- Jul 18, 2000
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True champion cheers Heisman favorite on
By WRIGHT THOMPSON The Kansas City Star
TUTTLE, Okla. ? All anyone can talk about around here is Jason White, Heisman Trophy favorite, and how he overcame not one but two knee surgeries.
They call him country-boy tough. They tell stories about White the toddler asking for the training wheels to be taken off his bike. Most everyone knows that White's determination has led his Oklahoma Sooners to 12 straight wins and Saturday's Big 12 championship game against Kansas State at Arrowhead Stadium. What they don't know is what kept him going through the tough times.
At his home in Tuttle, Okla., Brian ?Stew? Stewart talks about his friend Jason White, the leading contender for the Heisman Trophy. Each has inspired the other in overcoming life's adversities.
The answer's sitting in a small house, flush against state Highway 37. Locals in this town of 4,294 call it Main Street. To really understand why White never gave up, you've got to meet a 28-year-old volunteer high school football coach named Brian Stewart, who's wearing an OU ballcap to cover his balding head.
See, Stewart's got brain cancer. Had it since 1990, and when he's not getting doses of chemotherapy or undergoing one of the 16 brain operations he's endured, Stewart is watching his long-time friend play football. He hasn't missed a game this season. From Tuscaloosa to Lubbock, wherever the Sooners are, Brian's not far behind.
Now, it's White who motivates and inspires, instead of the other way around.
?He helped Jason go through two knee deals by seeing his determination and attitude by fighting cancer,? says Jim Stewart, Brian's father.
?At the same time, Brian is fighting for his life, but Jason White's keeping him going. I'll be real honest; he has something to look forward to every weekend.?
At the M&M Convenience Store and Bait Shop, ?Jason White for Heisman? is listed above beans and cornbread on the marquee. Impressive company.
At White's parents' home just outside of town, the autograph requests are adding up. Seems everyone is dropping something off to be signed. Just last weekend, a woman and her two sons ? total strangers ? stopped by to get their picture taken in the yard.
It's strange for Ron and Sue White, simple people who want to know if they can wear jeans in the New York hotel they're staying at for the Heisman ceremony. Their little boy is the most famous person ever to come from Tuttle.
?I guess we don't think of it on those terms,? Ron says, fresh off work at his cement-laying business. ?He's my son and he's playing football like he's done since he was 6 years old.?
Sue interrupts.
?Oh, no,? she says. ?I feel like I've got a movie star for a son.?
Their son has always had a gritty focus, that's for sure. As a child, he wanted those training wheels off so he could follow his sister, former Florida State softball star Jennifer White, around the yard.
From seventh grade on, Jason arrived at Tuttle High's weight room at 6 a.m. Every day, until he graduated. He was Mr. Well Rounded. He passed for 2,000 yards as a senior and rushed for 1,000 more. Sometimes, he'd throw a touchdown pass, run down the field, change shoes and kick the point after.
?For us, he was Jim Thorpe,? says Tuttle High coach Phillip Koons. ?He punted. He kicked off. He kicked extra points. He returned punts. He never left the field.?
Just down the road from M&M is Brian Stewart's house. It's covered in Oklahoma memorabilia. He's got boxes and boxes filled with articles, almost every word written about his friend since White's sophomore year ? of high school.
?I'm gonna have one heck of a scrapbook,? Brian says. ?I've known him a long, long time.?
Once, Stewart was quite an athlete himself, one of Tuttle's best young golfers. Something, though, wasn't right. Early in high school, Stewart stood 5-foot-2, 180 pounds. He was growing out instead of up, as he puts it. His family took him to the doctor, curious about growth hormone. A subsequent MRI changed his life forever.
Doctors said he had a brain tumor. Brian saw his mother crying as she hung up the phone.
?Mom,? he said, just a scared 15-year-old, ?what's wrong? Mom, am I gonna die??
The doctors gave him less than a 25 percent chance. In 1992, he began having seizures. He received treatment at St. Jude's in Memphis and was among the first pediatric gene therapy cancer patients in the nation.
