Mississippi State coach Sylvester Croom has been preparing for this season his whole life.
By DAVE SCHEIBER
Published August 22, 2004
[Times photos: Bob Croslin]
The first black football coach in the SCC know the territory well: Sylvester Croom played for and was an assistant Bear Bryant at Alabama.
All eyes are on Sylvester Croom as he putts during a charity golf tournament after the new football coach at Mississippi State.
AD Larry Templeton, left, says of Croom: "After my first visit ... I knew we had found a crown jewel."
[AP photo]
Croom talks with Tee Milons during practice. The new coach set the disciplinary bar high right away, cutting his best player from last season, running back Nick Turner.
PHILADELPHIA, Miss. - The ride Sylvester Croom has taken here on this scorching July day has lasted about 90 minutes, down a lonely stretch of two-lane asphalt from Starkville, past the roadside shadows cast by ancient pines and oaks, beyond the tiny Baptist churches and farm houses lodged in the sleepy landscape of the Deep South.
Then again, the ride truly began for Croom decades ago, leading into college football history.
He is not simply the new man Mississippi State University chose last November to lead its football team: He is the first African-American head football coach in the 70-year history of the Southeastern Conference. In a conference heavy on grand gridiron tradition, a not-so-grand one finally fell by the wayside after a total of 340 head coach openings.
Croom has been on the move ever since, for trips such as his meet-and-greet this morning at the posh Dancing Rabbit Golf Club, an oasis in the middle of nowhere, having barely slept after a late night rubbing elbows with Bulldog boosters in Biloxi. Or was it Gulfport? "I'm not sure, but there were 450 people there - I was amazed," he says with a smile.
From the start, he has embraced all the social significance his hiring implies. At the same time, neither he nor Mississippi State officials want the issue of race to obscure what has been widely expressed: that the best-qualified person got the job.
The truth is, he has grown a little weary of the unceasing questions he is asked about the historic nature of all this, though he always answers because he recognizes their importance.
Of course, he really would rather just be talking and thinking about football. That's understandable, considering the enormous challenge he faces in trying to turn around a program beset with three straight dismal seasons and facing the looming prospect of NCAA sanctions for rules violations under retired coach Jackie Sherrill.
So that means logging endless miles around the state until the towns and little rural nooks of Mississippi blur together, introducing himself to boosters and alumni, or visiting with potential recruits and their parents, selling his philosophy of discipline, hard work and attention to detail.
It means most days leaving the office around 6 p.m., heading home for a three-hour nap, then staying up until 3 a.m. just to make time for Xs and Os.
And right now, it means a more relaxing ride, motoring around in a golf cart at the Dancing Rabbit in a charity tournament that bears his name.
A banner greets a group of mostly well-to-do, white golfers, paying $250 a pop to raise money to fight diabetes in Mississippi and mingle with the coach. It hangs atop the plantation style clubhouse carved into the wooded hillside of Neshoba County.
"The Sylvester Croom Golf Classic."
Here. In the heart of Mississippi.
* * *
Beneath a blue sky and billowing white clouds, Croom has been shooting the breeze over lunch, shaking hands, patting backs, and posing for snapshots - a burly man of 49 with a gray moustache, wire-rimmed professorial glasses and a deep voice that projects warmth and wisdom.
The pleasant scene is unfolding in a place with grim memories: a county that shook the nation in the summer of 1964, when Neshoba was known for its harsh segregationist ways and Philadelphia for anything but brotherly love. The burning of a black church named Mount Zion, followed by the murders of three civil rights workers, etched a tragic chapter in American race relations.
Nowadays, just beyond the aging storefronts of Philadelphia's downtown a mile or so away, the hazy horizon is filled with huge, dazzling structures that appear to have been air-lifted right out of Las Vegas.
The incorporated land belongs to the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians, who have reshaped the red earth into the sprawling Pearl River Resort, complete with two shimmering, high-tech casinos and hotels, a Hard Rock Cafe and the world-class golf course.
As usual, Croom is surrounded by Bulldog fans who can't wait to talk football with the new guy.
