LaTunaNostra
09-21-2004, 10:12 PM
Frank Luksa: A fitting tribute for Harris, Wright
06:05 PM CDT on Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Editor's note: Frank Luksa has covered the Cowboys since their inception in 1960. His column appears exclusively on CowboysPlus.com.
One of them played two other positions before he found his All-Pro niche.
The other will become the first free agent to receive the loftiest recognition the Cowboys can bestow. Both hailed from colleges so far off the main highway that Rand McNally couldn’t find them.
Each emerged from obscurity to reach stardom that fans still embrace 25 years after their careers ended. It has taken that long, but those two names finally will be recognized as foremost in franchise history when Rayfield Wright and Cliff Harris are inducted into the Ring of Honor on Oct. 10.
The tribute to Wright and Harris is fitting, unlike the treatment they and the late Bob Hayes received from the Pro Football Hall of Fame in January. All were among a field of 10 finalists before an entrenched anti-Cowboys bias among the selection committee rejected them for induction. As a former committee member (1976-2000), I thought the collective snub of Cowboys was shameful, a wicked reminder of grudges held by petty minds.
Perhaps entrée into the Ring of Honor will enhance Hall of Fame prospects for Wright and Harris. It’s conceivable some Hall of Fame voters used their exclusion from the Ring of Honor as a reason to reject. They could justify a nay stance by thinking that neither of these guys has been elevated to best-ever by their own team. So how can they be considered among all-time great NFL players?
If it existed, that excuse no longer exists. Other than sheer ignorance, lack of eyewitness background or prejudice against the Cowboys, how many excuses still linger? If I sound frustrated and angry, guess again. That only covers half of my disgust.
But this is no time to pout. It’s proper to retrieve memories of Wright and Harris and their athletic peaks. No one saw them coming in terms of what would develop from such humble pedigrees.
Wright was a seventh-round draft choice in 1967 from Fort Valley State. It took geography majors to locate the college in Georgia. He was among the early paybacks the Cowboys received for becoming the first NFL team to emphasize scouting black schools. They’d already hit with tight end Pettis Norman from Johnson C. Smith, which I seem to remember is found in North Carolina.
Rayfield began his career as a defensive end, moved to tight end, where he once caught a touchdown pass from Don Meredith, and then moved to right offensive tackle. Positions changes were common then. Randy White went from middle linebacker to strong side linebacker to tackle, Bob Lilly from end to tackle. Defensive linemen often switched to the offense.
Wright made his NFL debut at tackle against Deacon Jones, future Hall of Fame end of the Los Angeles Rams. Deacon knocked him flat on the first play and asked Wright, “Boy, does your momma know you’re out here?’’ Rayfield got up, dusted Deacon the rest of the day and won a game ball. He didn’t play any worse for the next 10 years.
Rayfield stood 6-6 and was listed during the mid-'70s at a slim 255 pounds.
In the modern era of sumo wrestler linemen, he’d probably be allowed to carry 355. Those who never saw him in action can visualize Rayfield by summoning the vision of his nickname: Big Cat.
Ah, Cliff Harris. He, too, earned a label that described the way he played free safety. Cliff was Captain Crash.
Harris could have intercepted more than 29 passes during his career had he been interested in that statistic. Given a choice between a pick and rendering a receiver groggy if not unconscious, Cliff always chose the latter. He was the NFL’s most feared hitter during the '70s, a ferocious tackler despite never weighing more than 190 pounds.
The Cowboys found their human torpedo at Ouachita Baptist, an NAIA college in Arkadelphia, Ark. Harris not only played at a level below the mainstream NCAA, he had to outlast 120 other free agents in 1970 for a roster spot.
“At first I told myself at least I got to go to training camp,’’ Harris once recalled. “Then I told myself I got to stay around to see the veterans. And then at least I was around for the first preseason game, and so forth.’’
Harris not only started as a rookie, he stayed around through the ’79 season; like Wright, he played in five Super Bowls, made All-Pro (four times) and became a six-time Pro Bowler.
My lone regret of the Ring of Honor news was that Harris and Charlie Waters weren’t inducted as an entry. Cliff and Charlie, the strong safety, were the Butch and Sundance of their day, inseparable on and off the field. So they remain to this day, tight as brothers and working from the same downtown Dallas office.
Otherwise, the arrival of a day long in coming was welcome. Rayfield and Cliff only add to the class and character represented by the Ring of Honor.
