Billy Ray Smith Jr.’s impact on the field is well-documented. The former Chargers linebacker, a 10-year NFL veteran who died last week, was named to the franchise’s 50th anniversary team, and he’s a member of the College Football Hall of Fame.
But did you know the mere mention of Smith’s name to a sitting president could result in running with the commander in chief?
More on that in a bit, but first a sincere touch of the heart for Smith and his grieving family.
While Smith, a longtime Del Mar resident, was a terror between the sidelines, off it, he was the epitome of a gracious, humble and well-mannered Southern gentleman.
He treated people from all walks of life the same, which meant you were the recipient of his toothy grin and his boisterous laugh, which ricocheted off your ears as you counted your fingers after one of his bone-crushing handshakes.
Smith’s vibe touched a wet-behind-the-ears sportswriter on the Chargers beat, me, when I covered his last two seasons for the long-gone Oceanside Blade Citizen.
We were friends, but then again, everyone was Smith’s friend.
Smith, a Texas native and an All-American at Arkansas, took me under his wing, I thought, because I had Southern roots as well.
My mother was a proud Mississippi native, and well after Smith retired from the Chargers in 1992, we exchanged texts and placed friendly bets whenever Arkansas played Ole Miss.
It was “Sooie vs. Hotty Toddy” and man, I miss those spirited interactions.
But those texts in recent years were often not returned. Instead, Smith was paying the price for shining in an occupation where brain injuries are the most damning taxes extracted from players.
Smith’s family made it clear he suffered from the ravages of CTE, the degenerative brain disease found posthumously in many players, including Chargers great Junior Seau.
Smith was only 64, an age when he should be primed to play the enviable role of a doting grandfather as he embraced the golden years.
Courtesy photo
Instead, after showing his mettle daily in his battle to survive, Smith is gone, and I want to say good-bye.
When writing “Game of My Life: San Diego Chargers,” Smith was a natural to be included, and he even attended the book launch at Warwick’s. His chapter was among the most enjoyable but difficult to write as an hour spent with Smith over coffee in Solana Beach percolated one story after another.
Hear the one about Dan Fouts pulling the wool over Smith’s eyes?
Smith, a celebrated first-round pick of the Chargers in 1983, was returning to his UC San Diego dorm at training camp. Fouts came by in his Mercedes-Benz.
“He drives up and says, ‘Hey you want to go to dinner with me and some of the guys?’ Smith said. “Man, Dan Fouts wants me to go to dinner. I couldn’t believe it.”
You always extend an invitation to someone picking up the tab, yet Smith was unaware it was him.
Later in the evening, when Smith excused himself to use the restroom, his Chargers teammates bolted.
“Not only did I have to pay the bill, but without a ride I was late getting back to camp and was fined,” Smith said.
Smith didn’t miss, he thought, when he did the same thing to a rookie named Seau. But he gave Seau a heads-up that when the check came, it was all his.
Surprisingly, Seau never balked about coughing up the dough.
“We went to this steak place with all the linebackers and let’s just say that linebackers can eat a lot of food,” Smith said.
Including crow, which Smith didn’t realize was on the menu.
“During that day in the locker room Junior had taken my American Express card out of my wallet without me knowing about it,” Smith said. “So he had paid the bill with my credit card and ordered flowers for all the secretaries in the Chargers building.
“I thought, this isn’t your normal, everyday rookie linebacker.”
There will never be another one like Smith, and that winds us back to another Arkansas guy, President Bill Clinton, and a tale from 1993.
He was staying at the Hotel del Coronado and had participated in a town hall broadcast the previous night hosted by Smith’s wife, KGTV news anchor Kimberly Hunt. Clinton was jogging on the Coronado beach with the Navy Seals the next morning, and I attended, looking snappy in my running gear.
Clinton deftly worked the modest handshake line, with most asking about political issues. Clinton reached me, and as we both extended our hands, I informed him I was a sportswriter covering the Chargers, and I said those five magic words: I know Billy Ray Smith.
Clinton’s grasp lingered as he sang the praises of Smith, and his father, another former NFL linebacker and Arkansas legend. “I watched his daddy play a lot of football,” Clinton said.
The run started, and my aspiration was to run with the gentleman from Hope, Arkansas. I kept a respectful distance from the main group, but on its return lap from the Naval Air Station North Island, I was invited to join.
Some 50 yards from the finish, the Navy SEALs asked for permission to pass, sir, as they sprinted to show off for Clinton. Which meant when Clinton reached the run’s conclusion, with the Associated Press photographer snapping away, it was him, not sweating it out with SEALs, but a sportswriter who knew the right guy.
All because I mentioned those five magic words that etched a memory that lives on. And so does Billy Ray Smith Jr., and you can help make it so.
As B.R. would always do, go be nice to somebody, go aid a charity that needs a lift, go help someone and don’t make it transactional.
Smith paid a heavy price to entertain us as a player, and many got to know him through his broadcasting career. But the joy he gave to others paled in comparison to how much he enjoyed his life, which really centered on assisting those needing an encouraging word.
That said, like thousands of others, I can’t help but miss him.
Contact Jay Paris at [email protected]
