patriots. ''In those days, if you had a knee operation, they had other players."
Here in the real world
Another rude awakening came when Wright started looking for a real job. One job interview in particular left him reeling.
''I was proud of what I accomplished (in football)," Wright said. ''I walked in confident. I said, 'I can catch passes. I've got good speed, good moves. I know how to score. I'm your man.' He said, 'What else do you do?' "
Wright may have looked like a clown prince to the outside world, but inside lurked an electrical engineering major and academic All-American. He pursued a career in real-estate development, working for The Woodlands entrepreneur and developer George Mitchell. Wright picked up his undergraduate degree in civil engineering and a masters in business administration. Next thing Wright knew, he was chief of staff for Harris County commissioner Jim Fonteno.
Along the way, it became clear to Wright that the end zone wasn't an end-all. He attended football games only if dragged. Watching his only child, daughter Eliza, walk across the graduation stage at Barnard College was a substitute for getting into the end zone.
''I could talk myself into going to games and getting back into it," Wright said. ''But right under the surface are guys who got hurt, guys whose dreams were shattered, guys who went to prison. I see these players now, and I still feel a personal responsibility to go out and live my life and do it successfully to provide a track for other people to say, 'If that guy did it, I can do it.' "
Through it all, Wright maintains a strong tie to his alma mater. It's just not a visible one. Nearly a quarter of a century under Fonteno, along with a stint as a Harris County finance officer, taught Wright it was best to stay under the radar. On Sundays, Wright has a standing tennis game with some of the university administrators.
''I have not met Avery, but if I met him and talked to him, I would say to him: Make sure you keep your learning skills together," Wright said. ''Your learning skills are going to be more important to you than the great hands and great legs. Because when it's over with, somebody is going to ask you, 'What else can you do?' "
• • •
Elmo Wright attended segregated schools through the 11th grade. Just three years before him, Warren McVea became the first black to play football for the University of Houston. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in the spring of Wright's freshman year in college.
In such turbulent times, the end zone was a pure escape. Wright caught a touchdown pass in the 1969 season opener against Florida and broke out into dance. Hey, give the NCAA some of the blame: It had outlawed the spike, which Texas Southern's Homer Jones introduced to the NFL in 1965, without putting in any provisions about dancing. Wright high-stepped a trail for the Funky Chicken, the Sack Dance, the Lambeau Leap, the Fun Bunch, the Electric Slide, the Ickey Shuffle, the Mile High Salute, the Dirty Bird and the assorted shenanigans of Terrell Owens, Chad Johnson and Randy Moss.
Time and place to dance
''When I see these guys dancing in the end zone, it's a different context," Wright said. ''What those guys are doing is high comedy. I'm thinking, 'Would you dance at Ole Miss in '69? Would you dance in Georgia? You guys are funny, you're killing me, but would you dance against Bear Bryant?' "
Wright cackled again. He splits his time between two places, a house in the west side and a downtown condo. He has enough of a sense of humor about his past to keep a dancing Elmo doll in the condo, which on a clear day offers a view of UH and Reliant Stadium. Then he turned reflective.
''I ask people, 'What is it? What makes you dance?' " Wright said. ''A lot of people don't know. And that, to me, is the saddest thing. Many of those people who were criticizing me were criticizing me because I knew. I knew what it was. I knew — and I still know — it's important to have those things you really want to do clear in your mind."
Wright is so committed to that concept, he makes written lists of goals covering everything from personal growth to career objectives to building the dream house. Though Wright left government work last November, he considers retirement a temporary condition. He is planning a start-up company designed to help businesses with cash-flow problems from going bankrupt. When it happens, the father of end zone celebrations will be dancing again.
''The dance will be different," Wright said. ''But there will be some dancing. And my thought is this: Nowadays, I'm not particularly interested in dancing myself. It's causing someone else to dance, finding a reason for other people to dance. I think that's what life is all about."