Bucs/NFL

Renaissance Reggie

He has been an NFL star, executive, politician, Ivy League grad and art buff. Now Reggie Williams is even a longshot candidate for NFL commissioner.

By DAVE SCHEIBER
Published July 30, 2006

	[Times photo: Chris Zuppa]
	Reggie Williams dances to "Bengals No. 1," a local hit from Cincinnati's first AFC championship season in 1981.

ORLANDO

Walk inside Reggie Williams' penthouse condominium, a stunning two-story loft overlooking downtown Orlando's Lake Eola, and you walk inside his colorful vision of life.

"This place is how I look at the world around me," he says to several visitors on a recent afternoon, pointing to the towering walls that hold more than a hundred framed paintings and photos of his sporting and cultural heroes.

The works cover virtually every portion of available space, creating an impressive gallery of the art he collected during 14 seasons as a standout linebacker with the Cincinnati Bengals from 1976-89 and in the years since.

They range from the stylized oils by renowned African-American artist Ernie Barnes to a Muhammad Ali montage to a pair of large LeRoy Neiman portraits from Super Bowls XVI and XXIII between Cincinnati and San Francisco that feature the Bengals' No. 57 - Williams - in the background of each.

Then there are the CDs - nearly 4,000 of them from R&B to jazz to funk to world beat lining an array of long shelves, all in alphabetical order. They are not to be confused with the 1,000-plus DVDs on another set of shelves with more obscure, independent titles than you'd see at five years of Sundance Film Festivals.

"I would love to be a film critic," he says, laughing.

Of course, this is the home of a man who is many other things:

- A former All-Ivy Leaguer from Dartmouth who graduated with a psychology degree in 3¹/₂ years in 1976 and was awarded an honorary Doctor of Laws degree in 1990.

- A recipient of the NFL's Man of the Year Award in 1986 and Sports Illustrated's Co-Sportsman of the Year in 1987.

- A Cincinnati city councilman for two terms who helped push through social-minded legislation that earned thanks from South Africa's Bishop Desmond Tutu - while still playing for the Bengals.

- A respected former NFL executive named last year by Black Enterprise Magazine as one of the 50 Most Powerful Blacks in Sports and on SI's list of the Most Influential Minorities in Sports in 2003.

- And an executive whose name has surfaced, albeit only as a longshot, for the job of NFL commissioner.

All indications are that the league favors an insider to replace Paul Tagliabue, such as NFL chief operating officer Roger Goodell, in-house counsel Jeff Pash, or Atlanta Falcons GM Rich McKay. But the fact Williams' name has been mentioned in national news reports is a testament to his most prized work of art: the 220-acre, multisport facility at Disney World known as the Wide World of Sports Complex.

Williams, 51, conceived of the idea 13 years ago after a chance meeting with then-Disney chairman Michael Eisner. He envisioned a central location for young athletes to compete, sold Disney brass on its merits and has overseen the operation, with its 2,000 employees, since it opened in March 1997.

Today, the complex hosts more than 170 sporting events each year in 30-plus sports. And in addition to the plethora of youth, college and AAU contests, Williams, as vice president of Disney Sports Attractions, has created a pro presence as well. He negotiated the deals that have made the complex the spring training and preseason bases of the Atlanta Braves and Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

"I've always called Reggie a politician," says one of his longtime friends, former Bucs and Redskins quarterback Doug Williams, now a Tampa Bay front-office executive. "Not just because he was a councilman in Cincinnati but because even as a player, he was out in the community all the time. He's always had a down-to-earth personality with the charisma to go with it."

Williams had to overcome substantial resistance to his Wide World of Sports project from some Disney decision-makers, who felt his plan was too much of a break from tradition.

"It was culturally different from anything Disney had done because it wasn't relying on Disney Imagineering and characters and rides," he recalls. "I wanted the kids to be the ride."

For Williams, overcoming challenges has deep roots. Growing up in a working-class neighborhood in Flint, Mich., he was often on the receiving end of ridicule from neighborhood kids who made fun of the sound of his voice when he talked.

