For many generations, stories have been handed down via the spoken word, in caves, by the camp fire, on the trail ride, around the water cooler, and now on the Internet. It has been essential that tales of greatness and heroes be passed on from the ancients to the future generations so that their deeds are never to be forgotten.
Yesterday I noticed that, while I seldom post, I've reached Fred Washington status. This struck me and reminded me that I have been lax in my duties as an ancient in the telling of the greatness of this posting-status-namesake.
Frederick Earl Washington was from Denison, Texas and a class ahead of me at TCU. He wore jersey #47 and played on the defensive line for the Frogs. He was a friend and a teammate and I wish there was a building at TCU with his name on it or a landmark in his honor. He was a star when there were few in our Purple constellation. He was humble and humorous and thoughtful and imposing. When I had reconstructive surgery on my shoulder over Christmas break my second year at TCU, he sensed over the phone that I was glum so he drove from Denison to Houston to keep me sleep-deprived and smiling for what was left of that week. At the time he was the strongest person I had ever met in person. He was enormous in stature but had tiny, little, er-ruhs (ears to those not fluent in the Washington/Denison dialect). Bigger than his ridiculous mitts was his heart. He was a leader by example and had a work ethic matched by few. He was a Frog through and through.
He left us for the bright lights of Chicago after being drafted by Ditka and the Bears. His rookie season was one full of promise as he quietly began to make his mark on the NFL. The newly minted #91 was on his way to becoming the latest Monster of the Midway. Then one morning the phone rang in my Westcliff apartment and it was my mom. She was crying and said that she had heard some bad news on the radio about Fred. I jumped up, turned on CNN and soon confirmed the unthinkable. Fred had been killed in a car wreck and that day even people who had yet to meet him had lost a friend.
I don't write about Fred now to dredge up his tragedy. I write about him to remind those who knew, and enlighten those who never had the chance, that there is greatness behind the name being used to commemorate a certain number of posts on Killer Frogs. Fred was bigger than life. He was Shaq before there was Shaq. He would have been a regular fixture on NFL United Way commercials. He would have come back for Wacker's funeral. He would have funded a scholarship for skinny high school TEs who wanted to come to Fort Worth and work hard to be somebody. He would have been a great dad.
I would have loved for all of you to have met him but alas, that shall not be. I would do just about anything for my phone to ring and just one more time hear, "What up, ho?" on the other end of the line.
We get busy, but we should never forget. Sorry so long, but with Fred you couldn't have it any other way. God bless Fred. May we never forget.
Yesterday I noticed that, while I seldom post, I've reached Fred Washington status. This struck me and reminded me that I have been lax in my duties as an ancient in the telling of the greatness of this posting-status-namesake.
Frederick Earl Washington was from Denison, Texas and a class ahead of me at TCU. He wore jersey #47 and played on the defensive line for the Frogs. He was a friend and a teammate and I wish there was a building at TCU with his name on it or a landmark in his honor. He was a star when there were few in our Purple constellation. He was humble and humorous and thoughtful and imposing. When I had reconstructive surgery on my shoulder over Christmas break my second year at TCU, he sensed over the phone that I was glum so he drove from Denison to Houston to keep me sleep-deprived and smiling for what was left of that week. At the time he was the strongest person I had ever met in person. He was enormous in stature but had tiny, little, er-ruhs (ears to those not fluent in the Washington/Denison dialect). Bigger than his ridiculous mitts was his heart. He was a leader by example and had a work ethic matched by few. He was a Frog through and through.
He left us for the bright lights of Chicago after being drafted by Ditka and the Bears. His rookie season was one full of promise as he quietly began to make his mark on the NFL. The newly minted #91 was on his way to becoming the latest Monster of the Midway. Then one morning the phone rang in my Westcliff apartment and it was my mom. She was crying and said that she had heard some bad news on the radio about Fred. I jumped up, turned on CNN and soon confirmed the unthinkable. Fred had been killed in a car wreck and that day even people who had yet to meet him had lost a friend.
I don't write about Fred now to dredge up his tragedy. I write about him to remind those who knew, and enlighten those who never had the chance, that there is greatness behind the name being used to commemorate a certain number of posts on Killer Frogs. Fred was bigger than life. He was Shaq before there was Shaq. He would have been a regular fixture on NFL United Way commercials. He would have come back for Wacker's funeral. He would have funded a scholarship for skinny high school TEs who wanted to come to Fort Worth and work hard to be somebody. He would have been a great dad.
I would have loved for all of you to have met him but alas, that shall not be. I would do just about anything for my phone to ring and just one more time hear, "What up, ho?" on the other end of the line.
We get busy, but we should never forget. Sorry so long, but with Fred you couldn't have it any other way. God bless Fred. May we never forget.
