Dave Behrman and football…how good was he?

I was never an advocate of football and didn’t realize while growing up that he will forever be remembered as one of the greatest offensive tackles in Michigan State University football history. He was always big and as a 6-foot-4, 265-pound tackle he dominated opponents with his strength and quickness. MSU Head Coach, Duffy Daugherty, said that “If there is a college lineman anywhere with his speed, power, quickness, and intelligence, he has been well hidden.” Dave was an All-American pick in 1961 and 1962 and became part of the 1963 College All-Stars team that upset the NFL Champion Green Bay Packers, 20-17, on August 2, 1963 at Soldier Field in Chicago. After being distinguished as a first round draft pick in both the AFL and NFL, Dave’s AFL All-Star career with the Buffalo Bills and Denver Broncos ended in 1967 with back injuries. It was after that time period that he became a full time dad.

How do you remember your dad?

After football, he finished his business degree at Michigan State University and spent his career in the manufacturing and production environments in business and with the State of Michigan prison system tool and die shop. He loved tools and could make anything. He was a very intelligent man. At one point in my childhood my sister, Kellie, and I were wondering if he may have been one of those people who actually had a photographic memory, because he appeared to be able to retain everything he had ever read, learned or experienced.  He also loved science and the value of scientific research, and I did too.  He taught me that anything I ever needed to know could be found by researching it. At the same time, he taught me to pay attention to that pit in my gut, that feeling  that you get when something isn’t quite right, and that the first thing that pops up might not be right, but it is the direction you go in seeking the answer.

Maybe that’s what caused him to be so good with “fixing” me. He worked with me before my ADHD diagnosis was available, without an owner’s manual, so to speak, by taking an interest in me, helping in what I was trying to do, helping to develop skills that I was good at. Since I learned by doing and not through lecture he would say, ‘don’t worry about mistakes, just make sure you learn something from them when you make them and try again.’ This is part of what motivates me today. His interest was always in what I was trying to accomplish. With my homework he simply read the chapter, looked at my assignment, and basically retaught me the lesson, one-on-one at the dining room table.  Who knew just how effective that would actually be? This one-on-one fatherly touch continued when I was being punished for some teenage transgression. He would reconnect with me, alone, to discuss at length what happened, without judgement or anger, listening to me and even sharing his own personal experiences.  All of those moments usually ended in some sort of agreement, often including a handshake, which I recognized as a contract that was in my best interest. And I honored every one.

Even as an adult today, one of my favorite early memories was a trip to grandma’s house and I realized that I had forgotten my baby blanket. We couldn’t go back because we had gone too far and I was not happy. My dad stopped at three stores along the way to grandma’s until we found a baby blue blanket with satin trim that made me happy. He was someone I knew I could count on.

All of this changed when the onset of his Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) began.

When did you notice that changes in him were taking place?

As he got older, his interest in his workshop at home helped him focus by being alone, just like the boating and fishing activities where he could retreat from the confusion of his mental decline and the conflict of a struggling marriage. As a natural introvert, with a talent in fixing and building things, he liked model boats and collected Karmann Ghias that he could repair and restore in his workshop. It was odd that he liked these tiny cars because he was so big and they were so small. Maybe the size of the cars represented the contradiction in his power and skill in football vs. his quiet, peaceful, and thoughtful demeanor as my dad.

Sadly, the depression, confusion, memory loss, lack of motivation, secretive behavior and balance issues, attributed to CTE, began to take over as he became more and more isolated. He lost the ability to maintain interest in friendships as well as being a devoted grandparent. We didn’t understand who he was becoming or what was happening. At times he was clear thinking in making a point and just as quickly he would lose all sense of logic and understanding of the truth. We reacted with anger, hurt and resentment and his behavior was hard on family relationships—because we didn’t know. As a result, we started professional medical support for him far too late. It wasn’t until we saw the Frontline Special, League of Denial: The NFL’s Concussion Crisis in October, 2013, that we began to understand what was happening to him, but the damage was done. When he died on December 9, 2014, he was diagnosed at the Boston University Medical Center for CTE with Stage III/IV CTE dementia.

