A record book for S.C. all-stars

Taking the top off the defense: DeAndre "Nuk" Hopkins, pictured at Daniel High, has scored more NFL TDs than any other South Carolinian (GreenvilleOnline photo).

 Back in 1992 when Sports Illustrated was an institution, the magazine ranked the 50 greatest athletes from each state. The South Carolina list was headlined by heayweight boxing champion Joe Frazier, who grew up in Beaufort as the son of a sharecropper.

 I never met Frazier but was surprised how many of the South Carolinians that I had encountered in my sportswriting career. No. 2 was Shoeless Joe Jackson, who died before I was born, so I wrote columns contending that his "lifetime ban" from baseball was no longer valid.
 No. 3 Pete Maravich I saw play in 1968 at Clemson (see Memoirs, 1968).
 No. 7 David Pearson and No. 14 Cale Yarborough drove in the first NASCAR race I ever saw, at Darlington.
 At T.L. Hanna, I was the scorekeeper for No. 9 Jim Rice's senior season, and saw No. 8 Alex English play for Dreher and No. 25 Stanley Morgan for Easley. We called him Ed Rice, and Ed, if you see this, I owe you an apology for a misquote 50 years ago.

 As a kid going to Clemson games, I watched an All-ACC receiver named Charlie Waters. SI ranked him No. 21 for his career as a two-time Super Bown champion with the Dallas Cowboys, making all-pro at a position he rarely played at Clemson.

 As a sportswriter for The Anderson Independent, I covered the emergence of No. 18 Larry Nance at McDuffie High School and No. 43 Willie Mays Aikens at Seneca, plus No. 33 Steve Fuller in the demise of his Spartanburg High School juggernaut.
 On my first road trip for the paper, I met No. 19 Bobby Richardson when I covered the 1975 College World Series. (Our paths crossed again in Boone, when Richardson shared his testimony at Deerfield United Methodist Church, and I won an autographed baseball by answering the trivia question of who replaced him at second base for the Yankees. Answer: Horace Clarke).
 At The Greenville News, I crossed paths with No. 15 Kevin Garnett during the 1999 NBA lockout and No. 24 Xavier McDaniel. I presented No. 31 William Perry with his all-state plaque at the Easley Football Jamboree, and followed the career of No. 41 Tony Rice from Woodruff High School to Notre Dame to the Fiesta Bowl. Before No. 47 Anthuan Maybank was an Olympic Gold Medalist, I saw him run for Georgetown High School, and his name inspired the Antwan Index (see my memoirs for 1991).

 I'm sorry I never met No. 48 George Webster—the story of his underground-railroad recruitment from Anderson to Michigan State would have been an enlightening peek behind the curtain of segregation.
 If SI had asked me, I would have told them they overlooked Camden's Larry Doby, a 1998 Hall of Famer who was the Jackie Robinson of the American League. Neither SI nor I were aware of Anderson's Ben Taylor, a Negro League baseball star who was inducted into Cooperstown in 2006. 

 Other worthy nominees might have been Greenville basketballer Clyde Mayes (another barrier-breaker from Jim Rice's generation); Fountain Inn golfer Chris Patton; and Textile Leaguer Earl Wooten of Pelzer. 

 If SI had survived, this list eventually might have included Stephen Davis of Spartanburg (who had three times more NFL yardage than his Auburn predecessor, Bo Jackson); DeAndre Hopkins (who has surpassed Morgan for the most TD catches by a South Carolinian), golfers Dustin Johnson and Lucas Glover; and baseball's Preston Wilson. I saw Wilson homer for Bamberg-Ehrhardt in a 1992 playoff game at Walhalla, shortly before he became a Top 10 draftee in the same class as Derek Jeter. 

  I'm reminded of the Names in the News column in The Greenville News, where we compiled accomplishments of South Carolinians. 

 As I reflected on South Carolina's favorite sons, Google and I compiled the big-league records of athletes born or schooled in my home state. These names are off the top of my head, so these lists may not be all-inclusive. Let me know anyone I've overlooked. Stats updated through 2025. I've included Negro League stats, which have been counted since 2024 by Major League Baseball. #borninsouthcarolina:

(Listed with birthplace and high school)

MLB HOME RUNS
382 Jim Rice, Anderson Westside/T.L. Hanna
305 Reggie Sanders, Florence Wilson

294 Larry Doby, Camden
268 Gorman Thomas, Charleston James Island
196 Justin Smoak, Goose Creek Stratford
192 Al Rosen, born Spartanburg (raised in Miami) 

189 Preston Wilson, Bamberg-Ehrhardt
153 Dan Driessen, Hilton Head Hardeeville
146 Matt Weiters, Goose Creek
139 Brett Gardner, Holly Hill Academy

131 Ken Harrelson, born Woodruff (raised in Savannah)

110 Willie Mays Aikens, Seneca

  94 Whit Merrifield, born Florence (raised in N.C.) 

  67 Mookie Wilson, Bamberg-Ehrhardt
  60 Matthew LeCroy, Belton-Honea Path
  54 Shoeless Joe Jackson, Greenville
  54 Willie Randolph, Holly Hill