Actually, the folks here and around the state know him pretty darn well already. They know he was an All-America offensive lineman for the Alabama Crimson Tide and one of the first blacks ever to play for legendary coach Bear Bryant. They know he coached for Bryant at Alabama before embarking on a long journey around the NFL as a respected assistant: 28 years in all, the past three spent coaching running backs for the Green Bay Packers.
And they definitely know this: bitter rival Alabama - only 80-some miles to the east in Tuscaloosa - fumbled its opportunity to hire Croom in May 2003, opting instead for a far less experienced ex-Tide player with the famous surname of Shula.
That the Bulldogs were able to land Croom for themselves has energized the Mississippi State-Alabama rivalry to epic proportions, regardless of how the teams fare this year or in years to come. MSU fans already are looking past Croom's Sept. 4 debut against Tulane to the Nov. 6 game at Alabama.
Rolling along in his cart, Croom remembers when he was a young kid in segregated Tuscaloosa.
He used to kick field goals over his mother Louise's clothesline, pretending to win games for his favorite pro team, the Baltimore Colts, or for the all-black Riverside High team his father, Rev. Sylvester Croom Sr., coached, or for all-black college team Alabama A&M, where his dad starred and he always imagined he would attend, too.
Neither the Crimson Tide nor playing for Bryant ever entered his backyard daydreams. Blacks weren't even allowed on campus. The university was five minutes from his house and a universe away.
"That was out of the realm of possibility," he says. "You didn't even think about that."
Maybe that's the message of Croom's story for others who have felt something similar: Now you do.
"If there's a racial implication to this," he says, "there could be a kid out there who sees they have more of a chance at a dream now."
* * *
Highway 82 meanders through the countryside out of Tuscaloosa and the University of Alabama's campus and leads straight to Starkville and MSU.
But to get there, you have to go through a place named, of all things, Reform.
It's a mapdot of an Alabama town known mostly to motorists as an unforgiving speed trap. Reform, however, is what the University of Alabama didn't think much about last year when it had the chance.
The school was in the market for a new head coach after an embarrassing debacle with newly hired Mike Price, fired before his first game over reports of his escapades at a local strip club.
Croom was interviewed for the job. It seemed like a comfortable fit: an old Bryant disciple and Tide hero with, by all accounts, impeccable integrity, a personable style, a commitment to academics as the son of two schoolteachers and the owner of a B.A. in history and a master's in education administration.
And not only had he coached under Bryant and Bryant's successor, Ray Perkins, from 1976 to 1986, he had spent four seasons coaching running backs for Perkins with the Tampa Bay Bucs, one season coaching them with Indianapolis, five in that capacity with San Diego (including a trip to the Super Bowl in 1995), and four more as offensive coordinator of the Detroit Lions, guiding the NFL's No. 2 attack with Barry Sanders, before moving to Green Bay in 2001.
Croom, in fact, thought he had the job. He thought, as Bryant once described his own return to coach at Alabama, that "Mama called." Instead, Mama called Mike Shula. The son of the NFL coaching great Don Shula had once played quarterback for the Tide and went on to an inauspicious stint as offensive coordinator for the Bucs, in which the unit never ranked above 27th in the NFL.
The move stung Croom, especially coming weeks before the school's celebration of 40 years of integration and racial progress since the day then-governor George Wallace stood in front of the school's entrance to block black students from attending. The event would hail 40 pioneers at Alabama, including Sylvester Croom Sr., who had served many years as football chaplain before his death in 2000.
"It hurt, because Sylvester was qualified for the job," says his brother Kelvin Croom, an assistant principal at Paul W. Bryant High in Tuscaloosa, and a former Tide player. "He had everything they were looking for. Being an All-American there, playing and coaching for Coach Bryant, living so close to campus in Tuscaloosa, making such a contribution to the school. What more could you ask?"
Kelvin Croom pauses. "It was an opportunity for the university to signal to the world that they had gotten beyond those days of Wallace standing at the schoolhouse door. They dropped the ball."
The move was roundly criticized, from Alabama alumni and fans to the media to Rev. Jesse Jackson, who called for an investigation. Croom re-immersed himself in the NFL: "I really had no intention of going into college football unless it was Alabama."
