Dear Doug Williams,
You probably don't remember this, but I'll never forget it.
I just caught your new tv commercial.
“In my lifetime,” you said, “I’ve been knocked around a few times.”
While I surely don’t doubt that assertion or the benefits of Good Feet insoles, that’s not what I was thinking about. The short clip took me back to May 1989 and a location miles away from Browns Municipal Stadium.
Thirty-four years ago, you were still pretty fresh off your glittering 1988 Super Bowl win against the Denver Broncos. I was 24, single, and working as a field engineer for BP Oil.
The Northrups were friends of my folks who owned and operated a travel/concierge business. A large area drug store chain, Revco, hired them that year for celebrity liaison services for its popular Revco-Cleveland Marathon. The Northrups asked me to help out over the star-studded weekend for what would essentially be a plum little side hustle. I accepted.
In addition to the marathon, the weekend-long event would feature other foot and bike races, a health & beauty expo, and celebrity speakers. I was to meet three of the stars at their airport gates (each arriving separately), walk them to the limo, and ride with them to the hotel. My lineup included Lou Ferrigno, Reggie Jackson, and of course, you.
At nearly six and a half feet, you were not difficult to spot as you emerged from the gate.
“Hello Mr. Williams,” I said. “I’m Erin O’Brien and I’ll be escorting you to your accommodations.”
You looked like a bone-fide giant before me. I couldn’t stop staring at that enormous Super Bowl ring.
“Can I help you with that?” I said, indicting the travel bag slung over your shoulder. The ridiculous question hung in the air. You shook your head and we turned to walk down the concourse.
Gasps and astonished whispers of Doug Williams That’s Doug Williams Super Bowl Washington Red Skins OH MY GOD Doug Williams! erupted in your wake. People’s hands involuntarily covered their gaping mouths. Their eyes transformed into wide blinking Os. After all, this is Cleveland and just a year before you had vanquished this town’s arch enemy John Elway by handing him and the Skins their collective derriere in the most significant gridiron event in all the land. For Clevelanders of a certain age, your designation of MVP for Super Bowl XXII stretched over every bit of 100 yards and then some.
We proceeded down the long corridor, murmurs and gasps sounding off all around us. You kept your eyes straight forward and didn’t say anything to me or the giddy fans. I thought: Who could blame the guy? This is how it is everywhere for him. If he engages, he’ll never get to where he’s going and there will be hard feelings with the ones he doesn’t greet. So it went.
Until we got to the kid.
He was maybe five or six years old, literally shaking with excitement and disbelief. He was gazing up at you like you were a God who had just descended from Mount Olympus. The reality was much better: Here was Doug Williams the storied quarterback in the flesh, sauntering down a dull airport concourse in Cleveland, Ohio. And then it got even better than that.
You stopped.
So did everyone else, and we all watched on as you turned and walked over to this adorable little kid. Next to you, he looked about a foot tall, at least until you folded your giant body down into a crouch. When you got to his eye level, you said, “What’s your name little man?”
“Jerome,” he said.
“Yeah?” you said. “You play any ball Jerome?”
You spoke quietly, underscoring the privacy of the moment. I don’t remember or didn’t hear the specifics of the conversation (and I may have the name wrong) or if you shook his hand or signed something for him. The entire exchanged lasted a minute or so, maybe not even that long.
When it was over, the world recommenced rotating around its axis, people exhaled the breath they’d been holding, and everyone turned back to their regularly scheduled programming, already in progress. In our case, that was a waiting limo. Flights, itineraries and best-laid-plans loomed for everyone else.
Your illustrious career includes being the first black quarterback to lead a team to a Super Bowl win, as well as plenty of time off the field doing things such as co-founding the Black College Football Hall of Fame. All of it is to your credit, but it was that gentle exchange in Cleveland Hopkins Airport more than three decades ago that elevated you to a lofty and singular stratosphere.
You cannot fake authenticity, Mr. Williams, and that may have been one of the most authentic and remarkable moments I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve carried it with me ever since.
I know the NFL has yet to induct you into that sacred institute in Canton, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re heart is bigger than any Hall of Fame could ever contain.
Love, Erin
ps: For the record, Reggie Jackson’s transfer was completely uneventful. Lou Ferrigno, on the other hand, was a total gentleman, but he flirted with me shamelessly in the limo. Mr. Universe! I hardly knew what to do; I was at the mercy those dreamy green eyes for the entire ride.
pss: Need to jog your memory? Click here to see the ad Revco ran ahead of the event.
psss: I still have the sweatshirt the Northups gave me as a thank you gift all those years ago (and yes, they paid me too).
Nice story. A good chance someone did that to him when he was a little guy, because moments like that create lifelong memories.
My dad would occasionally take me to the airport to meet the Browns players coming home after a game in the 1950s and early ‘60s. In those days the radio announcer would often note the arrival time of the flight. The players were giants!
But my real indelible memory is of an encounter with Joan Baez in 1969 or ‘70. I was working as an usher at a Belkin Productions concert at Public Hall and hanging backstage about an hour or so before it started. Joan had finished her sound check and was headed back to her dressing room.
As she walked past, I mumbled something about her last album. She stopped and smiled and asked me to repeat it, because she hadn’t heard me. She walked closer and I turned into jelly, basically, because she was famous and beautiful and had turned 100% of her attention on me. She drew me out, asking about my interests, spending perhaps 3-4 minutes with me that I’ve never forgotten.