How do you think about football as a result of your dad’s condition?

My dad never wanted my son, David, to play in the youth football programs in grade school. When he called me about the possibility of his playing, his advice was for David to pursue dog training or work related to animals. My dad didn’t eat, drink and sleep football like some athletes do—it wasn’t his passion. For me he was quiet, principled, shy and liked being by himself. It was sad to lose him to this disease (CTE). Knowing what I know now about my dad, I’m not so much in favor of football. I’ll admit that I don’t really understand the sport all that well and appreciate the fact that some people may disagree with my thinking.

© 2016, James Proebstle

Wes Bender had a kind heart. He would take the time to speak with anyone and share his experiences and challenges.

Wes started playing Pop Warner at the age of six and was passionate about football. The very first time he took a handoff, he ran 80 yards for a touchdown. Wes was smaller than the average kid, but overcame that challenge with his speed.

Wes was bright but sometimes his words and numbers were scrambled. His teachers, coaches, friends and family helped him until a key teacher recognized he had dyslexia. At the time, learning disorders like dyslexia weren’t common knowledge. Still, Wes overcame this challenge thanks to programs to help dyslexic students.

By the time high school rolled around Wes began to emerge with uncommon size, speed, strength, smarts, and competitiveness. The results? A powerful offensive running back who started as a freshman and sophomore at Burbank High School in southern California. But at the start of his junior year, the coaching staff wanted to move Wes to the offensive line. The proposed switch challenged his dream of being a college running back so he transferred schools to the cross-town rival, John Burroughs High.

Wes’ transfer to John Burroughs produced one of the most productive high school offenses in Southern California history. Against his old team, Wes scored a 50-yard touchdown run in a 41-0 victory.  Wes’ success led to his induction into the John Burroughs Hall of Fame in 2015.

Dyslexia made it difficult for Wes to learn a foreign language, a college requirement. Many colleges were interested and offered scholarships, so he attended Glendale Junior College to refine his skills. Wes went on to set several Glendale College records and lead his team to win the Western State Conference title. His time at Glendale earned him a full athletic scholarship to play for the only college he would consider, the University of Southern California.

Wes started for two years at USC and set several weightlifting strength records that still stand posted in the weight room today. Wes was a powerful, hard-hitting fullback, routinely stuffing linebackers at full speed, blocking players in the open field, knocking them to the ground, and creating holes for the tailbacks to follow.

Mazio Royster was the tailback who benefitted from Wes’ blocks at USC.

“Wes was a great teammate, but an even better person,” Royster said. “It was my job as the tailback to read the fullback’s block. These were some of the most violent collisions imaginable and Wes never shied away from contact, complained, or even asked for praise.”

Wes’ incredible blocking earned him a shot in the NFL. Marty Schottenheimer, then head coach of the Kansas City Chiefs, said Wes was one of the best blocking running backs he had ever seen come out college.

Wes accomplished his dream to play in the NFL with the Chiefs. Wes earned the nickname “Fender Bender,” delivering crushing hits, knocking out All-Pros and Hall of Famers while team members would joke and tell him to tone it down a bit. An ankle injury sidelined him that year, leading him to his hometown Los Angeles Raiders. Wes was referred to as “Bam Bam” with the Raiders, receiving game balls and Monday night honors until he moved to the New Orleans Saints two years later.

New Orleans was Wes’ final stop in the NFL. He played for the “Coach” Mike Ditka. Coach Ditka preached tough, hard-hitting football. Wes was at home in New Orleans, winning more game balls, and creating key plays with his blocking.

Wes’ position and style of play led to countless head impacts. He suffered a reported 23 concussions in his football career. He retired from the NFL in 1997.

The football chapter of Wes’ life was closed, opening the door to the business world. Wes always loved to modify cars and trucks, so he started a successful business building modified four-wheel drives and other auto specialties. Wes was very good with people, had a kind heart and would chat with anyone. One of his clients thought he might enjoy the sales and service elements of the concrete business.

