Introducing the Pittmans

"I had no intention of going by the name Charlie after my playing days were over," says Charles Pittman, senior vice-president of Schurz Communications, Inc. "I didn't want to be known for scoring touchdowns."

If he did choose to use that as a calling card, his 33 touchdowns and career 4.9 yards average per rushing attempt would be among the top efforts at Penn State. Baltimore-born Charlie Pittman led the Nittany Lions in rushing for three straight years and was the top rusher (706 yards on 149 carries and 10 touchdowns) in a historic 1969 backfield that also included Hall of Famer Franco Harris and NFL Pro Bowl player Lydell Mitchell.

His son Tony proved just as dangerous on the other side of the ball. For those in the know, Penn State's 1994 football team was an offensive juggernaut that featured stars Ki-Jana Carter and Kerry Collins. Pittman's unit wasn't on the glamorous side of the ball in 1994, but his cerebral play at cornerback led to a respectable 39 tackles and an interception, following up a 1993 campaign in which he led the Nittany Lions with five interceptions. Like his father, he was undefeated in every game he started.

Their family legacy begins at 824 Appleton Street in west Baltimore, young Charlie Pittman's hometown.

Jean Pittman's husband, Charlie James Pittman, was always at work in the steel mills, so it was up to her to run herd on her children, especially her second born, Charles Vernon. The child was always fidgety; he seemed forever on the move. It was a lucky thing her oldest, Rosalind, just 10 months older than Charles Vernon — an Irish twin — was so precocious. It gave her another pair of eyes to keep watch over Junior and younger brother Jerome.

Charlie was a good student with very good grades, but most of all, he loved running. He ran to school. He ran to the library, the store, and everywhere he could.

He made a game of running as fast as he could on the edge of a curb to see how long he could go before losing his balance and falling off. While other 15-year-olds were outgrowing imaginary friends, he began inventing imaginary tacklers who would force him to swerve and spin as he ran. Or he would dodge cars or pick up cans as he ran. Baltimore police officers once ran after him because they thought he was doing something wrong. He wasn't. He was just running like he always did.

He was the running man of the family and the neighborhood. Rosalind was the smart one; she soaked up knowledge like a sponge and challenged Charlie to do better in school. Their brother Jerome was the quiet one; he studied voraciously. He would later earn valedictory honors at his high school.

The Pittmans were living through tough times. Around the close-knit family, the city of Baltimore had begun a precipitous decline that would make it one of the most dangerous cities in the United States by the end of the century.

Like many other west Baltimore families, there were times the few dollars they made were not enough to cover all their basic needs. There were a few winters when money was too tight to pay the heating bill, so the power company shut it off until it was paid. One of Rosalind's teachers chose that time to visit their cold, dark house to ask Mrs. Pittman to allow Rosalind to participate in a citywide spelling bee. Charlie knew it would be good for his big sister; he considered her the smartest person he knew. The teacher also thought highly of Rosalind and believed she could win the contest.

"No, Rosalind's not going to be in a spelling bee," Jean Pittman said. "She doesn't have nice clothes to wear for something like that."

Rosalind's disappointment welled up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

That's just not fair, Charlie thought. It seemed to him that Rosalind always had to sacrifice more than her younger brothers. He didn't care for spelling bees, but it was competition, and he wanted his sister to experience that joy.

He couldn't get enough competition. He lived for it. A few years later, in the late summer of 1963, his love of competition would set him down a path that would take him places far beyond their little house on Appleton.

"Bruh Boy, did you bring something to read from school today?" Mrs. Pittman asked, calling him by his family nickname. Charlie, who loved to read, had no reading assignments.

"No? Well, go get the newspaper, then," she said.

All of the Pittman kids knew the rules. After school, they had just a little time to play, and then their mother called them in to do their night's reading. If she asked, they had to discuss the day's schoolwork with her. If they had no schoolbooks, they had to read a newspaper or a magazine. Outside, the sounds of screeching children could still be heard as they played freeze tag, stickball, or just plain raced down the street. It seemed like the noise got louder — as if to taunt them — when they had to come in.

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie replied.

It was all he could do to stop from grinning as he read his newspaper. Charlie, as his friends called him, was a thin, raw-boned boy, tall for his age, with light eyes and big hands. He looked like he was moving even when he was standing still. On that day, the second day of football tryouts for Edmondson High School, Charlie officially became a football player! He ran faster than he ever had before to accomplish the feat, because on the first day of tryouts, he had missed the cut.

Anyone who knew him understood that meant he would move heaven and earth to make sure it didn't happen again. He couldn't resist a challenge.

His cash-strapped inner-city high school had a Darwinian method for selecting its players. Coach Augie Waibel only chose as many players as he had uniforms. The tryouts were without pads.

Seeing Charlie's evasive moves, which left defenders grabbing at air, he knew he had a keeper. "Get that boy a uniform!" he shouted to the equipment manager.

The Edmondson Redskins varsity never lost a game during Charlie's junior and senior years. At the end of his senior season, state high school officials presented him with a red and white football symbolizing his status as the Maryland high school football state scoring champion.

Yet football wasn't even his favorite sport. He liked football and basketball, but baseball was his love. He was a deadly infielder with quick hands, and his speed around the bases made each hit a headache for the opposing team.

Sure, Charlie could see the near horizon of his future; he'd get a job in the steel...