by James Brown
“You will. You can just have a suit made.” I still haven’t fully grasped why I bought those shoes. They were awful and I knew it, but I allowed myself to be talked into it.
After we were married, Dorothy went through my closet, taking inventory on what she had to work with, and what would need changing and supplementing. She happened upon the lime green shoes—how could she miss them—which I was unfortunate enough to have placed next to a pair of oxblood-colored snakeskin dress shoes that I had added to my collection recently.
“Where do you even wear these shoes?” Dorothy asked.
“I never have. I don’t have anything or anywhere to wear them. Maybe, however, if you and I were going—”
Her interruption was polite, quick, and resolute:
“There is nowhere with me that you can ever wear these shoes. It is never appropriate for you to wear these shoes anywhere around me.” She went to throw them away.
“Hold on there, Sweetie. I was thinking that I might get an outfit—”
“An outfit! Oh, no, you don’t. You are not getting anything that could possibly go with these.” I could see the battle was lost, but still held out some hope for the war.
“Let me see if I can have them dyed.” Sure enough, I took them out and had them dyed black, at least partially salvaging my lime green shoes so that they would see the light of another day. And I ended up wearing them to some black tie events after that.
I think that was the only time that I allowed Coach Rob to lead me astray. I continued to press ahead with CBS, while making time for my personal life. One of the primary areas of my personal life that I always made a priority had been Katrina, who was spending weekends with me, as well as a number of weekdays.
As she got older, she began asking if she could have friends over to spend the night on occasion. That was fine, and it all went smoothly, without incident, the first couple of times. On one particular weekend, however, she had about four of her girlfriends over to spend the night at my DC townhouse. The next morning, I thought I was being the good dad when I asked them what they would like for breakfast. It wasn’t until their mothers picked them up that I learned, from the mothers, that you don’t ask seven-year-old girls what they would like for breakfast, you give them one option and make that one meal for everyone.
Katrina, knowing my cooking capabilities, chose Rice Krispies. The others really should have taken her cue, but instead asked for oatmeal, buttermilk pancakes, grits, and Cream of Wheat. I was at the stove scrambling not only to act as if I knew how to make any of them, but also to prepare them simultaneously.
I finished with a triumph as Katrina looked on, impressed. The girls with the oatmeal, grits, and Cream of Wheat all had the same experience. One put her spoon into the bowl and held it—and the bowl—upside down over the table without a drop of the gummy oatmeal coming out, while another stood her spoon upright in the Cream of Wheat, and we timed how long it took for the spoon to fall ever-so-slowly before it touched the side of the bowl. We measured the time in tens of minutes. The little girl with the pancakes quickly figured that she had gotten the one thing that came out right, until she cut into the first pancake and the uncooked batter inside gushed out and across the plate.
Everyone ended up with Rice Krispies.
When she was about eight, I took Katrina with me on a cruise. Bob Costas hosted one week-long cruise each year on Norwegian Cruise Lines, as I recall, and I filled in for him two or three times. On one of those, I took Katrina with me. We were able to enjoy some time to ourselves and also spend time on the cruise with a number of terrific people, including Byron Scott, the late Dennis Johnson, and their wives. After a night or two, we were into a routine and I was feeling pretty good about how things seemed to be going. Dad had everything under control. There would be no more backing myself into a corner over meals, like had happened at the slumber party.
Until we headed down for dinner to meet the others, and we both realized that I had no idea how to help fix a little girl’s hair for going out in public.
Not sure what else to do, I called a friend’s cabin. I asked if his wife would mind doing Katrina’s hair. She was gracious enough to accept—a good thing since Katrina was upset at the possibility of going to dinner with the mess that I had made of her hair. She attempted to do her hair, but ultimately we headed down to dinner with Katrina still feeling uncomfortable but trying to make the best of it. No sooner were we seated than Byron Scott’s wife, Anita, told Katrina to come with her. I could hear her laughing and muttering as they walked away, “I don’t know why men can’t do little girls’ hair, but…”
Katrina came back with her hair all neatly in place, and much happier for the rest of dinner.
