The Pledge
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He had fallen in love with her soft blond hair done up in pig tails and her bright blue eyes in the second grade. She had been taller than he had been back then. He was smaller than most of his classmates and not remotely athletic. Another girl had actually beaten the crap out him early the following school year. He was often teased and picked on in elementary school but never by her. She’d always been kind to him. She’d endured his clumsiness during dancing class, even asking him to dance when he was too fearful to ask anyone to dance.
Their parents knew each other, perhaps that was why she had been kind. His parents worked for a living, hers did not. Her parents were divorced and she spent most summers with her mother in some upscale site on the Riviera. He spent most of his in a primitive log cabin in the back woods of Maine.
His parents were ‘wannabees’, desperate to cling to even the lowest rung of the social ladder. Hers were descendants of the earliest settlers in the New World, in the history books, her great grandfather had a paragraph devoted to his exploits as did her grandfather. Her father’s exploits graced the tabloid gossip pages, the articles focused on his womanizing and his penchant for marrying the wrong women time and time again.
His father killed himself one day and the family’s grip on the social ladder slipped. No more private school or dancing classes. They moved. His mother remarried and they moved several more times in the next few years. They ultimately ended up on a small farm in a desolate region of what was commonly known as Appalachia.
His parents drank and his step-father abused him. That marriage—his mother’s fourth—ultimately ended in divorce after she got beaten badly enough to leave permanent scars. He had stopped the beating by confronting his step-father with a .270 Remington deer rifle. Something in the scared young boy’s eyes had told the cruel man that he would not dissuade the boy from killing him.
The awful man had denigrated the young boy at every opportunity. His favorite expression had been an old rural colloquialism: ‘you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’ He had beaten the frail youth often and viciously.
The step-father’s departure coupled with a growth spurt quickly served to reshape the boy’s potential future. In the summer that followed the bastard’s permanent exit from his life, he constructed a crude set of weights from old pipe, cement blocks and cast off farm implement parts.
His mother had been told that he was quite bright but didn’t apply himself. He hung out with the losers and was viewed as a loser by other classmates. He often got in trouble in school, more acting out than anything else and nothing criminally serious. Still he had endured too many visits to the principal’s office, coupled with a hard paddling which was always followed by a severe beating when he got home.
When he showed up in late August prior to his sophomore year in high school for football tryouts, he expected to be ridiculed, certainly not accepted. Everyone in the small community knew what had happened to him and to his mother. To his amazement, he was met with kindness in a rural society that could not comprehend the cruelty of his step-father.
There were barely enough kids in the small community to adequately field a football team so he was awarded a uniform. His physical training regimen over the summer had been relentless…almost obsessive. While lacking previous sports exposure and athletic prowess, he impressed both the coaches and established players alike with his tenacity, toughness and fitness. He was a faster runner than he realized, having never had the chance to compete with others. The countless runs along the mile and a half long dirt road up and down the small mountain which separated his home from neighbors had given him stamina and endurance as good or better than anyone on the team.
He couldn’t yet throw a football very well, he had the strength but not the technique or the repetitions. He was only just getting over his ingrained blink response to an object coming toward his head at high speed and often failed to catch the ball, again he was learning and his coaches saw promise. He seemed to bounce up quickly after being tackled, he paid attention and never complained. As his foot work improved during the pre-season practices, he also became adept at judging a runner’s impending moves. Having done so, he always delivered a bone crushing tackle which immediately ended the opposing player’s progress.
Still a bit too light to be a linebacker, he was the perfect size for the secondary. His instincts had developed far quicker than anyone expected. After impressing the coaches in the pre-season scrimmages with his toughness he was awarded the starting job at free safety in the first game of the season, beating out a senior who had irritated the coaches with a poor work ethic. In his memory, it was the first time in his young life that he had won anything at all. He was determined not to relinquish his role as a starter and return to the far end of the bench.
He was nervous and terribly unsure of himself through the first couple of plays, fortunately the plays were away from him. On the third play of the game, the other team’s star running back stormed through a massive hole in the line, slipped past the linebackers and accelerated into a full speed dash toward the end zone. The runner in question easily outweighed the novice defensive back by fifty pounds. The coaches turned their heads away when they realized that the untested sophomore was the only person left who could prevent the easy six points.
The tackle was perfectly executed, an all-pro would have been proud. More importantly, it was, while completely within the rules, as vicious a hit as the young opposing running back had ever received. Defensive backs were little, he on the other hand was a bruiser and he intimidated them. His reputation preceded him and he had fully expected the young safety whom he had never heard of to wimp out and attempt a half-hearted stop. He had in fact barreled directly toward him certain that his will would falter. He had misjudged. The sharp sound of the collision startled everyone in the small stadium, the force and pain startled the running back so much that he made an uncharacteristic mistake: he lost control of the football.
Much to the young safety’s surprise he saw the football sitting on the ground within arms reach. He scooped it under his body and held on to it for dear life. The referees had to pry it out of his hands. The young man came back to his senses and bounded to his feet unfazed. The home crowd cheered deliriously. He reached down and took the hand of the running back and helped him to his feet, much to everyone’s surprise.
