Both Sides of the Line Read online

  Tom eventually came around, turning out just fine, but in those first years after our mother’s death, he became the star of some epic family stories to be retold over Thanksgiving dinners for a long time to come.

  Dempsey

  Clyde John (Jack) Dempsey was born to Francis and Lillian Dempsey on March 29, 1945. His dad was a former football player at Georgia Tech and an amateur boxer. As a young kid, Clyde was often picked on. He later became a ferocious street fighter with an explosive temper and quick hands.

  Dempsey also became a two-time All-American lineman at Boston English High School during the mid-’60s. Boston English was so talented at the time, they ranked seventh overall in the nation. Before graduation, Dempsey was told that, if he wanted to play football at the college level, he’d have to complete a post-graduate year to boost his academic profile. Bridgeton Academy had an opening. For years, I attempted to find anyone who played with Dempsey at Bridgeton, but I continued to hit nothing but dead ends. Then, out of nowhere, Wayne Lynch emailed my publisher Bruce Bortz, and within fifteen minutes, Wayne and I were on the phone. “My teammates and I would love to meet with you.”

  In the fall of 2015, while this book was reaching its final stages, I traveled to Bridgeton, Maine to meet the members of Bridgeton Academy’s 1965 football team, gathered to celebrate their 50th reunion. Bridgeton is a unique prep school―a one-year school for high school graduates seeking to better their grades or athletic exposure before entering college. This was where Dempsey had gone after graduating from high school.

  Before Bridgeton’s game with Navy Prep, eleven men in their late 60s sauntered out to midfield for the coin toss. From the sidelines, it was nothing short of mind boggling to see these highly successful athletic men dwarfed by today’s athletes, many of whom weighed close to or more than 300 pounds.

  Wayne Lynch, for example, played offensive guard alongside Dempsey, and the two roomed together. Neither broke the 5’-8,” 200-pound barrier.

  “Dempsey and I were lucky enough to live in a house on campus and to share a room on the second floor. All the other kids had to live in the dorms.

  “Hands down, Clyde Jack Dempsey was the toughest person I ever met in my life. Pound for pound, there was nobody tougher, harder working, or more dedicated to his friends, his teammates, and his school than he was!”

  After Bridgeton, Wayne would play football and baseball for American International College in Springfield, Ma.

  “As far as the rules and restrictions of boarding school, Dempsey complied with nothing! He was impulsive, and he had a very quick temper. Good or bad, right or wrong, he was all in.”

  “I don’t think you understand.” chimed in Joe Amico, another offensive lineman and defensive end, who later continued his football career at the University of Massachusetts. “There was no on-off-switch with Jack. If he made up his mind to do something, there was no talking him out of it. He lived in an absolute world.” Dempsey, added Amico, was a natural born leader who had charisma, and everyone wanted to hang out with him. “A lot of people like to focus on Dempsey’s negatives, but there were plenty of positives.“

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “Jack had a moral compass, and to his friends, he was ferociously loyal. He was brutally honest, sincere, compassionate, compelling, and enthusiastic. He LIVED! There was something about Jack that the rest of us wished we had!”

  “Ferociously loyal is a pretty strong term,” I said. “Can you recall a moment that captures that quality?”

  Duane Johnson jumped in: “Attending the school that year was a kid named Bobby Lynch―no relation to Wayne. He had a minor altercation with a guy who worked in the kitchen. The guy was being a real jerk, so Bobby pushed him. The headmaster dismissed Bobby from Bridgeton. Jack and Bobby were close. The next day at lunch, Jack stood up and said to the entire student body. ‘I think what happened to Bobby was unfair. He was my friend!’ Jack promptly walked out of the dining hall. One hundred and five students left their lunches and walked out with him. Only three clueless kids stayed behind.”

  “Was Jack your team captain?” I asked.

  “We voted weekly captains,” continued Johnson, “but make no mistake: The entire team followed Jack’s lead. He never let anyone slack off or get caught up in negative thoughts. On or off the field, he never let us slip. But I have to admit he had a self-destruct button. You could feel it, and when he hit the switch, nobody―and I mean nobody―could talk him down.”