Wes was very successful running large concrete jobs in Los Angeles, but some things in his life were not clicking fully. Sleep became more challenging, as Wes would wake up frequently at night. He became overwhelmingly stressed by simple things most people can cope with easily. The concrete business was very competitive, stressful, and becoming too much for Wes, so he decided to retire from that business due to health concerns.

The final chapter was starting a business with family in the medical and dental industry. This was perfect, helping the business get started at his Alma Mater USC and crosstown rival UCLA. The UCLA dental program loved Wes, despite him being a USC alum.

Wes could always make you laugh and could remember movie lines from 30 years ago or jokes from childhood. But he strangely couldn’t remember what he had for dinner the night before, or a conversation he had with a salesperson a week ago about training.

“What was going on?” we’d ask Wes.

Wes would get frustrated and say, “I just can’t remember.”

Simple tasks, things most people don’t think about became a challenge. Wes would run to the store to get milk and then forget why he went to the store.

My brother Wes passed away in his sleep on March 5, 2018 at age 47. The stress of his life was too much for his heart and his brain.

Four months before his death, Wes completed his will and stated his intention for his brain to be studied at the UNITE Brain Bank in Boston. At the time, we thought this was an interesting decision, but we followed his request and sent his brain to the Brain Bank.

There, researchers diagnosed Wes with Stage 2 (of 4) Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). We didn’t know it at the time, but Wes’ intuition about his brain was correct.

“Where’s Sam’s book?” was a common refrain in the Boghosian household.

Sam Boghosian kept a detailed notebook about every single day in his life. The notebook was stuffed with business cards from everyone he met. If a question arose, the notebook had the answers.

His tedious notetaking started when he was young. His daughter, Jody Schiltz, even found a notebook from when he played on the offensive line for the 1954 UCLA National Championship team. He drew each play out and meticulously listed his responsibilities to accompany each diagram.

But flash to 2015, and Jody had to intervene to help her dad file his taxes. The following year, he forgot to ask for help on them. By 2018, his family had to take the mail away from him because otherwise it would never get read.

“He’d be abhorred with this person,” Schiltz told her mom. “This is not who he is.”

The Boghosian family fled from Turkey during the Armenian Genocide in the early 20th century. The family settled in Fresno, California and made a living as farmers.

Sam was born on December 22, 1931. His family was a magnet for tragedy. In a 14-month span, when Boghosian was just 11 years old, he and two of his siblings contracted polio. The polio killed one of his sisters, his older brother went missing in action as a jet fighter in World War II, Boghosian’s father died, and then his family farm burned to the ground.

His polio led doctors to believe Boghosian would never walk again. One of his calf muscles had severe atrophy and he had to wear a lift in one of his shoes, but Boghosian defied the odds and taught himself to walk again at a young age. He compensated well enough for his disease to become a very good athlete. At just 5’10,” he starred on his high school football team and earned a scholarship to play offensive and defensive guard for UCLA.

Before enrolling on campus, head coach Red Sanders sent Boghosian a letter warning him about being out of shape. Boghosian embraced hard coaching then and throughout his life. Schiltz believes his coaches filled a void in his life.

“He didn’t have a father figure,” Schiltz said. “But he had these people in his coaching career that he emulated and strived to be like.”

After finishing at UCLA, Boghosian was drafted by the San Francisco 49ers but turned down professional football for the more lucrative option of joining Sanders’ staff as an assistant. It was the start of his 30-year coaching career.

Sam Boghosian, far left, with the rest of the Oakland Raiders coaching staff in 1982 when they received their Super Bowl Championship rings from the prior season.

After UCLA, Boghosian held various coaching jobs at Oregon State University and then in pro football with the Houston Oilers, Seattle Seahawks, and the Oakland and Los Angeles Raiders.