Then, late in the season, with Green Bay's Super Bowl hopes still very much alive, he received a new call from his old neck of the woods.
Mississippi State was on the line. After Alabama, it's little surprise that Croom had no interest.
* * *
Inside his spacious office, MSU athletic director Larry Templeton recounts how he and school president Dr. J. Charles Lee helped change his mind.
The exhaustive search process began after Sherrill gave five weeks' notice before the end of the 2003 season. Templeton talked to dozens of friends and contacts in college football and the NFL. One name kept coming up: Sylvester Croom.
"After my first visit with him, I knew that we had found a crown jewel," Templeton says. "And after my president's first visit, he sensed the same thing. Now, whatever I thought we had gotten, it's been double. You worry about a guy who's never been a head coach, but he's so ahead of the curve, it's incredible."
Croom came to his first interview with a list of veteran coaches he would bring along with him. But he still was noncommittal. He liked his job in Green Bay and felt loyal to the Packers. Undeterred, Templeton flew several times to Green Bay to talk to Croom and try to sell MSU as a great opportunity.
"It was the Friday after our final game, and he came to the interview to tell me that he wasn't coming," Templeton says. "But about halfway through that five- or six-hour session, it occurred to him that this wasn't a token interview. He was the only guy we were offering the job to."
Croom then visited campus, and Templeton tried a new tactic: "We drove by the highway to Tuscaloosa and I said, "Coach, one hour and 10 minutes, and you'll be sitting at your mother's kitchen table. He said to me, "You're hitting below the belt.' "
In fact, Croom already had been thinking about that, in addition to how he and wife Jeri would be closer to their daughter Jennifer and 20-month-old granddaughter, Ryan, in Mobile, Ala.
Templeton assured Croom he could finish out the season in Green Bay. That settled, he and Templeton agreed to a deal without even talking money, and the AD stipulated Croom's contract would be extended for every year the school might face probation. Two days later, Croom became the fifth active black head coach in Division I football out of 117 programs.
"When Mike Shula had his first press conference, he looked like a little kid afraid to go in front of the class," says Clarion-Ledger (Miss.) sports columnist Rick Cleveland. "When Croom comes up for his press conference, he has CNN and ESPN there. This is a history-making event. And he looked like he'd been doing it all his life."
* * *
What he's been doing all his life is following the advice of his father, who taught him how to deal with bigotry and injustice of the '50s, '60s and early '70s.
"He said to me, "You can be anything you want to be.' Well, how can you do this if the laws are against this happening? He said, "You don't control that; the object is, you've got to control what you can control.' And you need to have the faith that if I work to where I'm prepared, the opportunity will come. The worst thing to happen would be if opportunity comes and I'm not prepared. I've been preparing for this ever since I got into coaching, but, not totally convinced the chance was ever going to come."
Croom's father was thought to have been the first black to qualify for office in Tuscaloosa County since reconstruction, when he filed for a place on the board of revenue in 1968. He ran on a platform of "love for all, malice against none." And he lost. But the elder Croom is credited with opening the door to elective office for other African-Americans in Alabama, including son Kelvin, who would later become the first black student body president at predominantly white Tuscaloosa High. His sons used to stand on their grandparents' porch and see crosses being burned by the Ku Klux Klan in the nearby fairgrounds. They passed by the home of Alabama's Klan grand wizard every day.
When Croom entered a junior high that had just integrated in Tuscaloosa, he was hit in the face by a spit wad his first day. He got even by leveling the perpetrator in football practice. Still, he was frozen out by fellow students. "It was hard, but my dad taught us we just had to rise above it," he says.
He worked hard and did well in school - his teacher-parents had strict standards to meet - and gradually gained acceptance through football. In 1971, Wilbur Jackson and John Mitchell became the first two black football players at Alabama. The Tide had gone 6-5-1 in 1970 but improved to 11-1 in '71. The next year, Croom was one of eight black players recruited by Bryant, becoming an All-America offensive lineman, helping the Tide to a 22-2 record as a starter, three SEC crowns and one national title.
