How a shy country boy became T.O.

01:30 AM CDT on Sunday, July 9, 2006
By JEAN-JACQUES TAYLOR / The Dallas Morning News


SAN FRANCISCO – This is where the country boy from Alexander City, Ala., became a man.

It's where Terrell Owens shed the hand-sewn clothes made by his mother and began wearing tailored suits with matching shoes of exotic animal skins. The Bay Area is where this child of poverty purchased a five-bedroom, 4,400-square-foot home for more than $1 million and became a father.

This is where he became two people: Terrell Owens, a star in the National Football League, and T.O., the game's most notorious player.

Here among the picturesque views of San Francisco Bay and the wine country's rolling hills, plenty of people have fond memories of Terrell Owens. It's more difficult to find out about T.O., the outspoken, arrogant persona that seems drawn to controversy like a sommelier to Napa Valley.

No consensus exists concerning the time and date Mr. Owens morphed into T.O.

He says it happened his rookie year, when against Cincinnati, he scored his first career touchdown and danced in the end zone, a signal to his mother that he had arrived as a professional.

Others say they noticed a change in his third season, after he caught a 25-yard touchdown pass with three seconds left in an NFC divisional playoff game.

Or maybe it didn't happen until Mr. Owens, whose mother worked double shifts at a textile mill to support her three children, signed a seven-year, $35 million contract that included a $7.5 million bonus after the 1999 season.

"He's a complex person, and a lot of his personality is built on how he was brought up and sheltered as a kid," said Kirk Reynolds, the San Francisco 49ers' public relations director from 1997 to 2005.

"The people who take the time to try and understand what T.O. is like and what he's thinking and trying to do tend to get along with him pretty well."


'He wants respect'

Mr. Owens resides in a world devoid of gray. You're right or wrong, with him or against him.

Betray him – whether it's real or perceived – and the relationship ends.

"The closer you get to him, the more trust and loyalty he has to you," said Derrick Deese, a guard-tackle with the 49ers from 1992 to 2003. "You stab him in the back, and he's done with you. He's not going to give too many second chances because he doesn't want to get burned twice by the same match."

Mr. Owens, playing for his third team in four seasons, is three weeks from his first training camp with the Cowboys. His tenure with his previous two employers ended in ugly and dramatic fashion.

To avoid that fate, Cowboys coach Bill Parcells and owner Jerry Jones must understand Mr. Owens' view of the world. Some former teammates and 49ers officials who spent the most time with Mr. Owens during his eight years in San Francisco provide insight into his personality.

"He wants respect. He craves it from his peers because he never got it as a child because he was always being ridiculed. Now's his chance to say he has arrived," said former 49ers receivers coach George Stewart, an assistant with the Atlanta Falcons. "Names don't impress him. Bill Parcells, Jerry Rice, George Bush. All he wants is respect. It's not who you are but what you do that's important to him."

Those closest to Mr. Owens say he makes no apologies for his attitude. They say it's his way of insulating himself against a world that scorned him as a child and the result of being raised by his grandmother in a household where he was confined to the front yard and Wheel of Fortune was the only TV program allowed.

"He lives in a world of strict, unforgiving lines. They are hard lines. He doesn't accept excuses or explanations," said Dr. Harry Edwards, a nationally respected sociologist whose work as a consultant with the 49ers spans three decades.

"At one level, that's good, because he's not going to bring you drug problems or women problems because there are lines he isn't going to cross. At another level, it's not as good."


Feeling betrayed

The negative manifestations of that philosophy are behind Mr. Owens' fractured relationships with former San Francisco 49ers coach Steve Mariucci and Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb.

Friends of Mr. Owens say he thought Mr. Mariucci betrayed him when the club suspended him for a week after he celebrated touchdowns on the midfield logo at Texas Stadium in a 2000 win over the Cowboys. In his new book, T.O., Mr. Owens wrote that his relationship with Mr. McNabb began deteriorating after the quarterback told the receiver to shut up during a huddle.

Perceived slights by Cris Collinsworth at Fox and Joe Theismann at ESPN are why, Mr. Reynolds said, Mr. Owens refused to participate in pregame production meetings with the networks.

"He's just not socially experienced because of his childhood," said Gary Plummer, who played three of his 15 NFL seasons with the 49ers and works on its radio broadcasts. "He has a lot of good qualities. He just doesn't always display them."

Mr. Owens showed Mr. Plummer a softer side before the final game of the 2001 season, when he learned Mr. Plummer's teenage son, Garrett, had been accidentally shot in the eye with a pellet gun.

"He came up to me in the stadium and tried to help me through it as much as possible," Mr. Plummer said. "He said a prayer for me and then started crying as he told me that he'd be there for Garrett. Then he dedicated the game to him."