  44 Pokey Reese, Columbia Lower Richland

  43 Del Pratt, Walhalla (raised in Alabama)

  41 Don Buddin, Olanta

  37 Bill Spiers, Orangeburg Wade Hampton

  36 Marty Marion, Richburg (raised in Atlanta)

  34 Bobby Richardson, Sumter Edmunds

  32 Chino Smith, Greenwood 

  31 Doug Strange, Greenville Wade Hampton

  31 Dewayne Wise, Chapin

  27 Red Smith, Greenville 

  26 Ben Taylor, Anderson

  26 Gene Richards, Monticello McCrorey-Liston

  26 Candy Jim Taylor, Anderson

  20 Eli White, Piedmont Wren 

  19 Herm Winningham, Orangeburg-Wilkinson

  17 Chick Galloway, Clinton

  16 Neil Chrisley, Calhoun Falls

  16, Billy McMillon, Bishopville Lee County

  14 Steven Duggar, Spartanburg Byrnes

  14 Reggie Taylor, Newberry

  12 Tripp Cromer, Lake City

  10 Mike Sharperson, Orangburg-Wilkinson

NFL TOUCHDOWNS

85 DeAndre Hopkins, Daniel 
73 Stanley Morgan, Easley
70 A.J. Green, Summerville 
69 Stephen Davis, Spartanburg
66 Jimmy Orr, Seneca

63 Roddy White, Charleston James Island  
57 Freddie Solomon, Sumter

50 Ben Coates, Greenwood

47 Alshon Jeffery, St. Matthews Calhoun County

35 Bobby Engram, Camden
34 Duce Staley, Columbia Airport
32 Robert Brooks, Greenwood

32 Mike Williams, Holly Hill Lake Marion

31 Troy Brown, Barnwell Blackville-Hilda

30 Sidney Rice, Gaffney

29 Jerry Butler, Ware Shoals

28 Steve Fuller, Spartanburg (born in Enid, Okla.)

27 David Meggett, Charleston Bonds-Wilson

27 Deebo Samuel, Inman Chapman 

25 Charlie Brown, John's Island St. John's

25 Kevin Long, Clinton

22 Cordarrelle Patterson, Rock Hill Northwestern

20 Bennie Cunningham, Laurens Seneca

20 Stanford Jennings, Summerville

19 Clarence Williams, Moncks Corner Berkeley

16 Rico Dowdle, Gaffney (raised in Asheville, N.C.)

15 Andre Roberts, Columbia Spring Valley

13 Harold Green, Stratford

13 Maurice Morris, Chester

13 Greg Jones, Columbia Battery Creek

10 Brian Quick, Columbia Ridge View   

10 Keith Jennings, Summerville 

10 Andre Ellington, Moncks Corner Berkeley

Best is the standard ... right?

 
 The old sportswriter in me erupted when I heard Dabo Swinney describing Clemson’s gritty but clumsy victory Saturday against Florida State as one of the top five of his career.
 With greatest respect for what Dabo has done in Clemson: C’mon, man! You're the one who always preaches, "The best is the standard."
 We can assume that the two “natties” vs. Alabama would be top-2 on Dabo's list. But those two plus Florida State would leave room for only two other victories in his Top Five.
 Off the top of my head, with a little help from Wikipedia, I came up with this list of Dabo's greatest wins, as ranked in order of consequence from my perspective. Which ones would you omit to make room for Florida State?

1. 2018: 44-16 vs. #2 Alabama. Bougie like natty #2.
   
2. 2016: 35-31 vs. #1 Alabama. The night DeShaun Watson declared, "Let's be legendary."
3. 2008: 31-14 vs. South Carolina. Without this victory, the Dabo era probably ends with “interim.”
4. 2016: 31-0 vs. #3 Ohio State. Can’t spell Ohio without a zero."First team from the state of South Carolina to win a BCS game," Dabo reminded us.
   
5. 2012: 25-24 vs. #8 LSU. Anything is possible, even fourth-and-16 (thanks to Tajh Boyd and Nuk Hopkins).
6. 2013: 36-35 vs. #5 Georgia. Ask a Clemson fan—would you rather beat Georgia or South Carolina?
   
7. 2014: 34-17 vs. South Carolina. Exorcising five years of Steve Spurrier.
   
8. 2018: 30-3 vs. #3 Notre Dame in a playoff semifinal.
9. 2011: 38-10 vs. Virginia Tech, the first ACC championship in 20 years. That one was probably wiped from the memory banks by what happened in the Orange Bowl against West Virginia.
10. 2011: 38-24 vs. Auburn, dethroning the national champs and atoning for the "snap infraction" of 2010.
11. 2015: 37-17 vs.Oklahoma. Two straight wins vs. a benchmark program.
12. 2016: 56-7 vs. South Carolina.
13. 2020: 34-10 vs. Notre Dame, sixth straight ACC championship.

 Sorry, but I don't see a place on that list for Saturday against Florida State. This is a team that lost to the other Gamecocks (Jacksonville State, whose quarterback Zerrick Cooper, is a former Dabo recruit. He's had a nice season, but he threw a couple of pick-sixes Saturday against Central Arkansas).
 The one possible explanation for Dabo's comment is that there was something going on behind the scenes that we don't know. Was there an ultimatum to win or fire somebody? That doesn't sound like Clemson, and as feebly as the team has played, it's not like the season is lost. This isn't Florida.
 By the way, give Dabo and Clemson credit for a nice tribute to Bobby Bowden in Death Valley, including a long-deserved welcome home for Tommy Bowden. I watched every punt with anticipation that somebody might run an honorary puntrooskie.
 Speaking of Tommy Bowden, I'm reminded of the upcoming home game Nov. 20 against undefeated Wake Forest. It was a Thursday night loss to Wake Forest in 2008 that doomed Bowden's tenure at Clemson and opened the door for Dabo. And it was a home loss to Wake in 1993 that sent the dominoes tumbling for Ken Hatfield.
 In fact, the last four Clemson coaches who lost to Wake Forest have not survived. Dabo, to his credit, is 12-0 against Wake Forest.

