After a long battle with Parkinson’s disease and congestive heart failure, Warren McVea breathed his last on October 18 in Los Angeles. He was 79.
I, like many others, remember this mercurial running back from San Antonio’s Brackenridge High School. Twice all-state, Wondrous Warren scored nearly 100 touchdowns and led the Eagles to the 1962 state championship. This predated what may be called “official” integration of Texas schoolboy sports (the [black] Prairie View Interscholastic League being absorbed by the [White] University Interscholastic League) by five years, as some black students had been taking part even in the mid-1950s. McVea, the undisputed star of his multiracial team, liked to lead a cheer on the bus before and after games: “black, brown and White.” While not big at 5′ 9″ and 175 pounds, McVea was fast and had moves that bedazzled all who saw him or tried to tackle him; he averaged more than a first down per carry during his senior season.
Despite being the target of college recruiters from all over, McVea really did not want to go out of state. His preference was to travel 80 miles north on Interstate 35 to Austin and wear the orange and white. The University of Texas’ athletic department had yet to integrate although the Board of Regents gave its OK in late 1963—just when the Longhorns were winning their first national championship. Many times I have lamented Darrell Royal’s faint-hearted approach at this crucial moment. Not only did McVea want to join up, but so had two young men in Beaumont a year earlier. I refer to defensive lineman Charles “Bubba” Smith and running back Mel Farr. A culture change—never an easy thing—would have been necessary, but UT would have benefited, helping lead the way toward integration of college football in the South, rather than being one of the laggards (Ole Miss, LSU, Clemson, Arkansas, et al.). So Smith went to Michigan State, Farr to UCLA and McVea, after a long and drawn-out courtship, to Houston. The people at UH yearned for membership in the Southwest Conference, something that would happen a decade later. For the nonce, however, the Cougars played an independent schedule and craved media attention. They got plenty in the form of McVea.
The pressure on him was enormous. By no means had “Cougar Nation” been unanimous about integrating the football team (actually, UH basketball integrated simultaneously with Elvin Hayes and Don Chaney), so he had to measure up. The city’s sizable black community wanted if not demanded that McVea excel, and references to the Heisman Trophy were thrown about cavalierly. Winning over his teammates was sometimes a challenge—as it had been for Abner Haynes at North Texas and would soon be for Jerry LeVias at SMU.
There were lows, starting with his four-fumble (all in the first half) performance against Tulsa on September 11, 1965, the first football game played in the newly built Astrodome. McVea contended with injuries, the legitimacy of which some people doubted. He had an on-field set-to with teammate Ken Hebert in a game against Wake Forest. And he had the honor, if that is the right word, of being among the first black players—sometimes the very first—to appear at Texas A&M’s Kyle Field, Tennessee’s Neyland Stadium, Florida State’s Doak Campbell Stadium, Kentucky’s McLean Stadium, Mississippi State’s Scott Field and Mississippi’s Hemingway Stadium. For the latter two contests, death threats were made.
There were highs as well—touchdown runs of 80 and 84 yards against Mississippi, a 92-yard kickoff return for TD against Florida State, a 99-yard TD reception against Washington State and most memorable, gaining 155 yards on just 14 carries before 76,000 fans against Michigan State. After that 37-7 shellacking, Spartans coach Duffy Daugherty said, “You have to see some of McVea’s moves up close to believe them.” Both the Associated Press and United Press International named him their back of the week. Bill Yeoman’s Cougars were ranked No. 2 in the nation at the midpoint of the 1967 season.
A second-team all-American that year, McVea concluded his college career without having ever played in a bowl game; some short-sighted people felt a measure of disappointment. But had he not played a major role in elevating an obscure, outlaw program to national prominence? McVea later see-sawed between fond memories of his UH days and bitterness.
Selected in the fourth round of the 1968 NFL draft by the expansion Cincinnati Bengals, he carried the ball nine times for 133 yards (a 14.8-yard average), caught 21 passes for 264 yards (a 12.6-yard average) and scored three touchdowns. Not bad numbers for the rook, but he clashed with hardline coach Paul Brown and was traded to the Kansas City Chiefs. McVea spent four seasons with Hank Stram’s club, helping them win Super Bowl 4. In that 23-7 victory over the Minnesota Vikings, he rushed 12 times, albeit for only 26 yards.
By 1974, McVea was out of the NFL. His stats are those of a guy who was good though not great: He played in 56 games and started 12; he had 1,186 yards rushing and caught 38 passes for 358 yards; he scored 13 touchdowns and threw for another; he returned 47 kickoffs but never for a score.
McVea’s life became a struggle as he sought to capitalize on his celebrity status but soon realized that was a no-go. He tried to make it as a pro sports agent, put on exhibition basketball games featuring NBA players and promoted nightclubs and restaurants. He developed a severe cocaine addiction and had brushes with the law: aggravated assault on a police officer, theft, obscenity, violating probation, drug possession and setting a female acquaintance’s apartment on fire. McVea had two stints in the graybar hotel.
To his credit, he cleaned up and turned himself into a responsible citizen; he was not too proud to work as a delivery man for a photo shop. McVea probably sighed with relief when he became eligible for an NFL player pension in 2001. That averages $43,000 per year, with health care benefits. Obituaries say that when he died, he was surrounded by a loving family.
Now, let me recall my dealings with Warren McVea. In 1984 or 1985, I had arranged to meet him in Houston to conduct an interview for my book Breaking the Ice / Racial Integration of Southwest Conference Football. We met at a restaurant, and we were not alone as three women also sat at our table. Their identities were never stated, and I was too polite to inquire. One of them, overhearing us talk about his days with the Brackenridge Eagles, Houston Cougars, Cincinnati Bengals and Kansas City Chiefs, asked him, “Did you play football?” While I hate to judge, it seemed that these were ladies of easy virtue, and McVea was pimping them.
Our dinner over, the women went in one direction while McVea and I went in another. We repaired to his home, a moderately ratty apartment that he shared with two other guys. He did his best to put up a brave front, hoping I would not regard him as a loser and a pathetic has-been. I did not. Our interview went smoothly, and I can tell you that he was well-spoken and clearly intelligent. I went on back to Austin to transcribe the tape of our interview and write a few more pages of my book. No more than two weeks later, McVea called and asked for help. I sent him $50 by Western Union.
Rocking high tops on the Brackenridge practice field…
McVea at UH…
McVea, perhaps in his big game against Michigan State…
Super Bowl champs!
McVea takes a pitchout from QB Lenny Dawson in Super Bowl 4…
He carries against the New York Jets…
An older and wiser McVea…
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