A Cowboy's Life: A Memoir

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This book is dedicated to Coach Tom Landry.

Contents

Foreword by Roger Staubach

Acknowledgments

Introduction by Steve Sabol

First Quarter: The Early Years

1. My Dad, My Hero

2. The Letter

3. Texas Christian University

Second Quarter: From Nobody’s Team to America’s Team

4. A Cowboy First

5. Coach Tom Landry: A Man for All Seasons

6. The Birth of the Cowboys

7. Putting the Team Together

8. Stepping It Up

9. Tragedy Strikes

10. Improving the Team with Technology and the Flex

11. Post-Merger Successes

12. We Can Do Everything but Win the Big One

13. Our Season to Shine Becomes a Season of Sadness

14. Quarterback Controversy and Changes Afoot

15. Duane Thomas Makes the Scene

16. Winning the Big One

17. Farewells

18. Games I Will Never Forget

Third Quarter: Characters, Heroes, and Great Leading Men

19. The Originals

20. Players Year by Year

21. The Coaching Staff

Fourth Quarter: Life after Football

22. Battle Scars

23. Postgridiron Employment

24. The Ring of Honor and the Hall of Fame

25. The Camera’s Eye

Appendix: Stats, Accolades, Honors, and Achievements

Sources

About the Authors

Photo Gallery

Foreword by Roger Staubach

It’s been said that Bob Lilly was the greatest defensive tackle to ever play the game. I am a testament to that statement.

After serving my military obligation with the United States Navy, I joined the Dallas Cowboys in 1969. When I arrived, Bob had been the team’s star defensive tackle for eight years, and he had single-handedly revolutionized the position.

We were in awe of his superior athletic ability and skill—especially when watching him on game films. He was basically unstoppable. No one could block him. Guards would try to control him, but Bob would literally pick them up and throw them aside. The caliber of strength and quickness that he possessed was phenomenal.

In one game I remember seeing the guard pull in and the center trying to cut Lilly off. Bob, who stood 6´5˝ tall and weighed about 260 pounds, literally jumped over the center!

His greatness on the field was challenged by many an opponent. Regardless of whether Bob was double-teamed or even triple-teamed, he’d still beat you. There were times when he didn’t even confront the opposition at all. He would either jump over them, go around them, or strategically outsmart them by making the play.

Bob Lilly (left) with Roger Staubach at the 2000 Pro Football Hall of Fame ceremonies in Canton, Ohio. Photo courtesy of the Dallas Cowboys

Even though Bob is physically a big man, he is a quiet and gentle person. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. When he tackled an opponent, he did it in a clean manner. Bob always believed that it wasn’t how hard you tackled but how well you tackled. From a quarterback’s perspective, let’s just say that I’m thankful we were both on the same team so I never had to experience the wrath of Bob Lilly.

In 1974 Bob retired from professional football. He had stood at the forefront of the Cowboys’ Doomsday Defense for 14 years and helped the team to become world champions in Super Bowl VI.

In 1980 Bob was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. His presenter was his former coach and dear friend Tom Landry. During Tom’s presentation, he told the Canton audience that Bob had been the greatest player he had ever coached.

Known affectionately as Mr. Cowboy, Bob Lilly will forever be remembered as one of the elite who donned the Dallas Cowboys uniform.

—Roger Staubach

Acknowledgments

I would like to express my appreciation to Bob and Ann Lilly, whose countless hours of hard work made this book a reality; to Steve Sabol and Kathy Davis of NFL Films for their continued support of all my literary projects; to Mary Ann Wenger, NFL Films’ Player and Talent Manager, for her knowledge and help with resources; to Roger Staubach for his contributions; and to Marc Cohen, Texas Christian University’s Public Relations Director, for his help with supplying TCU archival resources.

Introduction by Steve Sabol

Like many of the NFL’s great players, Bob Lilly seemed larger than life. His style as a player and his character as a man converged into one heroic image.

It’s easy to imagine Bob in another place in time—strolling ominously down the center of town with his gun sitting snugly in his holster, his badge glistening in the afternoon sun, and the bad guys waiting at the other end of town. At 6´5˝ and 260 pounds, and with a hard frontier look about him, he could have easily played the part of marshal Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke. Instead Bob Lilly turned out to be a different kind of cowboy—a Dallas Cowboy.

It’s been said that he was the greatest defensive tackle ever to put on a uniform. Known as Mr. Cowboy, Lilly was the first draft pick in Dallas franchise history, the team’s first All-Pro, the first Pro Bowl selection, the first Ring of Honor member, and the first Cowboy to be inducted into that elite franchise known as the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He was the first cornerstone of the Cowboys dynasty and the centerpiece of the feared Doomsday Defense of the 1960s that helped this expansion team reach championship heights. This country boy from Throckmorton, Texas, also revolutionized the position of defensive tackle with a stunning combination of speed and strength.

