Loran - Smith

Loran

One of the reasons Vince Lombardi came out of retirement to coach the Washington Redskins was the incumbent quarterback, Christian Adolph “Sonny” Jurgensen, who was blessed with a brilliant mind that accompanied his worldclass arm. Sonny, who played for the late Bill Murray at Duke, was known for his remarkable arm, one of the best in the history of the league. It wasn’t simply a rocket—it was a masterpiece. He could zip the ball into tight spaces, throw it to where only the receiver could catch it. He even had a change-up; he could take something off the ball when that was the best speed for the moment.

“He may be the best the league has seen,” Lombardi said after the 1969 season. “He’s the best I have seen.”

Sonny was born with a competitor’s heart, but he was also a man’s man with character and élan. He was all about fun. He loved spending time with his wife, Margo, but he also loved drinking beer with his buddies.

The Jurgensens found a prized oldstyle colonial home in Mt. Vernon, next door to George Washington’s home. It had fallen into disrepair, but Sonny recognized its value, made one of the greatest real estate bargains ever in Fairfax County, and brought it to life—and suddenly owned a showcase address.

As it was with the property of the nation’s first president, Sonny’s back yard sloped picturesquely down to the Potomac. Once he invited my wife and me to dinner with four or five other couples. The setting on his back lawn and the sundown views over the famous river brought about one of the most fulfilling meals I can ever remember in a lifetime of travel.

Sonny and Margo were generous hosts, and no host could match Sonny’s raconteur ruminations. He was a master storyteller. For years I attended the College Football Hall of Fame dinner at the Waldorf in New York the first week in December and then took the train down to Washington for the weekend.

I visited Mo Siegel, a Washington sportswriter, and Joe Holmes, a longtime friend. Sam Huff, the legendary middle linebacker, never forgave Allie Sherman for trading him to Washington. However, Sam became an executive with Marriott and teamed with Sonny for the Redskin radio broadcasts. They were the most popular radio act in Washington. Sam’s assistant would find me a room at one of the upscale Marriott hotels at an economical rate.

I often sat in their booth for games at the old RFK Stadium. Once when I went to Green Bay for a game in 2002, Lee Remmel, the Packer P.R. director, told me he had a ticket but no seat. “That’s easy,” I told him. “Put me in the Redskin booth.”

There were a lot of introductions, great meals, wonderful storytelling, and terrific games over the years. The laughs were never-ending. It was simply the most fun environment I ever experienced.

When Siegel once introduced Sonny as the most popular man in Washington, including the President, Sonny quipped, continued from page

“Sometimes that’s not very hard.”

Sonny got stopped by the cops a few times driving to Mt. Vernon. The cops loved him and did not want to arrest him for DUI charges but had to do their duty. Sonny was told that if they stopped him again, he would face jail time. He quit drinking cold turkey and never picked up a glass again.

One day during the PGA tournament at Avenel, a stranger came up to Sonny for a brief chat, then walked away. Margo asked, “Who was that?” Sonny replied, “Some guy I was in school with.” Margo then asked, “He go to Duke?” Sonny replied, “No, DUI school.”

That was the kind of humor and repartee that permeated the Redskin broadcast, which made Sonny and Sam the most popular announcers in the WMAL radio lineup in Washington.

In his late years, John Unitas, the legendary quarterback of the Baltimore Colts, opened a restaurant, which he named, “The Golden Arm.” Unitas invited several former NFL quarterbacks including Sonny. When Unitas welcomed Sonny to the premises, Sonny cracked, “Hey John, thanks for naming your restaurant for me.”

When Billy Kilmer joined the Redskins, Sonny became his best friend. They were constantly drinking buddies. One day Siegel said to them, “Look I know you guys are great friends, you love your social hours and all that, but at some point, deep down there has to be some feelings of rivalry.”

Kilmer then said, “Mo, we don’t care who starts as long as it is not no. 7.” This was the number of thirdstring quarterback, the arrogant, brash, and cocky Joe Theisman. Sonny and Billy were indeed the best of friends. That may be the only time in NFL history that two rivals playing the same position became such genuine buddies. They journeyed to Jesup to visit with their old teammate Len Hauss, longtime Redskin center. They came to Jesup for Len’s funeral, which was the last time I saw Sonny, who drove up from Naples and Billy doing the same from Coral Springs on the other side of the state.

I often kidded Sonny about his big mistake in not signing with Georgia out of Hanover High in Wilmington, North Carolina. Coach Wallace Butts was known as a passing guru yet Sonny chose the split T option of Bill Murray at Duke. He made headlines by collecting five interceptions when he was in the game on defense during the one-platoon football era.

Our football heroes grow old; they eventually move on to that Great Gridiron in the sky. We are left with memories, and in Sonny Jurgensen’s case, they are all good. That happens when it’s about the game and not the individual.