Williams knew what they were saying though he couldn't hear their words.

He was born into a life of near silence.

And though surgery eventually helped correct much of his genetic hearing loss, he learned early on how to adapt, rely on his smarts and athletic skills, and make a difference in the world around him.

On this particular day, Williams is moving slowly but steadily, holding a cane in each hand for balance. His sixth knee surgery, stemming from old football injuries, is barely 72 hours away. Sitting on a sofa by a zebra skin rug, he glances down at the long, jagged scar running across his right knee.

"That's I-75," he quips.

Or perhaps Interstate 4 is more like it. After all, that is the crowded stretch of highway he travels each day from his luxury digs to the bustling sports mecca 20 exits away. Like his massive collection of diverse art and music, it is part of Williams' vision - an ultimate destination, for kids of all ages to compete for championships in an array of sports, in the same setting the pros use.

"There are metaphors of your journey in life as a highway - different exits, off ramps, missed turns and accidents that occur," he says. "So when they put that Wide World of Sports exit sign up on I-4 in 1998, it really hit me."

He had arrived at a new destination of his own.

A very long way from Flint.

When he was a toddler there, his parents noticed he only responded to them when he was looking right at them. They took him to a specialist who removed his adenoids and tonsils, but that didn't help. They grew back. At age 4, he underwent a revolutionary radiation procedure. That failed but, amazingly, the followup at 6 worked. It gave Williams the hearing he has today, though about half of what is considered normal.

"We were so concerned," says his mother, Julia. "At first, we just thought he wasn't paying any attention to us. And after a while, I looked at him and said, 'My baby's deaf.' Fortunately, the procedure worked. We were so thankful. But Reggie still had a rough time from the kids in school because he couldn't talk the way they did."

Williams, the middle of three boys, struggled with a severe speech impediment as he literally learned to talk from grades 3 to 6. His parents - his father Elijah worked for GM, Julia was a homemaker - enrolled him in the nearby Michigan School for the Deaf to get speech therapy after class in public school. "I did a lot of exercises like 'Polly picked a pack of purple plump pickles to learn to enunciate,' " he says.

Williams didn't talk much as a young teen, instead immersing himself in books and academics. He became a stellar student and began to gain confidence and make friends at Flint Southwestern High. But he had a new problem. "In my neighborhood, excelling academically wasn't necessarily a positive," he says. "You didn't want to be too smart. So for social reasons, I went out for the football team in 10th grade."

He had no experience but became one of the team's stars as a linebacker and fullback. One big advantage: He had learned to read lips and interpret body language and he used the skill to get a jump on opposing quarterbacks. In his best offensive game as a senior, he scored two touchdowns and gained 100 yards in four carries.

Williams dreamed of playing for Michigan, but was crushed when legendary coach Bo Schembechler visited his school one day. "He had looked at my films and basically said to my face, you're not good enough to play for UM," Williams says.

It wasn't the only blow he endured as a senior. Williams decided to run for president and had to give a speech to the entire class. "I couldn't finish my speech because of the kids laughing at the way I talked," he says. "I had to walk off stage."

But he got past the disappointment and pain and earned an academic scholarship to his second choice, Dartmouth. He found a speech teacher there who helped him make enormous strides - in fact, today his voice reveals no hint of any impediment.

At Dartmouth, he enjoyed a spectacular sporting career as a three-time All-Ivy League linebacker and Ivy League heavyweight wrestling champion. And as a psychology major, he specialized in interpersonal communication and group dynamics. "I matured exponentially faster than if I had stayed in Michigan," he says. "So Schembechler did me a favor."

In the 1976 draft, the Bengals selected Williams in the third round. He made the NFL All-Rookie team and became a fixture in Cincinnati, never missing a game in 14 seasons. When the Bengals reached their first Super Bowl in 1982, Williams recruited teammates Archie Griffin and Isaac Curtis to record an R&B celebration tune, Bengals No. 1, that was a huge hit with fans.

