What Have You Done Now, Eugene?: The Story of Gene Mingo, #21

By Carol Strickland, Gene Mingo and Glen Strickland

Gene Mingo grew up as a mischievous kid in Akron, Ohio, with a challenging childhood and love for high school football. After a stint in the US Navy, he found his way back to football. In 1960, he joined the American Football League as a placekicker, halfback, and return specialist for the Denver Broncosbut that was just the beginning.

Gene has been inducted into the America Football League Hall of Fame, reflecting an illustrious career that included the first punt return for a touchdown in the AFL and two years spent leading the AFL in scoring. History considers him to have been the first African American placekicker in the AFL. Life isnt lived only on the football field, however; outside the game, number twenty-one had troubles.

Perhaps due to finding success too quickly, Gene developed a tendency to fall in with a bad crowd. His poor choices led to near tragedy, but he always found a home on the football field. Gene Mingos story isnt simple. It wasnt easy being a black man in a white mans world, and Gene had some internal demons of his own as well. Still, his story is that of legend, and the trials and tribulations of this spectacular athlete deserve to be remembered forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475947342

Carol Strickland

Eugene Mingo is a former professional football player inducted into the American Football League Hall of Fame. He is retired and living in Denver, Colorado, with his wife, Sally. Glen and Carol Strickland are professors at Emporia State University. Glen is the author of over one hundred high school debate resource books, and Carol was inducted into the National Teachers Hall of Fame in 2003. They have two grown daughters and live in Emporia, Kansas

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WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW EUGENE?

The Story of Gene Mingo #21

Gene Mingo &

Glen & Carol Strickland

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

What Have You Done Now Eugene?

The Story of Gene Mingo #21

Copyright © 2012 by Gene Mingo & Glen & Carol Strickland

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-4732-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4734-2 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4733-5 (dj)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012916322

iUniverse rev. date: 9/17/2012

Contents

Preface

Chapter One The Nightmare Begins

Chapter Two Reality Settles In

Chapter Three Friends Indeed

Chapter Four Memories Flood Back

Chapter Five The Early Days

Chapter Six My Dad – My Strength

Chapter Seven My Mother – The Saint

Chapter Eight Mama’s Decline

Chapter Nine Those I Idolized

Chapter Ten Join The Navy And See The World

Chapter Eleven Tough Choice – Baseball Or Football Or A Real Job

Chapter Twelve Heading West To Denver

Chapter Thirteen A New Star Is Born

Chapter Fourteen New Look--New Attitude

Chapter Fifteen A Serious Error In Judgment

Chapter Sixteen Good News… And Bad News

Chapter Seventeen On The Road Again

Chapter Eighteen The End Of The Game

Chapter Nineteen A New Beginning

Chapter Twenty The Downward Spiral

Chapter Twenty-One Facing The Consequences

Chapter Twenty-Two The Healing Takes Time

Chapter Twenty-Three A Completed Life

PREFACE

Eugene (Gene) Mingo could really handle the pigskin. Used as a halfback to run the ball, he would return kickoffs and punts, play strong safety to help stop the ball carrier with a good, hard formed tackle, knock down passes, and last, but not least, would kick field goals with the best in the league, if not being the very best himself. In warm ups and practices, I saw him kick several field goals over sixty yards with lots of room to spare. There were plenty of games where the team members (including yours truly) felt that if the offense could just reach the middle of the field, the 50 yard line, we had a guaranteed score with #21. By the way, the goal post used to be on the goal line, back in the day, but that was still a great feat for Mingo.

As a halfback, Mingo had the speed good enough to run the flanks, yet enough power to run up the middle, and was shifty enough to return punts. He returned the first scoring punt return of 76 yards for the Denver Broncos that won the first regular season game in the AFL against the Boston Patriots in 1960. There were very few stats kept during the early years, but I remember on many occasions Gene would run onto the field to fill the position of one of our injured players, just to keep the team from getting a penalty. Mingo loved to hit, and I felt we needed him on defense. He was an athlete and a team player. When he missed a field goal or dropped a pass or fumbled, you could see that he was thinking about how he could make up for that mistake.

Mingo and I were roommates during my four years with the Broncos, and I got to know a lot about him as a player and as a man. I called him my little brother and looked out for him whenever needed since he was the youngest on the team, even though he had spent three and a half years in the Navy.

Mingo was very well liked by all of his teammates. He could and would bring his best every week on the practice fields and in the games—my kind of guy, and by the way, he made the best popcorn in Colorado. We had plenty of guests whenever he made some (which was most nights) since it was impossible to hide the aroma.

Gene Mingo was one of those players who should have always played in Denver, but, unfortunately, he was moved around the AFL and NFL because he was a bit misunderstood.

He is a good sport and a dear friend; that is why we have been very close for over 61 years. Oh, and that’s a great number—mine!

