His Life Has Been Study in Perseverance

It was one of the best-kept secrets at the Super Bowl in San Diego last January, but was right there on the front page of the Los Angeles Times, Oct. 23, 1993.

“Robert Davis, an unemployed [man], was arrested. Prosecutors charged him with first degree murder of a fetus, potentially a capital offense because it was committed during a robbery.”

Robert Davis had shot Maria Flores in the chest in a robbery attempt in San Diego, and although Flores survived, her not-yet-6-month-old male fetus was stillborn.

The story became bigger as abortion rights advocates and abortion foes argued. There was speculation that an attempt might be made to overturn the Roe vs. Wade decision until the California Supreme Court ruled, 6-1, that a person who kills a fetus who is at least 7 weeks old can face murder charges and possibly the death sentence.

Robert Davis went to prison for life without the possibility of parole, his case prompting some of the toughest fetal murder laws in the country.

Terrell Davis, Robert’s younger brother, played for Denver in the Super Bowl in San Diego and by game’s end was voted the most valuable player after gaining 157 yards and scoring three touchdowns in the Broncos’ 31-24 victory over the Packers.

More than 2,000 reporters had gathered in San Diego to cover the pregame hype, all looking for the story behind the story, and all missing one of the most compelling journeys ever taken, now chronicled in “TD, the Memoirs of the Denver Broncos’ Terrell Davis,” written along with Denver Post sports reporter Adam Schefter.

Besides his brother’s troubles, Davis writes about his alcoholic father coming home, lining up him and three of his brothers, then shooting four bullets above their heads into the wall.

He also describes his first ride in a San Diego police car on a weekend break during his freshman year at Long Beach State, his hands handcuffed behind him. He spent four days in jail before facing a judge on felony charges of grand theft for trying to steal spoked rims from a car.

A few years later, he was in the back of a San Diego police car again, riding to accept a new car for being selected Super Bowl MVP.

“I could have been in my brother’s situation--there’s no doubt about it,” said Davis. “I’m not an angel, and in my book that’s what I want to tell people. I am human and I make mistakes. I could have been killed that day I was messing with the car rims for messing with someone else’s property.

“People think I’m this straight-forward, life-has-been-good kind of guy. But listen, you might do things and get away with them, and then all of a sudden there’s a time when you don’t. And it only takes one incident to make your life go completely out of control.”

So much is written about athletes gone bad, almost daily, but at 25, hardly time it would seem to gather enough material for a book, Davis delivers a lesson of perseverance as uplifting as any of his touchdown runs.

“The road I took, I shouldn’t be here in the NFL,” said Davis, as down to earth after winning the MVP award as he was just hoping to make the team’s practice squad in 1995. “But it’s simply this: Never give up. I was not the blue-chip athlete, coming from money, recruited by Notre Dame, and that’s the story. I just had something in me that allowed me to still get here.”

By all appearances, though, Davis had lived a charmed life. As outgoing as any player in professional sports, he has been an articulate example of how classy an athlete can be, and an easy touch for charities seeking a public appearance by a popular athlete.

After his Super Bowl heroics--he sat out the second quarter with a migraine headache--he skipped the Broncos’ lavish team party, went to his hotel room with his family, ordered a chicken sandwich and fell asleep.

That was “TD,” as Denver had come to embrace him.

He had become a star, despite having been recruited by only two colleges. He had redshirted for a year at Long Beach State under George Allen, played a year later under Willie Brown, and then had to leave when the school scrapped the football program.

He chose Georgia, where he never got along with the coach. He did not get to carry the ball and fell to the sixth round in the draft. When he joined the Broncos for training camp, he was sixth on the depth chart.

He became a starter by the season opener of his rookie season, his reputation as a successful underdog solidified, and he eventually replaced John Elway as the Broncos’ most dynamic performer.

He has been bothered by migraines since he was 7 and requires 14 hours of sleep a day. He left the field in the Super Bowl, complaining, “I can’t see.”

Overwhelmed by the Super Bowl, Davis had forgotten to take his medication before the game. While the Broncos were gaining only 14 yards in his absence, he was on the sideline vomiting.

After using a nasal spray for migraine relief, he recovered during halftime and came back to lead his team to victory

Elway, writing the forward in Davis’ book, said his wife, Janet, had turned to Davis’ mother in the Qualcomm Stadium stands and told her, “Your son allowed our dream to come true.”

Elway added, “[There’s] one reason he’s so popular around Denver and the rest of the NFL. Terrell’s real.”

More than a star, Davis is admired here as a role model. And after emerging from all the Super Bowl scrutiny unscathed, family secrets could have remained undisclosed, the hero the ever-clean saint.

But after serious consideration, Davis chose to deliver his story--warts and all. His way, he said, of providing inspiration for underdogs everywhere.

“If were living in a Utopian world it would be great to have all my brothers doing something they liked, like being lawyers or doctors, having families,” Davis said. “But life isn’t always like that. People are dealt different cards. And when you grow up, it’s all about choices, and if you make one bad decision, and then another, and another, things can get out of control.

“But if you make one bad decision, and then say, ‘I can correct this,’ there’s still a chance.”

Davis’ brotherRobert caught a break on technicalities and, after serving time in Folsom State Prison and California State Prison in Lancaster, was paroled last year. He now lives in Denver.

His father, whom Davis called “Pops,” and whom he said shaped and molded him more than anyone else, died at 41.

“When we were at the Super Bowl with all the headlines and attention and parties,” writes Davis, “I kept thinking, ‘Man, what would Pops think of all this?’ ”

The felony charges against Terrell Davis, which were filed a few years after his father’s death, were dropped to a misdemeanor with a year’s probation, allowing him to return to school with a fresh start.

“After what has happened in my life, I never look at anyone’s past now, but instead ask, ‘What are you trying to do now to make yourself a better person?’ ” said Davis, who has put his mom in charge of the Terrell Davis Salute the Kids Foundation.

“It’s not as hard as some people think. It’s all about personal choices. I was going to high school, flunking out, playing no sports and hanging with the wrong people in the neighborhood. And I didn’t like who I was because I saw no future in what I was doing. I changed high schools, started playing football, got the grades and took control.”

This week, more than 1,000 people lined up at a bookstore to get the signature of the kid who was flunking out of high school a few years back, most also asking him for his Mile High salute, his nationally known trademark that follows each touchdown.

“I always tell my Bronco teammates about this one dude . . . who was better than anybody I have ever played with in my entire life,” Davis writes. “His name was Victor Dean. . . . I remember when he and I used to get recruiting letters our senior year. My mailbox would have, like, one or two letters and Victor’s would be crammed with letters.”

Davis lost track of Dean--not sure according to his book what happened to him. A few days before the Super Bowl, Lincoln High School retired Davis’ jersey No. 7 along with that of another alum, Marcus Allen. At the ceremonies, Davis looked up into the high school stands, and saw Dean.

“Victor Dean, I’ll say it again, to this day still the greatest player I have ever played with, was looking at me and thinking, ‘What if I had stuck with it? If only I had stuck with it, what could I have turned out to be?’

“And you know what? I was looking back at him, thinking the same thing.”