Remembering Radio

A sweet portrait of Radio and Coach Harold Jones
Photo credit: Ken Ruinard, Independent-Mail

 I didn't fully appreciate it at the time, but my tenth-grade year at T.L. Hanna High School was a historic time. That was the year that the Anderson schools were integrated, and an amazing athlete that the world knows as Jim Rice (we called him Ed) was gerrymandered from Westside to Hanna. As the scorekeeper for the Hanna baseball team in the spring of 1971, I had the opportunity to behold our own version of Jackie Robinson, a future Hall of Famer breaking the local color line. 
 That same spring was when I met a 35-year-old fellow known as Radio who never missed Hanna baseball games at dinky old Nardin Field. There were no grandstands, so the fans and scouts sat on the field behind the chicken-wire backstop or milled around behind our bench. I didn't know Radio well, but over the years I came to appreciate him and his story.
 In fact, the greatest regrets of my sportswriting career were that I never wrote the stories of Jim Rice and Radio. An Anderson sportswriter named Josh Peter told their stories instead, and did them justice.  Josh's story about Radio inspired Gary Smith to write the story for Sports Illustrated, which prompted the 2003 movie, Radio.

Radio's shoebox gift in Sudan

 I've kept up with Radio over the years, and in 2003 he and Coach Harold Jones packed shoebox gifts for Operation Christmas Child. In my travels with Samaritan's Purse, I had the opportunity to deliver one of Radio's gift boxes to a little girl in Sudan. Of course, his box included a minature yellow T.L. Hanna football (which unfortunately was turned the wrong way for the photograph).
 My years at Hanna were before Radio started attending class and became a perpetual 11th-grader. He was a fixture on the sidelines at hundreds of football games spanning more than 50 years. The last time I saw him was a rainy playoff game in 2018. This year, as his health declined, he was able to attend only one football game. This past weekend, he was admitted to the same hospice facility where my father died three years ago. On Dec. 15, 2019, a Sunday morning, Radio finally graduated from this life at age 73. (On June 5, 2020, he graduated posthumously from Hanna). Anderson won't be the same without him.
 I've collected some tributes from those who knew him well. Jacky Newton was a classmate of mine who is now a pastor in Kentucky. Last week, when Radio was gravely ill, Jacky wrote this devotional:

“WE CALL HIM RADIO“

 "His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!" (Matthew 25:23)
 If I asked you to pray for James Robert Kennedy, would you have any idea who I was referring too? Probably not. But if I called this man by his more common name, just about everybody in America would know who I was talking about. Yes, Mr. Kennedy is none other than RADIO!
 I first met, or shall I say noticed, Radio when I was sitting in my 9th grade English class. You couldn’t mistake that laugh and the sound of his transistor radio as he would push and then ride his grocery cart down the hill beside McCants Junior High. He was there again after school chasing down the foul balls during batting practice; running and hiding from the baseball team. When football practice began on those hot July days, here was this shy, young black man watching us practice at Narden Field. If a football would find its way off the practice field, Radio would run like lightening to retrieve it and hesitantly pitch it back to one of the players.
 It wasn’t long before Coaches Harold Jones and Dennis Patterson were able to gain Radio’s friendship and he became part of the Yellow Jacket “B Team” back in 1970. He drank from the same Gatorade bucket as we did, and pretended to do calisthenics. I’ll never forget the day down in that old field-house in the end zone of McCants Stadium when the coaches yelled down at a few of us in the shower, “Y’all put Radio in there with you and give him a bath!” LOL
 Talk about trying to corral a wildcat! Radio wasn’t sure about us big boys, soap and water. But after a few minutes he liked standing under that hot water. My Senior year I couldn’t play football because of knee surgery so I helped tape ankles, make Gatorade, etc. But my main job during practice and on Friday nights was to watch after Radio. It was then I got to know him best. I could tell you a million Radio stories; like when he would stir the 5-gallon Gatorade bucket with his dirty hands and arm. Then there was the time that before the team could board the bus for the ride back home after an away game, Radio had already been on the bus and taken a bite out of each of their sandwiches.
 I could go on and on but I’ll stop because everyone who has ever met Radio has a “Radio Story.” Even my mom called last month, she had met Radio and Coach Jones in rehab and of course she had a “Radio Story.” It’s amazing that a man with everything in the world against him has become a household name all across America and one of the most beloved persons to ever live.
 This man who has never shot, thrown or caught a ball, or never competed in one single athletic event in high school, is in the TL Hanna High Athletic Hall of Fame. Yes, and he deserves to be there and will be remembered when most others are forgotten. A young black man who grew up in poverty, who could neither read, write or barely talk became a Hollywood Star. He roamed the halls of TL Hanna for 50 years but refused to be “promoted “ from the 11th grade. Why? Because if he ever became a Senior it would mean graduating and having to leave Hanna! lol
 Yes, for almost 50 years, James Robert Kennedy, has led the Yellow Jackets onto the football field. He was present for every sporting event possible, men’s & women’s, as long as his health would allow.
 I got a call a few days ago to let me know that it seems that Radio could be approaching that final end zone. My heart is heavy, tears flow from my eyes. My ol’ buddy, an institution, may soon cross over that goal line of life. I also cry tears of joy because I know Radio is going to a far better place. A place where he can have a new body, a new mind; where he can run, dance and be like everyone else. Where he can be with his mother again. I’m sure Jesus is waiting to say, “Welcome home Radio!” And I’m sure one day, no doubt about it, I’ll hear Radio say, “Glad to see you Jacky. Wait til you taste the Gatorade up here!”

