It has been easy to underestimate Russell Maryland, to look at him and wonder what’s so special.
As a big kid who was often too heavy, it’s understandable that some people tended to pay too much attention to his weight and not enough to his heart.
His parents, of course, could see qualities even when he was a child that would set him apart from many of his contemporaries.
His father, Jim, told a story to a reporter that makes a point about the steel at the center of his middle son:
“I would make sure the boys, when they were young, did their chores and homework every night. I came home from work later than usual one night. I decided it was too late to check on whether they’d done what they were supposed to do. I went to bed, and in the middle of the night I heard a sound.
“I thought somebody was breaking into the house, so I climbed out of bed and grabbed a baseball bat and eased myself into the hall, going toward the kitchen where I heard the noise. I looked through a crack in the door to the kitchen, and lo and behold, my little boy Russell. . . .”
Jim Maryland stopped. His voice was breaking. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I still get emotional when I think about that night. It was 2 o’clock in the morning, and there was Russell-he was 8 years old-sitting at the kitchen table, doing his homework.”
The father cleared his throat and again wiped his eyes. “What I recognized in Russell is, he would never quit,” he said. “I saw that budding in him when he was a little boy.”
At age 24, Russell Maryland has blossomed into an extraordinary young man, a quiet leader, devoutly religious, generous to his church and community causes, a college graduate and scholastic standout, the kind of flesh-and-blood product people have in mind when they extol the virtues of family values.
He is also one of the best athletes to hail from Chicago.
He was an All-America football player at the University of Miami for two years, excelling on two national-championship teams there and winning the Outland Trophy in his senior year as the country’s top defensive lineman.
As the No. 1 selection in the 1991 NFL draft and as a starting defensive tackle for the Dallas Cowboys, the 1993 Super Bowl champions, he is probably the most outstanding Chicago native competing today in professional athletics.
He may also be his hometown’s most unacclaimed and unknown sports star.
“For some reason, he’s Chicago’s best-kept secret,” said Tony Wise, an assistant football coach of Maryland’s teams at Miami and Dallas and now an assistant for the Chicago Bears.
“Oh, sure, I can walk down the street in Chicago, and no one will know who I am,” Maryland said. “That’s all right. I understand. It’s because I haven’t played here since high school.”
Which is not to say he doesn’t have legions of admirers here, their ranks surely greater after the free Russell Maryland Football Clinic he sponsored here in June, drawing 215 players from 42 high schools on the South Side, 170 students from 20 elementary schools, and about 400 parents and spectators.
His instructors, who stressed education as much as the finer points of the game, were NFL headliners, including Cowboys Emmitt Smith, the league-leading rusher the past two years; receiver Michael Irvin; and defensive stalwarts Ken Norton Jr. and Jim Jeffcoat. Gino Torretta, the ’92 Heisman Trophy winner and Miami quarterback, lectured quarterbacks.
During the same week, Maryland received a sliver of local limelight, even though his moments were largely unnoticed because of the city’s obsession with the NBA playoffs.
Still, he was grateful. “I never thought I’d ever have this kind of honor,” he said, sitting in a pew at St. John Church-Baptist, 4821 S. Michigan Ave., where he is a former member and usher.
A program had just been held at the church to commemorate Russell Maryland Day, designated for June 8 by the Chicago City Council, the Illinois General Assembly and the office of state Atty. Gen. Roland Burris, who is a member at St. John, a longtime friend of the Maryland family and the force behind the governmental accolades.
“I watched this dynamic young man grow up, and we are here to celebrate his character and his sense of responsibility as well as his athletic ability,” master of ceremonies Burris said.
`You have a gem’
Other speakers were Bingham Seibold, a Miami alumnus; Powhaton Collins, principal of Whitney Young High School, Maryland’s alma mater; and Jerald Prince, football coach at Young, who described Maryland as “a gentleman, soft-spoken, disciplined, polite, a very good athlete who leaves his aggressiveness on the field.”
Said Collins: “Mr. and Mrs. Maryland, you have a gem.”
Ask Jim and Rita Maryland, and they’ll tell you that all three of their sons are gems. They were raised-polished, if you will-to turn out that way.
The parents, their sons say, served as role models.
Jim, district sales manager for Chrysler Corp.’s South Bend district, and Rita, an accountant for the Chicago Police Department, are college graduates, the first in their families.
Jim’s diploma is from Southern University in his hometown of Baton Rouge. Rita received a degree from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.
Both came to Chicago from the South, Jim in 1963 just after graduating from Southern to take a job with the YMCA here, and Rita in 1954 when she was 11 and her parents and sister, Dolores, moved north from Vicksburg, Miss.
Raised by his grandparents, who “taught me the 10 Commandments,” Jim says he was attracted to Rita Lewis because she was pretty and because she “came from a good, strong, religious family.”
Rita says she was impressed by Jim’s ambition. “He was such a mature young man, I guess because of his upbringing. He came to Chicago by himself, not knowing anyone, and he was so determined to make a way for himself.”
Dad pushes his sons
Their first child was Eric, 26, a former teammate of Russell’s at Whitney Young, a graduate of Morehouse College in Atlanta and now a district service manager for Chrysler; the youngest is Brian, 18, a former running back at Mt. Carmel High School and now a sophomore at Southern.
Jim pushed the boys to be athletes as well as bring home the grades.