?He's the only one in the United States who is still alive,? says Jim Stewart.
The cancer's gone away and come back several times. He's had surgery, radiation, radiation implants, gene therapy and chemo. He's paralyzed on his left side. Three years ago, it looked like he had it beaten. St. Jude's even made him a poster child for survivors.
Then, it just came back one day.
Brian's currently undergoing another round of chemotherapy. It's left him worn out and sick. He rests during the week so he's strong enough to attend Jason's games. Recently, for the first time in a long time, Brian passed on his weekend golf game with Dad. He was too weak to swing a club. Normally, he plays with one arm and shoots in the low 80s.
?He's defying all the odds,? Jim Stewart says. ?St. Jude's just says he's a walking miracle. He shouldn't be alive and he shouldn't be walking.?
Somehow, Brian managed to graduate from high school. Teaching would have been next on his list; he liked the idea of helping people. He tried to go to college, but after dropping out twice for chemo and surgery, he came back home.
?I doubt I'll ever go back,? he says, with a hint of sadness.
So he began volunteering with athletic teams around Tuttle. He especially liked football. Almost immediately, he connected with a junior high kid named Jason White. They started attending Oklahoma basketball games. Jason would drive and watch after his friend.
?He would take Brian,? Jim Stewart says, emotions just below the surface. ?He's handicapped, and it's hard for him to get around.?
The story's been told often, how White waited through Oklahoma's 2000 national championship season then got his chance. Two games in as starter, he tore his anterior cruciate ligament. After a long rehab, he came back and played two more games ? and tore his other ACL.
He didn't know if he should go back. He called his dad, told him what he was thinking. ?It's not over until you quit,? Ron told his only son.
Two days later, Jason called his dad. ?Well,? he said, ?we're gonna try it.?
Ron says he's never been more proud of his son. Jason worked hard; the training room at Oklahoma now has some torturous rehab device that the staff has named ?The Jason.? When it became too hard, White just had to look 29 miles away, to his hometown, where an old friend was cheating death.
It might not seem all that important in the grand scheme of things, a young man returning to the football field. But for Brian, White's comeback meant everything. It was his comeback, too.
?All through his knee surgeries,? Brian says, ?he's had the no-give-up attitude that I've got.?
Jason didn't forget his friend, either. He sent souvenirs from Norman. He always made time for a phone call, or some instant messaging.
?He thinks the world of him,? says Tammy Winters, White's girlfriend and the mother of his year-old daughter. ?Jason will stop anything he's doing to tend to Brian.?
So it went, one friend gaining national celebrity, the other cheering from the stands.
?These two boys have helped each other,? Jim Stewart says. ?Jason doesn't talk a lot. He's just not much with words; it's more with actions. He's been a real inspiration to my son and at the same time, if you ask Jason, he's gonna say Brian's been an inspiration to him.?
***
This year, man, it's been gravy. The Sooners are 12-0. They likely are going to the national championship game, chasing another undefeated season.
When they can, Stewart and White meet for a minute or two after games. Usually, the crowds make it impossible. Sometimes, though, they hook up. At Colorado, White had the team bus wait while he walked up a hill to speak to his friend.
The games have been a bright spot for Brian. Too bad it has to end soon. He's got a bulletin board at home filled with pictures from the season, a way for him to remember the best year he's known. Next Tuesday, he's going to Memphis for more tests.
It's always something. But first, he's coming to Kansas City. The Sooners are playing for the Big 12 title, and he's not missing that for the world.
Then, there's the Heisman ceremony and probably the Sugar Bowl. He desperately wants Jason to win. The life Brian once dreamed of living, he now lives through his friend.
Inside his crimson-and-white-themed home, he points to a poster behind his computer. It's of the Heisman Trophy.
On it are three autographs ? Billy Vessels, Steve Owens and Billy Sims, all of OU's winners. Brian Stewart dreams for a moment, his eyes shining.