 Don Miller is a retired coach in Greenville. His story references a couple of other local characters. (Read Gary Smith's SI story if you are wondering who they are.) Here is Don's tribute:

THE BELL RINGER

 A local icon has passed. I think everyone is familiar with the Radio story, at least if you are from the South. A book and movie chronicled the story of a mentally challenged young man who was befriended by a coach, school and community. Radio went on to be what I call the “Bell Ringer” for his school.
 If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s worth the rental with Cuba Gooding playing James “Radio” Kennedy and Ed Harris playing Coach Harold Jones. I was lucky enough to have met both Radio and Coach Jones as we squared off against each other on many fields of athletic endeavor. It was always a joy, win or lose, to meet up with Radio.
 Many small towns, even some larger ones, have bell ringers like Radio. I call them bell ringers because of one special man who rang the victory bell at a local high school’s football field. Some were flag bearers as they led their football team onto the field, through the goal post and hopefully on to victory. One, after growing old in age but not spirit, was buried in the local Legion baseball uniform. Undying loyalty even in death.
 Young men who grew old but never quite grew up. For some reason, God chose them to be both challenged and special. They were folks who in addition to being challenged, were special to their schools and were their school’s number one fan and “Bell Ringer.” They all possessed the wide-eyed wonderment and innocence associated with the young every time their teams took the field.
 Radio passed last night at seventy-three. He had been in bad health, in and out of the hospital will complications due to diabetes and kidney function. His hugs and smiles will be missed by the school and community.
 Last year the CBN network and 700 Club aired an interview and article on Radio’s and Coach Jones’s fifty-year friendship. I cannot improve upon it so I will simply share it. You should take the time to watch the interview or read the article. It not Coach Jones’s final quote is “People with special needs, you know, they give us more love than we can actually return.”
 Radio certainly provided a lot of love.

 Longtime Hanna principal Sheila Hilton shared her memories:

 Life is full of ironies. One would think that most high schools have at least one famous student who has brought great recognition to the institution. Maybe it is a student who graduated from Harvard, maybe one who won the Pulitzer Prize for journalism, maybe a famous professional football player. T. L. Hanna has had all of these, but none can come close to their most famous “student.” James “Radio” Kennedy, a 73-year-old, mentally challenged man, showed up on football field in the mid-1960s and has been an integral part of the school ever since. At that time, he was a teenager, with a transistor radio seemingly attached to his ear, who could barely speak and had never learned to read or write. He was nicknamed “Radio” by the coaches and players. He became a fixture at football practices, standing passively and watching, until one day when he began to mimic the coaches’ signals and tried his hand at yelling out commands. At that point, he could have been labeled a distraction and sent away. But he was not. The coaches embraced him, and as coaches came and went, someone would always take over in caring for him. Eventually, Harold Jones took the job and has been his “daddy” ever since.
 Generations of Hanna students and faculty had an opportunity to know Radio. Everyone has a story to tell, some of them priceless — his eating a cooler full of sandwiches that had been made for the team and stored safely on the bus; his pass-kick-and-throw half-time shows; his permanent status as a junior, with no threat of graduation; and his astounding ability to name the mascot of any team in the state. The stories could fill the pages of a lengthy book, each showing the child-like innocence and loving heart that existed within him.
 It would be easy to talk about all the school did for Radio, but the miraculous thing about this story is what Radio did for the school. It is perhaps a lesson of which all of us need to be reminded. Because he was embraced by caring people, he was stimulated to learn. Because he was loved, he found his place in the world. Because people looked past his disabilities and imperfections, he found a way to make his own unique contribution to the world. What a lesson there is to be learned here. How many lost souls could be saved with a little care and attention? The thousands of students who have made their way through the halls of T. L. Hanna over the years have seen the results of the love and caring given to Radio. He had a permanent smile on his face. He was never without his ability to shake hands and hug necks. He returned exponentially whatever love was given to him. And here the irony rests. He gave back much more than he received.
 In our small town of Anderson, SC, Sports Illustrated, Readers’ Digest, ESPN, CBS News, and even Hollywood have told his story, one about a disabled child in a grocery cart riding the hills behind the old McCants, arguably the most famous person to come out of Anderson.
 It was destiny that he arrived on that football field some fifty years ago. He was without a Harvard degree or Pulitzer Prize or professional football contract, but his fame surpassed all of these accolades. And the story is simple: love and compassion can change lives. It has changed his, and, in return, he has changed ours, and we are better people for having known him.

 Mark Hamrick is a former Furman University athlete who was a high school basketball referee when he met Radio.  

 I was saddened to learn of the death of James "Radio" Kennedy. He was a kind and pleasant man who shared happiness with many during his lifetime. I first met "Radio" back in the late 1980's while officiating basketball at T.L.Hanna High School in Anderson,S.C. That was a few years before Hollywood discovered him.

 During my first assignment there, "Radio" met me with a big smile and the key to the dressing room. He asked me what else I would need and he seemed disappointed when I answered, nothing. So I told him that some water would be great. During my years as a basketball official I never asked for anything extra at a high school or small college assignment because I appreciated that most of them had tight budgets that certainly did not include funds for basketball official extras.

 However, on that night I soon realized that we were operating by "Radio" rules, so after a brief discussion we decided, or more accurately "Radio" decided, that I would get a Snickers candy bar with my water. After that night I never again spoke of a candy bar to "Radio".

 Over the next few basketball seasons I worked several T.L. Hanna games. On many of those nights "Radio" met me with a big smile, the key to the dressing room and a promise to return with MY water and MY Snickers. As the years passed and I moved on from high school officiating I left probably owing T.L.Hanna for more than a dozen candy bars thanks to the persistent generosity of "Radio". I should write them a reimbursement check in memory of "Radio" but instead this one last time I will play by "Radio" rules and just remember the times that I shared with those candy bars and "Radio".