“My kids were little fat boys when they were young,” he says. “They weren’t natural athletes, but I thought they could make it in football.”
Eric and Russell weren’t overly enthusiastic to play.
“My father was always saying we were too fat,” Eric recalls. “One Saturday morning-we must have been 14 and 12-Russell and I were sitting in the house, watching cartoons on TV and eating pizza, and seeing us doing that, I guess, finally made my father snap.
“He’d bought us football equipment-pads and stuff-and he took us to Jesse Owens Park on 88th Street and made us do football drills. He had us blocking each other, and it was hot, and we started crying, and that only made him madder, and he got down in the dirt with us, and we were all blocking each other. We wore him out. He couldn’t walk for three weeks.”
Did the experience turn Eric and Russell around? “Oh, maybe for a day,” said Rita, laughing a mother’s laugh.
At St. John Church, Russell pointed to a pew at the rear. “I can remember sitting right over there, me and Eric and my cousin, Lisa Chestnut. We’d be playing tic-tac-toe during church, doing everything but listening to the Word, and my grandmother, Rita Lewis, would look over at us and whisper, `Hush that fuss!’
“There are good memories here, some of the best I have. I recall joining the usher board in 1982. I recall Mr. Arbery McClary, who was in charge of ushers, teaching me to serve others in the name of God. He’s one of my role models.
“I remember getting baptized on Jan. 1, 1984, and accepting Jesus Christ as my personal savior.”
A promise to the congregation
Rita recalls how the pastor, Rev. William A. Johnson, now 92, had instructed young Maryland. “Russell weighed 300 pounds when he was 15, and Pastor Johnson told him how to anchor his back foot so that he wouldn’t lose his balance when he was immersed.” The pastor, a slight, frail man, would certainly have been unable to lift the lad had anything gone wrong.
And there was the Sunday in 1986 before he left for Miami.
“I remember I was in a white suit and weighing 350 pounds,” Maryland said. “I stuck out like a sore thumb. And Rev. Johnson calls me up and makes me promise to the whole congregation that I wouldn’t get involved in drugs and that I would represent St. John Church, my family and the city of Chicago as God would want me to.”
Miami was a lucky break. Maryland had failed to make any all-city teams, mostly because he played for Young, a magnet school for high-level academic achievers known for hitting the books better than blocking and tackling.
As a result, only Indiana State University, hardly a major football power, offered Maryland a scholarship. At the last minute, however, a Chicago football player heading for Miami changed his mind, and the school decided to take a chance on Maryland.
Second-guessers had the same misgivings then as they would in 1991, when Dallas chose him ahead of everyone:
This Maryland kid was too fat and too short. Defensive linemen are supposed to be at least 6 foot 4. Maryland was 6-1 1/2 and 330 pounds. Something else-he didn’t look like an athlete.
Maryland worked hard and lost weight; he now plays at 275 pounds.
He also kept his word to St. John Church-to the point of causing his Miami roommate, Mike Sullivan, an offensive lineman from St. Francis de Sales High School in Chicago and now with Tampa Bay-to nickname him “The Conscience.”
Sullivan explained: “Whenever I’d be heading to a bar”-in the off-season, of course-“I’d hear this voice: `Don’t go, don’t go.’ “
Maryland laughed. “It was only because I had a terrible social life,” he said. “I tried to make the guys who were going out to party feel bad.”
When Russell turned pro, Jim picked his agent, Lee Steinberg of Newport Beach, Calif. “I did a lot of research,” Jim said. “I liked that Lee insisted on his athletes giving something back to the communities they come from.”
Steinberg said: “Our athletes have raised over $50 million for charity though the years. We don’t take clients unless they make a commitment to retrace their roots.
“In the case of Russell Maryland, it’s not like I’m inculcating values. He received these values in the crib. He has incredible parents.”
A lesson for youngsters
Many athletes establish foundations, as Maryland has. Besides holding an annual football clinic, he awards an annual college scholarship to a Chicago high school athlete.
On June 12 at Gately Stadium, 103rd Street and Cottage Grove Avenue, not far from where he grew up, Maryland spoke to a group of rapt elementary school students while his 25 fellow pros worked with high school players.
“I’m making $8 million over the next five years,” he said. “I’ve hit the jackpot, but it didn’t come easy. Nothing in life worth having comes easy. I worked hard, and I listened to my parents and teachers.
“Education is the key, because sports won’t last. I’ve got my college diploma, and I’ve got it up here,” he said, tapping his head with an index finger. “Knowledge is power. The best thing you can have is your mind. I could tear my knee on the first play next season, and my career would be over.”
Brains even compensate for obscurity.
“Recently I got Russell to fly out to Los Angeles for a huge pediatric AIDS benefit,” Steinberg said. “The biggest Hollywood stars donate their services. I send some of my athletes. Russell was working a fundraising booth, and I saw there was only a moderate amount of people lining up. I was upset and went over. I saw why. Sharon Stone was in the next booth.”
That’s why he can handle being overlooked in Chicago, though who knows? Maybe someday it will be different.
At the observance at St. John Church, Rev. Henry Moore prayed that “Russell will someday come back and play for the Bears.”
Standing at the pulpit a few minutes later, Bears assistant Tony Wise said: “With free agency, I’m looking forward to the day Russell’s contract expires with Dallas.”
Maryland quickly rose, leaned over Wise and said into the microphone: “Can I get that in writing?”