‘Nice fucking hit!’ the larger boy said with a slap on the back.
He was greeted at the sidelines by more praise from coaches and other players and more slaps on the back. He enjoyed the feeling, in a matter of barely a week, he had won a competition to become a starter and done something highly worthy of praise on the field. It represented more positive reinforcement than he had experienced in his entire miserable short life. He felt more self-worth than he had ever known. It was an addictive feeling. Maybe he wasn’t a fuck-up or a loser.
The visiting team attempted to run plays away from him following several more crucial third down stops. He took the role of free safety to heart and always seemed to be where the ball was, often delaying the players advance or making the final stop. It seemed to all that viewed that first game that he got stronger, more skillful and more bruising as the game went on.
In the final minutes of the game, the visitors were driving down the field toward a score, the home team had a slim lead. If the opposing team succeeded in scoring there would not be enough time on the clock to recoup. The home team had virtuall
y shut down the run, as the clock ticked down the visitors went to short passes to the sidelines to stop the clock.
The opposing coach couldn’t miss how empty the home team was leaving the middle of the field, he called a post pattern to take advantage of it. The wide receiver was open, almost standing still, a few yards from the end zone. The pass was right on the money.
He had read the quarterback’s eyes, using his superior speed he’d moved to the center of the field intent on knocking down the pass and preventing the score. Somewhere in those couple of seconds his quick mind put the pieces together.
The clock would stop on the incomplete pass, the other team had time for two or three more plays and were within the twenty yard line. They were a stronger team who seldom failed to score within three plays inside the twenty. He needed to catch the ball, certainly not his forte. It was important, it would essentially end the game and his team would win. He would receive more back slaps and praise. That would make him feel better than anything he had ever experienced.
He timed his leap perfectly, knowing he easily had the height to bat the ball away, that’s what his coaches expected him to do and they’d be okay with that. It was time to step up, it was time to show people that he was not a loser…he was a winner. He caught the ball in what could only be called sports highlight fashion. To everyone’s surprise he stayed on his feet.
Common sense said go down and protect the ball, that’s what the coaches expected. But suppose the offense screwed up and fumbled or something? A safety would result in a loss. The other team still had time outs remaining and the home team was still dangerously close to their own end zone.
The other issue affecting his decision was simple, there was a huge empty field between him and the other end zone almost ninety yards away. He was finally beginning to grasp how fast he was, he doubted that anyone could catch him. Even if they did he’d be on the safer end of the field. His strong hand and arm crushed the ball into his side. It would have taken the jaws of life to pry it from his death grip.
No one even touched him as he dashed down the field. The fans went nuts. There were more atta-boys and back slaps in the end zone and when he got to the bench. There would be a kick off to the visitors but they could not possibly come up with two scores in the remaining seconds.
The head coach uncharacteristically came over as he moved to his position on the bench.
‘Coach, I know I was supposed to go down but there was no one in front of me, I…’
‘That’s okay, son. You done good! You made the right call. Hell of a catch and hell of a run. You are a winner.’
The coach drove the point home by handing him the game ball a few minutes later in the locker room. Everyone agreed with the decision.
That first game occurred on the Friday night prior to the Monday beginning of the academic year. In small town rural America, everyone attends the Friday night football game. Kids who had always avoided him smiled and said kind words. Even the principal who had paddled him on several occasions commended him. Teachers praised his actions. The principal asked him to step into his office during the lunch hour. It was a far different visit than he had ever before experienced.
‘John, don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble,’ the principal said with a smile. John had never recalled seeing him smile before, certainly not in his presence.
‘I’m sorry that I did not fully comprehend what you—and your mother—were going through. Had I known I would have done something about it…other adults would have also gotten involved. This is a new year for you and I sense you’re feeling pretty good about the way it has begun. Don’t let it go to your head. It’s a lot more meaningful to have others bragging on you than to do so yourself.
‘On another note, you are very bright, you are possibly the most intelligent kid in your class according to your test results over the years but your performance in class has always been marginal. You’re capable of far more…you have the potential to do great things. I’m going to challenge you to show the same work ethic, grit, determination and toughness you showed on the field Friday night in your studies. Make me—and yourself—proud.
‘One final note before the class bell rings. Adults say this all too often and don’t really mean it. If you ever just want to talk, bounce a problem off of me—whatever—I’m here and you don’t need an appointment. I let you down, I intend to make amends for that. Now get out of here.’
It had been completely unexpected, the principal was the last person in the world he would have thought gave a shit. His challenge did not fall on deaf ears. When first semester grades came out, John Tyler had received an ‘A’ in every single course. He would in fact never receive a lower grade throughout his high school years. He’d not only made the honor roll he’d made the special honors list accompanied by only one other student with a perfect record, a girl. More important than the grades, John had become almost obsessed with learning anything and everything.
In retrospect, that sophomore year would become almost a blur in his memory. He went out for wrestling and helped the team win a district championship. He went out for track in the spring and tore up the cinders in the 220, 440 and 880. His mother sold the farm for a profit, moved closer to his high school and took a job which greatly improved their financial status. He had friends and neighbors to hang out with…good kids, not losers.