 His laugh, his kindness and his happy approach to life serve as a memory of one of the good guys. James "Radio" Kennedy will be missed.

Anderson honored Radio with a statue in 2006

Fringe benefits of an 8-team college football playoff

 Occasionally, I wake up and feel like a sports columnist. Let me try to make the case for an expanded college football playoff. 
 1. You know you'd watch. 
 2. Why do we have a four-team playoff? Because the folks who designed it knew they could never get eight approved. They assumed that once they gave us a flawed four-team playoff, we would demand more.
 3. In an eight-team playoff, the winners of the Power 5 conferences would get automatic bids. Not only would each team controls its own fate (regardless of committee opinions), but there would be so many fringe benefits. It would no longer be necessary to run up the score to impress the committee. And it could do wonders for non-conference scheduling. Teams like Baylor wouldn't need cupcake schedules. If you can get into the playoff by winning your conference, then there's no penalty for risking defeat with ambitious non-conference schedules. For instance, Baylor could have played Oregon this year, just for fun, without dire implications other than green and yellow stains on our TV screens. 
 4. The September schedule would be so much better. Clemson might play Georgia, Auburn, or Tennessee instead of Charlotte. Why not, as long as the Tigers know they can qualify for the playoff by winning the Sisters of the ACC?
 5. To the previous point, Oregon would be in the playoff picture today if they hadn't gone out of their way to play Auburn in the opener. If the Ducks had played South Dakota (like Oklahoma did) instead of Auburn, they would have one loss today, and both the O's would be circling Georgia like vultures.
 6. Yes, the season is too long already. So cut the fall schedule to 11 games and play the FCS games (Clemson-Furman, for example) in the spring, instead of a split-squad scrimmage. (To make it more equitable, you could even let the FCS team play its graduating seniors, and give them a last audition for pro scouts.) That way, the big boys still have seven home dates, to keep the local motels and tailgaters happy. 
 7. Play the quarterfinals at the home fields of the top seeds, maybe on Thanksgiving weekend. No more embarrassingly empty upper decks like we saw in the 49ers stadium for last night's Pac-12 game. 
 8. In the spirit of inclusion, its hard to argue against offering a playoff invitation to the best of the Group of 5 champions. As proud as I am of what Appalachian State has accomplished this year, I don't know that beating North Carolina and South Carolina qualifies you to compete with Clemson. But Central Florida and Boise State have risen to that level, so make room for them.
 9. Some naysayers worry that in an eight-team playoff, a bottom seed might get hot and win an undeserved title. Quarterfinal home games would make that unlikely, but if it happened, you know you'd watch.
 10. It would be okay if Alabama got in. Most of you are convinced they don't deserve to be in the playoff, so you'd watch just to see them lose. 
 11. Play the semifinals the Saturday after Christmas and the national championship in the vacant week before the Super Bowl. Yep, you know you'd watch.

Shoeless Joe Jackson, as told to Furman Bisher

Joe and Katie Jackson on their wedding day in 1908

 Sunday would have been the 100th birthday of Furman Bisher, the esteemed sports columnist for the Atlanta Constitution. He was born Nov. 4, 1918 (three days before Billy Graham) in Denton, N.C., named for a Baptist preacher named James Furman, and matriculated to Furman University (why not) before completing his education at the University of North Carolina.
 Bisher was elected the Georgia Sportswriter of the Year 18 times in a span of 50 years, which brought him back home to the national sportswriters' awards in Salisbury, N.C., just 24 miles from where he was born. On one of those occasions I had the opportunity to meet him at the North Carolina Transportation Museum, where he guided me through a Pullman car and reminisced about the days when sportswriters rode the rails.
 I was thinking about Bisher (who died in 2012) this weekend because he was such an authority on Shoeless Joe Jackson, and there was an event in Greenville this weekend promoting the latest movie about Shoeless Joe. The only time Jackson ever gave an interview about the 1919 Black Sox scandal was with Bisher in 1949. After Jackson died in 1951, Bisher wrote the following tribute:  

 Shoeless Joe Jackson was a plain and simple man who thought in plain and simple ways. He stood out from his kind only by a remarkable athletic instinct, and an extra sense that made him one of baseball's great hitters. Fact is, they say he was the greatest natural hitter that ever lived.

 But without a bat in his hands, he had a weakness. He relied heavily on his friends for mental guidance. Any person kind to him got in return warmth and trust, and it has since been proven that Joe's trust was in bad hands.

 I'm sure that he went to his death the other night in Greenville, S.C., still clear of conscience. I'm sure that when and if he did accept a spot of cash for an intended part in fixing the scandalous World Series of 1919 between his Chicago White Sox and the Cincinnati Reds he did so without realizing that he was committing a wrong. He was that simple a man, and that trusting in the teammates he thought he knew so well.

 I know his own story because I spent several days with him a couple of years ago recording it for Sport Magazine, which published "by Joe Jackson as told to, " etc., though Joe to his death had never learned to read or write.

 He began in plain and simple manner one August day as we sat under a small tree on the lawn of his neat little home [which is now the Joe Jackson museum, across the street from Fluor Field, Greenville's new ballpark.]

 "I'm not what you call a Christian," he said, "but I believe in that Good Book. What you sow, so shall you reap. I asked the Lord for guidance and I'm sure he gave it to me.

 "Baseball failed to keep faith with me. When I got notice of my suspension, three days before the 1920 season ended, it said that if I was found innocent, I would be reinstated. If found guilty, I would be banned for life.