  “It was quite the thing to see,” said Wayne as other players on the team nodded in agreement. “When Jack thought someone was staring him down, or if someone offended a friend, he would work himself up into a frenzy. It could be difficult to go out with Jack socially because you were never sure when or why he would hit the switch.”

  “I remember sitting with Jack at a restaurant when he turned to me and said, ‘I’m going to get that guy,’ Alex Moschella, another lineman from the 1965 team, recalled. Moschella attended Villanova after graduating from Bridgeton.

  “What guy?” Moschella asked Dempsey.

  “That guy right there!” Dempsey said. “He’s been staring at me.”

  “Are you crazy, Jack? What are you talking about? That guy doesn’t want any trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, wait til I get my hands on the prick!”

  “Hey, does anyone remember what Jack did to Mr. Tatistcheff’s car? Tatistcheff was a math teacher and a real dork. Jack was unhappy with the way he was treating us in class,” said Wayne. “That night he said, “Let’s go. Get dressed.”

  “‘Jack, what are you talking about? It’s 11 o’clock at night?’”

  “‘We’re going to sneak out and slice Tatistcheff’s tires!’

  “‘Are you nuts? We’ll get kicked out if we get caught!’

  “‘Fuck him!’”

  “Just like that, Jack dressed himself in all-black and snuck out the window. Thirty minutes later, he was back in our room.”

  “‘Tell me you didn’t do it. You didn’t slice one of Tatistcheff’s tires, did you?’”

  “‘One? I sliced all four of ’em!’ He was never caught.”

  “I remember another time in our room when he was really upset with a girl he was dating. Things weren’t going well and Jack decided to write her a letter,” Wayne remembered.

  “‘How’s this sound for a beginning?’” asked Jack. “’You Greek, diabetic whore!’”

  “‘Jesus, Jack, you can’t say that to a girl!’”

  “‘Why not? It’s true! Okay, I’ll take out diabetic.’”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne said. “Jack did plenty of good at Bridgeton. He was responsible for bringing in a weight-lifting program. An all-call went out to parents, and within a few weeks, families were hauling weights in the trunks of their cars to Bridgeton. After that, Jack and I lifted every day. He was the strongest person on the team. He benched over 400 pounds.”

  Suddenly, there was a moment of silence in the room and I noticed the players looking at each other and smiling. Wayne finally looked over at me, and with a smile said:

  “Take out your pen, Kev, because you’re going to want to write this down. The greatest moment in Bridgeton history involves Jack Dempsey.

  “Bridgeton is a small town tucked away in rural Maine, and there has always been tension between the local kids and the Academy kids. Truth be told, the local kids always seemed to have the upper hand, and Bridgeton kids for years would come back to campus on the losing end of a street fight. There was this one local kid name Rodney, and everyone feared him. He was known throughout the area as the toughest guy around, and he was brutally strong. Somehow, Rodney heard about Dempsey, and he called him out. The entire school and town turned out for the fight, which took place in front of Gallanari’s store on Main St. in downtown Bridgeton.

  “Dempsey and Rodney squared off in t
he middle of the street as everyone else crowded four deep on the sidewalks. Rodney rushed Dempsey and grabbed him in a giant bear hug. Unfortunately for Rodney, this left Jack with both his hands free. Jack took his hands, grabbed two giant handfuls of Rodney’s hair, and yanked his head backwards. Jack then bit into Rodney’s cheek. Rodney screamed and let go of Jack, who picked up Rodney, slammed him to the ground, and proceeded to pummel him. I honestly thought Jack killed Rodney. It took a team of us to pull Jack off him.

  “The whole incident ignited a riot between us and the townies.” chimed in Duane. “I was leaning up against a plate-glass window next to a friend, Jim Gamans. Suddenly, a kid walks by, picks Jim up, and throws him through the plate class window. Jim got cut up pretty badly but survived. I thought, ‘Holy shit! That easily could have been me!’”

