During my first 18 months as a columnist for Quick Printing, I shared stories with you about renowned figures Gutenberg and John Wayne, entertainers Tim McGraw and Howie Mandel, and an author admired by four generations, Dr. Seuss. Whenever readers send emails commenting on the latest article, they invariably ask how I find a way to blend unrelated stories into meaningful ideas for printers.What can I say? Paul Harvey was a big influence on me as an aspiring journalist.

David Letterman use to have a recurring segment on his show called "Brush with Greatness," in which a few audience members would share tales about their close encounters with the rich and famous. It was always entertaining to see how such innocent moments lasted in the minds of these wannabes, as if the icon would immediately recall it upon a second meeting. "Say, Angelina, do you remember when you smiled at me leaving that restaurant in 1997?" (Letterman may still do this; I just can't stay awake long enough to watch!)

A couple of decades ago I had a brush with greatness that—like those on Late Night—remains clear to me today. It was one of those rare moments when I happened to be in the right place at the right time…as a well known local celebrity appeared.
Here's the ressssst of the story.

Call Him Rooster

Billy grew up in Dallas, 30 miles from my hometown of Fort Worth. He was part of my father's generation, and moved away many years before I was born. Frankly, I'd never heard of him before I went away to college. Like me, he attended the University of Texas. Unlike me, he played an integral role on the Longhorns football team.

Rooming with future All America quarterback and NFL Hall of Famer Bobby Layne, Billy became a collegiate legend when he climbed a tall hickory tree one day to get down a stuck rooster. The fowl pecked, Billy let go of a branch and fell to the ground, breaking his arm. However, Billy held on to the bird, and from that day forward UT players, and everyone he would ever meet, called him Rooster.

He never got into games, but was always willing to lend a hand to help more skilled teammates. He often could be found carrying five-gallon water buckets during practice. You might say he originated the term "WIT"—Whatever It Takes.

His Big Chance

With World War II in full force, players across the country were called into active military service, and many colleges suspended their decimated football programs.

Of course, here in the Lone Star state, football ranks third behind God and Mother in priorities. So Texas kept playing—albeit scheduling games against Randolph Field and Corpus Christi NAS—while somehow avoiding Michigan and Notre Dame.