In 1994, the unthinkable happened. CBS, a broadcast partner of the NFL since 1956, lost the rights to the NFC package to the then-fledgling FOX network. The NFC, the commonly used acronym for the National Football Conference—consisting of half of the NFL’s thirty-two teams, was the crown jewel of the NFL’s television properties. With teams like the New York Giants, the Dallas Cowboys, the San Francisco 49ers, the Chicago Bears and the then–Los Angeles Rams, the NFC contains many of the marquee, old line teams of the NFL, with established fan bases and mega-markets. With this turn of events, however, those of us at CBS who had been working NFL games were potentially out in the cold, as NBC retained the rights to the AFC (the American Football Conference) which constitutes the other half of the League.
In an instant, CBS had no NFL broadcast property at all.
Sure enough, CBS decided to retain Jim Nantz and Greg Gumbel, and a handful of other broadcasters to handle the other sports remaining in their portfolio. The rest of us were scrambling. I was standing on God’s promises, which at that moment seemed to be the only assurance I had. I began wondering if I should head back to local television, or maybe I could work as one of FOX’s play-by-play broadcasters. They had already signed a number of big names in broadcasting, but maybe I could fill some sort of role.
Little did I realize, however, that what seemed to be a bleak hour would turn into the biggest professional opportunity with which I had ever been presented. FOX had put together three-quarters of its Sunday pre-game show, with Terry Bradshaw, Howie Long, and Jimmy Johnson. Those were such strong personalities, however, that there were concerns about finding the right host for the show. Ed Goren, who had worked at CBS, was brought over as one of the top executives, and he began lobbying for me to join the show. Finally, they extended an offer—at a bargain salary, but I was thrilled for the opportunity. Amazing. To go from the disappointment of not being promoted within CBS’s basketball show to CBS losing the NFL, to joining FOX as the studio host with Terry, Howie, and Jimmy—I was pinching myself.
It was an opportunity that I believed I needed to follow through with, one of the most important self-checks I had to conduct whether I was mature enough in my Christian walk to handle all of the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles. DC is admittedly a big city, but for me it is small because I’m usually at home with my family. Would the bright lights of Hollywood lead me off the path I wanted to continue to walk? I decided not to move out there—I would fly out on Friday afternoons, get acclimated to Pacific time on Saturday, and then fly back to DC on Monday. By the second year I was with FOX, I was married to Dorothy, which helped to keep me grounded.
Each Sunday before I went on the air for the FOX NFL Sunday broadcast, I would call my mom and Dorothy and they would lead me in prayer. I understand just how important it is to have on the full armor of God to do all I could to make my colleagues look good. I was taught that at an early age by my mom, who also taught me Proverbs 22:6, and has been living it out ever since: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” (KJV). Since Sundays were a full workday for me, and I was missing my normal weekly time to worship God in church, I decided to make Wednesdays during the season into my Sundays, and regularly attended church back home on that day
.
Things couldn’t have gone better on the set. Terry, Howie, Jimmy, and I got along great both off the air and on, and we were number one from the time that we went on the air. That first day, all pumped and nervously excited to be a part of a new show that many football fans were waiting to see, and critique, we were a little uptight as the nine o’clock hour approached in Los Angeles—twelve o’clock on the east coast—and we would go live to our viewing audience. The director began his countdown. “One minute.” Everyone was quiet, and then good old Terry Bradshaw, as only he could, began giving tips. He turned to Jimmy.
“Jimmy, this isn’t like coaching. You don’t want your lips to get dry. That’s the most important thing you can do before you go on. Have soft, supple lips.” We started to laugh, but Howie nodded. Terry pulled a round tin of Carmex lip balm out of his pocket and offered it to Jimmy. Jimmy applied it and passed it back.
