“He could do it all, beat every opponent . . . except one.” –plaque honoring Ernie Davis, in the lobby of Elmira Free Academy
Ernie Davis was an All-American on the gridiron, and a man of integrity off the field. A multi-sport high school star in Elmira, New York, Davis went on to Syracuse University, where as a sophomore he led his team to an undefeated season and a national championship in 1959, and earned his nickname, the Elmira Express. Two seasons later, Davis had broken the legendary Jim Brown’s rushing records, and became the first black athlete to be awarded the Heisman Trophy.
The number one pick in the 1962 NFL draft, Davis signed a contract with the Cleveland Browns and appeared to be headed for professional stardom. But Davis never ended up playing in the NFL: He was diagnosed with leukemia during the summer before his rookie season and succumbed to the disease less than a year later. In battling his illness, Davis showed great dignity and courage, inspired the nation, and moved President John F. Kennedy to eulogize him as “ an outstanding man of great character.”An enduring story of a true scholar-athlete, The Express is a touching, impeccably researched, deeply personal portrait of Ernie Davis, and a vivid look at sport in America at the dawn of the Civil Rights era.
BACKGROUND
A young man’s first hero often remains more sharply etched in his memory than his first love. Mine was Ernest R. Davis, who in 1961 became the first black football player to win the Heisman Trophy. He died of leukemia 18 months later without fulfilling his dream of playing professional football. Despite the tragedy of a life cut short, his story is more than a cheers-to-tears heartbreaker. Although fans recall an athlete and his achievements, friends remember a man and his character.
I never met Ernie personally, yet throughout my life by chance, coincidence, or the reminiscence of a mutual acquaintance, I would often recall his memory. I became a fan of his when I was ten years old, playing football in the backyards, fields, and streets of my neighborhood. Like many other boys my age, I dreamed of being an All-American, a Heisman Trophy winner, and even an All-Pro.
I lived in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C. The big college star of that time was Joe Bellino, All-American halfback and Heisman Trophy winner from the United States Naval Academy only 40 miles away in Annapolis, Maryland. We neighborhood boys used to vie for the honor of playing Joe Bellino in our pickup football games. I don’t remember why we wanted to be college players rather than professionals. Possibly the pros hadn’t yet earned the popularity they now enjoy or maybe the college players were closer to our age.
One day when another boy “called” Joe Bellino first, I said, “Okay, I’m going to be Ernie Davis of Syracuse.” A playmate shouted, “You can’t be Ernie Davis, he’s a nigger.” Then to everybody else, “He wants to be a nigger.” I answered, “He’s an All-American,” which to me was a comeback of unassailable logic. I can’t honestly say I was morally indignant. I was embarrassed. I had never experienced bigotry and didn’t understand it. I wondered why a person could dislike someone because of their color. Stubbornly, I stuck with my choice.
Months later I discovered why the boy acted the way he did. In December 1961 we interrupted our football game in that same kid’s yard to watch the Syracuse-Miami Liberty Bowl game on television. Ernie and the Syracuse team played poorly in the first half. As we went out to throw the ball around during halftime, my playmate, remembering my earlier statement, said, “I told you Ernie Davis wasn’t any good. He’s a nigger.” My embarrassment increased when his father said, “None of those niggers are any good.” While we were outside I silently prayed, with the fervor only a youngster praying for a hero can muster, that Ernie play well in the second half. With trepidation I went in to watch the rest of the game.
As if in answer to my prayers, Ernie played magnificently in the second half and rallied Syracuse to victory. At game’s end in righteous indignation I asked, “What do you think of Ernie Davis now?” My friend’s father answered, “He’s still a nigger.” I didn’t respond, but I secretly gloated at the man’s discomfort.
At that time Washington sports fans were eagerly anticipating watching Ernie play with the hometown Redskins, who had ostensibly made him the number one selection in the 1962 National Football League draft. I was disappointed when it was later announced that Ernie, in fact, had been traded by Washington to the Cleveland Browns prior to the draft.