His players called Boghosian “The Whip” because he held an impossibly high standard. He kept a sign on his desk that said, “WINNING SOLVES ALL PROBLEMS.” He won two Super Bowl rings with the Raiders in 1981 and 1984 under head coach Tom Flores.

“He just didn’t accept failure,” Schiltz said.

Bogohsian was a harsh coach but a loving friend and father who did anything for those close to him. Coaching created distance between Boghosian and Schiltz, his only daughter. He cried any time he had to part from her.

Family meant everything to Boghosian. He had a deep love for his surviving siblings and adored his many nieces and nephews.

“He was the gatekeeper for the whole family,” Schiltz said.

In 1961, the Bel Air Fire wrecked the community surrounding UCLA. Schiltz tells the story of how Boghosian knew his friend’s home was in peril so he rented a water pump. Boghosian pumped the home’s pool and used the water to put out the fire. He asked for nothing in return.

Boghosian and his wife Judy moved to Indian Wells, California before the turn of the century. There, Boghosian’s generosity manifested in countless charity golf tournaments. He was especially active in the Triple X Fraternity, an organization rooted in expanding the rights of access of young Armenian Americans.

In just the eight years he played, football took an immense toll on Boghosian’s body. He had cervical neck surgery and several knee surgeries. His feet hurt constantly.

He adored Schiltz’s son, Braden. Braden was diagnosed with autism early in childhood. Boghosian’s difficulties grasping his grandson’s disability were one of the first signs of his cognitive failure. He couldn’t understand why Braden would have outbursts or not pick up golf like he wanted him to.

Still, Boghosian showed his grandson off to anyone who would listen. He took Braden with him golfing and to the many breakfasts he had with friends. Until Braden stopped wanting to be in a car with his grandfather.

The family saw Boghosian slip, bit-by-bit. His affect was always the same, but the frequency with which he would repeat himself increased over the last five years of his life. Even after the DMV revoked Boghosian’s driver’s license he insisted it was still in his pocket.

By late 2019, Schiltz made frequent trips to Palm Springs to help care for her father. At the time, a neurologist who saw Boghosian posed that his problems were not due to dementia but could be caused by CTE.

Schiltz and her family kept CTE in the back of their minds but hadn’t considered the idea of donating Boghosian’s brain for research until early 2020, when her husband Brian was watching the Aaron Hernandez documentary on Netflix. The film’s discussion of CTE sparked the idea of brain donation.

Shortly after seeing the film, Schiltz connected with Lisa McHale, CLF’s Director of Legacy Family Relations to arrange for her father’s brain to be studied after death.

“Dad would have loved that,” Schiltz said.

On February 23, 2020, he died from congestive heart failure at 88 years old. Upon his death, Schiltz received an outpouring of support from people whom he had coached or helped at some point. A former Oregon State player remembered Boghosian paying him a dollar to cut his hair as he had no time for hippies. Others remembered how he used his rolodex of business cards to help them find jobs or make connections.

As the family mourned Boghosian’s passing they learned he was diagnosed with Stage IV (of IV) CTE. Schiltz is thrilled she reached out to McHale before her father’s death.

“Now we know that’s going to help other people,” Schiltz said.

Boghosian loved football and the game took him out of his modest beginnings in Fresno. He loved sports but Schiltz believes her father would have advocated for children to play soccer before they start tackle football, preferably in high school.

Schiltz and her family live in Atlanta. Because Boghosian kept everything he ever owned, she found his UCLA uniforms, notebooks, helmets, and other treasures he kept. She sent the memorabilia to Atlanta’s College Football Hall of Fame, where it is now displayed. Recently, Braden visited the exhibit and was awed by his grandfather’s place in football history.

Schiltz once gave her father a book to fill out with details about his life. Its pages remained blank. She wishes she had recorded her father talking more about the early parts of his life. She would advise any child who suspects their parent may have CTE to do the same. But even if her father never got to tell her about everything he went through, she’s heard about the profound impact he made in life from plenty of others.

“No one’s ever said anything unkind to me about him,” Schiltz said.