When he returned to coach for Bryant, following a one-year playing stint in the NFL, he studied the old coach's demanding style. "I learned about hard work, discipline, preparation, mental toughness and the ability to deal with adversity," Croom says.
His discipline was felt right away. In Croom's first meeting with players last spring, he laid down the law: "Professors allow three cuts, I don't allow any." Minor infractions might mean a ton of extra running. Repeated violations would result in suspensions or release. He followed through by cutting his best player from last season, running back Nick Turner, for missing classes and some workouts. A handful of others also have been suspended by Croom.
He's also tried some creative approaches, such as slipping into classrooms. He did so recently at a Health class, in which a player arrived 15 minutes late. "He didn't realize I was there until I raised my hand to ask the teacher a question," Croom says. "He looked at me and almost fell out of that chair."
Croom says he hates making tough phone calls to parents to tell the son is in trouble. So he's started a new policy. "Our coaches are going to call parents once a month even if it's just to tell them their kid's doing well," he says. In addition, he's started "Good Guys Day," when he calls the players who are doing well into his office just to praise them.
"It's selfish," he says, smiling. "I want a ray of sunshine to walk in that door for me sometimes."
* * *
The only moment that hasn't been sunny so far came last spring, when a reporter approached Croom to ask if he'd heard the news: Shula had taken the Alabama spring practice honor, The Sylvester Croom Commitment To Excellence Award, and re-named it after former Tide and Packer great Bart Starr.
Shula's reasoning was that the award shouldn't be named for a rival SEC coach. But the move caused an uproar in Alabama. Croom handled the news calmly, but did say, "I find it hard to believe that Coach Bryant would have ever done something like that."
Shula, besieged by criticism, soon reversed himself and restored Croom's name to the award.
"I couldn't understand why it happened, but I thought Mike handled it as well as he could to change it back," Croom says. "He was looking at it one way and said he made a mistake. I thought that took a lot of courage and class."
Courage and class: words people apply to Croom.
Walk into almost any shop in Starkville's Old Main District and almost everyone has something to say. Inside the Starkville Cafe, Alabama native Jim Cook, 64, wouldn't have objected if Croom had ended up coaching the Tide. But as a Starkville resident, he's happy for MSU. "We'll have discipline, judging by the way he's run some of the better players off," says Cook, who is white. "We haven't had discipline on this team in many years. I'm glad he's here."
Tyrone Ellis runs the Bread of Life Christian Books and Supplies just up Main Street. Ellis, an African-American, and a member of the Mississippi House of Representatives for 25 years, is thrilled.
It's not just the work ethic, the discipline, the spirituality he thinks Croom brings. He sees this as a great moment for the state. "This is the Southern Belt, an area where just a few years ago, you didn't have blacks attending the schools, period," he says. "I grew up in segregated schools here and I was not able to go to college in 1964 to Mississippi State."
Over the years, MSU has become known more as a progressive institution. It touts itself as "the people's university." To Ellis, the school's hiring of Croom could do wonders.
"The fact that coach Croom is here now gives a ray of hope for the future of young African-Americans, because they see now that change is on the forefront," he says. "It will be gradual. But they'll see that people will get respect for their character and for who they are, not the color of their skin."
Croom says he feels no added burden to succeed. But he knows that if he doesn't succeed, doors may not open as quickly for other minority candidates.
His hiring doesn't mean there's been a shift in the landscape, either, cautions Floyd Keith, executive director of the Black Coaches Association, which, along with the NCAA, has been pushing for diversity. "Obviously, it's a good thing, but it's a quiver, not an earthquake," says Keith, whose group will issue its first college minority hiring report card in October.
Back in Philadelphia, Croom stands by his golf cart with links partner Templeton. A white-haired senior citizen approaches. His name is Charles Prince, and he grew up in Philadelphia and attended MSU in the 1950s. He's in town for a family reunion.
"I'm proud you're here," says Prince, who is white. "I think you're the best thing to ever happen to Mississippi State."
The coach thanks the man cordially. Moments later, he's heading off in his cart. For Sylvester Croom, the ride of his life is just getting started.
