Exactly a century ago, in 1913, American librarians began calling the New York Times “the newspaper of record.” They perceived that its circulation, editorial and news-gathering capabilities were unmatched, at least in the USA. Whether that is still the case, I do not claim to know but I recently saw something in the Times online that gave me pause. The piece in question was an obituary (written by Frank Litsky) of Paul Dietzel, the former football coach at LSU, Army and South Carolina. Litsky did a superb job, with one glaring exception. He apparently misidentified the Tigers’ 1959 Heisman Trophy winner as “Jimmy Cannon.”
In addressing this monumental blunder, I will start with Litsky. He has been on the staff at the Times for more than 50 years and has written some 3,700 articles on all the major sports, not to mention numerous books. He has won several writing awards; Litsky’s bonafides are very strong. So I was all the more puzzled when I saw he seemed not to know Billy Cannon’s first name. No fewer than 24 hours later, I went back to that article and saw a correction at the bottom. An "editing error" was to blame. I would be skeptical if Litsky were not such a proven sports writer. It has also happened to me. More than once, I have had well-intentioned copy editors insert mistakes into what I wrote. This is a maddening experience. You write something and polish it, polish it, polish it, and then along comes somebody who devalues your work. By some unfortunate mistake in Litsky's story, Billy became Jimmy. There was, in fact, a Jimmy Cannon. He, too, was a New York sports journalist, although not for the Times, from the mid-1920s until his death in 1973.
(Litsky is no Bob St. John, a Dallas Morning News writer with whom I had a long-distance row about 15 years ago. He had done a book about Bobby Layne, the former UT, Detroit Lions and Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback. The book was rife with typos and factual errors. For example, St. John wrote that the 1947 game between the Longhorns and North Carolina had been held in Chapel Hill. Wrong, I informed him. It was in Austin. In this and other instances, he said it was bad work on the part of his assistants and fact-checkers. St. John got his panties in a knot because I referenced this and other gaffes. At least he had the score right—Texas 34, UNC 0.)
The Times' error was startling in light of Billy Cannon’s impact on college and pro football. An early advocate of weight training, he could bench press 435 pounds and run 100 yards in 9.4 seconds; he was a 6'1", 225-pound stallion. Cannon’s epic 89-yard punt return, with six broken tackles, against Mississippi on Halloween night at Tiger Stadium in 1958 remains one of the biggest plays in LSU gridiron history. And how significant was he in the pros? Cannon’s signing with the Houston Oilers in 1960 was crucial in establishing the American Football League. With him in the backfield—he was also called on to return punts and kickoffs—the Oilers won the first two AFL championships. He was with the Oakland Raiders as a tight end when they won the 1967 AFL crown. (He caught two passes in his team's loss to Green Bay in Super Bowl 2.) All told, Cannon played in six of the AFL’s 10 championship games. In an 11-year career, he scored 63 touchdowns and threw for another. Cannon gained just over 8,000 yards as a runner, receiver and kick returner.
His life after football was equal parts success, failure and redemption. Not dumb in the least, Cannon earned dental degrees from the University of Tennessee and Loyola Chicago. He had a successful practice in Baton Rouge. Who would not want to have his teeth worked on by the LSU football legend? Cannon did, however, make some poor real estate investments and lost money gambling. That led to the biggest mistake in his life. He started a counterfeiting operation, printing $6 million in $100 bills. He was busted and suddenly became a pariah in Bayou Country. The College Football Hall of Fame, to which he had just been elected, rescinded the honor. Cannon was found guilty and sent to a federal prison in Texarkana, Texas. He served 2 1/2 years and was released in 1986.
To his credit, Cannon had fessed up right from the start. Although he regained his dental license, times were hard. Once the object of adulation, he was now notorious. As an ex-con with few options, he started working as a contractor at Louisiana State Penitentiary in Angola, one of the toughest prisons in the country. He was hired as a full-time dentist and brought order to what had been a chaotic program. The prisoners, of course, knew of his athletic glory days as well as his own experience behind bars. He could relate to them. Cannon was soon put in charge of the prison’s entire medical system. The warden called hiring him one of the best moves he ever made. After 25 years, the Hall of Fame changed its mind and re-inducted him.
Cannon, 76, underwent quintuple-bypass heart surgery several years ago and suffered a stroke in February 2013, so he may not be long for this world. While he is here though, I am compelled to ask: how many other people have achieved such heights, followed by ignominy and then redemption?
“Jimmy” Cannon, indeed!
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