 "I was found innocent. I walked out of Judge Devert's courtroom in Chicago in 1921 a free man. I had been acquitted by a 12-man jury in a civil court. I thought when my trial was over Judge Landis would restore me to good standing. But he never did. And to this day I have never gone before him, sent a representative before him, or placed any written matter before him pleading my case. I gave baseball my best, and if the game didn't care enough to see me get a square deal, then I wouldn't go out of my way to get back in it.

 "It was never explained to me officially, but I was told that Judge Landis said I was banned because of the company I kept. I roomed with Claude Williams the pitcher, one of the ringleaders, they told me, and one of the eight players banned. But I had to take whoever they assigned with me on the road. I had no power over that."

 Didn't he know something was going on?

 "Sure I'd heard talk. I even had a fellow come to me one day and proposition me. It was on the 16th floor of a hotel and there were four other people there, two men and their wives. I told him, ‘Why, you cheap so-and-so, either me or you one is going out that window!' I started for him, but he ran and I never saw him again.

 "I even went to Mr. Charles Comiskey (White Sox owner) before the World Series and asked him to keep me out of the lineup. He refused and I begged him to tell the newspapers he suspended me for being drunk, or anything, but leave me out of the Series and then there could be no question.

 "I went out and played my heart out against Cincinnati. I set a record that still stands for the most hits in a series. It has been tied, I think. I made 13 hits, but after all the trouble came out they took one away from me. Maurice Rath went over in the hole and knocked down a hot grounder, but he couldn't make a throw on it. They scored it a hit then, but changed it later. I led both teams in hitting with .375. I hit our only home run of the Series. I handled 30 balls without an error. I came all the way home from first and scored the winning run in a 5-4 game.

 "That's my record in the series, and I was responsible only for Joe Jackson. There was just one thing that didn't seem quite right now as I think back over it. Eddie Cicotte seemed to let up on a pitch to Pat Duncan and Pat hit it over my head. Duncan didn't have enough power to hit the ball that far if Cicotte had been bearing down."

 Joe strengthened his case of conscience by pointing to the good fortune that followed him after his banishment.

 "Everything I touched seemed to turn out good for me. I've got a nice home and a 17-acre farm. See that lot across the street over there? I paid $240 for it and sold it for $800 in 24 hours."

 What you sow, so shall you reap. . .

 Joe always did say that "Say it ain't so, Joe" story was a hoax. He charged it to a Chicago sportswriter named Charley Owens, who at least must be given a stout hurrah for his imagination.

 "It was supposed to have happened the day I was arrested in September, 1920, when I came out of the courtroom hearing. There weren't any words passed between anybody, except me and a deputy sheriff. He asked for a ride to the Southside and we got into the car together and left. Charley Owens just made up a good story and wrote it. Oh, I'd have said it wasn't so, all right, just like I'm saying it now."

 Joe lived his last years in quiet comfort, a man who dressed well, drove a Packard and doted on the respect of his South Carolina neighbors. It is perhaps odd, but when he died he was chairman of the protest committee of a semipro league around Greenville.

 Someone else was always delegated to read the protests and write the committee reports, it should be added.

 To Joe, this was equal to exoneration. The people who knew him longest and best felt he was morally innocent. I'm sure he went with a clear conscience.

 As Bisher would say ... Selah. 

Fuller, Fullest, and the Fantastic 4

Old football proverb: The name on the front of your jersey is more important than the name on the back. (New York Times photo)

    At the end of the Orange Bowl, Clemson needed to run a six-second play to exhaust the clock and keep from giving the football back to Oklahoma. So instead of taking a knee, Deshaun Watson took a shotgun snap, waited a couple of ticks, cocked his golden right arm, and launched a 60-yard pass into the Clemson fan section on the other end of the stadium.
     The way this perfect-ending season has gone, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Watson's game-ending pass was caught by none other than Steve Fuller.
     Almost everything Watson has done this season has brought honor to Fuller, who was—listen, children!— the quarterback who put Clemson football on the map.

WON NOT DONE (Miami Herald photo)

     By the time Watson reached the podium on New Year's Eve to accept the award as the most valuable offensive player in the Orange Bowl, he had shed his game jersey, the one with the patch on the right shoulder honoring Fuller. Instead, he was wearing a T-shirt saying WON NOT DONE, immediately changing the focus to the Jan. 11 national championship game against Alabama. 
     I know there are some who thought it cheapened Fuller's memory to unretire his number and use it to entice Watson to come to Clemson. Some of my friends say it would be better to keep Fuller's No. 4 under glass, like Howard's Rock.
     Why not have it both ways? The New York Times had the story this week of how Clemson has balanced its history against its future:

———

A Clemson Juggernaut Is Led by a Star Wearing No. 4. That Figures.

By Tim Rohan

   Inside the Clemson locker room at Memorial Stadium, about 10 feet from quarterback Deshaun Watson’s locker, is a shrine to the jersey number he wears. There, set up neatly in another locker, is a throwback helmet, a pair of uniform pants and a hanging No. 4 jersey. It is all encased in glass, like a museum exhibit recalling the glory days of Clemson football.

   In reality, it is a tribute to Steve Fuller, the quarterback of the famed 1978 Clemson team. His number, 4, was the first one retired by Clemson’s football program.

Fuller made an exception two years ago and allowed Watson to wear the number. That has created an awkward situation: In leading Clemson to a 13-0 record and finishing third in the Heisman Trophy voting. Watson has perhaps surpassed Fuller as the greatest player in Tigers history.

   When Watson was coming out of high school in Gainesville, Ga., Clemson’s ability to offer him No. 4 was another advantage in his recruitment as the university competed with the likes of Alabama and Florida State. When Watson was still a high school junior, Clemson Coach Dabo Swinney slyly mentioned to Fuller, while the two of them were paired at a golf tournament, that some universities honored their past by allowing current players to wear retired numbers.

