Tag: football

No. 80: Donn Moomaw

fartheroffthewall

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness factors in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 80:
= Donn Moomaw, UCLA football
= Henry Ellard, Los Angeles Rams
= Johnnie Morton, USC football

The not-so obvious choices for No. 80:
= Bob Klein, USC football, Los Angeles Rams
= Duane Bickett, USC football

The most interesting story for No. 80:
Donn Moomaw, UCLA football center and linebacker (1950 to 1952)
Southern California map pinpoints:
Santa Ana, Westwood, Los Angeles (Coliseum), Hollywood, Bel Air, Pasadena

UCLA athletic department archives

With their first pick in the 1953 NFL Draft — the ninth-overall choice — the Los Angeles Rams selected center/linebacker Donn Moomaw, the first two-time All-American in UCLA program history and a local hero out of Santa Ana High.

Moomaw prayed on it.

Then he politely declined.

The NFL played Sunday games, which was Moomaw’s day for the Lord. It did not need any potential Hail Mary pass plays intercepting his focus.

As an end around, Moomaw could deflect to Canada, play for the Toronto Argonauts and the Ottawa Rough Riders in the CFL, and do more mid-week and Saturday engagements.

But soon enough, his rough ride of long-term pro football fame came with a change in heart. Moomaw became one of the most well-known preachers in the country. The fresh Presbyterian minister of Bel Air became a personal confidant of Ronald Reagan and his family, starting with his time as the California governor, and going all the way to the White House.

But then, the headlines that Moomaw made later in life were a cause to pause and pray some more.

The story

Don Moomaw’s time at UCLA was a glorious one. They weren’t booing him. When the 6-foot-4, 220-pound linebacker made a tackle, the UCLA cheerleaders would lead the crowd in “MooooooMAW!” He was known as “the Mighty Moo.”

He came just as advertised out of Santa Ana High.

Continue reading “No. 80: Donn Moomaw” →

No. 89: Fred Dryer

fartheroffthewall

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness and notoriety factor in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 89:

= Fred Dryer, Los Angeles Rams
= Ron Brown, Los Angeles Rams
= Charles Young, USC football

The not so obvious choice for No. 89:

= Jack Bighead, Pepperdine football
= Bobby Jenks, Los Angeles Angels

The most interesting story for No. 89:
Fred Dryer: Los Angeles Rams defensive end (1972 to 1981) via Lawndale High and El Camino College
Southern California map pinpoints:
Hawthorne, Lawndale, Torrance, L.A. Coliseum, Long Beach, Hollywood

The Rams’ Fred Dryer during an ABC’s “Monday Night Football” broadcast in 1979 against Dallas. (ABC via Getty Images)

Whatever version of Fred Dryer first comes to mind — the swift-moving Los Angeles Rams’ defensive end sideswiping an offensive tackle en rout to hunting down another quarterback, or a guy named “Hunter,” a fearless LAPD private who bent the rules when necessary as a TV character — there was always that underpinning of “Dirty Harry” in motion.

Dryer had a job and a duty to perform it. In both cases. Vengeance could be a motivational tactic. He cleaned up messes, no matter how dirty or harry it became.

A day in court never seemed to bother him, either. Justice had to be serviced, whether Dryer was pushing back on a contract dispute as either a professional athlete or a popular thespian. Dryer pulled those levers of justice, his modus operandi, with or without a legal need to produce a habeas corpus.

There was a point at the height of his TV fame, almost a decade since the official end of his NFL career, when Dryer found himself in a huddle of entertainment industry writers. They soft-tossed him questions about how, as he was about to turn 42, he best self-identified at this point in his life.

Dryer tackled it all head on.

A headline in the Chicago Tribune seemed to make it clear: “Fred Dryer, Actor, Gives His Past A Punt.” It went on to explain:

“As the hard-boiled Rick Hunter, a Los Angeles homicide detective, Dryer projects an image that combines Steve McQueen’s rough sexiness with Clint Eastwood’s stoic demeanor. And Hunter shows just about as much respect for his suspects Constitutional rights as Eastwood’s Dirty Harry does.

“Dryer has a theory about why his acting career took off when so many of his colleagues’ fizzled.

“ ‘Most athletes fail at it because they don`t understand that when you come from a success in another area like sports, you have to leave the sports world behind. You have to kill the guy that made you a sports star and start over completely.