"Oh man, it was much better than Chicago's Super Bowl Shuffle in '85," he says, tossing his canes aside to show off a few of the smooth dance moves that accompanied the song. "If we'd have won, I'd have a Grammy on top of everything else!"

Unfortunately for Williams, both of the team's Super Bowl seasons ended with losses to the 49ers - 26-21 in '82 and 21-16 in '89 when Joe Montana connected with John Taylor in the final 26 seconds. Still, Williams had an impressive career. His 62.5 sacks stands at No. 2 today for the Bengals and his 23 fumble recoveries puts him in the NFL's top five all-time.

He made an equally big impact off the field.

"I grew up socially conscious and I always felt that whether it was academics or sports, they could be a fulcrum for change in society," he says.

So the first thing he did as a Bengal was start volunteering at the Cincinnati Speech and Hearing Center, remaining involved throughout his career. And in his final two years on the team, he also became Councilman Williams, ready to make a difference in a new forum.

He was appointed to fill a vacant seat in his first term in 1988, then in 1989 was comfortably elected to a second term as the council's only African-American.

Sometimes, Williams would attend weeknight council meetings with his body bruised and bleeding under his business suit from the pounding he took on a Sunday or Monday night. But he was an active council member who eventually thrust himself into the spotlight on one issue.

In 1989 he championed an effort, which had been defeated several years earlier, to get the city's pension fund to divest itself of all stocks that did business with the segregationist Boer government of South Africa. Some critics suggested Williams should stick to football. But he persisted and the landmark civic measure passed.

As it happened, the Boers ended their rule months later. "And not long after that, Bishop Tutu visited Cincinnati on a U.S. tour because of the large Boer-German population there," Williams says. "He said that when 'Zinzinnati' divested itself, the Boer government knew it was all over. It was the last straw."

Williams could easily have stayed in Cincinnati, where he and his then-wife Marianna raised three sons Julien, Jarren and Kellen. But he craved a new challenge in a new place. "I knew I didn't want to live the rest of my life as a guy who came within 26 seconds of winning a Super Bowl," he says. "When you talk to kids, no matter how sincere your message, they rally toward winners. So I knew I had to leave Cincinnati."

He headed to New York, where he spent two years as vice-president/GM of the New Jersey Knights in the now-defunct World League of American Football. Then he rejoined the NFL, where in 1993, as part of Super Bowl XXVII in Pasadena, he conceived and inaugurated the league's first Youth Education Town, or YET, in South Central Los Angeles for at-risk children.

Every city that has hosted a Super Bowl since has opened a YET program.

Coincidentally, while working on the first YET in Los Angeles, Williams ran into a Dartmouth pal who worked for Disney. He took Williams to lunch in the corporate dining room, where they bumped into Eisner, then Disney chairman. Disney had recently purchased the Anaheim Mighty Ducks and was looking to expand its sports presence. Eisner was impressed by Williams and asked him if he was interested in helping start a sports business at Disney.

Williams jumped at the opportunity, working out a vision based on his years in Flint, where all the high school kids dreamed of competing for a championship in the city's sports epicenter, Atwood Stadium. He was hired in '93 by Disney's top parks and resorts chief, Al Weiss, and spent the next two years selling the Wide World of Sports concept to other company honchos. It was approved in '95 and opened in March '97.

"He brings so much passion to this," says Hall of Fame tight end Kellen Winslow, director of new business development at Wide World of Sports. "He truly believes that we're here to help young people change their lives. He lives that every day."

Williams says he is honored that his name has come up for the NFL's top job. Still, he loves what he's doing. All he has to do is look around the busy complex on any given day to see the impact of his vision.

"Knowing how much a difference sports made in my own life makes this so special," he says. "I went from a kid who was very insecure, hiding behind books, to gaining social graces through sports. And if sports can make changes in my life, it can make changes in any kid's life."

The result might just be a masterpiece.

[Last modified July 30, 2006, 01:24:32]