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.

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide and may be triggering to some readers.

Every few months, Brenda Boose receives another adoring message about her late ex-husband, former NFL player and Washington State University star Dorian Boose. They pour in from strangers, old teammates, friends, and even people who only met Dorian once. Brenda printed out a particular message she received from a young man in 2021. The note reminded her about Dorian’s generosity and the effect he had on others:

I met Dorian in the fall of 1997 when I was 16 and a junior in high school. A friend of my family was a big booster for the Cougars and he invited me to join the team for an away game at USC. Most of the players were too busy but that changed when my dad had me approach Dorian. He was incredibly friendly and took me around, introducing me to everyone. After the game, we snapped a few pictures and exchanged information.

Some point later, Dorian reached out to me and we got to chat like old buddies. I remember I had told him I loved to sing, and we even sang together on the phone. After the Rose Bowl, he sent me his practice jersey and WSU warmup suit. Though our correspondence ended as the years passed, I still remember Dorian fondly and bring up him up whenever I get the chance.

“That’s just the kind of person Dorian was,” said Brenda.

Coming together through faith

When Brenda first met Dorian in 1991, he was attending Walla Walla Community College in eastern Washington. Dorian and Brenda were members of the local church choir. In addition to sharing the same faith, she was drawn to his gregarious personality and kind heart.

“Dorian had a natural joy that drew everyone in,” said Brenda.

Certain talents came naturally to Dorian. He could sing very well and learned how to play piano completely by ear. Dorian was extremely athletic and at 6’6,” loved to play basketball. He picked up tackle football for the first time as a freshman at Foss High School in Tacoma, Washington. His combination of size and speed immediately turned heads and led him to Walla Walla CC and eventually to a scholarship to play defensive end for the Washington State Cougars.

Dorian and Brenda started dating in 1992 and married in 1995 while Dorian was at WSU. Having each grown up in strict households, the couple shied away from drugs and alcohol. Brenda recalls how silly she and Dorian felt when they were served champagne during their honeymoon. Family and faith were the bedrock of their marriage.

High hopes

Brenda and Dorian’s first son, Taylor, was born in 1996. Brenda remembers Taylor’s early years fondly for how much Dorian embraced being a father. Dorian loved his family immensely and could often be found horsing around and playing with Taylor.

Dorian balanced fatherhood and athletics well. He played a major role in putting Washington State University’s football program on the map with the “season of destiny” in 1997. The Cougars went 10-2 and made it to their first Rose Bowl appearance in 67 years. Dorian’s teammates voted him defensive captain for his outstanding play and leadership.

Dorian’s breakthrough in 1997 created the possibility of a bright new future. At the NFL Combine before the draft, Dorian was told he could have a 15-year football career. The New York Jets saw his potential and selected him 56th overall in the 1998 NFL Draft. An overnight star in New York, Dorian spoke for hours with everyone from then-Jets coach Bill Parcells to Regis Philbin and Kathie Lee Gifford for an appearance on Live with Regis and Kathie Lee.

“We were extremely excited about the future and for what was ahead,” said Brenda. “We thought we would be together forever and raise our boys and live a very fulfilling life.”

A different Dorian

Dorian’s time with the Jets didn’t live up to expectations. Injuries made it difficult for him to get consistent playing time. After two years in New York, he joined the Washington Commanders for another injury-riddled stint. Eventually, he signed with the Houston Texans but was waived again after a knee injury.

Brenda gave birth to the couple’s second son, Brady, in 2000. Within two weeks of getting cut by Houston, Brady was diagnosed with autism. For the Boose family, the already anxious stretch of Dorian’s career became even more stressful and overwhelming.

Around then, Brenda noticed a slightly different Dorian. Rather than embracing the challenge of Brady’s diagnosis, he became distant and aloof, developed a careless attitude, and was disappearing on his own for many evenings. When Brenda pressed him on what he was doing those nights, Dorian told her he had been drag racing.

“I was just shocked,” said Brenda. “It was so out of character for him, and I couldn’t make any sense of the situation.”

When he was healthy again, Dorian decided to try to rejuvenate his football career in the Canadian Football League. His career in the CFL couldn’t have started any better – he made seven sacks and won the Grey Cup his first year with Edmonton in 2003.

Dorian’s marriage was still strained and his residence in a different country only exacerbated the issue. When Dorian did call home, Brenda could hardly recognize the person on the other line and was heartbroken by how much he had deprioritized his family.

