Sunday, April 25, 1999

Like father, like Akili

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Bengals' top pick is dad's 'Gemini twin'

BY GEOFF HOBSON
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Akili Smith

        SAN DIEGO — When Gloria Bryant was pregnant back in the summer of '75, she kept telling the baby's father no way.

        No way was the baby going to be named Ray Smith Jr.

        So when the baby finally arrived Aug. 21, Ray showed up at the hospital with a bunch of Swahili names strung across a piece of paper.

        Kabisa Akili Maradu Smith.

        Gloria offered the short-cut translation.

        “He has been all of these things,” she said. “Complete, absolute and a Gemini twin.”

        Akili Smith may not be a junior, but if you want to know the Bengals' new franchise quarterback, you must know Ray Smith. They are two peas in a pod. Mirror images. Frick and Frack.

        Ray is a Gemini.

        If Akili wasn't his son, he'd be Ray's twin.

Smith joins his grandmother, Alberta Smith, other family members and Rev. George Stevens in a prayer at the NFL Draft. (AP photo) | ZOOM |

        During last weekend's NFL draft, Karen Smith, Akili's stepmother, surveyed the 42-member Smith party. There were his two mothers, his two grandmothers, his assistant pastor, his junior college offensive coordinator, a San Diego city councilman, and his long-time buddy who stayed at his house so much he became his brother by default instead of adoption.

        “It takes a village to raise a child,” Karen Smith said. “We brought the whole village.”

        But above all, it took Ray Smith.

        Rev. Ray Smith is 44, an outgoing bear of a man with a bird's cackling laugh. He has dedicated his life to his son since that awful, stupid day 22 years ago, when Akili was a toddler. That's the day he arranged for a couple of cars to pick up his friends who had just robbed the Bob's Big Boy for $1,400.

        Ray had on his record one trespassing incident, but the judge stunned him and sent him to jail for nearly two years. It killed his dream of pro baseball and he thought it terribly unfair to a kid just starting out in life.

        But he also figures it saved his life.

        Last week, Ray Smith sat in the busy, cramped two-room office that houses Triple Crown, his for-profit business that started as a non-profit, at-risk diversionary program back in the '80s. And he thought about the judge that sent him away.

        Two Bibles sat stacked on a desk cluttered with phone numbers and newspaper clippings bannering Akili's selection as the third pick in the draft by the Bengals. A wall was lined with Ray's clippings, plaques from the Bonita Kiwanis (1991 Citizen of the Year) to the Black County Probation Officers Association (1990 Community Service Award) to the City Council of San Diego, a special commendation.

        “A few years ago, I wanted to find out that judge's name,” said Ray as he rummaged through his desk, pulling out laminated letters of appreciation from judges and cops. “But the judge who sent me this letter told me he died. Too bad. I wanted to tell him thanks.”

        If the judge was hard on Ray, then Ray was harder on Akili. The son was sentenced to life of hard scrutiny. “I'm living my life through my son,” is his motto.

        “When I was sitting in jail, I knew I wasn't ready yet to be a father,” Ray said. “But when you don't have something, you want it and I wanted to raise my son. I needed to give him moral and spiritual leadership. That means being involved in every aspect. Being a parent means involvement. Sure we've clashed. Especially when he was younger. Imagine taking someone out of his normal environment.”

        Ray's father dropped dead of a stroke when he was a senior in high school, and even though the California Angels had drafted Ray in the eleventh round, the loss of his father cut him adrift. He didn't sign with the Angels, stayed home to play college ball at Southwestern and ended up in jail.

        Janet Singleton watched it all. When she was a young guidance counselor at Lincoln Prep 30 years ago, Ray Smith was one of her first students. Ray was mischievous, but she still thinks he would have made a great lawyer.

        Then seven years ago, Akili Smith showed up at her door with the words, “I'm going to be the first NFL quarterback to come out of this school,” a predominantly black campus that has placed 30 players in the pros.

        “His father made a decision that he was going to spend the rest of his life making sure his son wouldn't make the same mistakes he did,” Singleton said. “He accepted Christ as his savior. He met a wonderful woman so his son would have a mother to grow up with a father. Then he got involved with other kids his son's age in the community so his son would be surrounded by kids trying to better their lives.”

        Akili admits he wondered about that sometimes. Ray was tough. He always had Akili doing something for the his youth coalition. Mowing lawns. Scrubbing off graffiti. Even at the house, he'd have him doing chores like sweeping or cleaning. Anything to keep him off the streets.

        “Anything you can think of,” Akili said, “he had me doing it.”

        Even the night Akili was named Lincoln Prep Prom King, Ray had him working. Karen Smith runs a decorating company and she got the contract to decorate the prom. Prom King or no Prom King, Akili had to put up the balloons and the hearts, then come home, shower and go get his date.