In his junior year, the coaches decided to let him play both ways and sent him in at wide receiver on third down plays. The team had their best record in over a decade. Late in his junior year, he was nominated to the National Honor Society, he was the only junior boy to receive the honor.
He tried out for the Junior play and to his shock was given the leading role. The teacher who directed the play told him that he had picked John because he believed he was the only one who tried out who had the brain capacity to memorize all the lines. He also seemed to project well. John knew nothing about acting but thanks to a patient mentor turned in a very respectable performance. He became more confident and sure of himself in social settings.
He had taken the PSAT as a sophomore and earned the highest score in the class. The guidance counselor told him it might well be the highest score ever achieved at the school. He needed to be thinking about college, he had been told. With his athletic accomplishments, academic record and if he did well on the SATs he would have no problem getting a full scholarship to a regional state university—maybe even THE State University. He took the SATs as a junior just after Christmas. He cleared the magic 1,400 combined mark that ensured he could attend any university he desired.
He got his drivers license during the summer between his sophomore and junior year when he turned sixteen. He was shocked when his mother gave him an older but well maintained car for Christmas, made possible by her improved financial situation. He had almost saved enough money during summer jobs to buy a car, she wanted him to save it for when he went to college.
He really discovered girls and what was then known as ‘heavy petting’ late in his junior year and the summer which followed. The cutest girls flirted with him. Girls still scared the hell out of him, at least in one on one encounters. He often went on double dates with a friend from sports to help bolster his lack of confidence.
Date night was Saturday night, there was no time during the week nor was it the fashion. Typical dates included a movie, a burger at the drive inn and a visit to the local church sponsored dime dance followed by a make out session often in the young lady’s drive way. At eighteen just as the senio
r year was starting, John was a virgin as were the majority of the other kids. He’d rubbed a breast surreptitiously here and there through several layers of clothing but that was as far as his sexual education had progressed. He’d never gone steady and didn’t have a regular girl friend. He was a little frightened about sex.
‘Never marry a girl who let’s you and if she let’s you then you have to marry her,’ seemed to be the conventional wisdom that parents foisted on their offspring. It was terribly confusing.
In the spring of 1965, John graduated from high school with more varsity letters than anyone could count, he was first in his class and valedictorian. He’d been voted Most Athletic and Most Likely to Succeed. He had been vigorously recruited by top schools across the country. He was an athlete, a scholar and relatively poor. His extracurricular involvement said he was well-rounded. His teachers sang his praises from the roof tops.
He’d visited many of the schools that wanted him. His coach had significant influence on his decision. He himself had been a promising high school footballer who had been chewed up, used up and spit out by a big college powerhouse. He’d served in the war and completed his degree under the GI Bill.
‘John, you’re a gutsy player but this is small high school ball. If you go to the Big Ten or SEC or even one of the independent powerhouses like Penn State or Notre Dame every kid there is going to be good, quite probably ‘gooder’ than you. They’re going to have played against better competition in high school and have had better facilities and better coaching. You’re likely to end up as a practice squad tackling dummy who gets one or two plays a game when the score is 42 to zip—and you will be expected to put academics on the back burner. They don’t really care if you graduate or get an education…and I believe you do care.’
‘We’re on the same page, coach, I want an education. Even State scares the heck out of me! Thirty-thousand students on a single campus? We don’t have that many people in the whole county. Still, the Ivy League…I’d feel like a worm there…a hick from the hills. I just don’t think I’d fit.’
‘Well, you’re too damned smart to go regional, that would be a waste. Look, there are some damned fine schools, private or formerly so—schools such as Duke, Virginia, Wake—that treat football as less than a way of life and more as an extra curricular activity. They’re not going to win conference championships or receive bowl bids but you could compete there and get an education right up there in quality—and status—to the Ivy League.’
John ended up selecting just such a school which was ranked in the top twenty-five nationally in academics. They had a Division I football program that probably should have been at the top tier of Division II and in fact played non-conference Division II teams in order to have any hope of a winning season now and then.
He had loved the small town feel of the historic campus of fewer than 6,000 students. The football coaches had stressed the fact that academics came before football. Not everyone who went to school there came from money and prominence. The administration seemed determined to ensure a diverse student body. There were kids like him: bright, talented, athletic, of modest means and determined to get ahead in life.
The student-teacher ratio was as favorable as any school he had considered. The professors he had met genuinely seemed interested in their students. It was coeducational and the girls he had seen were fetching. It was far enough away from his high school town to be a dramatic change for him.
He’d gotten laid for the first time at the beginning of the summer before college. The girl in question had gone steady with a boy through high school and everyone assumed they were among the few who were fucking. He had dumped her as soon as he graduated. John didn’t even find her particularly attractive, she’d always had a weight problem and was distinctly chubby. She had come on to him at the local eatery where kids hung out. She’s suggested they go for a ride and directed him toward one of the local lovers’ lanes.
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