After weighing offers from both the Browns and the Buffalo Bills of the rival American Football League, Ernie signed a then NFL record-setting rookie contract with Cleveland. However, his professional career ended before it began at the College All-Stars training camp.
I remember my disappointment when it was reported Ernie would not play in the annual exhibition game due to illness. Later, the newspapers described his condition as a “blood disorder,” which would prevent Ernie’s playing during the 1962 football season. Although I’m sure that privately he was devastated by the news, publicly Ernie never changed. For months he had been signing autographs, “Ernie Davis, Cleveland Browns, 1962.” Despite the setback, he never gave up hope that he would overcome his illness. Eight weeks later, there was some good news. Ernie Davis had leukemia, but it was in total remission, and as long as the remission held, the doctors said Ernie could play football. According to the newspapers, the Browns’ management was divided over whether he should play. Ultimately Coach Paul Brown chose not to activate him.
During the winter of 1963, Ernie’s leukemia returned and within four months he died. One can imagine the crushing disappointment of the young athlete when he learned that his battle with the disease had not been won. By all accounts his fears and disappointments remained a private agony. To the outside world he “turned his usual confident smiling face, betraying not a hint of concern about his health or his prospects as an athlete. John Brown, Ernie’s teammate at Syracuse University and roommate in Cleveland, scoffed when asked what it was like to watch a young man die. “I don’t know,” he said, “I watched a young man live.”
Ernest R. Davis, 23, died of leukemia on May 18, 1963. The courage and dignity Ernie showed in facing death stirred a city and a country. In one day over 10,000 people filed past Ernie’s coffin, as he lay in state in his hometown of Elmira, New York. Thousands attended the funeral which was sadly one of the biggest events in Elmira history. Certainly anyone who was there will never forget it.
President John F. Kennedy sent Ernie’s mother a telegram of condolence, which read, “I would like to express my sympathy to you on the occasion of the death of your son. I had the privilege of meeting Ernie after he won the Heisman Trophy. He was an outstanding young man of great character who consistently served as an inspiration to the other people of the country.”
I never heard much about Ernie Davis after his death until I enrolled at Syracuse University four years later. There I met people who had known him. I was intrigued listening to their anecdotes about what a great person he was. They rarely talked about him as an athlete. At a freshman orientation lecture, Dr. Michael O. Sawyer, a university vice chancellor, described his last encounter with Ernie Davis. Two weeks before his death, Ernie visited the campus and called Sawyer to arrange a visit. The professor, aware of the gravity of Ernie’s condition, was concerned about how to talk to a young man of such extraordinary ability and potential who had only a short time to live. Sawyer’s concerns proved unwarranted because Ernie controlled the conversation by asking about Sawyer, his plans, and mutual acquaintances. He didn’t allow the professor to feel uncomfortable.
Eighteen years later, Sawyer was still impressed by the “stylish performance.” He said, “In those circumstances, most peoples’ concerns would have been totally centered on their own illness or their own problems, but he was so sensitive to other people. He was always interested in others and their well being. I was always impressed by him.”
Since graduating from Syracuse University, I continued to have unexpected reminders of Ernie Davis. In the fall of 1979, a former classmate invited me to the Syracuse-Penn State football game at the Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. We didn’t know that during halftime ceremonies, Ernie Davis would be inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. The emotional induction and the subsequent newspaper stories gave me a few more memories. Still more unexpected was a chance encounter with a coworker on that Monday following the induction ceremony. Hearing me speak about Syracuse, the lady volunteered that she was from Elmira, New York. Since that was Ernie’s hometown, I idly asked if she knew who “The Elmira Express” was. She responded, “You mean Ernie?” Incredulously I asked, “Did you know him?” She answered, “Of course, everybody in Elmira knew Ernie. He was a terrific guy.”