Mr. Owens had 116 yards receiving and two touchdowns in a 38-0 victory over New Orleans. "Garrett had been a little bit of a rebel and always admired T.O.," Mr. Plummer said. "By the time I got to the hospital [after the game], T.O. had already called him."

A few weeks later, Mr. Owens' game ball arrived at Mr. Plummer's home. Mr. Owens forged close relationships with Mr. Deese, guard Ron Stone and receiver J.J. Stokes during late-night dominos games at the club's practice facility, with tiles slamming against a table and raucous laughter as a soundtrack. This is where Mr. Owens' teammates learned about the torment he suffered as a child because his skin was dark. And his frame lacked muscle. And his teeth needed braces.

It's where Mr. Owens revealed his views on women and life and football. This is where Mr. Owens removed the shroud covering his emotions.


The other side of Owens

"We'd be playing, and T.O. would have videos of Michael Jordan or Muhammad Ali playing in the background," said Mr. Stokes, a former No. 1 pick who played for the 49ers from 1995 to 2002. "You could see him absorbing their mind-set while we were playing games. You could see him thinking he could take his game in the NFL where they took their game in basketball and boxing."

The games weren't as important as the bonds forged during those hours.

"It was more than two or three guys playing dominos. It was guys sharing their lives and interacting," Mr. Deese said. "That's why I can say things about him. I know him."

The guys involved with the dominos games claim little knowledge of the player accused of single-handedly destroying Philadelphia's team last season. They recall Mr. Owens answering questions from coaches and teammates with "yes sir, no sir." They remember a shy player who sat quietly at his locker, his head buried in a playbook early in his career.

They talk about the guy who once gave Fred Beasley, then a rookie fullback, $4,500 to cover a fine for being late to a meeting, and who wrote a $10,000 check to an intern in the equipment department to help him care for his new baby.

There were impromptu gatherings at his home in Fremont, 40 miles east of San Francisco, to play pool or go swimming and occasional dinner parties with catered fried chicken and catfish and collard greens.

That sounds like Terrell – not T.O., who can be moody and confrontational.

He eschews political correctness, in part, because his grandmother demanded he tell the truth, no matter the consequences, as a child. Honesty, however, isn't always the best policy in a locker room filled with fragile egos and the tension and emotion of a 16-game season.

T.O. said his San Francisco teammates quit in a 2000 loss to Carolina and accused Mr. Mariucci of using a conservative game plan to ensure that the 49ers didn't blow out Chicago, which rallied from a large deficit to win, because he didn't want to embarrass his friend, Bears coach Dick Jauron.


Learning from a legend

Mr. Owens wore No. 80 at Benjamin Russell High School because he idolized 49ers receiver Jerry Rice. When San Francisco made Mr. Owens the 89th player – the 11th receiver – selected in the 1996 draft, he was thrilled to be playing with Mr. Rice, the standard against whom all receivers are judged.

Mr. Rice, who retired last season, has the most catches (1,549), yards (22,895) and touchdowns (197) in NFL history. He did it with a combination of talent and work ethic.

"He wouldn't even let other guys get repetitions in practice," said Dr. Edwards, "because he wanted all of them."

Mr. Rice demanded the ball. Loudly. At times, profanely.

"Jerry ... cussed out Mariucci on the sideline in front of everybody," Mr. Stewart said. "Jerry did that frequently, but a lot of people overlooked it. Jerry, though, would also go apologize the next day."

Mr. Owens noticed Mr. Rice's behavior. "Is that how y'all want me to act, Stew?" Mr. Owens asked his position coach after the incident.

"No," Mr. Stewart replied.

But sideline temper tantrums have been a consistent pattern of behavior during Mr. Owens' rise to prominence.

Mr. Owens had a sideline meltdown with offensive coordinator Greg Knapp in Week 4. It was his second in the first month of the season.

Mr. Stewart saw the highlights on ESPN.

"I called Terrell and told him to be in Knapp's office at 7 a.m. the next morning to apologize," Mr. Stewart said. "When my phone rang the next morning, it was Greg Knapp."

"Stew, thank you," Mr. Knapp said.

While Mr. Owens' sideline blowups are well-chronicled, they are not unique. Michael Irvin had plenty of them with the Cowboys. So did Keyshawn Johnson.

"When T.O. got mad on the sideline, people said he was selfish. When Jerry did it, they talked about how much he loved the game," Mr. Deese said. The skill set is why T.O. has played in five of the last six Pro Bowls, averaging 89 catches, 1,293 yards and 13 touchdowns from 2000 to 2004.

"He plays with a certain ferocity on the field, and that's part of what makes him so good," Dr. Edwards said. "When he doesn't get the ball, that ferocity is turned on the people – head coaches, assistant coaches, quarterbacks – who aren't getting him the ball."