        His date was Ebony Singleton, Janet's daughter.

        “Always the perfect gentleman. Always wore a tie on their dates. If we were all going somewhere, he'd call and ask me what I wanted him to wear,” Janet Singleton said. “He was late picking up my daughter for the prom, but that's because Ray had him working.”

        Akili had no choice. The judge ruled.

        “What could I do? I couldn't do anything,” Akili said. “I knew he was making the right decisions for me. He didn't want me hanging out, running the streets.”

        The other day in the Lincoln Prep parking lot, Janet Singleton, now Lincoln's AVID coordinator (Advancement Via Individual Determination) was hanging out. She was wearing an NFL draft ballcap and walking around with a manilla folder labelled “Akili Smith,' stuffed with all the latest clippings.

        She watched him mingle with the students and teachers for the first time as an NFL quarterback and it looked like she had to bite her lip. When she first saw him on the cover of Sports Illustrated with Kentucky quarterback Tim Couch, she burst into tears. When the Bengals selected him, she started bawling again.

        The teen-ager's pronouncement had come true and that meant a lot to Singleton. She had underlined the parts of the articles that reviewed the NFL's sorry history of accepting black quarterbacks and put it into her folder.

        “I watched Marcus Allen (almost) quit this football team his senior year because the coaches wanted him to play the quarterback position,” Singleton said. “Because he knew the colleges were going to scout him that year and nobody would pick him up as a quarterback. Isn't that sad?

        “I presented that to my class this week,” said Singleton, pointing to a passage in one of the articles. “They said the owners and general managers (once) didn't think our kids were intelligent enough.”

        She knew Ray Smith would have none of that.

        When Akili was a high school junior, Ray took him to a camp run by UCLA, where they promptly wanted to change Akili to safety or receiver. Ray just as promptly pulled him out and sent him to a camp at Cal Berkley the following weekend, where he was the Most Valuable Quarterback.

        That's why Akili ended up going to Lincoln in a year of open enrollment, instead of where he lived. Morse High already had a quarterback and would switch him. And what if he lost the taste for quarterback? Janet Singleton ran into Ray at the Taco Bell and she gave him the final, critical advice.

        “Where does your daughter go?” Ray asked.

        “Where did you go? Where do you think?” Singleton said.

        Despite his son's heroics at Oregon this past season, Ray couldn't help but feel shreds of the stigma still clung to the black quarterback stereotype in the weeks leading up to the draft.

        Sure, Akili had to stay home at Grossmont Junior College for two years because of bad SAT scores. But people seem to forget he had a B-plus average in high school.

        And much was made of Akili raising his grade on the mental aptitude test from 16 to 37 (one of the highest in history) at February's scouting combine, thanks to a tutor hired by his agent, Leigh Steinberg.

        “It wasn't so much the test, it was how to take the test,” Ray said. “We were told by some of the teams — one of them Cleveland and not Cincinnati — that he needed 22 to be considered an NFL quarterback. So we had him study and prepare. What depressed me was that about a month later at his pro (workout) in Oregon, they pulled him aside as he was walking out to throw and made him take it again. He got a 28, and here are these questions that they don't know if he's savvy enough to be a quarterback in a complex system.”

        That 28 was still higher than the other two highly-rated quarterbacks, Couch and Syracuse's Donovan McNabb.

        But Ray can't hold a grudge. There are too many things to do: “Our country's getting better at stuff like that and I'm proud of that.”

        Much like Janet Singleton, who is always trying to find heroes for her students. Most of them are dead, like Martin Luther King Jr., or even Willie J. Jones, of whom the street in front of Lincoln is named. Willie turned down wrestling rides at Harvard and Yale to take an academic scholarship at Cornell before a stray drive-by-bullet killed him at a party the summer before college.

        Last week, students could walk by and shake Akili's hand. When he has time, he adds to his autographs, “Philippians 4:13,” the Biblical verse that says, “I can do all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens me.”

        “Do you know how much that means?” Singleton asked. “To me, Ray and Akili are one of the great father-son teams in sports. Right there with Michael Jordan and his dad and Tiger Woods and his dad.”

        Make no mistake. Ray Smith will continue to be involved heavily in Akili's career. He's quite seriously thinking about moving the entire family to Cincinnati. But San Diego has been good to them.

        “People have this image that this is the inner city with thugs,” Ray said as he drove through the Skyline section, where Akili grew up in the working class enclave that rings San Diego. “Look around. People have jobs here. Look at this two-mile radius and it's produced the best athletes in the country.”

        Indeed, Akili's first career touchdown pass in Pop Warner went to future Heisman Trophy winner Rashaan Salaam. Former Reds' slugger Kevin Mitchell grew up here. So did Ravens quarterback Tony Banks. Colorado State receiver Darran Hall, Akili's close friend and former Reds' farmhand, just got drafted by Tennessee.

