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Lzen
09-04-2008, 09:29 AM
Long read but a very good story.


The All Big-12 linebacker came to Kansas after breaking all of his absent father’s football records in California.
By Rustin Dodd (http://www.kansan.com/staff/rustin_dodd/) (Contact (http://www.kansan.com/staff/rustin_dodd/contact/))
Thursday, September 4th, 2008

<!-- End toolbar --> The name is still there, painted on a dusty aluminum sign, resting awkwardly against the brick of the Clayton Valley High School gymnasium.
A teenage boy, carrying a bag crammed with football pads, hurries past the sign without a glance.
If he stopped and looked, he’d see Joe Mortensen’s name, secure at the top.
If he looked closer, he’d see that Mortensen tackled 171 people in 2003, the most in Clayton Valley history.
But the boy is late to summer football practice, and Herc Pardi is waiting for him around the corner. Pardi, a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard, stands in the doorway of the Clayton Valley weight room. He takes one step inside and points toward a plaque above a rusted rack of weights.
“His name is up there,” says Pardi, who’s coached at Clayton Valley since 1978. “His name is on everything in here.”
The football players at Clayton Valley know the name, but not the story. They run sprints on an asphalt playground in 90-degree Northern California heat, and they know Mortensen once played here. They know he left the Bay Area for Kansas and won the Orange Bowl, and that he’ll start for No. 14 Kansas at middle linebacker against Louisiana Tech this weekend, and well, they know the name.
But they don’t know the story.
They don’t know that Mortensen’s father abandoned him when he was an infant, leaving Joe’s mother, Tracy, alone with two young kids.
They don’t know that Joe found strength in his grandpa, the man who taught him how to cuss and the only father he ever knew.
They don’t know that Joe’s father played at Clayton Valley too, that Joe saw his father’s records on the wall, that Mortensen and his father shared the same name: Joe.
“Mortensen,” a Clayton Valley football player says, pedaling on a stationary bike. “The guy that goes to Kansas? No, I never saw him play.”
The summer heat swelters as you escape downtown Oakland and journey northeast through Contra Costa County. Miles of highway and suburban sprawl connect a community of suburbs speckled across the East Bay. Here in Pittsburg, Calif., 30 miles from Oakland and 25 minutes from the last trace of Bay Area fog, Joe Mortensen made his first memories.
Here, in a smallish house in a neighborhood coated with ethnic diversity, Tracy Duncan told her kids not to play outside alone.
It wasn’t a bias against the neighborhood, Tracy says, just a rule of motherly instinct that she held onto when her family left Pittsburg.
Still, Duncan was a single mom raising two kids, Melissa and little Joey. She found a neighborhood she could afford. And sometimes people who looked like gang members paced the streets.
“They probably weren’t,” Tracy says. “But it was a tough neighborhood.”
Here, Mortensen first started to hear stories about his father.
Here, Mortensen first started dreaming about football.
Mortensen’s father and Tracy divorced soon after Mortensen was born. His father had grown up in the same Contra Costa neighborhoods. And he had starred on the same Clayton Valley football fields. But that was all they shared. Mortensen’s father was gone, and he would never be a part of his life. Mortensen would go it alone.
“In some ways, he had to take care of himself,” says Terry Bolender, Mortensen’s maternal grandmother. “He kind of watched over his mother and his sister.”
But Mortensen was always protective. Sometimes he’d defend his smaller friends. Sometimes the fighting got him into trouble.
“Let them fight their own battles,” Terry Bolender would say.
He had to go it alone. But he was never alone. He had family. He had his mother.
“That’s my stronghold,” Mortensen says.
Tracy, Melissa and Joe. Just the three of them.
Of course, the Bolender house was just a few miles away in Concord. And Grandma Terry and Grandpa Frank’s house became afternoon headquarters for Joe and Melissa.
Mortensen discovered a kindred soul in grandpa Frank. He found a pal, a confidant and a father figure to look up to.
Frank Bolender never missed. Not a football game. Not a baseball game. Not a graduation. His grandkids meant too much to him. Joe meant too much to him.
Frank Bolender was a Newport, R.I., boy. A gregarious kid who grew up on the southern tip of New England. And Frank Bolender was a soldier.
