THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 28, 1996 TAG: 9607280218
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C6 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JIM DUCIBELLA, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: CANTON, OHIO LENGTH: 130 lines
He led the Washington Redskins to four Super Bowl and eight playoff appearances in 12 years, reached 100 victories faster than practically any other coach in football history and won 16 of 21 playoff encounters.
Since retiring on March 5, 1993, he has moved near the front in the highly competitive world of auto racing with five victories and nearly $4 million in prize money.
Joe Gibbs is a Hall of Famer at everything except taking credit.
So it was no surprise Saturday when Gibbs stood on the steps of the Pro Football Hall of Fame and paid homage to nearly everyone he knew.
There was his mother Winnie, his deceased father, brother Jim, wife Pat, sons J.D. and Coy and daughter-in-law Melissa. There was the uncle and aunt who slipped him a couple of bucks when he wanted to try out a new hot rod. There were the college coaches who tutored him, the assistant coaches he said gave him the ideas for which he was lauded.
There were players even the avid Redskins fan no longer remembers - Otis Wonsley and Pete Cronan. There were the three quarterbacks who each captured a Super Bowl - Joe Theismann, Doug Williams and Mark Rypien.
There was owner Jack Kent Cooke, general managers Bobby Beathard and Charley Casserly, the front-office staff and the fans who turned ``crummy'' RFK Stadium into one of most lopsided homefield advantages in professional football.
``You look through history and you'll find that God picks very average men and women, surrounds them with great people and guides them to achievement,'' Gibbs told the predominantly pro-Redskins crowd. ``I'm one of those average people God looked down on and touched. Anyone who knows me knows this is a bona fide miracle.''
And anyone who knows the ``old'' Joe Gibbs - the sleep-starved, pasty-skinned, one-dimensional zombie who slept four nights a week at his desk - knows the greater miracle may be what he's done with his life.
The Old Joe once ate so many M&Ms - peanuts, never plain - at training camp that his panicked public-relations staff sent an intern looking for an open store well past midnight, just in case Gibbs walked across from his dorm to their dorm on a feeding frenzy.
It was a trim, smiling, well-conditioned ``new'' Joe Gibbs who Saturday became the 19th Redskin inducted, despite some reservations from a fellow inductee who once knew him well.
``Joe was not the guy off that staff I'd have said was going into the Hall of Fame,'' said Dan Dierdorf, a star with the St. Louis Cardinals when Gibbs was just beginning his pro-coaching career there under Don Coryell. ``I didn't know he'd be able to handle 50 men with diverse personalities. Most coaches fail not because they don't know football, but because they can't lead. Joe obviously can.''
Earlier, Gibbs said the man perhaps most important to his success - John Riggins - was not someone he led, but who led him. Before the start of his first season as Redskins head coach, Gibbs flew to Lawrence, Kansas, to entice Riggins out of retirement. Gibbs, who does not drink, arrived at 10 a.m. and found Riggins and a neighbor dressed in camouflage and carrying beer cans.
Fifteen minutes into the conversation, Riggins told Gibbs, ``You need me back there. I'll make you famous.''
``I thought the guy was a fruitcake,'' Gibbs recalled. ``I told myself I was going to get him back, then trade him right away. I wasn't going to have this nut ruin my career.''
Two days later, Riggins phoned Gibbs to say he would return, under one condition. He wanted a no-trade clause in his contract.
``So here's the bottom line - John Riggins made me famous,'' Gibbs said. ``I tried to mess it up, but he wouldn't let me. That's what I mean when I say I can't take credit for this.''
He achieved what seemed impossible during the players' strike of 1987, keeping his disgruntled regulars together and working out away from Redskin Park.
At the same time, he used that facility to train replacement players to a 3-0 record that greased Washington's path to another Super Bowl.
``That's one of my favorite memories,'' he said Saturday. ``We have a Saturday night snack before every game, and lots of times, the regular players don't eat because it's hamburgers and, let's face it, they're used to steak. But the first Saturday with the strike team, I got down there and it looked like the herd had just come through. These guys didn't know where their next meal was coming from. The hotel had to cook me a hamburger.''
Come the 1992-93 season, the rewards for taking advantage of those opportunities weren't as fulfilling. The fans at RFK Stadium didn't have the same verve.
He got tired of answering negative questions from the media about why the team didn't win more convincingly. The morning after Super Bowl XXVI, Gibbs was approached by an autograph seeker as he walked into a press conference.
``Coach,'' he said, ``We're going to win it again next year, right?''
Gibbs mentioned it to the media, then sighed.
``Would it be OK if we enjoyed this one for 24 hours?''
The next season was a personal struggle from the start.
Wednesdays were the worst day for the Old Joe. He'd leave his family after a late Sunday dinner and head for Redskin Park, where he'd work and sleep - occasionally - until taking a half-day Thursday. Extreme fatigue wasn't the only thing that made Wednesdays so hard.
People did as well.
Redskin Park was flooded with people outside the organization on Wednesdays. Newspaper reporters from D.C., Virginia, and the nation. Around noon, he'd conduct a conference call with out-of-town writers. Television cameramen, reporters. Radio guys. Buddies from his favorite restaurants would drop off goodies.
He went to kiss son Coy good night once that year and says he was stunned to find that ``he was 200 pounds and had a beard. I couldn't believe that was my little Coy.''
When doctors told him he was suffering from a mild form of diabetes, Gibbs had had enough of the Old Joe.
The New Joe's family works right down the hall from him at their racing headquarters outside Charlotte. Saturday, they sat a few feet away as he introduced them.
He works, but spends almost as much time running, playing golf, giving motivational speeches and spending weekdays with Pat.
``I remember the first time someone introduced me and said something about the Hall of Fame,'' Gibbs recalled. ``I said, `Where'd that come from? That's ridiculous.'
``This happened so fast. When we were 0-5 my first season, I was just trying to be respectable. Then you have a winning season and you start thinking it'd be great to be in a Super Bowl. Then you win one and you start thinking, it'd be great to win another one. This all happened because I didn't want to be totally embarrassed.''
Typical Joe, said Coryell, the coach who hired him three times and who served as Gibbs's presenter Saturday.
``He is a man without an ego problem,'' Coryell said, ``and among the most honorable men I've ever known.''
That is one of the few things the old and new Joe have in common. ILLUSTRATION: ASSOCIATED PRESS photos
Former Redskins coach Joe Gibbs salutes the crowd during his
induction Saturday into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
Die-hard Skins fans, equipped with cameras, assorted brass
instruments and boisterous energy, show their approval for Gibbs,
the man that brought Washington three Super Bowl victories. He had a
career playoff record of 16-5.
KEYWORDS: PROFILE by CNB