Berry, Patriot Coach, Dancing to Own Beat

The story is of such ancient vintage it has grown Spanish moss around the edges. But the retelling is the most expedient route to remembering Raymond Berry’s legacy to the Cowboys.

It happened long ago (1968) and far away, in a magic kingdom known as Thousand Oaks. Berry’s first NFL job was to train receivers.

His role was a natural. He was newly retired from a Hall of Fame career catching passes from Johnny Unitas at Baltimore. This alone made him special. To know his background raised him to even higher ground.

When talk turned to self-made athletes, Berry was the living, breathing mold. He didn’t start in high school at Paris, Tex., until a senior even though his father was head coach. Berry caught 12 passes that season.

Southwest Conference recruiters ignored him. They wouldn’t offer a ride, much less a car. Berry was a frail 153 pounds and further handicapped. My memory may be inexact, but the thought lingers that one of Raymond’s legs was shorter by an inch or so.

Besides being slow with those mismatched limbs, he had poor vision. He was like the recruit asked to read the bottom line of an eye chart with the letters Z, W, J, K, S, X. “I can’t make it all out,” he said, “but I think I know the guy.”

Berry played one junior college season at Shreiner Institute in Kerrville and hooked on with SMU. He was no star there, either, catching 33 passes in three years. He came to the NFL having scored one touchdown in high school and one more for SMU.

Anyway, a Hall of Fame career later, Berry was working with Cowboys receivers. Ever the technician, he demonstrated by live performance. He ran the routes although to growing frustration. Something was wrong.

Berry’s innate sense of timing, of space and distance, finally calculated the problem. “This field is too narrow,” he announced. Someone measured and, lo, Berry was right. The field had been improperly marked years ago.

Berry was just as meticulous about coaching. Retired Cowboys aide Ermal Allen recalls when Berry worked the field goal kicking team. Allen once chanced upon a Berry-inspired drill.

The unit lined up on the sideline. When Berry blew his whistle, they rushed out, lined up and kicked a field goal. Berry timed them with a stop watch.

“Whatcha doing?” Allen inquired.

“Seeing how long it would take us to kick a field goal if we didn’t have any time outs left,” Berry said.

This quiet and studious man--Allen remembers Berry had index cards with notes from every Tom Landry staff meeting--stood apart in any football crowd. Not so much for those reasons, but because he was borderline eccentric. He often heard different music.

Again, it’s fuzzy recall, but I think Berry told me he quit the Cowboys to make a training film about receiving. Deeply religious, he said he felt called to do it and, of course, he did. He spent three years with Frank Broyles at Arkansas and thereafter bounced on and off of NFL staffs at Detroit, Cleveland and New England.

Hearing a new drum beat in ‘81, Berry left football. He worked real estate. Then for a cap and hat company. Next thing anyone heard he replaced Ron Meyer as head coach of the Patriots.

Meyer’s mandate was to bring discipline to an outfit where inmates ran the asylum. The consequences were unhappy to the point of further rebellion. So at midseason of 1984, New England replaced a former SMU coach with a former SMU player.

“Great chemistry,” notes Denver coach Dan Reeves, the ex-Cowboys assistant. Reeves beat Berry, 26-19, last season but has watched the Patriots gather wild-card steam this year to reach the AFC Championship Sunday against Miami.

“The real key of any coach is getting the most from your players,” said Reeves, player-coach when Berry was with Dallas. “He has good talent. He’s surrounded himself with good coaches.

“He’s had a calming effect. You don’t see him get overly excited on the sideline. Even when they were behind the Raiders, 17-7, last Sunday there was no panic. That’s not easy to do.”