He came of age as Hitler’s armies marched on Europe, serving his country at Gen. MacArthur’s Tokyo headquarters near the end of World War II.
So Grandpa Frank took on the role of teacher. He gave Mortensen morals, making sure he always did the right thing. He’d take him on car rides, teaching Joe new cuss words. And his grandpa gave him love.
“He was crazy about Joe,” Bolender says.
And then when Joe was 15, just beginning to become a man, Frank passed away suddenly, the victim of complications from heart surgery.
A few days later at Frank’s funeral, in front of 250 people, Joe stood up and talked about his grandpa, giving tribute to the only father figure he’d ever known.
“It was hard for him to lose him,” Tracy says. “He was the pillar of our family.”
Mortensen planned one more tribute.
Frank Bolender had been to nearly every football game Mortensen had ever played.
So when Clayton Valley played national powerhouse De La Salle, the No. 1 team in the country, and Mortensen found the end zone for his first high school touchdown, he dedicated it to the man whose seat was empty.
“My grandpa was my father figure,” Mortensen says.
Herc Pardi takes a seat in the classroom that neighbors the Clayton Valley weight room. A football play is diagrammed on the blackboard.
Clayton Valley finished with a losing record in 2007. They should improve in 2008, he says. Still, he wants to talk about better days: Joe Mortensen’s senior year.
2003 was the first year Clayton Valley played on Friday nights. The first year Joe Mortensen played under the lights.
“Joe was a mainstay,” Pardi says. “He never left the field.”
And from the moment Mortensen walked into Clayton Valley High School, Pardi knew he had a player.
He had heard the name Joe Mortensen, the athletic young kid coming up through the junior high levels. He saw him play as a freshman and knew Mortensen was a different kind of talent.
“He wowed people,” Pardi says.
Joe’s grandma had told him he was born to be a football player. And his natural talent was evident to anyone who watched him hold alpha dog status over his young counterparts.
And then Joe found the weight room, Pardi says.
That old classroom at Clayton Valley, brimful of gritty weight racks and plaques, mementos to Clayton Valley’s tradition. He found motivation inside those walls.
His father had played at Clayton Valley in the early ’70s, an all-league talent who set records at Clayton Valley.
Mortensen saw those records, Pardi says. “And Joe definitely wanted to get above those.”
Armed with raw instincts and fast-twitch explosiveness, Mortensen became one of the most intimidating forces in Bay Area football.
Pardi still remembers the night Mortensen almost led Clayton Valley to the sectional championship.
Late fall 2003, Mortensen’s senior year.
Clayton Valley against Las Lomas, a game for bragging rights in Northern California.
With just seconds left, Clayton Valley faced a fourth-and-twenty, trailing by a touchdown. The game was over.
But Mortensen had been through two seasons to forget at Clayton Valley. If they could get him the ball, maybe he could find a crease in the defense, maybe he could find the end zone.
Mortensen ran a streak up the seam of the defense, and somehow, the quarterback sneaked the ball into Mortensen’s arms. Touchdown. Game tied.
Clayton Valley and Los Lomas fought for three more overtimes, but Mortensen was out of miracles. He walked off the field that night as Las Lomas celebrated.
“I still think about it once and awhile,” Mortensen says.
Bolender still thinks about those days too.
“He’s still kind of a folk hero in this area,” Bolender says.
See, the best players usually come from De La Salle, Bolender explains. The private school with the white roof, just miles from Clayton Valley. The school with money and resources and a 151-game winning streak from 1992 to 2005.
“It’s a whole different world,” Pardi says.
Mortensen wasn’t part of that world. He was a public school kid, raised in Pittsburg, schooled in Clayton and Concord, son of Tracy, grandson of Frank. A kid who broke all of his father’s records.
“I’m a mama’s boy,” Mortensen says.
The heartland was always the destination. Mortensen had tormented his Bay Area foes long enough. Now it was off to Nebraska. He’d play for Frank Solich. He’d conquer the Big 12. He’d be a Blackshirt.
Mortensen had won MVP honors at Nebraska’s summer camp in 2003. He was so good at Stanford’s Nike camp that USC coach Pete Carroll stopped Tracy, who was sitting in the stands.
