REMAINING SNAPSHOTS from BYU's first-ever Heisman Trophy Week in New York . . .
. . . BYU Assistant Athletic Director Val Hale bringing the trophy from New York Friday night to Salt Lake on PanAm Flight 157. They told Hale he would have to check his covered package, which weighed close to a hundred pounds, as he dropped it on the security X-ray belt at the JFK Airport. He asked them if they'd ever seen the Heisman Trophy before. The guard running the belt rolled his eyes. He thought he'd heard them all.Then, as the package rolled along the belt and passed through the metal detector, the screen showed this metal figure, unmistakenly recognizable, carrying a football under one arm and straight-arming with the other.
"Yeah," said the guard, "it's right here."
. . . Ty Detmer, the winner, announcing as he arrived at Thursday's $200-a-plate black-tie-preferred dinner in Times Square, that he'd now worn a tuxedo exactly three times in his life.
"Junior prom, senior prom and this," he said.
. . . Jeff Shain, the national college football editor for United Press International, sitting at the banquet and naming-that-tune as the live stage band played the fight songs of all the schools that have had Heisman Trophy winners.
"I know them all," said Shain as he identified the fight songs from Michigan, Notre Dame, USC, Yale, Ohio State, Army, etc., as they were played.
But finally, they played a tune that stumped him.
"I don't know that one," he said.
It was BYU's "Rise and Shout."
. . . Earl Campbell, the University of Texas Heisman Trophy winner in 1977 and all-pro running back while with the Houston Oilers, complimenting Detmer on being a rugged, gutty, Texas-style football player. "He reminds me a lot of myself," Campbell told the audience. "It's like his complexion want to change but it can't."
. . . Detmer at a pre-dinner press conference, commenting on all the hype, pressure, and hysteria that punctuated the 1990 Heisman race: "I'd go through it all again, gladly." Detmer, at the same press conference, on whether he'll win a second Heisman in 1991: "We're going to have a young team. We're losing a lot of people. It's going to be a challenge. I'll just have to see how next year goes. I'm not planning on winning the trophy again."
. . . KTVX sportscaster Steve Brown doing a live shot in the middle of Times Square while standing on the roof of a van.
"Believe me, pal, it's a lot safer up there than down here," said the local ABC cameraman. "The last guy who did it on the street got his pocket picked while he was doing the news . . . and he didn't even know it."
. . . BYU president Rex Lee looking for Jay Berwanger. "I've got two alma maters," the president explained, "Chicago and BYU. Now they both have a Heisman Trophy winner. The first one (Berwanger in 1935) and the latest one."
. . . Berwanger being interviewed by reporters and sportscasters - still an item some 55 years after he beat out Monk Meyer of Army, Pepper Constable of Princeton and William Shakespeare (honest) of Notre Dame in the inaugural Heisman balloting in 1935. Obviously, they knew how to name them back then.
. . . And the lingering impression that this thing, over the decades, has transformed itself into America's most wanted award almost unwittingly; that Berwanger is a lot more famous now than he was 55 years ago; that the members of the Downtown Athletic Club, most of them lawyers and stockbrockers who use the club for its restaurants and social amenities, or for a place to sleep in Manhattan when it's late and the trains aren't running to Connecticut, and haven't used the squash courts and basketball gym since they voted in Berwanger, are amazed, even bewildered, that their idea of giving an annual trophy to the most oustanding college football player in the U.S. has turned into this kind of a national event.
That first year, when Berwanger won it, it wasn't even a national award, it was only for players who went to school on the east side of the Mississippi.
But one thing led to another, and now there's even a school in the Rocky Mountains that has a replica of the straight-arm statue.
You can see it on display in Provo. "All we've got to do now is build a case for it," said Hale. He didn't lug that thing all the way from New York to throw it in a closet.