Tim Kelly explained why the Secret Service had sought him and Dick Hall out. “On any football team, the people who know the players the best are the trainer and the equipment manager.”
“Not their position coach?” Stevie asked.
Hall jumped in. “There are things kids keep from their coaches because they’re afraid it might affect their playing time: a fight with their girlfriend, a minor injury, feeling sick a couple days before a game, something going on with their parents at home. There’s lots of stuff.”
“To be honest, it’s especially true here because Dicky and I have been around a long time,” Kelly said. “When Bob Sutton was the coach here, he would say that visiting grads sometimes went to the football office to say hello, but they always went to the equipment room or the training room.”
“They like my candy,” Hall joked.
“So the Secret Service came to you guys wanting to know what? If there was anyone on the team who might want to hurt the president?” Stevie said.
“No, no. But they were interested in anyone who might be connected with a hate group, or a white supremacy group, or know someone who was.”
“Whoa. Do you know if they had some specific reason for asking?”
“No, no idea. They made it seem routine…”
“And-is that something a player would actually tell you?”
“Possibly,” Kelly said. “We have had white players in the past who weren’t that comfortable playing with blacks. Some came from all-white teams in high school. They got over it pretty fast. To be honest, if there’s a bias issue in this locker room-or in almost any football locker room-it’s against gays.”
“Huh. Do you have gay players?” Stevie asked, even though he was going off topic.
Kelly shrugged. “I’m sure we have. Statistics say we have. But if you think the military is ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ try a football locker room.”
Stevie thought that was interesting but tried to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. “So the Secret Service came to you and…?”
“They had pulled everyone’s file before they came to see us,” Kelly said. “Mostly they asked routine stuff to confirm what was there or amplify on it a little. The guys they asked the most about seemed to be from the South, and some did come from all-white programs. That’s who they were interested in.”
“And is there anyone you were worried about?” Stevie asked.
“Absolutely not,” Kelly said. “There’s nothing that we know of to be concerned about. And we probably would know.”
“I guess they’re doing the same thing at Navy,” Stevie said.
“I imagine they’re doing the same thing with anyone and everyone who might come in contact with the president,” Hall said. He sighed. “Look, nothing’s wrong here, really. It just makes me uncomfortable to be thinking about people in this way-to look at everyone like a potential suspect. Especially these kids. Asking about the Southerners is a form of profiling, as far as I’m concerned.”
Stevie nodded. “I know what you mean. Thanks for helping me out.”
“One more thing,” Kelly said.
“What’s that?” Stevie asked.
“Do us a favor and forget you ever talked to us.”
Susan Carol was standing with Bob Beretta on the 40-yard line when Stevie came trotting out of the locker room.
“What’d you do, take a hot shower while you were in there?” Susan Carol asked.
“Almost,” Stevie said, handing her the ski cap, which she gratefully pulled over her head. “Mr. Hall is a great storyteller.”
Beretta laughed. “You’ve certainly got that right. If there’s anything you want to know about any Army football player of the last forty years, Dicky is definitely the man to see.”
Susan Carol was giving him a look that said, “Something’s up and you aren’t telling me.” He gave her a look back that he hoped conveyed, “You’re right, I’ll tell you later.”
Beretta was pointing out players he thought they might want to talk to when practice was over: Trent Steelman, the sophomore quarterback who had taken over the job from day one as a freshman; Jared Hassin, the bruising fullback who had transferred from the Air Force Academy-a rarity-and Michael Arnott, whose older brother played at Navy.
“There really are so many good stories here, it’s hard to choose just one or two,” Susan Carol said.
Tim Kelly came out and joined them as the practice wore on. Kathy Orton from the Post, who had come up to spend a couple of days with Army in search of some offbeat stories, was also there. Tamara must have still been with the superintendent.
“The only real question when you’re writing about these two teams is who not to write about,” Orton said, shivering. “Every one of these kids has a story to tell.”
“How tall are you?” Susan Carol said, a complete non sequitur except for the fact that Orton was just about as tall as Susan Carol.
“I’m five eleven,” Orton said. “You?”
“Same,” Susan Carol said, though when Stevie stepped back to look, he thought Susan Carol seemed taller. “Does it help to be tall when you’re a female sportswriter?” Susan Carol asked.
“Actually, I think it does,” Orton said. “I think it makes it less intimidating talking to athletes. Only a few are a lot taller than I am, and that’s mostly in basketball.”
“I guess it’s not as bad when you’re an adult,” Susan Carol said.
Orton laughed. “I feel your pain,” she said. “I’ve been this height since I was your age.”
Susan Carol smiled. “Well, maybe if I’m lucky, I won’t grow any more.”
“Maybe if I’m lucky, you won’t grow any more,” Steve said, jumping in.
“Come on, Stevie, I like you just the way you are,” Susan Carol said. “Hey, watch out!”
While they had been gabbing on about everyone’s height, the Army offense had snapped the ball from a few yards away and had run a pitch play in their direction. Stevie looked up and saw one of the running backs bearing down on him with two defenders trying to push their teammate out of bounds. He jumped back, but it was too late. The running back crashed into him and the two of them fell-with the running back landing directly on top of Stevie.
“You okay?” he heard the runner say.
“Yeah, think so,” Stevie said, although he was feeling a bit woozy and his head hurt from hitting it on the ground.
“Let me get a look at him, Jared. Steve, don’t try to get up. Just lie still.”
