Friday Night Lights: A Town, a Team, and a Dream (60 page)

When Friday Night Lights was first published in September of
1990, it set off a storm of controversy in Odessa that still flares at
the very mention of the book's name. Shortly after its release, I
was scheduled to do a series of appearances in Odessa as part of a
tour. But the trip was cancelled after several bookstore owners said
that threats of bodily harm had been made against me. The owners took those threats seriously and so did I, particularly because
the book's release coincided with Permian being banned from
participation in the playoffs by the University Interscholastic
League for conducting supervised workouts before the official
start of the season. To make the tension even more palpable, Permian had been turned in by Jerry Taylor, the head coach of crosstown rival Odessa High.

The game between Permian and Odessa High had always been
something of a spiritual civil war in town, but feelings now rose
into the ozone as the two teams prepared to meet each other the
following week. On its front page several days before the game,
the Odessa American made a plea to the presidents of the booster
clubs of both schools asking for harmony. As the situation began
to receive national attention, the mayor of Odessa at the time,
Lorraine Bonner, taped a public service message asking for calm.
"The eyes of a nation are focused on us this week," said Bonner.
"And it's up to us to reach out and pull together." The Odessa police force doubled security for the game, and a final call for peace
came during the pre-game prayer to the sellout crowd of 20,000:
"There's a lot of tension built up at this game tonight. Oh Lord,
please give us strength to relieve the tension tonight."

There were in fact no incidents as Permian beat Odessa High
that night, 24-6, to run its winning streak over the Bronchos to
twenty-six years. The animosity between east and west died down,
but animosity over Friday Night Lights has never died. The book still evokes feelings that are raw and passionate, particularly because one of the most enduring and attractive characteristics of
West Texans is their utter contempt for moderation.

Over the years I have been accused of betrayal, and sensationalism, and taking information out of context, and mis-quoting. I am
not surprised by these accusations, nor am I troubled by them.
When I first arrived in Odessa, I anticipated a book very much in
the tradition of the film Hoosiers, a portrait of the way in which
high school sports can bring a community together. There were
elements of that bond in Odessa, and they were reflected in the
book. But along the way some other things happened-the most
ugly racism I have ever encountered, utterly misplaced educational priorities, a town that wasn't bad or evil but had lost any
ability to judge itself. It would have been a journalistic disgrace to
ignore these elements.

The book is fair and true. It was never intended as a diatribe or
an expose. It was written instead with enormous affection and empathy, because as deeply troubling as the overemphasis was on
high school football, those games were, and always will be, the
most exquisite sporting events that I have ever experienced.

For all the controversy and verbal volleys of unfairness, the
book has actually had a profoundly positive impact on Odessa. It
clearly forced certain individuals in power to look in the mirror
and examine the culture of football that had been erected. To
their enormous credit, they realized it was a reflection that had to
be altered. "I think for some people [the book] was a wake-up
call," Chuck Hourning, the public information officer for the Ector County school district, said in 1998. "I think the community
kind of reassessed itself. I don't think the community of today
would necessarily identify with the community then."

"The book was a bit like medicine," wrote the city's most respected voice, Odessa American columnist Ken Brodnax. "Perhaps
it was a bit bitter to the taste, and it probably had some bad side effects that were hard to shake. But the dose also healed a few ills."

The result of that medicine has been a stronger academic curriculum. SAT scores for boys have improved and the number of fe male students taking the test has nearly doubled. The school district has spent some $5 million to upgrade technology at both
high schools. Strides have also been made in establishing equal
athletic programs for males and females with the $1.1 million construction of a new softball and soccer complex.

A softball and soccer complex in Odessa?

Miracles do happen.

When I was there, nothing was considered more socially acceptable than being an unabashed Permian football booster. Living,
and eating, and breathing high school football had become a way
of life. Today such fanatical behavior has been tempered, in part,
believes Brian Chavez, because fans don't want to be associated
with the kinds of extremes that were so evident in the book. "People have kind of shied away from being real avid fans," he said. Devotion is still there, but it no longer routinely rises to the level of
worship, and as Brian puts it, people are more likely to "express it
under their breath."

There is no doubt that the fixation on Permian football made it
great. There is also no doubt the same fixation caused the educational system to suffer in the shadows. The shift in priorities was
desperately needed. But as a consequence of that shift, the glory
of Permian football has dropped to an all-time low.

Gary Gaines left as Permian's head coach after the 1989 season
when the team won the state championship, embarking on a
course that would take him to college as an assistant at Texas
Tech, back to high school, and most recently to Abilene Christian
University where he was named the head coach earlier this year.
Gaines was replaced at Permian by assistant Tam Hollingshead,
who promptly led the team to another state championship in 1991
and then left after the 1993 season to become an assistant at Texas
A&M. Hollingshead was replaced by Randy Mayes, who had been
an assistant.