Lilly stood at the forefront as the Cowboys gained power and prestige. He was the unstoppable, immovable force of the Cowboys’ defense. Opponents could neither contain him with a single player nor run away from him. Hall of Fame member Deacon Jones said, [Bob] never gave up on a play, and that’s what separates the guys that live in Canton from the guys that played this game. The ability to chase everything—every down—every 30 seconds.

Lilly left foes bent but not bloody—a trait not everyone appreciated. Bob’s playing style was clean and pure without a trace of nastiness, but when this Cowboy was bushwhacked he sought frontier justice.

After Super Bowl V, Lilly and the Cowboys were sucker punched with the nickname Next Year’s Champions. Despite playing brilliantly in consecutive title game losses to the Packers and in a bitter defeat to the Colts in Super Bowl V, Lilly was lumped in with a team that was called heartless and gutless.

But in Super Bowl VI, next year had finally arrived. The Dolphins sank under Lilly’s weight—as did the myth that the Cowboys were chokers. It seemed to take Lilly years to catch Bob Griese, and when he finally did, it was clear that the Cowboys’ championship chase was about to end.

In a 24–3 win over Miami, the part-time photographer was responsible for the game’s enduring image. Lilly was the team’s oldest player, and he understood—perhaps more than anyone else—the significance of this victory.

When Bob completed his football career in 1974, the Dallas Cowboys were world champions and national heroes—they were America’s Team. But when he arrived in 1961, the Dallas Cowboys were nobody’s team.

—Steve Sabol President of NFL Films

First Quarter: The Early Years

1. My Dad, My Hero

I was born in the town of Olney, Texas, on July 26, 1939, but grew up in the small community of Throckmorton, Texas. Throckmorton is located about 120 miles west-northwest of the Dallas–Fort Worth area.

My dad, John Ernest Buster Lilly, has always been my most loyal and avid fan. My close relationship with him began at a very young age. He is the person responsible for introducing me to the game of football. But before I begin talking about the humble beginnings of my gridiron career, I would like to tell you a little more about my dad—his character, his values, and the kind of man that he was—for it was he who helped build the foundation for the man I would become.

My dad had a difficult upbringing. He was one of five children when his parents decided to divorce. His mom and siblings were so destitute that when he completed the seventh grade he was forced to drop out of school in order to contribute to the family’s financial needs.

Dad had a motorcycle that he rode to and from work every day. One day while riding to work, a truck struck him down. The driver was intoxicated.

The blow was so violent that it completely crushed my dad’s femur. The doctor had no alternative but to insert a steel plate into the leg where the femur had once been situated. Traction was not an option; after the surgery, Dad’s leg shrank about an inch and a half. He was forced to wear an elevated shoe for the rest of his life.

Shortly after the plate had been inserted into his thigh, the leg became badly infected at the insertion site. The doctor performed a surgical procedure on the leg, allowing it to drain. My dad continued to walk with a severe limp for many years.

It wasn’t until I began playing for the Cowboys that my dad got a new lease on life. Dr. Marvin Knight was the team’s doctor, and I told him about the ongoing problem with my dad’s leg. Dr. Knight scheduled an appointment to evaluate the extremity of my dad’s injury, and the findings indicated that immediate surgery was necessary.

The steel plate that had been inserted into my dad’s thigh had become infected, and the infection had penetrated into the bone marrow. Dr. Knight removed the plate, but in order to totally clear the leg of infection, he had to literally chisel out part of my dad’s femur. With the infection gone, his leg no longer required draining, and the healing process finally took over.

Throughout this entire ordeal my dad continued to be strong, both physically and spiritually. To this day, I believe those qualities contributed to his survival.

As a child I never realized how strong my dad really was until I visited him at his shop one day. He removed a Ford V-8 engine from a car with his bare hands because his winch had broken.From that point on I had a great deal of respect for my dad. I made sure never to cross him and always behaved obediently…well, except for one time.

We were eating at the dinner table. As the conversation of the day commenced, my mother said something to me that I didn’t agree with. I responded by talking back to her. All of a sudden I felt this pain in my head. My dad had thumped me with his big finger and nearly knocked me out! From that moment on, I knew exactly who the boss was and that I had to play by his rules. Needless to say, I never talked back to my mom again.

In 1947, when I was eight years old, my dad took me to my first Throckmorton High School football game. We attended every game that season, and I fell in love with the sport. That same year he gave me my very first football.

Dad did a lot of scouting for the Throckmorton football coaches. One day Coach Mercer, the head football coach, gave my dad an old, worn-out varsity football, and Dad brought the ball home to me. I was so excited to receive that ball. The fact that it was old and worn out didn’t mean a thing. What was important was that it was my football. From that day on, my dad would play catch with me every chance he could. In sixth grade I finally got the opportunity to go out for football. Back then I was tall and very lanky. Our junior high football coach was Coach Morton. He stood about 6´5˝ and weighed about 250 pounds. A man that size was considered quite big in those days.

One day, as he was demonstrating how to perform a forearm block, he accidentally hit me in the nose. He hit me so hard that I nearly executed a full backflip. You have to remember that back then our helmets were made of leather, and the face mask had not yet been invented. There was nothing blocking my face except my nose.