Stevie saw Tim Kelly swim into view as he knelt down beside him and heard Jared’s voice behind him, asking, “Is he okay, Mr. Kelly? I couldn’t stop. I didn’t mean to…”
“I think so,” Kelly said. “Get on back to the huddle. I’ll take care of him.”
Jared leaned down and patted Stevie on the shoulder. “Really sorry, man,” he said.
“I should have seen you,” Stevie said, just as a jolt of pain went through his arm.
Kelly saw him wince. “Where’s it hurt?” he asked.
“My arm.”
“How’s your head?” he asked. “Can you tell me what day it is, where we are?”
Stevie almost laughed. “It’s Saturday afternoon, we’re at West Point, it’s freezing, and Susan Carol and Kathy are both three inches taller than I am. Susan Carol, maybe four.”
Kelly smiled. “Okay, good. Let’s get you up and take a look at that arm.”
He helped Stevie to his feet. As he did, pain shot through Stevie’s left arm and he almost doubled over. Susan Carol, Orton, and Beretta were all gathered around. And Coach Ellerson had come over to check on him too.
“Everything okay, Tim?” Ellerson asked.
“Well, he never lost consciousness, and he’s not groggy at all,” Kelly said. “But he seems to have hurt his arm. I’m going to take him inside and have a look.”
Ellerson nodded. “Okay, let me know how it goes. Really sorry, Steve.”
Stevie tried to force a smile. “Should have been paying better attention,” he said.
He and Kelly turned to head to the locker room. Susan Carol asked Kelly if she could go with them.
“Sure,” Kelly said.
They walked slowly inside, Kelly supporting Stevie’s throbbing arm.
“Did I break it?” he asked.
“I need to get a look,” Kelly said. “We may have to do an X-ray to be sure. Let’s not panic just yet.”
Stevie was panicking. The last thing he needed right now was a broken arm.
“Assuming you’re right-handed, you might have gotten a little bit lucky,” Kelly said.
Before Stevie could answer, Susan Carol jumped in. “He’s a lefty.”
“So maybe you weren’t so lucky,” Kelly said.
They made it inside the training room, and Kelly helped Stevie up onto a table after carefully taking his jacket off. He unbuttoned Stevie’s shirt for him and helped him get it off too.
“Okay, I’m going to feel around a little bit and move your arm around a little bit,” Kelly said. “You just let me know when it hurts.”
Just about any movement hurt, as it turned out. Kelly kept apologizing but kept moving the arm up, then down, then out, then in toward his chest-which really hurt.
“Broken?” Susan Carol asked.
“Don’t think so,” Kelly said. “I’d like to try something, Steve, but I’ll warn you in advance, it’s gonna hurt.”
“What’s that?” Stevie asked.
“Just trust me for a minute and then I’ll explain,” Kelly said. “Susan Carol, do me a favor and stand on Steve’s right and talk to him about something he likes. Steve, look at Susan Carol and focus on what she’s talking about. I’m going to feel around here for another few seconds while you talk.”
Stevie was baffled but did as he was told.
He felt Kelly taking ahold of his arm-which hurt-while Susan Carol began talking. “Mr. Beretta told me there’s a great place nearby called Loughran’s where they have a terrific prime rib,” she said, picking Stevie’s favorite topic-food.
“OH MY GOD!” Stevie screamed in pain. Kelly had just yanked on his arm so hard Stevie was convinced the trainer had pulled his arm out of its socket.
“What in the world did you do?” Susan Carol asked, her southern accent in full voice as it usually was when she was upset.
Kelly held up a hand. “I’m sorry that hurt so much. But do me a favor, Steve: bend your arm, see how close to your face you can get your hand.”
Stevie gave him a look, wondering what in the world made him think he could bend his arm. But he tried it anyway. He brought his hand up to his face and felt absolutely no pain. He did it a few times to be sure. He shook his arm to see if that hurt. There was still a little pain from where Kelly had yanked, but nothing like he felt before.
“Any pain?” Kelly asked.
“No, not really,” Stevie said.
Kelly smiled. “My guess was right. You dislocated the elbow when you fell; that’s why your arm was crooked the way it was. It looks like I was able to pop it back into place.”
“Mr. Kelly, you are a genius!” Susan Carol said, The Smile lighting up her face, the southern accent there now because she was so pleased.
“I’m just a trainer,” Kelly said. “I’m glad that’s all it was. Now, Steve, if you feel any pain at all the next few days, you go see a doctor,” Kelly continued. “I don’t think you will, but-”
He stopped as the phone on the wall next to the table Stevie was sitting on rang. He looked at the caller ID screen and said, “Wonder what this could be?” He picked up the phone and said, “Jeff, what’s up?”
For the next few moments, he listened, his face showing increasing concern. Finally, he said, “Really? A positive connection? With the who?” He nodded. “Okay, thanks for the heads-up. I imagine that’s what they’ll do here. Let’s stay in touch.”
He hung up and looked at Stevie and Susan Carol. “That was Jeff Fair, who is my counterpart at Navy,” he said.
“I met him at Notre Dame,” Susan Carol said.
Kelly nodded. “Yeah. Good guy…” He trailed off.
“That sounded… important,” Stevie offered.
“I don’t know, I’m just shocked. Apparently the Secret Service has found a connection between a player’s family and a hate group.”
“Really? Did he say who?” asked Susan Carol.
Kelly blinked a couple times and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. This is… Steve, if you’re feeling better, let’s get back out to the field, okay?”