Mayes's first two seasons were in keeping with Permian tradition
as the most storied program in Texas football history. The team
went to the state semifinals in 1994 and the state championship in 1995. And then it fell apart. Permian finished 3-6 in 1997, ending
a string of 32 straight winning seasons. That was difficult enough,
but Permian also lost to Odessa High for the first time in 32 years.
There were, as usual, 20,000 people in the stands that night, and
the impact of the final score was like the aftershock of some profound religious sighting in which no one could quite believe what
they had just witnessed. After the game, Permian fans dressed in
black sobbed on one side while Odessa High fans dressed in red
sobbed on the other.

Permian ended the decade of the 1990s with perhaps its most
shameful season ever. Under the once-sacred lights of Ratliff, Midland High beat Permian for the first time since 1973 in a 35-3 embarrassment. Hated sister city rival Midland Lee, on its way to a
second straight state championship, toyed with the Panthers in a
34-22 victory. Players in the system began to quit at alarming
rates. Attendance was down, and the team was in danger of going
winless in the district before it beat Odessa High in the last game
of the season. Desperate for some measure of relief, coach Mayes
called the victory a "great win." But it wasn't.

I know Randy Mayes, since he had been an assistant coach at
Permian when I was there. I went out to dinner with him and his
wife, Cynthia. I saw him teach in the classroom. He is perhaps the
biggest critic of Friday Night Lights. Last year in an interview with
Texas Monthly, he called it "a novel" and said that I would "do anything to sensationalize."

Randy Mayes was not only a superb defensive coach when I knew
him, but far more important, a superb teacher and husband and
man. I hardly felt sorry for him during that final season of the
1990s. The job of head coach brought him singular status in the
community. It brought him a base salary of $69,000 a year. He didn't
have to bother with the educational inconvenience of setting foot in
the classroom to teach a class, since his only job was football. But I
could still imagine what he was going through in 1999 as the legend
of Permian turned to bitter memory. I could imagine the pressure
and hurt and scornful ridicule heaped on him. Because once upon a time I myself had witnessed the mercilessness of it, not with the
clever eyes of a novelist, but the clear eyes of a journalist.

Football may have a slightly different place in the psyche of
Odessa than it had a decade ago, but it still holds an iron grip.
The sight of a boy, a high school boy, sacrificing himself in the service of team and town on a glowing field is still a powerful intoxicant, just as long as it is accompanied by the intoxicant of winning. So I wasn't surprised to learn the fate of Randy Mayes under
the Friday night lights of Odessa.

He was fired.

There are many people to thank. One of them is Michael Carlisle, whose optimism and guidance became a crucial source of
support for me. He is a gifted agent, but far more important
than that, he is a wonderful friend. Another is my editor at
Addison-Wesley, Jane Isay, whose enthusiasm for the project
was infectious, and who aided me immeasurably in the painful
process of trying to organize all these swirling thoughts about
Odessa and high school football and American life into something coherent. Another is Gene Roberts, the executive editor
of the Philadelphia Inquirer, who graciously gave me a leave
from my job on the paper so I could pursue my journey and
move to Odessa.

I could not have written this book without the townsfolk of
Odessa. I have never found a group of people more down-toearth, more honest, more willing to express their opinions without restraint. I am indebted to all of them.

I am also indebted to the Permian Panther football program.
I thank Coach Gary Gaines for allowing me to become part of
the team for the 1988 season. I also thank the members of his
staff, assistant varsity coaches Tam Hollingshead, Mike Belew,
Randy Mayes, and Larry Currie, and team trainer Tim "Trapper" O'Connell.

Above all, I thank the players themselves. It is hard for me
to express the feelings that I have for them, and as I sit here
back in the suburbs, I think about them all the time. I remember the first time I saw them in the field house, with no idea of
what they would be like and how they would take to me, or, for
that matter, how I would take to them. And I remember how I
thought of them at the end, as kids that I adored.

Jerrod McDougal appears facing page xiv.

Boobie and L.V. Miles appear facing page 56.

Boobie Miles appears facing pages 57 and 202.

Mike Winchell appears facing page 76.

Don Billingsley appears facing page 77.

Ivory Christian appears facing page 118.

Brian and Tony Chavez appear facing page 180.

Gary Gaines appears facing pages 240 and 256.

Sharon Gaines appears facing page 257.

Photographs facing pages 57, 155, 241, and 257 were taken during
the game against Midland Lee.

Photographs facing pages xiv and 240 were taken in the Ratliff Stadium dressing room immediately following the Midland Lee game.

The photograph facing page 274 was taken outside the field house
following the Midland Lee game.