JimBob
07-08-2008, 11:36 AM
Embracing fate
By JIMMIE TRAMEL World Sports Writer
7/8/2008
Last Modified: 7/8/2008 4:33 AM
Then&now
Some of these names you'll know. Some you may not. In the coming weeks, the Tulsa World will look at people who have made history in Oklahoma sports in their own way, leading up to a special presentation Sunday.
Today: Joel Fry
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IT has been 20 years since Barry Sanders crafted the best season any college running back ever had. Believe it or not, he wasn't the most coveted recruit on his high school team in Kansas.
Former Oklahoma State coach Pat Jones said assistant coach George Walstad discovered Sanders while courting a more highly recruited player — offensive lineman Joel Fry — at Wichita North High School.
Everyone knows the rest of Sanders' story. He set an NCAA single-season rushing record en route to the 1988 Heisman Trophy and took the express lane to the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
But whatever happened to Fry?
This is his story.
It is not one about football glory, since he experienced mostly frustration while earning two letters with the Cowboys.
"I have always said that was five years of heartaches and headaches that I wouldn't trade for anything," he said.
And it is not quite a happily-ever-after story, even though Fry once worked for a company (Disney) built on happily-ever-after tales.
Fry said he has been disabled since 2004 due to a skin disease (hidradenitis suppurativa) that went undiagnosed — or misdiagnosed — for about 30 years.
Fry indicated the disease can be controlled with medication, but he said he would have been mistaken for a leper if he had been born in a different era.
So maybe his story is one about rolling with punches, and even throwing a few.
Before They Were Stars
Fry and Sanders were teammates way back in youth football, and Fry said practices were conducted on a field of "goat-head sticker bushes, rocks, dirt and broken glass."
Little Barry was a defensive back and return man who rarely touched the ball unless he got an interception or fielded a kick. Sanders remained a hidden gem almost all the way through high school. The fourth game of his senior season was notable for two reasons: One, Fry broke someone's leg. Two, Sanders broke out. Fry said Sanders gained 118 yards on three wingback counter sweeps.
"The next week, Barry wasn't on defense or a wingback anymore," Fry said. "He was our starting running back."
Sanders averaged a first down per carry, according to Fry, but drew interest only from Tulsa and Iowa State. When Walstad visited Wichita to watch Fry in action, Fry said his father urged Walstad to check out Sanders.
The eyes of OSU coaches popped when they saw Sanders on game films. The films somehow disappeared before recruiters from other schools could see them. Jones still smiles when quizzed about the unsolved mystery.
Fry and Sanders signed with the Cowboys. Fry recalled a high school coach once knocking Sanders for being too much of an east-west runner. Fry said it was an omen that Sanders chose one of the few colleges with an east-west field. Sanders ran east and west enough at Lewis Field to gain an NCAA-record 2,628 yards as a junior, then left school early to become a first-round draft pick.
"After Barry signed with Detroit, he sent my parents an autographed picture of him juking the socks off of Lawrence Taylor with a personalized thank you for the part they played in his career choice," Fry said.
"The thank you was rightly placed with mom and dad and not me. I was pretty oblivious as to what went on with Barry's decision-making about school, but my father had a strong hand in getting the process started."
Wichita lineman
Fry wanted to make a big splash in Stillwater (that is where his dad was born) and he believes coaches misinterpreted his zeal as nervousness or eccentricity.
Once, when leading a drill in which teammates had to mimic his actions, Fry did a back flip and roll, then landed on his feet, causing line coach Brad Seely to laugh so hard he had to take off his glasses. Fry admits that some folks "thought I was from some other planet."
Fry was exiled to scout team duty his first two seasons. "We were blocking dummies," he said. "We learned a new offense every week. We were the lowest of the low, and we were proud."
In Fry's third season, he played one series against Texas A&M. He believed he could help at any line position, but became disenchanted when, even after injuries, he never seemed to get promoted.
In 1989, Fry got a new position coach and, thus, another chance to make a good first impression. He got significant playing time against Tulsa and Ohio State. He said he played the best game of his career in a midseason Bedlam clash. But he also missed a snap count because of noise, and the OU defense stuffed a red zone play. That was the beginning of the end, and Fry said he was a fill-in player the rest of the year.
Fry was a fifth-year senior, and a fist-year senior, in 1990. In the last public scrimmage, he said, a linebacker punched him in the kidneys. Fry retaliated after the whistle and was ordered off the field. He was undressed by the time he reached the dressing room and, deep down, he knew he was done.
Fry did not quit. He offered to serve out his final year on scholarship by doing film work or laundry or working in the weight room. No deal. But he was close enough to graduating that he reached an agreement with coaches that he could skip a practice if he had academic needs. At practices, his job was to pinch-hit for scout teamers so they could get a breather.
Fry said he later was asked if he wanted to rejoin the travel squad. He also was invited to dress out for the final home game so he could hear his name called on Senior Day.
He said he politely declined both offers, turning down the second invitation because he had planned long before to work cattle with his father that weekend. He chose cows over a Cowboy farewell.
