Sep 22, 2008 4 min read

If you knew Angie McLee, you’d know that smile is nearly constantly there. The tears, I’d never seen. But there is a very good reason why both were there.

She’d been at the base of the newest addition to the Syracuse University – when they unveiled a large bronze statue of her late nephew Ernie Davis.

Thousands of people circled the tent to watch the ceremony. Most are Syracuse football fans.

But some, who’d come to watch their Penn State football team make mincemeat of the locals, stood and took in the ceremony, too.

They saw football legends and movie actors pay tribute to the nation’s first football player of color to win college football’s highest honor, the coveted Heisman Trophy.

Ernest Davis had so achieved such outstanding football credentials, and such respect as a young man, his statue will stand as an eternal reminder of his greatness.

Angie McLee, her son Reggie, and a host of friends and family members, though, weren’t just paying homage to a football hero.

They’d come to Syracuse to salute him because they knew him – and knew him well.

They knew that his bruising but graceful on-field accomplishments were equaled by his quiet dignity off it.

I have heard his name my entire life. I never met the man. I now know exactly who he was.

It’s not enough to feel pride because he was from the same town, walked along the same streets or played on the same ball fields I played on as a kid. Syracuse University and Universal Pictures have given me a more complete picture of him.

On a Saturday afternoon, with the 2008 Syracuse football team failing miserably to resemble something other than cannon fodder, there was hardly anything else for which the home team fans could cheer.

That is, unless the public address speaker spoke the two words “Ernie Davis.”

Those were two words that could still rouse something that could help ease the pain of a 55-13 loss at the hands of the hated Nittany Lions.

At halftime, (or perhaps mid-massacre) when the stars of the new movie “The Express” (Rob Brown, who plays Davis, along with Dennis Quaid, who portrays his coach Bo Schembechler) and Davis family members strode to midfield, the place erupted in applause.

The day may have belonged to Penn State, but the impermeable history belongs to Syracuse.

Oh, if his hometown of Uniontown, Pa., would awaken to see what the rest of the world has seen in this young man since his short life.

That Davis’ Heisman Trophy had represented a major “breakthrough” in collegiate athletics that had equaled what Jackie Robinson’s had done in baseball.

And just like Robinson, Davis had accepted being the first with class.

If you’re not sure if class defined Davis, just ask Angie McLee. I’m sure she wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.

Beware. You may encounter a few tears with that broad smile. But those, I might add, are just tears of joy.

Also, if you should happen to see the movie “The Express” when it opens next month, be prepared to see a depiction of Uniontown that may not seem that flattering.

After the prologue, the first images you’ll see of Davis are as an adolescent with his young uncle, Willie. The scene reveals them surrounded by racist street toughs.

It’s rather odd knowing that Hollywood is aware that part of Davis’ personality was defined by the racism in his hometown.

But then again, while Syracuse and his adopted hometown of Elmira, N.Y., continue to honor his life with statues, schools named after him, and weekends devoted to him; and Hollywood recognizes him in ways few American athletes have been recognized; there still isn’t a single thread of paper in his hometown that would indicate he’d even been there.

If Ernie Davis were still alive, he’d probably agree with Hollywood’s assessment. But, from what I know, he’d agree quietly and with dignity.