Cowboys Were His Team Too

He can still see their outlines, like ghosts. “Over there is Ed Jones,” he says, dabbing with his index finger toward a swatch of green carpet, “and there’s Jethro Pugh, and there’s Randy White, and there’s Harvey Martin, and there’s D.D. Lewis, and there’s Thomas Henderson, and there’s Bob Breunig, and there’s Bennie Barnes, and there’s Charlie Waters, and there’s Cliff Harris.”

And over here. . . .

“There’s me,” he says.

And damn proud of it. What an unforgettable time that was in his life, Dennis Thurman cannot deny, for a kid from Santa Monica, not very big, not all that fast, just a journalism major and a disappointed 11th-round NFL draft choice, to wind up playing 137 games of pro football and never miss a one, to be an eight-year Dallas Cowboy, true and blue.

After a Cotton Bowl practice--he coaches USC’s cornerbacks now--the memories of Texas Stadium come flooding back to Thurman, 38, who leaves the field with a red cap spun backward and says, spreading his arms wide and soaking up the scenery, “This is my house!”

His footprints are all over this rug.

“No, their footprints are all over this rug,” Thurman disagrees, laughing, elevating his finger now toward the Ring of Fame that borders the stadium’s upper deck, at etched-in-stone names like Roger Staubach’s and Tony Dorsett’s and Tom Landry’s. “I left little-bitty footprints. They left gigantic footprints.”

He is being admirably modest. But those 36 interceptions that Thurman bagged were not exactly chopped liver. About the only thing that did escape Dennis’ clutches was a Super Bowl ring, but beyond that, his was a splendid career, not to mention a lesson to every collegian who ever felt unwanted.

That day of the 1978 draft, Thurman felt like crawling into a hole. Name after name reeled by, none of them his, after a career at USC during which he lettered for four years, played both safety and flanker at Coach John McKay’s whim and won four bowl games (two Roses, a Liberty and a Bluebonnet), including one for a national championship.

“One minute you’re All-America and next minute you’re an 11th-round draft choice,” he remembers, reclining on a Texas Stadium rolled-up tarp. “That was a shock. I was numb. The only thing that saved the day was being able to say, ‘Well, at least you’re going to Dallas.’ We had just watched them beating on Denver in the Super Bowl, and now I was going to the defending champion Dallas Cowboys.”

First stop, Thousand Oaks. Getting into his car to make the 75-minute (on a good day) drive from Santa Monica, there was something waiting for Thurman when he got to Cal Lutheran College for training camp that he couldn’t quite believe until he saw it with his own eyes.

“One hundred and twenty of us,” he says, “for a two-week rookie camp.

“I remember the numbers exactly. Twenty-four defensive backs . . . for one spot. Mel Renfro had just retired and there was an opening in the Cowboy secondary, and I mean one opening. I’m looking around at everybody else in camp and we’re all saying and thinking the exact same thing. ‘I’m going to be the one.’ ”

Not only did he need to outclass the competition, he needed to do so at cornerback, a position as foreign to Thurman’s experience as, oh, center would have been. He had to impress Landry and other coaches over a fortnight’s time to be invited back and had to do it again later, once the veterans reported, while defending against receivers such as Drew Pearson, Golden Richards, Tony Hill and Butch Johnson, some of the best in the business.

Oh, and fetch them ice.

And buy them beer.

He can still picture himself lugging a lawn-sized Hefty bag across the Cal Lutheran campus, back to the dorm, filled with cubes to keep the older players’ brews cold. Because this was what rookies did.

“Or it would be 10:40 at night and I’d be ready for bed and one of them would say, ‘Hey, rookie. Run down the corner and get us some beer.’ And I’d be looking at my watch and thinking I’ll be late for curfew if I leave. And the guy would say, ‘That’s not my problem. That’s your problem. Go get me my beer.’

“And now I’m thinking, OK, like, which is worse? Being late for Coach Landry’s curfew? Or not getting this guy’s beer? This guy who is going to make my life so miserable tomorrow morning if I don’t bring him his beer.”

What did the rookie do?

“I got my butt down there to that store fast. And I got it back faster.”

Reaction time. Some defensive backs have it, some don’t.

Once he made the team, Thurman was accepted in the brotherhood. Yes, first a Harris or a Waters did make him hop up on the platform and warble his school song. Yes, he and three other hunks of fresh meat did have to perform for the veterans’ amusement together, putting on a show.

“The four of us became a group, like the Temptations. And there was this free agent . . . oh, man, what was that kid’s name?” Thurman asked, racking his brain. “There was Sonny Randle and Alois Blackwell and myself and this one other guy. He had the greatest voice! I mean, this kid could really entertain. They kept that kid around until the second-to-last cut, and I’m telling you, I swear the Cowboys kept him around that long just because they loved listening to him sing.”

Around the old bunkhouse, what was made clear to Thurman was that anyone who made this team must be pretty special, because he would be beating out some pretty good players to do so.

Dallas began the preseason by playing San Francisco. And a cornerback got hurt. And out onto the Texas rug ran the rookie, Thurman. He looked around and found himself huddling with Too Tall, Harvey, Randy and Jethro. He said to himself, “What am I doing here? Do I belong here ?”

He did. And not to be sent out for beer.