   The next year, at the same tournament, Swinney got more specific, explaining to Fuller who Watson was — a five-star recruit ranked among the top players in the nation — and what it would mean if Fuller would consent to Watson’s wearing his No. 4.

   “I gave him my blessing with the understanding that this was an unusual kid, and it would be a nice thing for the program,” Fuller said in a phone interview this week as he prepared to travel to the Orange Bowl. “If Coach said it was a good idea, I was going to go along with it.”

   It would have been hard for Swinney to blame Fuller if he had said no. When Fuller arrived at Clemson in 1975, the Tigers had not made a bowl game in the previous 15 seasons. When he took his first snap in his first start as a freshman, his feet were in the end zone in Tuscaloosa, Ala. — a metaphor for the state of the program.

   Fuller never put up the flashy statistics Watson has produced, but his role was different. Even though the Tigers had Dwight Clark and Jerry Butler, a future first-round draft pick, they ran a gritty option offense, and Fuller was its maestro. At one point, he started 27 consecutive games. In his senior year, the Tigers went 11-1, averaged 31 points a game, and beat Ohio State in the Gator Bowl in Buckeyes Coach Woody Hayes' final game.

   At the time, Fuller was the most decorated player in Clemson history. He was twice named the Atlantic Coast Conference player of the year and finished sixth in the Heisman Trophy voting as a senior, becoming the first Tiger to finish in the top 10. Clemson retired his No. 4 before he left campus, during the 1979 spring game.

   “I just happened to be the guy that was the quarterback on a team that, as we look at it, the team that turned the program in the right direction, gave it a little bit of a renaissance,” Fuller said. “We got it to the point where it was not a big national power, but a program that people started recognizing and kids in high school started noticing. It was more that, than me as an individual. I was the guy taking the snaps.”

    Three years after Fuller graduated, Clemson won its only national championship. Now, with Watson, they have their best shot at a second title.

   When Watson first got to campus, Swinney frequently gave Fuller updates on Watson’s progress, on the field and in the classroom, as if Watson were Fuller’s son. But Fuller mostly watched Watson from afar, from the same seats that his father had sat in when he played.

    Injuries, most notably a torn anterior cruciate ligament, cut short Watson’s freshman season, but he impressed his coaches with his maturity, decision-making and athleticism. Fuller noticed his poise under duress.

    In early October, Fuller watched from the stands with his college teammate Jeff Bostic as Watson accounted for all three Clemson touchdowns in a close win over Notre Dame, in what was perhaps Clemson’s most important game of the regular season. Bostic leaned over and asked Fuller if Clemson could retire No. 4 twice. He chuckled to make clear that he was joking.

   But perhaps Bostic had a point. “He would certainly be deserving of it when he’s done,” Fuller said of Watson. “Knock on wood. Hopefully we’ve got a lot of good things left to come.”

———

     Schools differ in how they honor the numbers of their football heroes. Alabama has never retired a number. Florida State retires jerseys but allows the numbers to be reused. 

     Of the schools who recruited Watson, only Clemson had retired No. 4, so once Fuller gave his blessings, it essentially leveled the playing field. Wherever he went, Watson could keep the number he wore for the Gainesville High Red Elephants.
     I don't know if No. 4 was even a factor in Watson's college decision, but it was a nice trump card for Clemson to be able to play. And of all the inducements a hotshot recruit may be offered, a special jersey number is pretty honorable.
     But the question remains: By bringing No. 4 out of retirement, has Clemson taken anything away from Fuller? Not as long as kids see the patch on Watson's shoulder and ask Granddaddy, "Who's Fuller?"

Steve Fuller against Notre Dame in 1977

     Oh, little Tiger, let me tell you about Steve Fuller. His team was the first from Clemson to beat Georgia "between the hedges," which were planted way back in 1929. Beat uppitty Georgia Tech in Atlanta back when they almost never came up to Clemson. Nearly beat Joe Montana and Notre Dame's 1977 national championship team. Beat Woody Hayes in the Gator Bowl. Fuller didn't do it by himself, of course, but he was the face of the program when Clemson decided to double-deck Death Valley and recruited many of the players who won the 1981 national championship.
     Little Tiger, don't you ever forget Steve Fuller.

     Retired numbers can be quickly forgotten. To prove my point, here's a pop quiz: See how many of these players you can name by their retired numbers:

Clemson: 4, 28, 66 (Hint: 66 is not William Perry).
Auburn: 7, 34, 88.
Florida State: 2, 16, 17, 25, 28, 34, 50 (Hint: 28 also had a profound impact on Watson's life).
Georgia: 21, 34, 40, 62.
South Carolina: 2, 37, 38, 56.

     Can you even pick out the seven Heisman Trophy winners on that list? (Answers below)

An Orange Bowl reminder of Fuller's first juggernaut

Before he was No. 4, Steve Fuller wore 11 at Spartanburg High

      I was away at Missouri or busy at the office during Fuller's career at Clemson, and the only time I remember seeing him play in person was in 1974, when he was quarterback of the Spartanburg High School team that regularly put 70 on the scoreboard and set a state record for points in a season. 
     And when I saw Watson and defensive MVP Ben Boulware on the podium after the Orange Bowl, it brought back a special memory. Boulware is a graduate of my high school, T.L. Hanna—the team that stopped Fuller's Spartanburg juggernaut.
     Thanks for the memories, Ben and Deshaun.
     Congratulations, Steve. This one's for you.

