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Colts' No. 1 pick Dallas Clark grew big heart in the small town of Livermore, Iowa - born: June 12, 1979.
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May 4, 2003 |
LIVERMORE, Iowa -- Talk to Dallas Clark. Wander his hometown and talk to the people who know him best, his family and friends, his neighbors and teachers. An image emerges, and with each testimonial it becomes more distinct.
Greg Lemke, a family friend, even said it: "He's a choir boy."
That's a fact, and Denise Foth corroborated it. She taught Clark in elementary school. She was music director of the United Methodist Church youth choir.
"He had to sing a solo once," said Foth. "He didn't come in quite right, and all the boys kind of got the giggles."
What goes around, comes around. People are singing Clark's praises now. From choir boy to University of Iowa walk-on to John Mackey Award winner as college football's top tight end to NFL first-round draft choice. Clark will complete his first activity as an Indianapolis Colt today, when the team's three-day minicamp concludes at the RCA Dome.
The public is invited. Admission to the 2 to 4 p.m. session is free.
Clark's hometown has 431 residents and no stoplights, and everyone is, to some extent, a product of his or her environment. Livermore produces tall corn and upstanding youth.
"I think the most serious problem we have here is kids playing marbles for keeps," said Twin River Valley superintendent James Kenton, whose school district incorporates Bode, Brasgate, Gilmore City, Livermore, Ottosen and Pioneer.
Humboldt County is north plains country, mile on mile of deep, black dirt, some of Iowa's richest farmland, dotted with hilltop farmhouses and shaped by the east and west forks of the Des Moines River, the twin rivers. Agra-industry giants such as Pioneer and DeKalb grow seed corn here, and summer evenings are long and quiet, very quiet.
"My fun entailed turning on the light on the garage and shooting baskets or watching movies," said Clark, his ready smile spilling across his face.
If that sounds Hoosierly, it's because it is. The cornfields come in on three sides of the garage behind the white frame house in which Clark was raised on the east side of town. He grew up a Bob Knight fan. He remains one.
And if you want to understand Clark, you go back to that white house, back to that garage, back to the person who meant the world to Dallas and his older brothers, Dan and Derrik, who starred at Twin River Valley High School before him.
Always there
Jan Clark and her husband, Doug, were divorced while the boys were young and, "Dad didn't come around much," said Dallas. Jan, who worked as the town clerk, was the boys' provider, their confidante, their biggest fan. She always was there.
"If she had a sink full of dirty dishes and a messy house and those boys were doing something, the housework waited," said Jan's mother, Dee Johnson, 78 and still working three days a week as a cashier at Twin River Food Center.
High school graduation is a big deal in the farm communities of northern Iowa and they observe it with open houses. Almost everyone has one. People go from house to house, taking a bite here and a drink there.
Jan and her sister, Judy, had just finished sweeping the garage, where Dallas' open house would be conducted, that spring day in 1998. Jan complained of feeling faint. She sat down. She collapsed.
Judy screamed for Dallas, who was in the house watching television. Dallas ran to the garage, then back to the house. He called 911, then attempted to revive his mother. The heart attack was too massive, the damage too profound. The most important person in Dallas Clark's life died in his arms, three days before his high school graduation. Jan was 48.
Life goes on, however deep the anguish, however widely shared. Happy graduation.
"It was devastating," said Don Hasenkamp, principal of Twin River Valley High School. "It was about as tough a graduation as you can imagine -- for the whole school."
Everyone in the area knew Jan Clark. Almost everyone loved her. They held the funeral in the school gymnasium. It was packed.
Jean Larson was there. She and Jan were close friends. They taught Sunday school together. Dallas dated Larson's daughter, Karen, throughout his senior year, and Jean succeeded Jan as town clerk.
"She's why Dallas is what he is today," Larson said through the Kleenex and the sniffles and the sighs.
What Clark is -- besides the All-America football player and 3-point student a few hours short of his degree in elementary education -- is the Twin River Valley's favorite son.
That was obvious on Jan. 8, when they brought him home from Iowa City and honored him at halftime of the basketball game with visiting Armstrong-Ringstead High. Dallas sat on the stage, and by midway through the first quarter, no one was watching the game. A line snaked from the home bleachers, down the sideline, behind the basket, up the steps and onto the stage, to Clark. Everyone wanted a handshake, a hug, an autograph.
At halftime, Hasenkamp ("Mr. H") introduced Clark. Even the Armstrong-Ringstead fans stood and roared. A picture was unveiled: Clark in his No. 44 Iowa uniform, the ball in his hands, just crossing the goal line for a touchdown at Kinnick Stadium.
That photo is now mounted beside the gym's main entrance, and a close inspection is revealing. On Clark's right wristband, in block lettering, is written "MOM." It's his ritual: "MOM" and below it "WWJD" for "What Would Jesus Do?" and on his left wristband, a cross and the names of his brothers' children. Before every game, he pulls on his mementos and makes his way to the end zone, where he says thanks to his Lord and hello to his mom.
"She's still with me," he said. "She's always with me.
"She was able to give me the strength to do everything I've done. I've always tried to make her proud and happy."
New avenue
From unrecruited to walk-on to scout-teamer to starter to Mackey Award winner to first-round draft choice. That's a lot of doing. That's a lot of strength.
Clark has made more than his mother proud and happy.
Television sets were on all over the Twin River Valley eight days ago, when the Colts drafted Clark. Lemke wasn't watching. He had a field to plow. He listened on the radio in the cab of his tractor.
No sooner had NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue announced Clark's name than Lemke's two-way radio crackled. It was his father-in-law, Bill Smith, in another tractor in an adjacent field.
"Good things happen to great people," said Smith, a wrestling gold medalist in the 1952 Olympics.
Lemke rogered that. He underwent open-heart surgery in a Des Moines hospital last March. When they wheeled him out of intensive care a couple days later, the first person he spotted was Clark.
"First visitor I had," said Lemke, 45, who played quarterback at Iowa State in his day. "If Dallas was an insurance agent, he'd be just as popular around here as he is, just because of who he is."
Clark grew up fast. He had to. He learned something about life and death and people and what matters and what doesn't. He drove two hours to Des Moines because he doesn't take people like Lemke for granted.
"It really puts everything into perspective," said Clark. "I don't know how long my time in the NFL will last. I'm just going to work as hard as I can and try to enjoy every day."