The Todd Williams Story

Florida State University senior offensive tackle Todd Williams is standing in the hot morning sun at Skyway Park, site of the Mike Alstott Football Camp, attracting children like a dog draws fleas. A couple of the youngsters are pulling at his massive arms, another is locked around one of Williams' legs. A half-dozen more are asking questions, pretty much all at the same time.

Williams, on hand as one of the camp's many counselors entrusted to work directly with the youngsters, appears unfazed by the perpetual motion engulfing him. Truth be told, at first look it is difficult to determine exactly who is the biggest kid, except that one happens to stand 6-foot-3 and weigh 315 pounds.

"Who's your favorite coach?," Williams asks to no one in particular.

"You are! You are!," the kids squeal.

Williams beams, his massive chest seeming to expand even larger. Todd Williams has done nothing less than defeat all odds, logic and stereotypes. He will not lose an opportunity.

"It's hard to pull the wool over a kid's eyes," he said. "They aren't going to say what they don't mean. And they'll listen to you."

To Williams, they listen in amazement.

"His story is mind boggling," Tyrone Keys said.

Keys, a former NFL performer for Tampa Bay, San Diego and the Super Bowl XX champion Chicago Bears, is director of All Sports Community Service. The organization he founded in 1993 works to help Tampa Bay area athletes find financial scholarships and grants to attend college. Keys also spends time attempting to assist troubled youth, the Leslie Peters Halfway House being on of his regular stops.

And that is where, some eight years ago, Keys first met Todd Williams.

"That was when computers were just coming out," Keys said. "We had just gotten some funding for a computer class and Todd was part of that group."

At the time, Williams was in the Leslie Peters Halfway House only because he wasn't in jail.

Life On The Streets

Growing up in a low-income, crime-stricken area of Bradenton, Williams lost the mother he barely knew before ever getting to high school. When the maternal grandmother, the only person Williams says he is certain loved him, died of diabetes when he was 14, that sent hime to the streets.

Williams ended up in Miami with a friend. Homeless. They lived in a car. They stole food. When that grew old, Williams returned to Bradenton. He stole a car. And was arrested.

I was about that time fate, along with any number of people wanting to make a difference, intervened.

"You know, I was always smarter than everybody else around me," said Williams matter-of-factly. "Really, I've got a photographic memory. But there was no way I'd ever think of college. My peers around me weren't doing anything with their lives, would shoot that to the ground. 'Man, you aint going to college. The minute the man wants to hold you down, you be right back in the projects. So don't even try.'

"It was like, it didn't make no sense to dream. The only dreams I had were in the projects. Rarely does any kids there have a dream. Only the ones who are willing to dream and keep that dream are the ones who make something of themselves."

Williams, however, made a promise.

"I had always told my grandmother I'd graduate from high school," he said.

To make it happen, Williams supported himself through high school with various part-time jobs: short-order cook, bagging groceries and delivering papers. Then, in what can only be described as an act of fate, along came the opportunity that would change Williams' life - and, as things eventually develop, who's to say how many other lives?

Because of a clerical error made during redistricting before his sophomore year, Williams was sent to Bradenton Southeast. "I was supposed to have gone to another school, one for problem kids," he said. But once he arrived at Southeast, traditionally one of the state's premier prep football programs, Williams' size alone attracted attention from the school's coaches, who eventually convinced him to play his senior season.

Despite never having played organized football, Williams performed well enough in that single season to attract Florida State's attention.

But, if the fact that Williams has developed into a legitimate NFL prospect as he is going into his senior season sounds like a success story, it's not even close.

You want a surprise ending? Then, consider the fact that two months ago Williams participated in Florida State's spring graduation ceremonies, earning his diploma with degrees in criminology and sociology.

"Once I made up my mind, school was fun for me," he said. "I did it in four years."

Keys, watching Williams' interaction with the campers from across the field, shook his head at his memory of Williams eight years ago.

"If you told me he would play at Florida State, I'd never have believed it," he said. "But it's not the fact he plays football up there, it's he just graduated with two degrees. There's a lot of people who make up the pieces of the puzzle, but the bottom line is he had a strong will and a strong desire."

Now, Williams says he has a mission.

A Story To Tell

"I have a story kids need to hear," he said. "I went that way and I went this way. If you take that road, I know where it will lead. If you take this road, I know where it goes, too. I'm not just telling them by reading a book. I've actually been locked up. And I'm successful now."

Williams has retreated to a spot in the shade as the day's session ends and the campers begin to scurry. He sits on an aluminum bench and lets out a sigh. He talks a little football and little more about Florida State. But almost every complete thought is interuped by another camper running to his side to say goodbye. With each "Mr. Williams" and "Coach Williams" the big man's smile grows.

"The little kids are the best because they'll do everything you tell them," he said. "The high schools kids will say, 'Well, I think it can work this way.'

"What they need to know is that when they get to college, they are not going to be the same guy they were in high school. They need to develop. They need to listen to authority. They got to have respect and they are going to need to do some things they don't want to."

"A lot of kids don't know the value of saying 'Yes sir' and 'No sir' or 'Yes ma'am' and 'No'ma'am.' They don't realize they need to do that. I'm telling them, in a college atmosphere 'Yes sir' and 'No sir' can seperate you from a guy who's just as good as you."

How good Williams can be on the football field is yet to be determined. He worked his way into FSU's starting lineup last year and will go into his season with enough notoriety to get a solid look from pro scouts. In the meantime, he plans to continue taking classes in business and real estate to add to his academic portfolio.

Either way, all indications say Todd Williams has performed the impossible. His once dead-end street is now paved with opportunity.

"My grandma used to pray for me," he said. "Her prayers are being answered."

Still, not to be greedy, Williams says he has a few of his own he'd like to see answered.

"The happy ending to my story would be the NFL because that would provide an incredible platform to help other kids," he said. "If I could get something going for underprivileged kids - kids who don't have fathers, kids who don't have mothers at home, kids who are homeless. A happy ending would be getting funding and help from other people to have my own halfway house. But the difference in mine would be you wouldn't have done a crime to be there. I would be a haven."

It would be one of life's great stories, except it already is.

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