Chuck Gavin #61

CHAPTER ONE

THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS

All of us have that one moment, one day, or one time in our lives when we want to turn back the clock, rewind, ask for a do-over or something that can obliterate the awful occurrence that has just happened. Perhaps I’ve had more than my share of those incidents in my life, but the absolute worst moment that changed my life forever was the night I thought I had killed the love of my life. On September 10, 1986, as I sat in the Denver City Jail intake facility, in handcuffs, covered with Sally’s blood, my tears flowed as I wondered whether there would be a future for either of us. I changed from the blood-splattered clothes into an orange jumpsuit and was led to the holding cell for the night to pray for a miracle for both of us. It was the lowest moment in my life, and if they had left my belt with me, I wouldn’t be here telling this story now. I would have ended it all at that point.

That night, just as I had decided that all was lost and I would never be free again, a young deputy came to the cell door and called me over. I didn’t look up at him as I was awash in tears and frustration with myself. He spoke with a friendly voice, Mr. Mingo, could I talk to you for a minute? I looked up to see a good-looking young Hispanic man with a million dollar smile. He unlocked the cell and walked toward me. He extended his hand. Mr. Mingo, you don’t know me, but you were my inspiration all the time I was growing up here in Denver. In the early ’sixties, you came to my elementary school and later to my high school to talk about football and physical fitness and how much your football career had meant to you. You even took the time to show me how to kick field goals. I was determined to be the Hispanic version of Gene Mingo, Denver Bronco Great! You kept me out of gangs and away from drugs and alcohol and focused on sports. I got a college scholarship for baseball and football but knew I was too little to ever be a pro, so I chose law enforcement as a way to be a role model like you were for me. I’m honored to see you again, but I’m sorry it’s under these conditions. Things will get better, you know, and I’ll be here to help in any way I can.

I took the deputy’s hand and shook it and then held it for what seemed like an eternity. Then we embraced. I cried, I feel so alone, and I can’t believe I let everyone down so much, especially those people that I love. What have I done? The deputy looked at me and said, Mr. Mingo, you were the greatest, and nobody has been able to break so many of your pro football records. How can someone so successful end up here as a prisoner? What happened? His expression was one of disbelief, anguish, and sympathy. I knew that I had even let him down. My star quality was gone, and I had traded my famous number 21 football jerseys for this awful jumpsuit with a meaningless number other than an identification for my mug shot.

What happened? I said, That’s the question I’m trying to answer. I know I only have myself to blame, and I’ve disgraced my family. How is Sally? Is she going to be OK? The Deputy paused and then looked down. She’s having a rough time, but the doctors stopped the bleeding. The problem is they couldn’t get to the bullet. It’s too near her spine. It kind of bounced around like a pin ball inside, but luckily missed her vital organs. She’s in intensive care in critical condition. It’s too early to know if she’ll make it. I’m so sorry, Mr. Mingo.

No, I’m the one to be sorry, son. Sally is the best thing that ever happened to me, and in my drug stupor, I may have killed her. We’ve been together for 15 years, and I love her with all my heart. I never, in all those years, ever raised a hand to her and never meant to hurt her. I thought I was protecting her, and the gun just went off. Oh, God, don’t let her die. She deserves better! The tears flowed uncontrollably now as I thought of Sally hovering near death because of me.

The deputy patted my shoulder, encouraged me to try to eat something and to get some rest before my arraignment in the morning. My dear Mama had always said that we pay for our sins, and I knew that my day of reckoning was coming. The sound of the cell door locking made me shiver. I was all alone with my guilt. After picking at the food, I lay down on the cot and prayed until I finally fell asleep. I knew that my faith was about to be tested as never before.

My sleep was fitful, but my dreams were filled with images of people I loved and of places where I had felt loved. I was in a west side cell overlooking the Mother Cabrini Shrine, and the moon was shining brightly that night. I would have sworn tears were falling from the eyes of the statue. More of my drug-induced visions or a sign of some sort? I looked out of the small window and saw the Mother Cabrini Shrine brightly lit, and I started to pray again. I had cried so much that my eyes were almost completely closed, but I finally dozed off for what seemed like just a few minutes and then sat up on the cot with my hands against my face, still whimpering like a baby. I began to hear voices; I knew I was in a jail cell, so what could this be? As I began to remove my hands from my face, the room had taken on a bright glow about it. Standing in front of me were visions of my Mother, Father , Sally’s father and Auntie Carolyn, all in the clothes we had buried them in. My Dad & Sally’s Dad were over six feet tall and turned their heads to their right, looking slightly upwards. What could they be looking at? I followed their eyes and turned to my left. It was then that I saw a figure in this creamy white robe. I moved my eyes upwards to the waist and saw this braided cord that reminded me of my mother’s long braided hair. I turned and looked at my Mother and heard her say, Didn’t I always tell you that everything’s going to be all right, Eugene. Just stay strong in your faith.