"Fast forward 10 years," Fry said. "Barry Sanders gets on a plane to London to go play golf instead of reporting to the Detroit Lions. Many people in the world didn't know why he left or why he did what he did, but I did. I had done something very similar 10 years earlier."
Football seems like the whole world when you are caught up in it, according to Fry. But football is really just a game, and there came a time when both guys from Wichita were ready to stop playing.
Life after football
Ask Fry what he is doing now and you get an answer you don't hear every day.
"If I was in India, I would probably be a sadhu," he said. "Being that I am in Kansas, that means that I am just a plain old bum, I guess. Sadhu are Hindu holy men who wander about flaunting the ludicrousness of reality and society and live off of the kindness of others. I guess that describes me pretty well these days."
Fry tasted corporate America after college, taking a job as a safety engineer at a California refinery.
"My most notable episode from that time was being hard-nosed and saving a crew that was working on a furnace from executing some work that would have potentially killed several people," he said.
Fry said there is a myth made famous during the beatnik era of Wichita's history about a vortex that traps people in Wichita or makes them return no matter how far they stray.
The vortex snagged Fry twice, but really it was family that brought him back.
"My father had retired from teaching school for health reasons," Fry said.
"He had seizures and could pass out at any time while doing anything, so I went home and took care of him and helped on the farm for five months while I was between jobs. He and mother both got tired of him passing out and not being found for an evening or two while he lay passed out in a cow field somewhere."
But Fry left Wichita once more, this time to be a safety professional at Disneyland. Because of computer experience, he also worked on the resort's Y2K project. Fry then returned home to take care of his dad again and help run two small businesses, a leather shop and hobby shop.
"When I was younger, it seemed that every four years or so I would re-invent Joel Fry," he said.
"I was an athlete, a student, I was an engineer, I was a farmer, I was a low-level executive and then I was an entrepreneur. As I have gotten older the desire to reinvent myself is still there, but the turnover has become much slower and the breakthroughs fewer and farther between."
Fry's father died and Fry became bedridden when his health took a turn for the worse. Fry said his condition is "manageable now" and he hopes for one more reinvention. He wants to break into the professional realm of a longtime hobby — graphic arts.
"Art and drawing is something I can do comfortably that requires no mobility," he said. "And since I do work electronically and there is an infinite amount of do-overs, it is almost a purely intellectual exercise."
Whatever happened to Joel Fry? He's trying to make the best of the hand dealt to him. Whether you are a Heisman winner or a sadhu, isn't that what you are supposed to do?
By JIMMIE TRAMEL World Sports Writer
7/8/2008
Last Modified: 7/8/2008 4:33 AM
Then&now
Some of these names you'll know. Some you may not. In the coming weeks, the Tulsa World will look at people who have made history in Oklahoma sports in their own way, leading up to a special presentation Sunday.
Today: Joel Fry
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IT has been 20 years since Barry Sanders crafted the best season any college running back ever had. Believe it or not, he wasn't the most coveted recruit on his high school team in Kansas.
Former Oklahoma State coach Pat Jones said assistant coach George Walstad discovered Sanders while courting a more highly recruited player — offensive lineman Joel Fry — at Wichita North High School.
Everyone knows the rest of Sanders' story. He set an NCAA single-season rushing record en route to the 1988 Heisman Trophy and took the express lane to the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
But whatever happened to Fry?
This is his story.
It is not one about football glory, since he experienced mostly frustration while earning two letters with the Cowboys.
"I have always said that was five years of heartaches and headaches that I wouldn't trade for anything," he said.
And it is not quite a happily-ever-after story, even though Fry once worked for a company (Disney) built on happily-ever-after tales.
Fry said he has been disabled since 2004 due to a skin disease (hidradenitis suppurativa) that went undiagnosed — or misdiagnosed — for about 30 years.
Fry indicated the disease can be controlled with medication, but he said he would have been mistaken for a leper if he had been born in a different era.
So maybe his story is one about rolling with punches, and even throwing a few.
Before They Were Stars
Fry and Sanders were teammates way back in youth football, and Fry said practices were conducted on a field of "goat-head sticker bushes, rocks, dirt and broken glass."
Little Barry was a defensive back and return man who rarely touched the ball unless he got an interception or fielded a kick. Sanders remained a hidden gem almost all the way through high school. The fourth game of his senior season was notable for two reasons: One, Fry broke someone's leg. Two, Sanders broke out. Fry said Sanders gained 118 yards on three wingback counter sweeps.
"The next week, Barry wasn't on defense or a wingback anymore," Fry said. "He was our starting running back."
Sanders averaged a first down per carry, according to Fry, but drew interest only from Tulsa and Iowa State. When Walstad visited Wichita to watch Fry in action, Fry said his father urged Walstad to check out Sanders.
The eyes of OSU coaches popped when they saw Sanders on game films. The films somehow disappeared before recruiters from other schools could see them. Jones still smiles when quizzed about the unsolved mystery.