        “When you grow up around here,” Ray said, “the peer pressure is to play sports.”

        And so Ray did. A lefty all the way, the consensus from his peers — the guys who ended up coaching Akili — is Ray would have been a major-league first baseman if not for the jail time.

        “He had a better fastball than Akili and a better bat,” said one of the men in the Lincoln parking lot who coached both of them.

        Ray didn't sign with the Angels for $7,500, plus $750 per month. Not enough, he said. A mistake, he says now. Which is why he urged Akili to take the $55,000 signing bonus from the Pittsburgh Pirates out of high school in 1993 in what amounted to a $125,000 package.

        “Not bad change in 1993,” Ray said. “I wanted him to go to baseball because I was living my life through him. Was I too overbearing? Maybe. But that experience matured him, put him on the road at 17. To me, it gave him experience and maturity that the other quarterbacks in the draft didn't have.”

        Singleton knew Akili's heart was in football. She told Akili, “God will reward you for doing what your father says.” Ray later saw the quotes where Akili said even when he was playing pro ball for those 2.5 years, whenever he reared back to throw a baseball, all he could imagine was a football field.

        Ray never forgets picking him up at the airport after the Pirates released him.

        “He was in tears. Devastated,” Ray said. “I knew what he was thinking. He was home. The great Akili Smith had failed.”

        But it wasn't the baseball-football decision where father-son butted heads. After two years of junior college, Akili decided to go to San Diego State. Ray wanted him to play for John Blake at Oklahoma. They compromised on Oregon because the academic calendar allowed him to play spring ball.

        Karen Smith is the buffer in such cases. She has been married to Ray for 16 years and she has become so ingrained in Akili's life that Ray calls her, as well as Gloria, his mother.

        Ray will tell you if Karen hadn't come into his life, Akili wouldn't be where he is today. She instituted “6 to 9.” Those were the hours at night she reserved for Akili to study. At the tiny house on Peter Pan Street, Karen could keep an eye on him in the dining room from the kitchen.

        “I could take care of the sports, but Karen could do the academics,” Ray said. “She really put the screws to him. No TV. She'd say "6 to 9, 6 to 9,' and he'd whine and complain about sitting still for three hours. But he did it and it helped.”

        Karen, pretty, young, smart, had just graduated from Lamar University in Texas with a business degree when the ex-con fell in love with her and after two weeks of dating, he proposed.

        Karen said no, Ray gave her a 60-day ultimatum and then she started to wonder.

        “At that point in my life, I was eager to have a life committed to Christ,” Karen said. “And here was a man who had a past, but he also treated me like royalty, was firmly in the church and wanted to make something out of life. I thought, "What more do I want?'”

        They married and have three children: Ramont, 13, Ray Jr. 11, and Jakayla, 5. Ray finally got his Ray Jr., otherwise known as Ray-Ray. During the day, he worked at Rohr Industries building Boeing 727s. At night, he hit the streets, wading into the gang areas trying to talk kids out of gang-banging and into joining his group to work for a living moving furniture, cutting grass, cleaning johns, any odd job.

        “I knew a lot of those guys,” Akili said, “and a lot of them didn't make it. A lot of them just didn't listen.”

        Ray pulled double duty until San Diego City Councilman George Stevens was so impressed, he convinced the city to fund Triple Crown in 1993. The funding hit $100,000, but now it is independent because Ray has secured contracts. He has a crew of 15 to 20 men, many who have been in jail, some who just need work.

        While Karen and Ray carved out a living, they planned for a dream house in the hills just outside the city. Karen worked in budget planning for General Dynamics, a company that matched each dollar saved. They decided to live on Ray's check, bank Karen's and ditch the frills, like going to movies and cutting up credit cards.

        Now Ray is runing Triple Crown, Karen is running her decorating business and in 1995 they moved about 20 miles into the Rancho San Diego Hills in Jmul, where they built a six-bedroom home overlooking 3.5 acres of lush valley.

        “There's something about Akili. There's something about Ray. There's something about this family,” Karen said. “We just seemed determined to do whatever has to be done. We don't let obstacles get in the way. That's how Ray and Akili are so much alike. They're determined.”

        Maybe it had to be that Akili would face eerily familiar obstacles that Ray faced. Back in February of 1998, he nearly lost it all in 13 days. First, he got pulled over for DUI. Then he was charged with assault in a bar fight. It turned out he was barely below Oregon's legal limit in the DUI, and he was acquitted in the fight.

        Karen immediately left a message on Akili's answering machine: “Don't you be nervous and don't you be upset because if you know you haven't done anything wrong because of who we believe in, then you don't have to worry.”

