With the first pick in the 1951 NFL draft, the New York Giants select….Kyle Rote, halfback, Southern Methodist University.
The future looked bright for a young Kyle Rote, viewed as the best athlete coming out of college in 1951. He had played along side Heisman trophy winner and future Hall of Famer Doak Walker at SMU and was poised for a Hall of Fame career in the NFL. It would not come to pass.
A bad knee injury early in his career caused Rote to forfeit his value as a halfback. With his speed diminished he focused on his route running skills and converted successfully to wide receiver, yet the injury practically was inevitable. He was a product of destiny encumbered by loss as he experienced early in life.
At the age of 14 Kyle’s mother was involved in a freak automobile accident. She was killed and Rote’s father badly injured. Kyle’s brother returned home briefly from fighting in the Pacific in WW II to attend the funeral. He would return to duty, and subsequently perished at Iwo Jima.
A teenager he was, with no mother, no brother, and a crippled father. Alone, he faced an uncertain future not sure where to focus his energy. He found solace in athletics excelling in football and basketball. He would excel even more as a friend.
Rote played eleven years in the NFL. He had 300 receptions for 4,797 yards. He averaged 16 yards per catch and scored 48 touchdowns. Pro Bowl accolades would come four times in consecutive years from 1953-1956.
With the Giants he won a championship in 1956 and played in what is commonly referred to as “The Greatest Game Ever”, the 1958 NFL championship game against the Baltimore Colts that New York would end up losing in overtime.
Kyle Rote accomplished many things on the field; however his greatest accomplishment was his impact on teammates. As good as a football player he was, he was an even better friend. Teammates admired Rote for his humbleness.
Kyle was far removed from the egos’ of today’s #1 draft picks. He had a great sense of humor with an uncanny way of presenting something insightful and brilliant with a humorous and down to earth demeanor.
He dabbled in poetry perhaps as a way to express ease a pain he carried with him. It was a pain sensed by teammates yet rarely talked about.
Frank Gifford would name his son Kyle, after Rote as would Pat Summerall. In all, 14 Kyle’s were born in honor of Rote. All named for a man whom Rote’s teammates admired most. Rote had many qualities that man perhaps instinctively knows are good and blessed. Rote is not in the NFL Hall of Fame. Such an accomplishment seems trivial compared to the impact Kyle Rote had on his friends.
August 15th 2002 was Kyle Rote’s last day on Earth. He died greatly admired but still sunken in despair. He never escaped the melancholy abyss he was thrown into during his childhood. He was a heavy smoker and borderline alcoholic. Years of self punishment had taken its toll.
Frank Gifford ends his book “The Glory Game” publishing a poem Kyle wrote titled “To My Teammates”
So many things I’ve wished I’d said, and wished much more I’d done
Back when we functioned as a team, back when the game was fun
So many times-I now recall, those humid summer days
When we could barely practice through, our list of basic plays
But then-someone among our group- would walk that extra mile
And lead us to complete the task, to exit with some style
The mind grows dim as years move on-and details fade away
But essence of that band of boys is with me ev’ry day
I’ve often thought that if we’ve learned some lessons during life,
The best of them at least were learned back then-on fields of strife.
I also feel the bonds we made did bind-solidify-
Those careful, precious memories, until the day we die
-Kyle Rote 1928-2002
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