I decided to find out if it was true. To satisfy my curiosity, I began reading the old newspaper and magazine stories about him in the local library. It quickly became apparent that Ernie Davis was a young man of extraordinary character and courage as well as athletic skill. I felt his story deserved a wider audience.
“I began contacting those who knew him, some well and others casually. They had similar impressions and used the same descriptive words: “concerned for others,” “self aware,” “modest,” “leader,” and “great sense of humor.” They all willingly took time from their busy schedules to discuss their feelings for Ernie. They often said, “I’m really busy, but I’ll do it for Ernie.”
You might expect such reactions from friends, but hardly from those in athletics where fame is ephemeral and an athlete’s only as good as his last game. Ernie’s last game was 20 years earlier. Although those close to him obviously remember his athletic skill, it is as a person that he is most vividly remembered.
His high school football coach, Marty Harrigan, said, “Ernie Davis was more than a jock. He was something really special. He loved his fellow man and wanted to do things for him. Do them quietly and do them by example.” Tony DeFilippo, his lawyer and advisor emphasized, “It was always what could he do for the other guy. Everyone who knew the truth about him would say the same thing.”
Mention Syracuse University and sports fans invariably recall such football stars as Jim Brown, John Mackey, Jim Nance, Floyd Little, Larry Csonka, and Joe Morris. I always added “Ernie Davis,” and they would nod and reply, “Too bad he died. He would have been great.” That observation missed the point. Obviously his untimely death was tragic, but the “ifs” of Ernie’s life were not as important as the “whats” and “hows.”
Through his concern for others and his self-confidence, particularly as he faced death, Ernie Davis was a greater hero than he ever would have been as a professional football superstar. In his final months Ernie experienced the emotional high points and low points of his life. The personal courage and dignity he demonstrated were remarkable. As in all endeavors, Ernie did his best to overcome leukemia. When he couldn’t, he didn’t curse the fates. He was thankful for what he had attained.
A young man’s first hero often remains more sharply etched in his memory than his first love. Mine was Ernest R. Davis, who in 1961 became the first black football player to win the Heisman Trophy. He died of leukemia 18 months later without fulfilling his dream of playing professional football. Despite the tragedy of a life cut short, his story is more than a cheers-to-tears heartbreaker. Although fans recall an athlete and his achievements, friends remember a man and his character.
I never met Ernie personally, yet throughout my life by chance, coincidence, or the reminiscence of a mutual acquaintance, I would often recall his memory. I became a fan of his when I was ten years old, playing football in the backyards, fields, and streets of my neighborhood. Like many other boys my age, I dreamed of being an All-American, a Heisman Trophy winner, and even an All-Pro.
I lived in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C. The big college star of that time was Joe Bellino, All-American halfback and Heisman Trophy winner from the United States Naval Academy only 40 miles away in Annapolis, Maryland. We neighborhood boys used to vie for the honor of playing Joe Bellino in our pickup football games. I don’t remember why we wanted to be college players rather than professionals. Possibly the pros hadn’t yet earned the popularity they now enjoy or maybe the college players were closer to our age.
One day when another boy “called” Joe Bellino first, I said, “Okay, I’m going to be Ernie Davis of Syracuse.” A playmate shouted, “You can’t be Ernie Davis, he’s a nigger.” Then to everybody else, “He wants to be a nigger.” I answered, “He’s an All-American,” which to me was a comeback of unassailable logic. I can’t honestly say I was morally indignant. I was embarrassed. I had never experienced bigotry and didn’t understand it. I wondered why a person could dislike someone because of their color. Stubbornly, I stuck with my choice.
Months later I discovered why the boy acted the way he did. In December 1961 we interrupted our football game in that same kid’s yard to watch the Syracuse-Miami Liberty Bowl game on television. Ernie and the Syracuse team played poorly in the first half. As we went out to throw the ball around during halftime, my playmate, remembering my earlier statement, said, “I told you Ernie Davis wasn’t any good. He’s a nigger.” My embarrassment increased when his father said, “None of those niggers are any good.” While we were outside I silently prayed, with the fervor only a youngster praying for a hero can muster, that Ernie play well in the second half. With trepidation I went in to watch the rest of the game.