  I asked the obvious question: How in the world did Jack not get thrown out of Bridgeton?

  “That’s the best part of the story,” said Duane with a smile on his face. Our headmaster, Richard Goldsmith, presided for thirty-one years, and he ran the school with an iron fist. Given the fact that it was a one-year operation, there was probably no other way to run it. Kids got thrown out for the most minor infractions: missing classes, being late for curfew, or sneaking off-campus. So, the next morning, during our school meeting, most of us were certain Dempsey was going to be immediately expelled.

  “Goldsmith began each school meeting in the same way. He stood behind the stage curtain and rang the big school bell. The room became quiet, he stepped from behind the curtain, and went through his agenda. We all held our collective breaths awaiting his pronouncements on the previous day fight. Suddenly, his normally stern look gave way to a broad smile. He raised both his hands above his head and yelled, ‘YAY, DEMPSEY!’

  “The room exploded! Turns out Goldsmith was sick and tired of the local boys beating on the Bridgeton boys. Jack not only stayed, but he became a legend.”

  Duane turned to me with a serious look. “You want to know just how much of an impact Jack Dempsey had on this school and this town? I made reservations for us to play golf at the local golf club this homecoming weekend. I went down yesterday and approached the golf shop window.

  “‘I’m here with the Bridgeton 50-year reunion group.’ A pro golfer came out from his office.”

  “Hey, you didn’t go to school with that Dempsey guy, did you?”

  “Sure did!”

  “Boy, I was at that fight. Never will forget it. I can honestly say that, before or after, there was never an event quite matching that one in this town!”

  “Then suddenly, another employee stepped forward from the back room and said to me: ‘“I was in the eighth grade when that fight took place. I can remember that moment like it was yesterday. What a memory! Kids at my school talked about that fight for years!”

  Wayne looked over, pointed his finger at me, smiled, and said: ‘“Can you believe all this took place fifty years ago? The legend of Jack Dempsey lives on.’”

  Clyde completed a post-graduate year at Bridgeton Academy in Maine, only to have a short-lived, disappointing experience at Xavier College, a Jesuit school in Cincinnati, Ohio. Dempsey went on to play semi-pro football in New England’s Continental League during the late ’60s; early ’70s, Boston Park league; and then end his career as a champion in 1976 playing for the Hyde Park Cowboys in the Eastern Semi-Pro League in Massachusetts.

  But no matter where he played or how outstanding his accomplishments, he still had to deal with the stigma of his size and the misconception that short people could not possibly compete against bigger players. Many players would have quit, but not Dempsey; it fed him. He had a relentless drive to prove himself on and off the field. By the time he arrived at Bosco, he was already a legend in Brighton; his street fights were talked about in the projects, at local bars, and on street corners.

  All of us encountered tough guys in our neighborhoods who would never back down from a fight, but there was always an elite set of guys no one would ever think of messing with. These guys were different; sure, they were tough, but they had no fear―none. They never quit in a street fight. To end things, you would have to knock them out or kill them, and sometimes not even a knock-out guaranteed an end to the conflict because, chances were, they’d be knocking on your door the next day, ready for more. We all wished we could be that tough, that fearless, but deep down we knew our own limitations. But even some of the elite would think twice before crossing the line with Dempsey—that’s how tough he was.

  We had plenty of Brighton kids on our team and, by our first workout, the Dempsey stories had circulated throughout the entire team. Before Dempsey had spoken a word, he had our undivided attention, our street admiration. His presence created a mixture of excitement, directness, and nervousness. His words had weight.

