We sometimes come across larger-than-life individuals we considered invincible and took for granted they would be around forever.
Some of them are government leaders, TV or movie personalities and others are sports figures. It seemed that way as I write these words a day after the death of Billy Cannon.
Any mention of his name to Louisianans – most notably those born before 1950 – and they will speak of what was then an unprecedented rise to a status among the elite in college football.
Whether it was sports shows or memorabilia, Cannon’s name would somehow pop up. In fact, as a collector of vintage magazines, I found a 1959 TV Guide which included a listing of the LSU season opener versus Rice live from Tiger Stadium for the first time ever in Baton Rouge, which NBC aired in color – extremely rare in that era. Most of the preview story for the game focused on Cannon, who had already become a household word.
He was already in the twilight of his pro football career when I was born 50 years ago, but I was reminded early and often of his impact on LSU football.
My father, who was 11 at the time, attended the game that night, and still likes to bring it up time to time.
Most fans of this era and those from Cannon’s heyday remember the grainy black-and-white footage of his 89-yard punt return Oct. 31, 1959 for a touchdown and win against Ole Miss, as we heard announcer J.C. Politz call the play in mega-hyper tone.
The footage has found its way onto TV seemingly thousands of times over the years and remains the most memorable moment in LSU football.
I was 8 years old the first time my father showed me the footage, which aired at the end of a newscast on the anniversary of the game.
It didn’t take long for Cannon’s legacy to capture the fascination of my generation.
I had a few friends who bragged that they had him as an orthodontist. As one friend told me, he asked Cannon for his autograph, and he responded that he would see it when his parents got the bill.
By 1983 at age 15, I viewed him with a sense of disappointment after his conviction for involvement in what was, at the time, one of the biggest counterfeit rings in the nation’s history.
It took many years for fans, including myself, to hear Cannon’s name without thinking about how someone could tarnish a legacy so badly.
Time eroded disappointment, and Cannon eventually found himself back in the good grace of fans who forgave and forgot.
Years later, I landed four tickets to an LSU nonconference game against Tulane on Halloween night, 2009. By luck, I witnessed the ceremony in which the school retired Cannon’s No. 20 jersey.
It was one of the very few times Cannon had returned to Tiger Stadium since his jail time. After all the stories Cannon’s most famous games, it felt good for me to say I could be in the same stadium 50 years after my father witnessed his most famous play in person.
I’d seen Cannon numerous times in person over the years, mostly on occasions when he would lend his name to charity events.
We’ve seen countless stories about Cannon’s punt return touchdown, but his ability to pull himself beyond the shame of conviction and back to the good graces through charitable deeds represented a human element that deserves as much recognition as that 89-yard run in 1959.