As if in answer to my prayers, Ernie played magnificently in the second half and rallied Syracuse to victory. At game’s end in righteous indignation I asked, “What do you think of Ernie Davis now?” My friend’s father answered, “He’s still a nigger.” I didn’t respond, but I secretly gloated at the man’s discomfort.
At that time Washington sports fans were eagerly anticipating watching Ernie play with the hometown Redskins, who had ostensibly made him the number one selection in the 1962 National Football League draft. I was disappointed when it was later announced that Ernie, in fact, had been traded by Washington to the Cleveland Browns prior to the draft.
After weighing offers from both the Browns and the Buffalo Bills of the rival American Football League, Ernie signed a then NFL record-setting rookie contract with Cleveland. However, his professional career ended before it began at the College All-Stars training camp.
I remember my disappointment when it was reported Ernie would not play in the annual exhibition game due to illness. Later, the newspapers described his condition as a “blood disorder,” which would prevent Ernie’s playing during the 1962 football season. Although I’m sure that privately he was devastated by the news, publicly Ernie never changed. For months he had been signing autographs, “Ernie Davis, Cleveland Browns, 1962.” Despite the setback, he never gave up hope that he would overcome his illness. Eight weeks later, there was some good news. Ernie Davis had leukemia, but it was in total remission, and as long as the remission held, the doctors said Ernie could play football. According to the newspapers, the Browns’ management was divided over whether he should play. Ultimately Coach Paul Brown chose not to activate him.
During the winter of 1963, Ernie’s leukemia returned and within four months he died. One can imagine the crushing disappointment of the young athlete when he learned that his battle with the disease had not been won. By all accounts his fears and disappointments remained a private agony. To the outside world he “turned his usual confident smiling face, betraying not a hint of concern about his health or his prospects as an athlete. John Brown, Ernie’s teammate at Syracuse University and roommate in Cleveland, scoffed when asked what it was like to watch a young man die. “I don’t know,” he said, “I watched a young man live.”
Ernest R. Davis, 23, died of leukemia on May 18, 1963. The courage and dignity Ernie showed in facing death stirred a city and a country. In one day over 10,000 people filed past Ernie’s coffin, as he lay in state in his hometown of Elmira, New York. Thousands attended the funeral which was sadly one of the biggest events in Elmira history. Certainly anyone who was there will never forget it.
President John F. Kennedy sent Ernie’s mother a telegram of condolence, which read, “I would like to express my sympathy to you on the occasion of the death of your son. I had the privilege of meeting Ernie after he won the Heisman Trophy. He was an outstanding young man of great character who consistently served as an inspiration to the other people of the country.”
I never heard much about Ernie Davis after his death until I enrolled at Syracuse University four years later. There I met people who had known him. I was intrigued listening to their anecdotes about what a great person he was. They rarely talked about him as an athlete. At a freshman orientation lecture, Dr. Michael O. Sawyer, a university vice chancellor, described his last encounter with Ernie Davis. Two weeks before his death, Ernie visited the campus and called Sawyer to arrange a visit. The professor, aware of the gravity of Ernie’s condition, was concerned about how to talk to a young man of such extraordinary ability and potential who had only a short time to live. Sawyer’s concerns proved unwarranted because Ernie controlled the conversation by asking about Sawyer, his plans, and mutual acquaintances. He didn’t allow the professor to feel uncomfortable.
Eighteen years later, Sawyer was still impressed by the “stylish performance.” He said, “In those circumstances, most peoples’ concerns would have been totally centered on their own illness or their own problems, but he was so sensitive to other people. He was always interested in others and their well being. I was always impressed by him.”
