The Great Story of Derrick Thomas
Hi all, a friend of mine told me another story this time. I received this last month and decided to share it here. It's about a great story of a man who made a difference. Here it goes...
Derrick Thomas
A bright light goes dark too soon...... He would
get up early on Saturday mornings, drive to the
local
library and read to children he didn't know.
He would walk into the hospital with teddy bears
in both arms and cry when the parents would call
later and tell him their boy had died clutching
his football card to his chest. He would go from
locker to locker, demanding at least $100 from
each of his rich teammates because this was the
week he had decided he
wanted to raise $14,000 to feed 750 families. He
would pay to send 18 strangers to college, just
because, and he would write a single check to
cover the $61,500 in library fines accrued by
Kansas City kids. He would be on his way to
practice, making a cell phone call to McDonald's
here and another to Hyatt there, and next thing
you know 700 inner-city Miami kids were at a
camp instead of on the streets.
Derrick Thomas would . . .
"He would do so much that nobody knew about,''
Dorecia Tepe said Tuesday afternoon, just after
learning Thomas had died. ``I can tell you he
was like an angel God sent to protect our son.''
You want to know how valuable a man we lost
Tuesday? Dorecia Tepe can tell you, between the
sobs. Her boy had AIDS. Philip was dying a
lonely, painful death in 1994. An entire
basketball tournaments being canceled in Lone
Wolf, Okla., because nobody wanted to play with
her son, this adorable little outcast. Derrick
Thomas wasn't the type of man who would just
read about this in the newspaper. Derrick Thomas
was the type of man who would go out and fix it.
So Thomas sent Philip tickets to one of his
games, plus a limo to pick him up. He took
Philip golfing, buying his clubs and bags and
shoes. He sent him a Sega and a football signed
by Joe Montana for Christmas. And all those kids
in Lone Wolf, Okla., you should have seen how
jealous they got when the picture appeared in
the local newspaper, Derrick Thomas rubbing
Philip's head at a charity game. Philip didn't
need to play basketball with those kids anymore
because, well, he was playing with Barry Sanders
and Thurman Thomas.
"He helped my son so much,'' Dorecia Tepe said
Tuesday. "Derrick was like a bright light in
our life when
things felt very dark. How many people as
important as Derrick would take time out of
their busy schedules to
make time for a young man they didn't even know?
He held a very special place in our hearts, the
way he
cared, and he did that for a lot of people, not
just us. I just wrote him a letter the other day
reminding
him how much we loved him.''
Cringing and convulsing and crying, the pain
unbearable, Philip knew he didn't have much time
left in March of 1994. His mother says today
that she is convinced, no doubt, that Philip was
waiting to see Thomas one more time before he
died. So Thomas came in on a Tuesday, arriving
on a plane he borrowed from a friend, and gave
Philip one of his All-Pro jerseys -- the only
time he had ever given one of those away.
Philip smiled and wept. He died less than 48
hours later.
"Why does this have to happen to someone like
Derrick?'' Dorecia said through the sobs
Tuesday. "Why? Why? Why? Why do we have to lose
his kind?'' We didn't merely lose a local
success story or a football star Tuesday
morning. What we lost was a hero.
Thomas grew up in Miami with a whole lot of
anger, losing his father at the age of 5 when
the surface-to-air missile hit the B-52
Stratofortress over Vietnam. Derrick was
arrested twice, for burglarizing a home and
stealing a car, and was so bad that his mother
and grandmother would spend their nights praying
in the darkness, hoping he wasn't at the other
end of those gunshots and sirens. Thomas' mother
knew her husband's death had scarred Derrick,
but she didn't know how deeply until hearing
Derrick talk about it on television . . . from
the White House, where Derrick's Third and Long
Foundation was being honored as the 832nd of
President Bush's 1,000 points of light.
An interesting thing happened to Thomas on the
path toward lifelong delinquency. So many South
Florida judges and teachers and coaches and
parents stepped in his way, guiding him in
another direction, that he later dedicated his
life to doing the same, which is why he was
always in those libraries and hospitals.
``People cared for me, so now I care back,''
Thomas told me back in 1998. "It's not important
what I do in this game. What matters is 20 years
from now, if I'm walking down the street and a
doctor or lawyer or teacher says I made a
difference in their life. Having the most sacks
in NFL history? That'll be great. Winning a
Super Bowl? That'll be great. Breaking the
single-season sack record? That'll be great. But
I want to be remembered as someone who made a
difference.''
You'll forever be remembered that way by an
awful lot of people, Derrick. Like Dorecia Tepe,
for example. Because friends told her she should
bury her son Philip in a suit. But she chose a
Chiefs jersey.