06:05 PM CDT on Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Editor's note: Frank Luksa has covered the Cowboys since their inception in 1960. His column appears exclusively on CowboysPlus.com.
One of them played two other positions before he found his All-Pro niche.
The other will become the first free agent to receive the loftiest recognition the Cowboys can bestow. Both hailed from colleges so far off the main highway that Rand McNally couldn’t find them.
Each emerged from obscurity to reach stardom that fans still embrace 25 years after their careers ended. It has taken that long, but those two names finally will be recognized as foremost in franchise history when Rayfield Wright and Cliff Harris are inducted into the Ring of Honor on Oct. 10.
The tribute to Wright and Harris is fitting, unlike the treatment they and the late Bob Hayes received from the Pro Football Hall of Fame in January. All were among a field of 10 finalists before an entrenched anti-Cowboys bias among the selection committee rejected them for induction. As a former committee member (1976-2000), I thought the collective snub of Cowboys was shameful, a wicked reminder of grudges held by petty minds.
Perhaps entrée into the Ring of Honor will enhance Hall of Fame prospects for Wright and Harris. It’s conceivable some Hall of Fame voters used their exclusion from the Ring of Honor as a reason to reject. They could justify a nay stance by thinking that neither of these guys has been elevated to best-ever by their own team. So how can they be considered among all-time great NFL players?
If it existed, that excuse no longer exists. Other than sheer ignorance, lack of eyewitness background or prejudice against the Cowboys, how many excuses still linger? If I sound frustrated and angry, guess again. That only covers half of my disgust.
But this is no time to pout. It’s proper to retrieve memories of Wright and Harris and their athletic peaks. No one saw them coming in terms of what would develop from such humble pedigrees.
Wright was a seventh-round draft choice in 1967 from Fort Valley State. It took geography majors to locate the college in Georgia. He was among the early paybacks the Cowboys received for becoming the first NFL team to emphasize scouting black schools. They’d already hit with tight end Pettis Norman from Johnson C. Smith, which I seem to remember is found in North Carolina.
Rayfield began his career as a defensive end, moved to tight end, where he once caught a touchdown pass from Don Meredith, and then moved to right offensive tackle. Positions changes were common then. Randy White went from middle linebacker to strong side linebacker to tackle, Bob Lilly from end to tackle. Defensive linemen often switched to the offense.
Wright made his NFL debut at tackle against Deacon Jones, future Hall of Fame end of the Los Angeles Rams. Deacon knocked him flat on the first play and asked Wright, “Boy, does your momma know you’re out here?’’ Rayfield got up, dusted Deacon the rest of the day and won a game ball. He didn’t play any worse for the next 10 years.
Rayfield stood 6-6 and was listed during the mid-'70s at a slim 255 pounds.
In the modern era of sumo wrestler linemen, he’d probably be allowed to carry 355. Those who never saw him in action can visualize Rayfield by summoning the vision of his nickname: Big Cat.
Ah, Cliff Harris. He, too, earned a label that described the way he played free safety. Cliff was Captain Crash.
Harris could have intercepted more than 29 passes during his career had he been interested in that statistic. Given a choice between a pick and rendering a receiver groggy if not unconscious, Cliff always chose the latter. He was the NFL’s most feared hitter during the '70s, a ferocious tackler despite never weighing more than 190 pounds.
The Cowboys found their human torpedo at Ouachita Baptist, an NAIA college in Arkadelphia, Ark. Harris not only played at a level below the mainstream NCAA, he had to outlast 120 other free agents in 1970 for a roster spot.
“At first I told myself at least I got to go to training camp,’’ Harris once recalled. “Then I told myself I got to stay around to see the veterans. And then at least I was around for the first preseason game, and so forth.’’
Harris not only started as a rookie, he stayed around through the ’79 season; like Wright, he played in five Super Bowls, made All-Pro (four times) and became a six-time Pro Bowler.
My lone regret of the Ring of Honor news was that Harris and Charlie Waters weren’t inducted as an entry. Cliff and Charlie, the strong safety, were the Butch and Sundance of their day, inseparable on and off the field. So they remain to this day, tight as brothers and working from the same downtown Dallas office.
Otherwise, the arrival of a day long in coming was welcome. Rayfield and Cliff only add to the class and character represented by the Ring of Honor.