Since graduating from Syracuse University, I continued to have unexpected reminders of Ernie Davis. In the fall of 1979, a former classmate invited me to the Syracuse-Penn State football game at the Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. We didn’t know that during halftime ceremonies, Ernie Davis would be inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. The emotional induction and the subsequent newspaper stories gave me a few more memories. Still more unexpected was a chance encounter with a coworker on that Monday following the induction ceremony. Hearing me speak about Syracuse, the lady volunteered that she was from Elmira, New York. Since that was Ernie’s hometown, I idly asked if she knew who “The Elmira Express” was. She responded, “You mean Ernie?” Incredulously I asked, “Did you know him?” She answered, “Of course, everybody in Elmira knew Ernie. He was a terrific guy.”
I decided to find out if it was true. To satisfy my curiosity, I began reading the old newspaper and magazine stories about him in the local library. It quickly became apparent that Ernie Davis was a young man of extraordinary character and courage as well as athletic skill. I felt his story deserved a wider audience.
“I began contacting those who knew him, some well and others casually. They had similar impressions and used the same descriptive words: “concerned for others,” “self aware,” “modest,” “leader,” and “great sense of humor.” They all willingly took time from their busy schedules to discuss their feelings for Ernie. They often said, “I’m really busy, but I’ll do it for Ernie.”
You might expect such reactions from friends, but hardly from those in athletics where fame is ephemeral and an athlete’s only as good as his last game. Ernie’s last game was 20 years earlier. Although those close to him obviously remember his athletic skill, it is as a person that he is most vividly remembered.
His high school football coach, Marty Harrigan, said, “Ernie Davis was more than a jock. He was something really special. He loved his fellow man and wanted to do things for him. Do them quietly and do them by example.” Tony DeFilippo, his lawyer and advisor emphasized, “It was always what could he do for the other guy. Everyone who knew the truth about him would say the same thing.”
Mention Syracuse University and sports fans invariably recall such football stars as Jim Brown, John Mackey, Jim Nance, Floyd Little, Larry Csonka, and Joe Morris. I always added “Ernie Davis,” and they would nod and reply, “Too bad he died. He would have been great.” That observation missed the point. Obviously his untimely death was tragic, but the “ifs” of Ernie’s life were not as important as the “whats” and “hows.”
Through his concern for others and his self-confidence, particularly as he faced death, Ernie Davis was a greater hero than he ever would have been as a professional football superstar. In his final months Ernie experienced the emotional high points and low points of his life. The personal courage and dignity he demonstrated were remarkable. As in all endeavors, Ernie did his best to overcome leukemia. When he couldn’t, he didn’t curse the fates. He was thankful for what he had attained.
Release Date: October 10, 2008
Release Time: 130 minutes
Cast:
Rob Brown as Ernie Davis
Dennis Quaid as Ben Schwartzwalder
Omar Benson Miller as Jack Buckley
Aunjanue Ellis as Marie Davis
Clancy Brown as Roy Simmons
Darrin Dewitt Henson as Jim Brown
Saul Rubinek as Art Modell
Nelsan Ellis as Will Davis, Jr.
Charles S. Dutton as Willie "Pop" Davis
Geoff Stults as Bob Lundy
Evan Jones as Roger "Hound Dog" Davis
Nicole Beharie as Sarah Ward
Chelcie Ross as Lew Andreas
Enver Gjokaj as Dave Sarette
Maximilian Osinski as Gerhard Schwedes
Chadwick Boseman as Floyd Little
Robert C. Gallagher is an alumnus of Syracuse University and a freelance sportswriter. Gallagher is the author of The Express: The Ernie Davis Story, which was turned into a major motion picture. His articles have appeared in Baseball Digest, the Washington Post, the Redskins Report, and other publications. He works for the Fairfax County Public Library in Virginia.
iTUNES / AUDIBLE / INDIE BOUND
Film
