It Was a Dirty Shame

His eyes are the first thing you notice. Bright green, nearly translucent. They dim only when he grimaces, when he thinks back.

Two years have passed since Dante Clay, just 14 years old, stumbled into a football recruiting scandal more befitting a big-time college player. His story is not unique--school administrators say that throughout Los Angeles and the country, the ills of professional and college sports are seeping ever deeper into the high school ranks.

But for a quiet young man who endured it, the accusations and sanctions, the threat of losing his eligibility, the memory remains troubling.

Clay would prefer to focus on the present, an infinitely more pleasant sight. A senior running back at North Hollywood High, he opened the season by rushing for 263 yards and two touchdowns in a 20-19 victory over El Camino Real. Last week, although his team lost at Harvard-Westlake, 36-22, he ran for 233 yards and two more scores.

Now, as the Huskies prepare to face Kennedy this Friday, he sees only brighter days ahead.

“Two thousand yards for the season,” he said.

As if every yard might distance him a little farther from the past.

The trouble began in the fall of 1993. A standout in youth football and baseball, Clay enrolled at Crespi, where the high-powered football program turned out top backs Russell White and Tori Lee. By all accounts, he excelled on the freshman team.

But season’s end found him gone. He now claims--those eyes flickering with uncharacteristic anger--that the expensive private school reneged on its promise to give him a full scholarship.

“We very reluctantly let him go,” said Father Fred Tillotson, Crespi principal. “He was an extremely nice kid, liked by all the teachers. I was willing to give him financial aid, but there is a limit to how much you can do according to the CIF.”

So Clay landed back in North Hollywood, back at Walter Reed Middle School, where he became something of a free agent. Under the Los Angeles Unified School District’s open-enrollment policy, he could choose any high school in the city. Plenty of schools would welcome a top backfield prospect.

Taft was among the front-runners, if only because the Toreadors were scheduled to play Crespi the next season.

“I’m not going to lie,” Clay said. “I wanted to beat Crespi. At anything.”

He never got the chance. That summer, Taft Coach Troy Starr showed Clay around campus, giving him a team shirt and cap. The visit violated the California Interscholastic Federation’s recruiting, or “undue-influence,” rule. Shortly thereafter, an anonymous letter was sent to authorities. Clay was called into the counselor’s office at Walter Reed and questioned by City investigators.

“Next thing I know, I’m on the front page of the newspaper,” he says. “I couldn’t believe it. I was 14. I was naive.”

The worst was yet to come. City Section officials informed the young man that he could lose his eligibility for as much as a year.

“I got scared after that.”

A guided tour, a shirt and a cap are hardly the stuff of big-time corruption. But they were, in this case, a clear-cut violation.

CIF rule 510 states: “Undue influence is any act, gesture or communication . . . including accepting material or financial inducement to attend a CIF member school for the purpose of engaging in CIF competition.”

The rule book explains that “the object of the recruiting rule is to assure that the student athlete is making a free and unpressured choice of his or her high school.”

There are no national statistics on the frequency of high-school recruiting violations, according to the National Federation of State High School Assns. City Section Commissioner Barbara Fiege, whose office oversees 62 Los Angeles campuses, believes the practice is widespread.

“It’s the most difficult violation to prove but we hear about it all the time,” Fiege said. “It’s not just us. It’s everywhere in the state of California and across the United States.”

Both player and school are held accountable because, the commissioner said, today’s athletes often are sophisticated enough to know when they are being illegally courted. As for the coaches, she fears some will do whatever it takes to attract athletes.

The temptation to cheat only increased with open enrollment. The 1994 policy, based on state law, was meant to give parents the freedom of choice and public schools a way to stem the flight of students to private campuses. In terms of recruitment, it opened a can of worms.

“I’d say a barrel of worms,” Fiege muses.

Taft’s football program was placed on one year’s probation. Several months later, in September of 1994, the City Section rules committee met to vote on Clay’s eligibility.

“Oh, please, I was very upset,” says his mother, Pamela Wallace, who is considerably more animated than her son. “I went down to that board and said, ‘This is not the NFL. He’s a child.’ ”

The committee cleared him. Free to choose from among the top football schools, Clay enrolled at mediocre North Hollywood close to home. Coach Gary Gray expected a cocky kid whose ego had been inflated by all the attention. Instead, he got a youngster who acted chagrined, if not glum, about all that had transpired.

“Dante was very quiet,” the coach recalled.

He was also, quite obviously, very talented.

“The moves. Guys were coming up to tackle him and they were missing,” Gray said. “He has speed but not tremendous speed. He’ll spin, he’ll juke, he’ll make five different moves in one run.”

It wasn’t long before the rest of the Valley Pac-8 Conference witnessed those moves. Halfway through the season, Husky senior back Towan Franklin quit the team, pushing Clay into a starting role. The sophomore gained 800 yards in five games. Against Monroe, in a preview of things to come, he ran for 240 yards and two touchdowns.

“I didn’t know I had that many yards,” he says. “I got up the next morning and read the paper and my mouth dropped open.”

The performance gave Gray pause to think too. During the off-season, he retooled the Husky offense, implementing a double wing-T formation whose quick counters and misdirections would highlight his new star.

The following year, Clay amassed 1,525 yards while leading North Hollywood to the City playoffs. His name appeared on a list of top prospects published by SuperPrep, a national college recruiting magazine.

Even now, Clay does not offer much of an explanation for why he chose North Hollywood. Perhaps the answer lies just a few blocks away, in an apartment where Pamela Wallace raised him by herself. She says: “We’ve been through a lot together.”

It is a close-knit, religious household. The rules are strict. Hours are set aside for homework in hopes that Clay’s grades might someday rival his performances on the field. There is no going out during the week, no talking all night on the phone.

“People think I’m mean, but I want him to be successful whether it’s football or not,” Wallace said.

The last few years have taken a toll on them. Clay said his mother “hated every minute” of the controversy. She also wanted him spending time with her instead of taking a bus to a far-off school. The North Hollywood coaching staff suspects that sticking close to home has done Clay some good.

“He seems happy,” Gray said. “His attitude isn’t so sullen.”

And, more often than before, his face breaks into a smile that matches those eyes.

His eyes are the first thing you notice.

“Great vision,” Gray said. “He can see guys coming from behind, it seems.”

Clay has also studied the double wing-T and understands its quick-hit trickery. A summer of weightlifting has put bulk on his 5-foot-10, 184-pound frame, adding an element of strength to those ducking, spinning runs.

“He’s a tough kid and he doesn’t go down easy,” Kennedy Coach Bob Francola said. “You’ve got to tackle through his body and you’ve got to hit him with many bodies.”

Add to all that a resolve strengthened by hardship.

“God works in mysterious ways,” his mother said. “Dante is where he’s supposed to be.”

Late last season, after North Hollywood nearly upset unbeaten Sylmar, Spartan running back Durell Price embraced Clay at midfield. Price, a senior, said: “If you want to win a championship, come to my school next year.”

They both knew that City rules would allow one more transfer. Clay just smiled and walked off the field.

“I never thought about leaving,” he said. “Not even once.”