“Thirty seconds.” Terry began using it himself, as then Howie did the same with some that he had. Terry didn’t offer me any lip balm as he’d done with my colleagues. I hit him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, you didn’t offer me any.” He pulled out the lip balm, looked at it, looked at my lips once, then said, “Hold out both hands, you’ll need a lot of his for those lips.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
The cameras came up in September 1994, to find the inaugural show of FOX NFL Sunday broken up with laughter. That was the atmosphere of our show each and every Sunday. Much like a locker room atmosphere, no one was exempt from getting teased.
That first year was an action-packed one, including plenty of growing pains for FOX and us. One of the most memorable for Howie was the time that I had to read the teleprompter—while it ran backward.
That opening moment as we went on the air as well as that whole first year, looking back, was a microcosm of our experience on FOX. We had fun, letting our genuine friendships spill over onto the airwaves. Our goal at FOX was to be light-hearted, to educate the viewers without them realizing it, to “sugar-coat the education pill” that we tried to give the viewers each week. David Hill, the chairman and CEO of FOX sports, was as creative, smart, and talent sensitive an executive as I’ve seen in the broadcast business.
For as close as we were, however, they would never accept an invitation of mine to come over and spend the night at my home, even though I promised not to make pancakes—or oatmeal. None of us lived in Los Angeles, so we all commuted every weekend. When we would go to dinner, I would always wear a coat and tie, even in that Southern California heat. I had finally learned my lesson about dress. They would look nice, but invariably wear jeans. Jimmy, of course, would always look like something right out of the Florida Keys, wearing a Tommy Bahama shirt.
They even had the production guys put together a spoof at my expense: they were all out at the marina in casual shirts and swim trunks during a vignette that we were filming, and I came out in a suit and tie, then sat in the lotus position, looking focused and serious, while they had a pool party all around me. Terry came to stay with Howie in Virginia once, and we’ve all visited Jimmy’s spread down in the Keys. But when I offered for them to come stay with us—they all were busy. Every night for twelve years. They would always protest that they would be happy to come, except that they were afraid that their evening attire would be laid out on the bed—dinner jackets and ascots. They said that I’m just a certifiable square.
Howie says that on television you can’t hide who you are—it inevitably comes out. My goal has always been to be the guy that America wanted to invite into their living room. Even if it meant that I’m something of a square.
Another of those vignettes that FOX had us tape was on a boat. There we all were, dressed casually—even me. The boat stopped and we were going to fish at that spot. I turned to the others and delivered my line, so stiff that even I realized how badly it had gone: “Gee… Guys… how did you come up on this spot?” They have never let me live it down.
After a couple of years, I did have the chance to go Hollywood for FOX. I hosted The World’s Funniest! for two years in the late 1990s, and it was remarkable how many folks recognize me more for doing that show than co-hosting the #1 NFL pregame show! Especially children and mothers. I was excited that David Hill gave me the opportunity to host that show for the Entertainment Division and it seems to have been nothing but positive from the viewers and my colleagues—well, except for Tony Kornheiser, a good friend of mine.
I was driving around town one day and heard Tony start out on a rant on his radio show.
“What is JB doing, anyway! He doesn’t need the money, yet here he is hosting ‘When Animals Attack’ or something! I thought he was a smart guy, but then I saw him the other night on ‘When Animals Beat Up on Each Other’ and now I’m losing respect for him by the minute!” I could hardly drive I was laughing so hard, and thankfully most viewers did not seem to share Tony’s opinion. It was a fun experience that allowed me a different venue than sports. I strive to help them see me the way I try to be—warm, sincere, truly caring about those around me—special people every one of them. If I can get any of that across, I have succeeded.
I also had the chance to act in everything from a made-for-television movie with Bob Newhart and Kelsey Grammer, and to “act” in a couple of animated shows, FOX’s The Simpsons and King of the Hill.
In the episode of The Simpsons, I ran into Bart Simpson in an NFL locker room, and the writers perfectly captured the response I receive so often in the public.