?Maybe in the next week or two,? he says, ?I can add another to that.?
By WRIGHT THOMPSON The Kansas City Star
TUTTLE, Okla. ? All anyone can talk about around here is Jason White, Heisman Trophy favorite, and how he overcame not one but two knee surgeries.
They call him country-boy tough. They tell stories about White the toddler asking for the training wheels to be taken off his bike. Most everyone knows that White's determination has led his Oklahoma Sooners to 12 straight wins and Saturday's Big 12 championship game against Kansas State at Arrowhead Stadium. What they don't know is what kept him going through the tough times.
At his home in Tuttle, Okla., Brian ?Stew? Stewart talks about his friend Jason White, the leading contender for the Heisman Trophy. Each has inspired the other in overcoming life's adversities.
The answer's sitting in a small house, flush against state Highway 37. Locals in this town of 4,294 call it Main Street. To really understand why White never gave up, you've got to meet a 28-year-old volunteer high school football coach named Brian Stewart, who's wearing an OU ballcap to cover his balding head.
See, Stewart's got brain cancer. Had it since 1990, and when he's not getting doses of chemotherapy or undergoing one of the 16 brain operations he's endured, Stewart is watching his long-time friend play football. He hasn't missed a game this season. From Tuscaloosa to Lubbock, wherever the Sooners are, Brian's not far behind.
Now, it's White who motivates and inspires, instead of the other way around.
?He helped Jason go through two knee deals by seeing his determination and attitude by fighting cancer,? says Jim Stewart, Brian's father.
?At the same time, Brian is fighting for his life, but Jason White's keeping him going. I'll be real honest; he has something to look forward to every weekend.?
At the M&M Convenience Store and Bait Shop, ?Jason White for Heisman? is listed above beans and cornbread on the marquee. Impressive company.
At White's parents' home just outside of town, the autograph requests are adding up. Seems everyone is dropping something off to be signed. Just last weekend, a woman and her two sons ? total strangers ? stopped by to get their picture taken in the yard.
It's strange for Ron and Sue White, simple people who want to know if they can wear jeans in the New York hotel they're staying at for the Heisman ceremony. Their little boy is the most famous person ever to come from Tuttle.
?I guess we don't think of it on those terms,? Ron says, fresh off work at his cement-laying business. ?He's my son and he's playing football like he's done since he was 6 years old.?
Sue interrupts.
?Oh, no,? she says. ?I feel like I've got a movie star for a son.?
Their son has always had a gritty focus, that's for sure. As a child, he wanted those training wheels off so he could follow his sister, former Florida State softball star Jennifer White, around the yard.
From seventh grade on, Jason arrived at Tuttle High's weight room at 6 a.m. Every day, until he graduated. He was Mr. Well Rounded. He passed for 2,000 yards as a senior and rushed for 1,000 more. Sometimes, he'd throw a touchdown pass, run down the field, change shoes and kick the point after.
?For us, he was Jim Thorpe,? says Tuttle High coach Phillip Koons. ?He punted. He kicked off. He kicked extra points. He returned punts. He never left the field.?
Just down the road from M&M is Brian Stewart's house. It's covered in Oklahoma memorabilia. He's got boxes and boxes filled with articles, almost every word written about his friend since White's sophomore year ? of high school.
?I'm gonna have one heck of a scrapbook,? Brian says. ?I've known him a long, long time.?
Once, Stewart was quite an athlete himself, one of Tuttle's best young golfers. Something, though, wasn't right. Early in high school, Stewart stood 5-foot-2, 180 pounds. He was growing out instead of up, as he puts it. His family took him to the doctor, curious about growth hormone. A subsequent MRI changed his life forever.
Doctors said he had a brain tumor. Brian saw his mother crying as she hung up the phone.
?Mom,? he said, just a scared 15-year-old, ?what's wrong? Mom, am I gonna die??
The doctors gave him less than a 25 percent chance. In 1992, he began having seizures. He received treatment at St. Jude's in Memphis and was among the first pediatric gene therapy cancer patients in the nation.