I ended up falling flat on my back. I hit my head on the ground so hard that my eyes literally crossed. The first thing that came to mind was, I really don’t think I want to play this game. It hurts too much! But as I slowly pulled myself up off the ground and regained my bearings, I decided to give it one more try.

Because I was so tall and thin, I sometimes appeared awkward. Many times I can recall my dad telling my mom, If that boy is planning to play football, he is going to have to grow some and fill out a little more.

It took me three years, but I finally did it. By ninth grade I was 6´4˝ and weighed 180 pounds. I was still somewhat spindly, but I was very strong. I could run forever and never get tired. Football was still my first love, but my preference at that time was basketball. I was fortunate enough to play both.

After each game I rode home with my parents. My dad was my biggest fan. His words were always encouraging. Whether I had played well or not, he always knew the right thing to say. He never spoke down to me or spoke in a negative manner.

One afternoon my parents came to see me play in an eighth-grade basketball game. As the clock was ticking down and after repeatedly yelling to my teammates, Gimme the ball, gimme the ball! the ball was finally in my hands. I guess I became a little anxious and somehow began dribbling toward our opponent’s basket. It was similar to what happened to Vikings defensive end Jim Marshall during the Minnesota Vikings–San Francisco 49ers game years back.

Jim had recovered a fumble made by the 49ers’ Billy Kilmer and ran 66 yards to the 49ers end zone, thinking he was scoring six points for the Vikings. Instead he ran in the opposite direction and into his own end zone. Jim ran into the end zone untouched and threw the ball away in jubilation. The ball landed out of bounds, which resulted in a safety for the 49ers. Fortunately for Marshall, his Vikings still won the game.

In my case, it was the second half of the game, and time was running out. I sprinted down the court, executed a great layup, and scored two points. But like Jim Marshall, it was two points for the other team. Unfortunately for us, and unlike the Vikings, we ended up losing our game.

At the end of the game, Coach Morton turned to me and said, That was the dumbest thing I have ever seen! He really didn’t have to tell me that; I already knew it. I felt like I had let the team down.

Needless to say, I was pretty quiet on the drive home. I was not particularly proud of what I had done. That night my dad came into my room to say goodnight. He sat down on my bed and began to talk with me. He always found a way to bring up the game—whether we won or lost—without having to say a negative word.

In a soft-spoken voice he leaned over and said, Son, did you get a little mixed up out there today?

Not wanting to discuss it, but knowing that he meant well, I replied, Yes, sir, I did.

He smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and said, Well, don’t worry about it. You’re only in junior high school, and it’s not going to have any effect on your career.

He always knew what to say and how to say it. I loved that quality in him.

My freshman year finally came, and I began playing football for the Throckmorton High School Greyhounds. It seemed as though I had waited a lifetime to be old enough to play for their team. I had a great freshman season, and by the time I became a sophomore, I weighed in at 210 pounds. I hadn’t finished growing yet, though, and as a junior my weight increased to 220 pounds.

At that point my high school football and basketball careers began to take off. By the end of my junior year I was voted All-District and All-Bi-District in football, and I was All-District, All-Bi-District, and had an All-State honorable mention in basketball.

It is important to mention the loyalty, confidence, and dedication that my dad gave to me throughout my entire high school football career. He never missed any of my games—not one. Like the U.S. Postal Service, neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow kept him from attending. He wasn’t only my dad; he was also my hero.

Toward the end of high school, some of the senior athletes began receiving letters regarding athletic scholarships. These letters of intent were sent by college coaches from around the country who had been scouting these boys with the hope of luring them to their own athletics programs.

My plan was to graduate from high school and join one of the branches of the armed forces. I was hoping to make a 25-year career out of the military and then retire. Upon retirement, I could do whatever I wanted with the remainder of my life.

But in December 1955 something happened that changed my plans drastically…and my life forever.

2. The Letter

In December 1955 I received an unexpected letter from future Hall of Fame charter member Sammy Baugh, who was my dad’s all-time football hero. Sammy played quarterback for Texas Christian University, where he was an All-American. While there, he picked up the nickname Slingin’ Sammy from a Texas sportswriter.

During the Depression era of the mid-1930s, he placed TCU (which at that time was a very small college) on the national gridiron map. He led them to a muddy 1936 Sugar Bowl victory over Louisiana State by a score of 3–2 and a 16–6 win over Marquette in the 1937 Cotton Bowl, the first Cotton Bowl game ever played. He was also one of three MVPs of the game.

In 1937 he signed with the Washington Redskins for the unheard-of amount of $8,000, making him the highest-paid player on the team. He helped revolutionize the game of pro football by making the forward pass a routine play from scrimmage. His incredible accuracy led Washington to two NFL championships, and he is the only NFL player ever to lead the league in passing, punting, and interceptions in the same season.

At one point Sammy wasn’t convinced that football was his best sport. He figured he could extend his professional sports career if he switched to baseball. Future Major League Baseball Hall of Fame member Rogers Hornsby, then a scout for the St. Louis Cardinals, signed Sammy, who