“I’m Bart Simpson. Who are you?”
“I’m James Brown.”
“Oh, the Godfather of Soul! All right! [sings] I feeel gooood.”
“No, not that James Brown.”
“Oh, the one that was the Hall of Fame running back for the Cleveland Browns? That Jim Brown?”
“No, not that one, either.”
“Oh, you’re the no-talent talking head on Sunday afternoon!”
Sometimes James Brown can be a tough name to go through life with.
My nephew, Ahmaud Dairsow, was in our home several months later and saw a picture that I have hanging on my wall that is one of the animated frames from King of the Hill. In the episode, the writers were accommodating enough of me—since I don’t drink—to substitute their usual beers for Cokes, which our characters drank while they stood around. Ahmaud wasn’t to be fooled, however, when he looked at the picture.
“Hey, look,” he said to Dorothy, “it’s ‘Keg of the Hill!’ ” He paused. “But who’s the black guy?”
Howie, Terry, and Jimmy all were getting the chance to do advertising, and I was hoping to do some as well. A beer company invited me to do a commercial with Terry early in my tenure at FOX, and I was ecstatic. They had come out with an inflatable line of “easy chairs,” with cup holders in the armrests with the logo and colors of the various NFL teams. I told them that I’d rather not have a beer in the cup holder, and they graciously agreed.
The commercial began airing and, I must admit, I was pretty proud. James Brown, in a commercial, with Terry Bradshaw.
Until my niece called. And even though she was only ten at the time, she could always be very direct.
“Uncle James, how could you do that!?” I was lost.
“Do what?”
“Do what you did.” She was so agitated she couldn’t get it all out at once.
“What, sweetie? What did I do?” I was still confused, but getting worried.
“The commercial.” The light started to come on for me.
“Oh honey, that was for Super Bowl team products, for inflatable chairs.”
“Uncle James, it was about beer!”
I smiled despite myself, at her misunderstanding. “Honey, I didn’t have a beer can in my hand. I wasn’t promoting the use of beer. I told them I wouldn’t do anything with alcohol. This was just for the inflatable chairs.”
“Uncle James, please. I can’t believe that you’re trying to convince me of that. Where do you have to
go to get the coupons for the chairs? At convenience stores in the beer section, right? In front of the beer company display, right? Or at a liquor store, right?” I wasn’t smiling at her naïveté anymore, but rather, was cringing at mine, and that it was taking my ten-year-old niece to tell me so. She didn’t let up, though. “Do you remember coming to speak to my school last fall? What was that for?”
“The D.A.R.E. Program,” I whispered. I had gone to her school on a hot, September day and given a presentation to her classmates. She was so proud that I was there and was a big help in dabbing my perspiring brow during the presentation as I spoke.
“That’s right. Dare to stay off alcohol and drugs, and then… how could you, Uncle James!”
From that point forward I vowed that I would not do any commercials that had to do with anything that could be a potential stumbling block or source of addiction for someone else. And I haven’t, despite having had some opportunities to do so since. Thanks to the clear thinking of a very dear and very wise ten-year-old.
I loved FOX, and I loved the guys. It was perfect, and we were having a blast. We joked around together—Howie, Terry, and Jimmy loved to tease me about my diet. I have a very large frame, and well—it’s a large frame. Howie likes to tell me that they “had to kill a whole family of gabardine just to clothe” me, or that watching me diet is amusing, because I “have the willpower of a common housefly—it’ll land on anything!”
We had our serious moments, too, however. Terry and I even had some meaningful talks when he wanted to talk to me as he went through the pain of a divorce. One of the highest compliments he paid me as a friend was asking me to sit in the car in front of his LA apartment and be a listener as he poured out his heart, and then asked to close the evening with a prayer. I was thankful I had something relevant to say and pray because of my efforts in studying the Bible in weekly classes at my church. We were having special times on the set, and I was growing off the set as well.