“Fred Dryer, football player, is dead. I put him away and started with this other guy.

“That means you don’t bring the ego you had in football with you. Without mentioning names, I see ex-football players who are just not willing to let go of (their athlete image), because if they lose that, who are they? You have to let go of your past before you gain something else.”

Dryer was just staying in character. And considering he almost had the role of Sam Malone when the iconic TV series “Cheers” launched years earlier, the thought of hanging around a bar known as an ex-jock just wasn’t his idea of being pro active.

Continue reading “No. 89: Fred Dryer” →

Nos. 68 and 86: Mike and Marlin McKeever

fartheroffthewall

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness and notoriety factor in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 68:
= Keith Van Horn, USC football
= Mike McKeever, USC football
= Frank Cornish, UCLA football
= Ross Stripling, Los Angeles Dodgers

The most obvious choices for No. 86:
= Marlin McKeever, USC football, Los Angeles Rams
= Jack Bighead, Pepperdine football; Los Angeles Rams


The most interesting story for No. 68 and No. 86:
= Mike McKeever, USC football offensive and defensive guard (1957 to 1960)
= Marlin McKeever, USC football offensive and defensive end / fullback / punter (1957 to 1960); Los Angeles Rams tight end / linebacker (1961 to 1966, 1971 to 1972).

Southern California map pinpoints:
South Los Angeles, the Coliseum, Montebello, Long Beach

You betcha, the way Marlin and Mike McKeever’s lives started made for a nifty ice breaker when Groucho Marx had them on his TV show in March of 1961.

So it was during a blizzard on New Year’s Day 1940, on the plains in Cheyenne, Wyoming, when Marlin arrived first. Mike followed 10 minutes later.

The thing is, their parents were told by the doctor to only expect a girl. Just one at that.

“They already named her — Mary Ann I believe,” Mike told Groucho with a chuckle as he and Marlin, along with their new brides, Judy and Susie, made to NBC Studios in Hollywood for a filming of what was then called “The Groucho Show,” an offshoot of the more famous title “You Bet Your Life.”

Their days as USC All-American football giants had just ended. When the 1960 season ended, they had a double wedding ceremony at St. Vincent de Paul Catholic Church in L.A., just blocks away from the USC campus. Later that month, they were drafted by the Los Angeles Rams.

Groucho Marx took a puff of his cigar, sized up the pair of crew-cut, 6-foot-1 and 225-pounders, and remarked: “Imagine getting all set for a baby girl named Mary Ann and suddenly these two show up.”

Groucho was fascinated with how their parents distinguished the two. Marlin said it was by writing their names in Mercurochrome on their stomachs.

“How do you know they weren’t confused?” Groucho asked. “How do you know they didn’t paint the wrong name?”

Mike spoke up: “I’ve thought about that — it’s pretty depressing so I don’t think about it too much.”

Added Marlin: “He can’t think too much, that’s the problem.”

Suddenly, they were the Smothers Brothers.

As Marlin’s wife Susie listed all the twins’ list of achievements at USC, Groucho had to ask: “Well how do you know all this?”

“I kept a scrapbook,” she replied.

A stuffed duck looking like Grouch dropped down from the ceiling to fanfare. She had said the secret word — book. When George Fenneman doled $50 each to the men, to split the $100 prize, they handed it over to their wives.

They were, after all, Academic All-Americans too.

The background

From a Life magazine 1959 profile on the McKeever twins at USC.

The McKeevers were most definitely the biggest men on campus at Mount Carmel High in South L.A. from 1953 to ’57.

The all-boys Catholic school took over 70th Street between Hoover and Vermont, just 20 years old at the time. The Carmelite Order that would later found Crespi High in Encino made sports an integral part of its curriculum to attract students.

Continue reading “Nos. 68 and 86: Mike and Marlin McKeever” →

No. 28: Jack Robinson

fartheroffthewall

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness and notoriety factor in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 28:

= Anthony Davis: USC football, Southern California Sun, Los Angeles Rams and Los Angeles Express
= Bert Blyleven: California Angels
= Albie Pearson: Los Angeles/California Angels
= Wes Parker: Los Angeles Dodgers
= Pedro Guerrero: Los Angeles Dodgers

The not-so-obvious choices for No. 28:

= Mike Marshall: Los Angeles Dodgers
= Rui Hachimura: Los Angeles Lakers

The most interesting story for No. 28:
Jack Robinson: UCLA football running back/defensive back (1939 to 1941)
Southern California map pinpoints:
Pasadena, L.A. Coliseum, Westwood

If the only number you associate with Jack Robinson is the No. 42 — the one he was randomly given by the Brooklyn Dodgers when he made his Major League Baseball debut in 1947 — that’s understandable.