        The family feels Akili's celebrity in small Eugene contributed to the charges. Karen said he was just around the corner from his home when he got pulled over, and the bar altercation began when his friend didn't have an I.D.

        Still, the two incidents clearly still shake Akili: “I was hanging out too much. It got me back into reality quick. I'd come too far to foul it up like that.”

        It was hard for Ray to handle the other bump in the road. Akili fathered a child out of wedlock two years ago and it was hard on a Christian family.

        “It was very tough for Ray because not only are we Christians, but it was like history was repeating itself for him,” Karen said. “That's what happened to him and he could see this as possibly something that took you off track, that took your focus away from achieving your goals.”

        Something about this family. The day the baby girl was born, Akili picked her up for a few minutes, and then had to leave for his first day at Oregon. From the day his daughter Emani arrived, Akili went from a free agent to the third pick in the draft by keeping focus.

        “I don't see a marriage, but I was very clear with Akili,” Ray said. “You have to spend time with her, you have to set up a trust for her. You've got to be good enough to be a father.”

        So there's a chance Emani is moving to Cincinnati, too.

        Gloria Bryant probably isn't going to move to Cincinnati. Things are going well here. She keeps in touch with the Smiths, occasionally chatting with Ray and Karen as they try to work through logistics with Akili. She made the draft trip, amazed at how the city never closes.

        But there weren't enough good times with Ray. That can happen when you get married in jail. She felt it was the right thing to do, but it was tough for a single mother working at the Navy Exchange as a sales clerk.

        Their car got totalled and mother and baby son — when Akili was about Emani's age — had to walk everywhere. She went to work when it was pitch black, memories so etched in Akili's mind he paid homage to his mother the day after the draft, recalling the grocery cart being pushed back from the store.

        “Ever since he was in high school, Akili's been talking about how he's going to buy me a house,” Gloria said. “I imagine it's going to happen now. To see your son drafted, to see him out there on the stage like that, it's a dream.”

        Gloria helped make it happen. Shortly after Ray married Karen, he approached Gloria about taking custody of six-year-old Akili. It was hard, but Gloria thought it best.

        “It's the hardest thing to do. But a boy has to have a man teach him how to be a man,” she said. “I could tell Ray was a changed man. He had found God, he could provide what Akili needed. It was mutual. Ray and I had grown apart, but the one thing we have in common is Akili and what's best for him. I didn't want to be selfish.”

        Things are good for Gloria, too. She's opening her own business soon, a day-care center, and Ray's business is going to help print and distribute flyers for the center. And, since Akili's stock has risen in the past five months or so, she's had three marriage proposals.

        “I guess it's the contract,” she said with a laugh.

        To get to the dream house, you take a left at a 7-11, go about a mile, see a big house alone in the valley and turn right into a cloud of dust down a dirt road.

        It truly is a dream house for Dave Mondy. Ray isn't sure when the family did it, but they took Dave in at about the time he and Akili started high school. There was never a legal adoption, but Akili introduces him as “My brother David.”

        “I don't know if he's seen his father in 20 years,” Ray said. “He came from a family of five, six kids, his mother was on welfare. What do you do? I couldn't afford it, but one kid has a mother and father and one doesn't. Why is that? He couldn't buy clothes or have a way to get to school.”

        If anyone knows Akili, it's Dave. They started playing together at 9 and 10 when Dave lived over in Skyline. When Dave moved a few miles away, he kept coming back and spending time, usually staying the night.

        He calls Akili competitive and serious and he ought to know. He was there Prom Night, the night they had to scramble to get to their dates in time.

        “Ray kept us out of trouble, he kept us off the streets,” Dave said. “They just took me in. I mean, I was sleeping there all the time anyway.”

        The agents trying to become the guy to represent Akili didn't like the dream house.

        For one thing, Ray was interviewing 20 or so of them in rapid fire succession in the big room with all the windows that Ray likes to call “The War Room.” So the agents had to cool their heels in the 7-11 parking lot until they got picked up and driven to the house. Plus, once they got in there, Ray's cell phone kept ringing with another agent.

        “He got quantity if that's what he was looking for,” one said.

        Even then, Ray was trying to help San Diego kids. He pitched the idea that five San Diego products who had a chance to get drafted have the same agent, cutting the commission from 3 percent to 1.5 percent. It didn't work, but remember what Ray said in the jail cell?

        “You've got to stay involved with your kids.”

        Some thought Ray opted for Steinberg just because of the big name and that Akili liked some of the other guys. But with the light streaming into the War Room and Ray wondering if he ought to build that 50-yard football field out there or sell and go to Cincinnati, can anyone argue how Ray has called it so far in the name of Akili?

        Gloria Bryant, who remembers when there was no light, won't.

        “A-plus,” she said when asked how Ray did with their son.

       

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