T.L. Hanna graduate Ben Boulware (Miami Herald photo)

RETIRED NUMBERS

Clemson: 4-Steve Fuller, 28-C.J. Spiller, 66-Banks McFadden.
Auburn: 7-Pat Sullivan, 34-Bo Jackson, 88-Terry Beasley.
Florida State: 2-Deion Sanders, 16-Chris Weinke, 17-Charlie Ward, 25-Fred Biletnikoff, 28-Warrick Dunn, 34-Ron Sellers, 50-Ron Simmons.
Georgia: 21-Frank Sinkwich, 34-Herschel Walker, 40-Theron Sapp, 62-Charlie Trippi.
South Carolina: 2-Sterling Sharpe, 37-Steve Wadiak, 38-George Rogers, 50-Mike Johnson.

Heisman Trophy winners are underlined. Conspicuously absent from that list are the 2010 and 2014 Heisman winners, Auburn's Cam Newton and FSU's Jameis Winston.

Long live King John of Summerville

ESPN's 2012 portrait of John McKissick
with the ring for his 600th victory

     John McKissick won his first state championship the year I was born.
     And another one the year I graduated from college.
     And another one the year I retired from sportswriting.
     I figured he might win one more the year I died.
     Of course, it was inevitable that he would have to stop someday, but I always figured John had one more season in him—maybe even one more championship. So did he. If you ever asked him about retirement, he always insisted that coaching football kept him young. Even this past winter, at age 88, he sounded optimistic about one more year.
     However, after leading his team through spring practice in the Charleston heat, he confessed, "I think my age is catching up with me." On Tuesday, after 63 years on the job, McKissick announced his retirement as football coach at Summerville High School.
     Think about it—63 years in a profession where one bad year could be terminal. King John has reigned as long as Queen Elizabeth (and he has been crowned more often, too.)
     Public school teachers can retire after thirty years, but McKissick doubled that and still kept on working. His daddy taught him not to pay somebody else for work he was able to do himself, and he never did.
     McKissick became so iconic that Pat Conroy cast him as the standard of excellence in his 1986 novel, The Prince of Tides, where a fictional coach named Tom Wingo lamented:

"Never once did I defeat one of those awesomely disciplined teams of the great John McKissick of Summerville. He was a maker of dynasties."

     Conroy recited that passage when he wrote the foreword for McKissick's 1993 autobiography:

"That was my act of homage to John McKissick, and it expressed my utter admiration with how he has chosen to spend his life. A great coach teaches a boy or girl that the body is the temple of something sublime and wonderful. Coach McKissick has done this surprisingly well. I wish, in my heart, that John McKissick could have coached me in football when I was a boy. Quite possibly, he could not have made me a better athlete, but I think he could have made me a better man."

     Numbers are not the full measure of the man, but let's consider McKissick's accomplishments: 621 victories in 63 seasons, which is far more than any other football coach in history. 
     Now that McKissick has retired, he has established a distant target for John Curtis Jr., who ranks second nationally with 561 victories in 48 years at John Curtis Christian High School, a private school in suburban New Orleans that was founded by the coach's father. The younger Curtis, age 69, had an 11-1 record in 2016. If he averages 10 wins a year, he will be 75 before he catches McKissick.
     The winningest coach in college football history is John Gagliardi, five weeks younger than McKissick, who retired from St. John's of Minnesota in 2012 with 489 victories. Penn State's Joe Paterno, who was three months younger than McKissick, holds the major-college record of 409 after the NCAA restored his victories earlier this year. Dabo Swinney pointed out that McKissick won nearly twice as many games as Bear Bryant.
     The NFL record is 328 by Don Shula, who is four years younger than McKissick and has been retired for 20 years.
     Among all those giants, ESPN The Magazine called McKissick "Coach of the Century" in a 2012 story that I highly recommend.
     He was a child of the Depression and a member of the Greatest Generation. As he told ESPN's David Fleming: 

"During World War II, I was a paratrooper waiting to go to California with orders to ship out to the Pacific to join the 17th Airborne in battle. But then we dropped the bomb, and everything slowed down. The lives that decision saved or changed … I was one of 'em."

     I figure that McKissick has been carried off the field on his players' shoulders at least 14 times—10 state championships, plus his 347th victory in 1987 that broke Pinky Babb's state record, plus the 406th in 1993 that broke Texan Gordon Wood's national record, plus his 500th in 2003 and 600th in 2012.
      His last state championship in 1998 was also the last football game I covered, as Summerville beat Gaffney 31-23 to wrap up a perfect 15-0 season. What I'll remember most about that season was not the state final at Williams-Brice Stadium but a first-round playoff three weeks earlier on John McKissick Field—the only time I ever had an opportunity to see a game in Summerville. Knowing my career change was imminent, I asked John if I could eavesdrop on his pregame speech, and he graciously invited me into the locker room. Sixteen years later, all I can remember is how businesslike it was. John, then 72 and in his 47th season, let an assistant give the pep-talk.
      I dealt with John every week for 13 seasons when he participated in our state coaches' poll, and he was unfailingly pleasant, accommodating, and wise.
     In 1991, when I was working on a centennial history book for Mountain View United Methodist Church in northern Greenville, I asked him if he might be kin to our founding pastor, Eli McKissick. 
     "He was my grandfather," John told me.
     Now, this grandson of a 19th-century circuit-riding preacher has become the grandfather of Summerville's 21st-century coach. On June 25, school administrators honored McKissick's recommendation and promoted his 36-year-old grandson, Joe Call, to be the head coach for 2015.
     If Joe has his grandfather's success and longevity, Summerville won't need another coach until 2067.

John McKissick set a national record with his 406th victory—then won 215 more.