The Pasadena native wore No. 42 for 10 seasons, none of them as a Dodger in Los Angeles, retiring just before their move. Forty-two has been codified as representing a man of social justice reform and restitution on behalf of the African American race.

Yet Robinson wouldn’t have been in that position had he not made a name for himself as an athlete — with his given first name of Jack — wearing No. 28 playing football at UCLA.

A four-sport athlete at John Muir High in Pasadena, Robinson moved onto Pasadena City College. His time at UCLA in Westwood was brief, but powerfully impactful.

What number did he wear for the UCLA baseball team during his only season of 1940? No one has evidence to show that it was 42. Or any other number. This appears to be the only photo of him in a Bruins baseball jersey, in the team photo, far left.

At Pasadena City College, according to the California Community Colleges website, Robinson batted .417 with 43 runs scored in 24 games in 1938.

UCLA records say Robinson posted a .097 batting average in 1940, which included getting four hits and stealing home twice among four bases stolen in one game. He also reportedly stole home 19 times.

A Robinson UCLA replica football jersey sells at Ebbets Field Flannels (of all company names) for $350.

He wore No. 18 as a UCLA All-Conference basketball player. Yet as a football player, where Robinson made his most indelible mark, especially in Southern California.

At Pasadena Junior College, he wore No. 55 in football — that’s what he’s wearing on a statue outside the Rose Bowl honoring that part of his life. Robinson owns a school record for the longest run from scrimmage, 99 yards.

But for the two years he played at UCLA, No. 28 became quite magical.

Here’s a summary of Andy Wittry of NCAA.com pieced it together in 2024 through newspaper clippings:

Jackie Robinson is given his No. 28 jersey prior to the 1939 season. (Photo: UCLA Faculty Association Blogspot).
Continue reading “No. 28: Jack Robinson” →

No. 71: John Ferraro

fartheroffthewall

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness and notoriety factor in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 71:

= Brad Budde: USC football
= Tony Boselli: USC football
= Kris Farris: UCLA football
= Joe Schibelli: Los Angeles Rams

The not-so-obvious choices for No. 71:
= John Ferraro: USC football
= Randy Meadows: Downey High football

The most interesting story for No. 71:
John Ferraro: USC football offensive lineman (1943-1944, 1946-1947)
Southern California map pinpoints:
Cudahy, L.A. Coliseum, Los Angeles City Hall

The cover of the 1946 Street & Smith’s Football Pictorial Yearbook asks readers to spend a quarter of a dollar for its preview the upcoming college football season. On this “national gridiron review,” John Ferraro offers a million-dollar glare.

The only hint on the cover that it’s him comes from a small caption off his right shoulder that reads “FERRARO U.S.C.” In the table of contents, his full name appears along with the photographer who took the special Kodachrome shot.

Ferraro had earned attention as a USC All-American tackle in ’43 and ’44. Now he was coming back to play after military duty during World War II in 1945. There were others to consider for the preview cover — Army’s Glenn Davis, “Mr. Outside” out of Bonita High in La Verne who had finished second in the Heisman Trophy in ’44 and ’45 would finally win it outright in ’46. Teammate Doc Blanchard, “Mr. Inside,” who won the Heisman award in ’45, and would finish fourth in ’46.

But the publishers picked Ferraro. Kodachome had that affect, apparently. And maybe the regional interest.

“If any tackle in this land of ours has ever played better ball, he must be Superman and Hercules rolled into one,” Braven Dyer bravely wrote for Los Angeles Times in 1944 after Ferraro pushed the Trojans to a 28-21 victory at the Coliseum over the San Diego Naval Training Station Bluejackets. “When Big John goes to work, he’s dynamite.”

That was part of the journalism superlative use in that time, and at the Times.

But the part that holds true today: If any Los Angeles civic leader is tenacious enough to accomplish something for the good of the town, he or she could be measured up to John Ferraro, a Rose Bowl legend and U.S. Navy vet rolled into one, and the one who started the heritage of USC standout linemen sporting the No. 71.

Continue reading “No. 71: John Ferraro” →