I looked again to my left and up to the top of this being’s shoulder and saw this beautiful dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard - He turned his head and looked down at me with dark marble-like eyes saying nothing but merely smiling. His smile sent chills from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. With this powerful vision that came to me, I began to pray, asking that Sally live and forgive me.  I had to prove to everyone that I was not a bad person but had simply made a bad mistake. I firmly believe that I looked into the face of God that night, and I still feel the chills when I recall it.

I faced the next day, knowing that the court would not go lightly on me, but I was more than surprised when I saw the headlines in the September 11th Denver Post : Former Bronco Arrested on First Degree Murder Attempt on Common-Law Wife; Drugs Suspected. It was then that I fully realized what I was facing. I had never intended to hurt Sally. Why can’t they understand it was an accident? How can they say I tried to murder her? The hallway of the courthouse was like a zoo as I tried to make my way past the cameras and reporters. Everyone wanted to know the how’s and why’s, and all I could say was No comment. How ironic—I used to love talking to the press, especially the sports reporters, as I was working my way up in pro football, but now all I wanted to do was to be invisible or throw something over my head to make the world go away.

My court-appointed attorney was there to help me with a plea. Some of my friends had tried to find me a lawyer the night before, but everyone wanted money up front, and we were hard-pressed to hire anyone. I planned to plead not guilty regardless of what the attorney said, because I knew that there was no way I was attempting to murder Sally. I knew it was an accident, but I didn’t know if anyone would believe me.

From where I sat in the courtroom, it seemed that the young Denver Assistant District Attorney assigned to the case, Karen Steinhauser, wanted to hang me. Her demeanor was all business, and she painted me as a danger to women and anyone around me. She was adamant that the first degree murder attempt was accurate, and she vowed to prove it as soon as Sally was able to be interviewed. She was determined to set an example for druggies with guns who hurt women, and I was the poster child for her cause. Early in her career, she was named as a Top Woman Prosecutor by the American Bar Association, and Parade Magazine even named her among the Women Who Could Be America’s Toughest Prosecutors. She appeared to be living up to their expectations. The judge bound me over for trial and set bail at $100,000. The thought that I could be free again was exhilarating, but I soon realized that I didn’t have bail money; I didn’t even have money for my own lawyer! I got an icy stare from Ms. Steinhauser as I was led out of the courtroom to return to the tiny cell. I knew that the two of us could never be friends, and she would loom as my nemesis in the months to come.

CHAPTER TWO

REALITY SETTLES IN

All I could think as I was led back to my cell was What lies ahead? Will Sally be all right? Can I ever get my life back? The bailiff helped me understand my immediate future, at least. I would be held until I could make bail—one hundred thousand dollars—I knew that was asure impossibility. I couldn’t put my hands on anything close to that kind of money. The bailiff just shook his head and told me to get ready to settle in for a long stay, courtesy of the Denver taxpayers, unless I could think of somebody who could bail me out.

I brightened, and then sank back into reality. I couldn’t think of a single person who could or would put up a huge amount of money to help me reclaim my freedom. I walked silently back to the cell, and as the cell door clanged shut with a thud, the bailiff said, good luck, Mingo. You deserve better than this, man. You brought a lot of joy to this old Bronco fan. I hope things turn out OK for you, man. I thanked him, knowing that he, too, was disappointed in what I had become.

Once again, I sat down on the now familiar cot, put my head in my hands, and prayed for help. I vowed to make a new start and become a man that God could be proud of—if only He would wipe the slate clean and let me have another chance. I was sure that the Lord was listening to me, but I didn’t know if He could forgive me, help me get my life together, and win Sally back. I was asking for a lot of miracles, and I found myself saying aloud, Lord, even if Sally never wants to see me again, please let her live and regain her health. The tears began to flow again as I thought of what I had done to Sally and to myself.

In my solitude, I tried to understand how I had ruined everything after having such a great life—I was a star athlete, a successful man who was working hard to have it all… but the drugs had put a roadblock in my way. I had only wanted them to take away my pain, but they also blurred my vision of right and wrong. Those past days of football glory were long gone, and there was no way to ignore my current situation. I focused on the back injury and surgery that brought on the incessant pain. Was I just trying to rationalize? Or was I really looking for an answer? I decided it was the latter. I needed to retrace my path that led to this jail cell in order to straighten myself out. The obvious place to start was when my life on the football field had ended and I was trying to make it in the real world of physical labor.

I had dropped out of school to join the Navy, and so I didn’t have a skill or talent to market other than my personality and athletic prowess. I had always felt that my body was my temple, and I tried to take good care of myself, despite all of the damage encountered on the field. That all changed when I slipped off the dock and fell four feet to the ground while loading concrete. My ruptured disc kept me in constant pain and off work for a month. When I went back to work at the concrete company, I slipped on the ice and re-injured my back. Off a week, back to work, slipped off a ladder, and faced my first back surgery. I was learning to live with the