?He's the only one in the United States who is still alive,? says Jim Stewart.
The cancer's gone away and come back several times. He's had surgery, radiation, radiation implants, gene therapy and chemo. He's paralyzed on his left side. Three years ago, it looked like he had it beaten. St. Jude's even made him a poster child for survivors.
Then, it just came back one day.
Brian's currently undergoing another round of chemotherapy. It's left him worn out and sick. He rests during the week so he's strong enough to attend Jason's games. Recently, for the first time in a long time, Brian passed on his weekend golf game with Dad. He was too weak to swing a club. Normally, he plays with one arm and shoots in the low 80s.
?He's defying all the odds,? Jim Stewart says. ?St. Jude's just says he's a walking miracle. He shouldn't be alive and he shouldn't be walking.?
Somehow, Brian managed to graduate from high school. Teaching would have been next on his list; he liked the idea of helping people. He tried to go to college, but after dropping out twice for chemo and surgery, he came back home.
?I doubt I'll ever go back,? he says, with a hint of sadness.
So he began volunteering with athletic teams around Tuttle. He especially liked football. Almost immediately, he connected with a junior high kid named Jason White. They started attending Oklahoma basketball games. Jason would drive and watch after his friend.
?He would take Brian,? Jim Stewart says, emotions just below the surface. ?He's handicapped, and it's hard for him to get around.?
The story's been told often, how White waited through Oklahoma's 2000 national championship season then got his chance. Two games in as starter, he tore his anterior cruciate ligament. After a long rehab, he came back and played two more games ? and tore his other ACL.
He didn't know if he should go back. He called his dad, told him what he was thinking. ?It's not over until you quit,? Ron told his only son.
Two days later, Jason called his dad. ?Well,? he said, ?we're gonna try it.?
Ron says he's never been more proud of his son. Jason worked hard; the training room at Oklahoma now has some torturous rehab device that the staff has named ?The Jason.? When it became too hard, White just had to look 29 miles away, to his hometown, where an old friend was cheating death.
It might not seem all that important in the grand scheme of things, a young man returning to the football field. But for Brian, White's comeback meant everything. It was his comeback, too.
?All through his knee surgeries,? Brian says, ?he's had the no-give-up attitude that I've got.?
Jason didn't forget his friend, either. He sent souvenirs from Norman. He always made time for a phone call, or some instant messaging.
?He thinks the world of him,? says Tammy Winters, White's girlfriend and the mother of his year-old daughter. ?Jason will stop anything he's doing to tend to Brian.?
So it went, one friend gaining national celebrity, the other cheering from the stands.
?These two boys have helped each other,? Jim Stewart says. ?Jason doesn't talk a lot. He's just not much with words; it's more with actions. He's been a real inspiration to my son and at the same time, if you ask Jason, he's gonna say Brian's been an inspiration to him.?
***
This year, man, it's been gravy. The Sooners are 12-0. They likely are going to the national championship game, chasing another undefeated season.
When they can, Stewart and White meet for a minute or two after games. Usually, the crowds make it impossible. Sometimes, though, they hook up. At Colorado, White had the team bus wait while he walked up a hill to speak to his friend.
The games have been a bright spot for Brian. Too bad it has to end soon. He's got a bulletin board at home filled with pictures from the season, a way for him to remember the best year he's known. Next Tuesday, he's going to Memphis for more tests.
It's always something. But first, he's coming to Kansas City. The Sooners are playing for the Big 12 title, and he's not missing that for the world.
Then, there's the Heisman ceremony and probably the Sugar Bowl. He desperately wants Jason to win. The life Brian once dreamed of living, he now lives through his friend.
Inside his crimson-and-white-themed home, he points to a poster behind his computer. It's of the Heisman Trophy.
On it are three autographs ? Billy Vessels, Steve Owens and Billy Sims, all of OU's winners. Brian Stewart dreams for a moment, his eyes shining.
?Maybe in the next week or two,? he says, ?I can add another to that.?
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