From: USMA1959@aol.com
Date: Tue, 22 Mar 2005 17:13:03 EST
To: usma1959@west-point.org
Subject: usma1959: Pete Dawkins' Remarks at Glenn Davis' Funeral March 18, 2005

Dear Classmates:

As most of you know, Glenn Davis - Army's fabled "Mr. Outside" -- recently passed away, and was buried adjacent to his revered coach, Red Blaik, at the West Point cemetery on March 18th.  It was a bright day, with Glenn's widow, Yvonne, there as well as a number of the Davis family.  Many of Glenn's teammates were there to bear witness, along with other friends and sports luminaries.  Interestingly, Bobby Ross, and the entire West Point football coaching staff -- Every one of them -- were there, along with Joe Bellino, Navy's first Heisman award winner.

Pete Dawkins was asked to speak on behalf of the heritage of generations of the Army team.  I thought you might enjoy what he had to say.

Jim Walsh




Pete Dawkins' Remarks
at Glenn Davis' Funeral
March 18, 2005


It goes without saying that Glenn was a remarkably gifted athlete, whose achievements stand tall in the annals of West Point, and in the history of sport in America.  For that, he earned our undying respect, and deep admiration.

But, to me, Glenn was so much more, besides.

Over the past week, his passing caused me to think a lot about, "What makes a life?" - and, "Just what is it that made Glenn's life so memorable, and so special?"

I'm not at all sure that I've found the answer but, in my musings, three remembrances came to stand out, that I thought would be appropriate to share with you today.  

First, it's important to remember that Glenn was not just a great star, he was also a great teammate.  Even in the face of the torrent of notoriety - that, weekly, blustered with headlines bulging the wonder of his personal exploits (and often those of Doc Blanchard, "Mr. Inside", as well) Glenn thought of Steffy and Tucker and Poole and Foldberg .. and all the others, too.  And he understood, without any question in his mind, that it was the team - not just the marvel of his personal performance - that brought victory, and truly deserved the accolade of success.

It wasn't forced, or false, or pretend, or clever, or calculated, or conscious, or contrived.  It was Glenn.  Given West Point, and the times, it seemed natural, and the right way to think - and behave.  But in contrast with so many of our "sports-idols" of today, we can truly relish Glenn's dignity and quiet humility.

My second reflection is related, in that it was Glenn's humility that made his prodigious talent "human" - and accessible.  During the season of 1946, I was 8 years old.  Yet Glenn's impact on my life was very personal - and powerful.  It wasn't just that he was a star.  It wasn't just that he had "explosive" speed and uncanny balance.  It was something more.  Glenn had about him a grace... a kind of majesty.  A personal aura that touched the spirit of a young 8-year old in Michigan.  In a way that I can't fully explain, it was beguiling.  Looking back, I realize that it kindled my youthful imagination, and sparked - for me - the allure of West Point, and the dream of the Army team.

Now, it occurs to me that there was a third distinctive attribute that Glenn shared with all of us who came to know him well:  his friendship.  I knew him for a little more than 40 years.  Many of you here knew him quite a bit longer.  The truth is, Glenn and I didn't see one another all that frequently.  Most often, it was in conjunction with some sort of Heisman affair.  But it was the kind of friendship where we picked up exactly where we had left off the last time, without missing a single beat.  

In more recent times, after he and Yvonne were married, Judi and I -- and the two of them -- seemed to often find ourselves together at the end of the evening.  I look back on those as treasured times.  We talked, and laughed, and reminisced, and speculated on times ahead.  

I always came away feeling refreshed.  Glenn had a disarming directness, and selflessness about him that was very special.  He never complained; instinctively dwelled on the positive half of everything; and came up with some of the most unexpected, and insightful, perspectives anyone could ever imagine.  

It seems to me that there's little more you could ask for in a friendship than this.

Last fall, during half-time at the TCU game, a group of us were asked to assemble in Michie stadium, at the 50 yard line of Blaik field.  As Glenn was feeling the difficulties of his therapy at that time, he slipped his arm into mine, and asked if I would escort him onto the field.  On our way out, he began to apologize for needing my help.  I interrupted him in mid-sentence and told him, "Listen to me: Glenn Davis never, ever needs to apologize to me."  In fact, I told him that in all the years I had known him, and been with him - and, in fact, at that very moment - all my eyes ever saw was the strong, fresh, sculptured form of my boyhood idol.  

What I said was the absolute truth.  And I believe I saw him rise up a little more erect.  And stride forward with strength and confidence.

"What is it that makes a good life?"  He knew.  And, in truth, that was the way he lived.

We miss you, Glenn.  All of us do.  But, more importantly, we will remember you -- long, and well.

Godspeed, good friend.