Author Unknown
Derrick Thomas
A bright light goes dark too soon...... He would
get up early on Saturday mornings, drive to the
local
library and read to children he didn't know.
He would walk into the hospital with teddy bears
in both arms and cry when the parents would call
later and tell him their boy had died clutching
his football card to his chest. He would go from
locker to locker, demanding at least $100 from
each of his rich teammates because this was the
week he had decided he
wanted to raise $14,000 to feed 750 families. He
would pay to send 18 strangers to college, just
because, and he would write a single check to
cover the $61,500 in library fines accrued by
Kansas City kids. He would be on his way to
practice, making a cell phone call to McDonald's
here and another to Hyatt there, and next thing
you know 700 inner-city Miami kids were at a
camp instead of on the streets.
Derrick Thomas would . . .
"He would do so much that nobody knew about,''
Dorecia Tepe said Tuesday afternoon, just after
learning Thomas had died. ``I can tell you he
was like an angel God sent to protect our son.''
You want to know how valuable a man we lost
Tuesday? Dorecia Tepe can tell you, between the
sobs. Her boy had AIDS. Philip was dying a
lonely, painful death in 1994. An entire
basketball tournaments being canceled in Lone
Wolf, Okla., because nobody wanted to play with
her son, this adorable little outcast. Derrick
Thomas wasn't the type of man who would just
read about this in the newspaper. Derrick Thomas
was the type of man who would go out and fix it.
So Thomas sent Philip tickets to one of his
games, plus a limo to pick him up. He took
Philip golfing, buying his clubs and bags and
shoes. He sent him a Sega and a football signed
by Joe Montana for Christmas. And all those kids
in Lone Wolf, Okla., you should have seen how
jealous they got when the picture appeared in
the local newspaper, Derrick Thomas rubbing
Philip's head at a charity game. Philip didn't
need to play basketball with those kids anymore
because, well, he was playing with Barry Sanders
and Thurman Thomas.
"He helped my son so much,'' Dorecia Tepe said
Tuesday. "Derrick was like a bright light in
our life when
things felt very dark. How many people as
important as Derrick would take time out of
their busy schedules to
make time for a young man they didn't even know?
He held a very special place in our hearts, the
way he
cared, and he did that for a lot of people, not
just us. I just wrote him a letter the other day
reminding
him how much we loved him.''
Cringing and convulsing and crying, the pain
unbearable, Philip knew he didn't have much time
left in March of 1994. His mother says today
that she is convinced, no doubt, that Philip was
waiting to see Thomas one more time before he
died. So Thomas came in on a Tuesday, arriving
on a plane he borrowed from a friend, and gave
Philip one of his All-Pro jerseys -- the only
time he had ever given one of those away.
Philip smiled and wept. He died less than 48
hours later.
"Why does this have to happen to someone like
Derrick?'' Dorecia said through the sobs
Tuesday. "Why? Why? Why? Why do we have to lose
his kind?'' We didn't merely lose a local
success story or a football star Tuesday
morning. What we lost was a hero.
Thomas grew up in Miami with a whole lot of
anger, losing his father at the age of 5 when
the surface-to-air missile hit the B-52
Stratofortress over Vietnam. Derrick was
arrested twice, for burglarizing a home and
stealing a car, and was so bad that his mother
and grandmother would spend their nights praying
in the darkness, hoping he wasn't at the other
end of those gunshots and sirens. Thomas' mother
knew her husband's death had scarred Derrick,
but she didn't know how deeply until hearing
Derrick talk about it on television . . . from
the White House, where Derrick's Third and Long
Foundation was being honored as the 832nd of
President Bush's 1,000 points of light.
An interesting thing happened to Thomas on the
path toward lifelong delinquency. So many South
Florida judges and teachers and coaches and
parents stepped in his way, guiding him in
another direction, that he later dedicated his
life to doing the same, which is why he was
always in those libraries and hospitals.
``People cared for me, so now I care back,''
Thomas told me back in 1998. "It's not important
what I do in this game. What matters is 20 years
from now, if I'm walking down the street and a
doctor or lawyer or teacher says I made a
difference in their life. Having the most sacks
in NFL history? That'll be great. Winning a
Super Bowl? That'll be great. Breaking the
single-season sack record? That'll be great. But
I want to be remembered as someone who made a
difference.''
You'll forever be remembered that way by an
awful lot of people, Derrick. Like Dorecia Tepe,
for example. Because friends told her she should
bury her son Philip in a suit. But she chose a
Chiefs jersey.
Author Unknown
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