Fry and Sanders signed with the Cowboys. Fry recalled a high school coach once knocking Sanders for being too much of an east-west runner. Fry said it was an omen that Sanders chose one of the few colleges with an east-west field. Sanders ran east and west enough at Lewis Field to gain an NCAA-record 2,628 yards as a junior, then left school early to become a first-round draft pick.
"After Barry signed with Detroit, he sent my parents an autographed picture of him juking the socks off of Lawrence Taylor with a personalized thank you for the part they played in his career choice," Fry said.
"The thank you was rightly placed with mom and dad and not me. I was pretty oblivious as to what went on with Barry's decision-making about school, but my father had a strong hand in getting the process started."
Wichita lineman
Fry wanted to make a big splash in Stillwater (that is where his dad was born) and he believes coaches misinterpreted his zeal as nervousness or eccentricity.
Once, when leading a drill in which teammates had to mimic his actions, Fry did a back flip and roll, then landed on his feet, causing line coach Brad Seely to laugh so hard he had to take off his glasses. Fry admits that some folks "thought I was from some other planet."
Fry was exiled to scout team duty his first two seasons. "We were blocking dummies," he said. "We learned a new offense every week. We were the lowest of the low, and we were proud."
In Fry's third season, he played one series against Texas A&M. He believed he could help at any line position, but became disenchanted when, even after injuries, he never seemed to get promoted.
In 1989, Fry got a new position coach and, thus, another chance to make a good first impression. He got significant playing time against Tulsa and Ohio State. He said he played the best game of his career in a midseason Bedlam clash. But he also missed a snap count because of noise, and the OU defense stuffed a red zone play. That was the beginning of the end, and Fry said he was a fill-in player the rest of the year.
Fry was a fifth-year senior, and a fist-year senior, in 1990. In the last public scrimmage, he said, a linebacker punched him in the kidneys. Fry retaliated after the whistle and was ordered off the field. He was undressed by the time he reached the dressing room and, deep down, he knew he was done.
Fry did not quit. He offered to serve out his final year on scholarship by doing film work or laundry or working in the weight room. No deal. But he was close enough to graduating that he reached an agreement with coaches that he could skip a practice if he had academic needs. At practices, his job was to pinch-hit for scout teamers so they could get a breather.
Fry said he later was asked if he wanted to rejoin the travel squad. He also was invited to dress out for the final home game so he could hear his name called on Senior Day.
He said he politely declined both offers, turning down the second invitation because he had planned long before to work cattle with his father that weekend. He chose cows over a Cowboy farewell.
"Fast forward 10 years," Fry said. "Barry Sanders gets on a plane to London to go play golf instead of reporting to the Detroit Lions. Many people in the world didn't know why he left or why he did what he did, but I did. I had done something very similar 10 years earlier."
Football seems like the whole world when you are caught up in it, according to Fry. But football is really just a game, and there came a time when both guys from Wichita were ready to stop playing.
Life after football
Ask Fry what he is doing now and you get an answer you don't hear every day.
"If I was in India, I would probably be a sadhu," he said. "Being that I am in Kansas, that means that I am just a plain old bum, I guess. Sadhu are Hindu holy men who wander about flaunting the ludicrousness of reality and society and live off of the kindness of others. I guess that describes me pretty well these days."
Fry tasted corporate America after college, taking a job as a safety engineer at a California refinery.
"My most notable episode from that time was being hard-nosed and saving a crew that was working on a furnace from executing some work that would have potentially killed several people," he said.
Fry said there is a myth made famous during the beatnik era of Wichita's history about a vortex that traps people in Wichita or makes them return no matter how far they stray.
The vortex snagged Fry twice, but really it was family that brought him back.
"My father had retired from teaching school for health reasons," Fry said.
"He had seizures and could pass out at any time while doing anything, so I went home and took care of him and helped on the farm for five months while I was between jobs. He and mother both got tired of him passing out and not being found for an evening or two while he lay passed out in a cow field somewhere."
But Fry left Wichita once more, this time to be a safety professional at Disneyland. Because of computer experience, he also worked on the resort's Y2K project. Fry then returned home to take care of his dad again and help run two small businesses, a leather shop and hobby shop.
"When I was younger, it seemed that every four years or so I would re-invent Joel Fry," he said.
"I was an athlete, a student, I was an engineer, I was a farmer, I was a low-level executive and then I was an entrepreneur. As I have gotten older the desire to reinvent myself is still there, but the turnover has become much slower and the breakthroughs fewer and farther between."
Fry's father died and Fry became bedridden when his health took a turn for the worse. Fry said his condition is "manageable now" and he hopes for one more reinvention. He wants to break into the professional realm of a longtime hobby — graphic arts.
"Art and drawing is something I can do comfortably that requires no mobility," he said. "And since I do work electronically and there is an infinite amount of do-overs, it is almost a purely intellectual exercise."
Whatever happened to Joel Fry? He's trying to make the best of the hand dealt to him. Whether you are a Heisman winner or a sadhu, isn't that what you are supposed to do?