the dancing bear

Reviewed by Bruce Pratt

26 september 2018 archive

"As told to" books purporting to offer readers a privileged look into a celebrity or athlete's career and life, are often written and constructed exclusively for fans and with a propensity to hew to an idealized or sanitized version of the facts. The Dancing Bear is a wonderful departure from that type of hero worship, in part because it needs no sanitizing, and because it gives readers both an honest portrayal of a player who richly deserves serious consideration for inclusion in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, and an insightful view of how professional football and American culture changed from Ron McDole's early days with the AFL's Buffalo Bills through his final years with Washington's "Over The Hill Gang" in the 1970s.

McDole was born in Chester, Ohio to a farming family in 1939 in, at best, modest circumstances where neither parent had graduated from high school or had a driver's license. When McDole was six, his father took a mill job in Toledo that changed both the family's fortunes and young Ron's future. He began playing organized sports in junior high, and in high school excelled at baseball under the tutelage of former New York Yankee, Norm Kies. McDole's older brother Chuck played for the Toledo Mud Hens and Ron hoped to follow in his footsteps, but while attending The University of Nebraska was persuaded to concentrate on football.

The book moves swiftly through these early years of McDole's life with an engaging mix of anecdote and exposition but gains real traction when McDole is picked in the fourth round of the NFL draft by St Louis and in the same round of the AFL draft by Denver. Unlike Joe Namath, McDole was unable to parlay this competition for their services into huge contracts, and, as did the vast majority of pro players in the 1960s, needed an offseason job to support his family. McDole's dedication to his offseason entrepreneurial pursuits, which helped fuel his post-football career and current philanthropic efforts, make for intriguing reading.

After false starts in St. Louis, Houston (where he suffered a migraine seizure and considered leaving the game) and Minnesota, McDole played for the Bills from 1963 -1969 in the AFL and 1970 in the NFL after the leagues merged. A key part of the Bill's back-to-back AFL Championship teams in 1964 and 65, he holds the professional football record for most interceptions by a lineman with twelve.

In Buffalo, McDole starred for a defensive unit that did not allow a rushing touchdown for seventeen straight games—another record that still stands. In addition to his success in Buffalo, he played for Washington in the 1972 Super Bowl and was named one of the Top 70 players in that franchise's history.

But The Dancing Bear is about more than the success of a large, less than trim, defensive player with nimble feet, great hands, a highly developed sense of humor, an ebullient personality, and enhanced enthusiasm for life. It is also a study of the pro game and sport culture at the time. While not unplowed ground, McDole and Morris explore the exploitation of athletes in the NFL, especially prior to the success of the AFL, the league's resistance to change, and its lack of courage regarding the ingrained racism in its ranks. However, it also details the personal bonds players developed that help break the stranglehold of those virulent prejudices and old suspicions.

One of the most compelling sections in the book describes how McDole and his wife Paula, a former Olympic level diver and McDole's high school sweetheart, hosted parties and celebrations at their farm outside of Buffalo for the entire team. The details of the annual McDole Halloween parties are both hysterical and moving, as is the story of how McDole was given the name The Dancing Bear by Sonny Jurgensen after he managed to out dance the Washington quarterback in a D.C. nightclub—an anecdote alone worth the price of the book.

In 251 career games in the AFL and NFL, McDole, regarded by his peers as a premier defensive lineman, put up gaudy numbers that ought to have been enough to get him enshrined in Canton. One statistic in particular stands out. When McDole retired at age thirty-eight he'd played defensive end in 251 games. Only Hall of Fame members Jim Marshall (282) and Bruce Smith (279) played in more.

While the book makes a convincing case for McDole's qualifications for the hall, more important and eye-opening are the testaments to McDole's character, generosity, and decency offered by former teammates, opposing players, friends, coaches, and business associates. The list of those weighing in on behalf of the Dancing Bear is manifold and notable.

Sport historians may discover little new in this book—save for what may have been an AFL-wide determination to ostracize and blackball McDole after his migraine seizure in Houston—but as a character study, and an insider's look at life in the NFL before the rise of the shield, the book should appeal to all sport's fans.

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