“It was like, ‘Who am I talking to?’” said Brenda. “The whole thing just fell apart.”

Exhausted from the uncertainty of their relationship and needing to provide stability for Taylor and Brady, Brenda made the difficult decision to file for divorce in 2003. Dorian played just one more season in the CFL in 2004 before retiring from professional football.

For the next decade, Brenda’s contact with Dorian was at best inconsistent and mostly non-existent. Brenda tried to protect the boys’ emotions as much as possible and didn’t want them to hear from Dorian if his communication was going to be scattered and incoherent. Because of the distance between them, they were mostly in the dark about where Dorian was and what he was doing.

Around 2015, Dorian’s acquaintances began messaging Brenda to tell her he needed serious help. Brenda reached out to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and was able to connect with a detective who would investigate his whereabouts. He found Dorian and let Brenda know her ex-husband was living on the streets of Edmonton. The officer also told Brenda how well-loved Dorian was in the unhoused community. Later, Brenda learned Dorian prayed and served as encouragement for others in the community.

Despite the pain of learning that Dorian was living on the streets and the frustration and confusion of the past decade, Brenda was comforted to know his core values of faith and generosity were still on display. She passed along a message for the officer to tell Dorian to contact his parents and that God loved him. The officer relayed the messages and told Brenda they moved Dorian to tears.

In 2016, after years of distance, Taylor wanted to reach out to his dad and wish him well. With the help of Dorian’s mother, the family got in touch with Dorian, who was in a shelter getting help. Taylor and his father were able to have a conversation over the phone that spring.

A few months later, Brenda was awakened by a phone call the night of November 22. Dorian had died by suicide. He was 42 years old.

Brenda is thankful her family was able to speak with Dorian before he passed away.

“It was nothing but God that made that moment happen and we are grateful to this day,” she said.

Brenda doesn’t remember Dorian ever discussing concussions while they were together, and they had separated years before CTE had ever been diagnosed in a former NFL player. But after discussions with Dorian’s former agent, Brenda decided to donate his brain to the UNITE Brain Bank. There, Dr. Ann McKee diagnosed Dorian with stage 3 (of 4) CTE. Dr. McKee told Brenda how Dorian had one of the most severe cases she had seen in someone his age.

Brenda had two reactions to the diagnosis: first relief, then grief.

The relief came when Dr. McKee suggested the severity of Dorian’s CTE could have caused his behavior to change quite early in his life. The pathology explained why Dorian’s actions and behavior were so drastically different from the man Brenda knew Dorian to be.

Then came the immense grief. Brenda struggled to eat and sleep as she thought about how much Dorian would have suffered by himself without understanding exactly why he was changing.

“The CTE took Dorian’s life,” said Brenda. “It took his future. It took his being a husband. It took his being a father. It took everything.”

Redemption

Brenda wants to share Dorian’s story to show why he struggled near the end of his life and to dispel the notion that his lack of NFL success drove him to despair.

“Dorian wasn’t bitter about his career not panning out,” said Brenda. “There was so much more to him than football. CTE caused this.”

These days, Brenda still has many beautiful memories about Dorian’s time in football, but her family’s relationship with the sport has changed since the diagnosis. With the knowledge she has gained through this experience, Brenda is now a strong believer in Flag Football Under 14. Even through Dorian didn’t start tackle football until high school, she sees moving away from youth tackle football as the best way to prevent future cases of CTE. Brenda urges parents to have the conversation about flag football early on for the health and safety of their kids.

Brenda is grateful for how much more information there is about CTE than there was when she and Dorian were married. If anyone finds themselves in a situation like she was in the early 2000s, she recommends leaning in on the resources available on CLF’s website and elsewhere. For other partners of suspected CTE, she has three pieces of advice: get educated about the disease, reach out for support, and have as much compassion as you can.

Though Dorian passed away far too soon and left her life well before his death, Brenda can see how the best of Dorian lives on in her two sons. In Taylor, Brenda can see Dorian’s many talents and strengths. And in Brady, Brenda sees glimpses that remind her of the beautiful man she met in the church choir all those years ago.

“He has his father’s spirit, always with a smile on his face and a joyful presence,” said Brenda. “I just want everyone to remember that part of Dorian more than anything.”

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call. If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, consider using the Lifeline Crisis Chat at 988lifeline.org/chat 

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.