  “Boys,” said Dempsey, “lifting is directly related to football. Football demands that you explode out of your stance to block and tackle. To be the best football player that you can possibly be, you need three ingredients: quickness, technique, and desire. Weightlifting demands the same in order to maximize your strength. They are intermingled and are never to be viewed as separate. We will be focusing on three football lifts: bench press, which strengthens the muscles in the upper body, primarily the chest and arms; squats to strengthen your legs; and, my personal favorite, the football lift, or what are also called power cleans. Almost every muscle in the body benefits from power cleans, and its action mimics the way I want you to hit on the football field. I will teach you the proper technique on how to lift safely and to maximize your strength. No one, let me repeat, no one will deviate from the way I will teach you. This is not a democracy!

  “It is imperative that you pay attention to your teammates when they are lifting. If anyone gets hurt because you’ve decided to be selfish and shoot the shit with your buddy, you will answer to me, and I promise you’ll never do it again! Boys, let me be clear: I will never ask you to do anything I haven’t done myself, so I expect one hundred percent commitment at all times. Each month we will record your maximum lift in all three areas. Over time, you will see dramatic changes in your size and strength. We’ll divide your body weight into the total weight of your three lifts and display the results up on the wall. These results will let us know, pound for pound, who our strongest players are.”

  Listening to Dempsey, I had a strong feeling my junior year was going to be something entirely new and exciting. I was determined to give him that one hundred percent and make a true contribution to the team. I felt secure and safe around Dempsey, but from a distance. Although he was relaxed and easygoing around us, we had heard enough stories about what he could be on the street to ever get too comfortable with him.

  As high school boys, we loved these stories. It put our coach on a pedestal. It was like having a really tough dad. My dad can beat-up your dad type of thing. As football players, we knew Dempsey was the real deal, a truly tough guy—a guy who could walk the walk.

  During practice I found myself zeroed in on his every word. His knowledge of the body, and how it would respond to specific exercises and drills, was masterful. He lectured us at the end of every workout, always about what it took to be a football player.

  The knowledge and advice seemed endless. What he was giving us as a team, I needed as an individual. I wanted to be a successful football player, but I was hungry for guidance and a roadmap on how to live my life. Dempsey’s ability to teach and inspire was unmatched. He convinced us that size meant nothing in the game: quickness, technique, and desire were the holy trinity to being a football player.

  “Boys, nature has a funny way of balancing toughness and desire. It’s not the size of the tiger in the fight, but the size of the fight in the tiger!” (He stole that line, of course, as he stole many lines from other coaches, but he said it with such conviction that not one of us ever considered suggesting it wasn’t his and his alone.)


  Dempsey was a player’s coach. He would jump right in and go live against his players, with no pads, just to prove a point or to demonstrate a particular technique. When we were on our twentieth wind sprint, he would remind us that he would never ask us to do anything that he hadn’t done himself. “Goddamn it, if you can’t give one hundred percent of your heart, body, mind, and soul for three-and-a-half seconds, then go play tennis,” was often heard during practice. “You will be the best-conditioned linemen in the Catholic Conference!” he would shout as he stood on the back of the two-man-sled that we were driving forty yards down the field. “Fatigue makes cowards out of all of us, boys. Drive those legs, Bandini!”

  He wanted us to understand the psychological game that was being played alongside the physical game.

  “During my twelve years of playing this game,” he said, “I can recall only two players that hit me the entire game. I can’t tell you the scores of those games, but I can tell you all about those two players. When the game was over, we had one feeling towards each other, and that was a feeling of mutual respect. There is a great feeling of pride when you walk off the football field knowing you gave it your all.

  “Make no mistake: During a game, one of you will dominate the other by the second quarter. But if you plan on playing football for me, you will never allow an opponent to out-hustle, out-think, or out-hit you during a game.”

  Dempsey was as determined to shape our mental development as he was our physical development. “Players will begin to duck and cut corners when they realize they are being out-hit and out-played. Be ready for it. Anticipate it.”

  Dempsey often said, “The most dangerous player is the one you knock on his ass and who comes back twice as fast and twice as strong!” He wanted his linemen to out-hit their opponents the entire four quarters, regardless of the score. The tone of the competition, he insisted, was set during the first three plays of a game. We were to dominate our opponent on the line of scrimmage from the start of the game to the finish.