“Oh, is that your boy?” Carroll asked.
Mortensen was making a name for himself. And his father made an attempt to come back into his life. Mortensen said no.
“By then, that ship had sailed,” Bolender says.
Grandpa Frank and Mom had given him all the father he would need.
“When it’s Father’s Day,” Tracy says, “he’ll call me and wish me a happy Father’s Day.”
So it was off to Nebraska. The next chapter. The next destination. But then things got confusing. Nebraska canned coach Frank Solich in late November 2003, and after an exhaustive search, hired Oakland Raiders’ coach Bill Callahan in January.
Callahan didn’t want Mortensen. Didn’t matter that Mortensen grew up in the heart of Raider Nation. Didn’t matter that he had owned Nebraska’s summer camp. Didn’t matter that Pardi called Callahan and said, “You’re missing out on a hell of a football player.” The scholarship offer was gone.
“I just felt frantic,” Mortensen says.
It was already January and scholarship offers were drying up. He called around to other schools with little luck.
“We really felt discouraged that Callahan didn’t recognize his talent,” says Matt Bolender, Mortensen’s uncle.
Days after Nebraska reneged, Matt talked to a close friend. The friend followed Kansas football, had for years.
Kansas might have some scholarships available, the friend said.
So Matt called Kansas, spoke with a coach, sent a tape, and a week later, Mortensen was on an airplane, making his official visit.
Mortensen liked the coaches, liked the Big 12 and liked the schedule.
“I looked and saw that we played Nebraska,” he says.
But still, Kansas?
“It’s where you’re supposed to go,” Terry Bolender told her grandson.
Uncle Matt says, “Sometimes you have to look at it that fate brought Joe to Kansas.”
Tracy Duncan sat in the stands of the Orange Bowl and even she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. That wasn’t her Joe who had just busted through the line and blocked a Virginia Tech field goal, preserving Kansas’ lead. Couldn’t be. That wasn’t the same kid who used to bounce around her family room with an oversized football helmet, looking like a bobble head.
But it was.
“Oh my god,” Tracy says. “We couldn’t believe it.”
The whole family was there. Grandma Terry, aunts, uncles, Tracy’s new husband Al Duncan, and of course, Melissa and Tracy, all decked out in No. 8 Mortensen jerseys.
And as Tracy watched, her son was no longer the boy who left California for Kansas four years ago.
He was no longer the kid who called home nearly every day during his freshman year, nervous about school, looking for advice about life’s troubles.
That first year was hard, Tracy admits. The college courses were demanding, he was miles away from family, and he wasn’t playing football.
But Mortensen had gained too much strength from his mother, learned too many lessons from his grandpa. He’d never give up.
As a sophomore, Mortensen was starting, and as a junior, Mortensen flourished. Kansas coach Mark Mangino moved him to middle linebacker. He made 106 tackles.
And then, he made the biggest special teams play in Kansas history.
Back at the Orange Bowl, Tracy watched.
Her son was now a man.
“I think the miles were tough on him in the beginning,” Tracy says. “But I think being so far from home allowed him to come into being himself.”
After the game was over and Mortensen danced on the podium, Tracy looked down toward the field. Joe was looking back.
“I remember thinking, that’s exactly how I felt when I had you,” Tracy says. “That’s the happiest moment of my boy’s life.”
The name is still there, resting outside Clayton Valley High School, glistening in the mid-afternoon light. A reminder of his high school records, a small hint about the life he’s lived. Joe’s name is at the top. His father’s name is not.
Pardi’s team is inside the weight room. Maybe someday, one of his Eagles will break Mortensen’s records.
Terry Bolender is still living in Concord. She’ll make sure to make the trip to Lawrence this season to see her grandson play. Just like Frank, she’d never want to miss a game.
“He would just be out of his mind with excitement,” Terry says of her husband.
Tracy is now in Oregon. She’ll probably hear from Mortensen today. Tracy and Al are planning on being in the stands when Kansas plays Louisiana Tech on Saturday.
And Joe will be the one on the field, at the center of it all. He has six home games left at Memorial Stadium. Six more games to hurl his body all over the field, with all the determination of that little kid in the living room.
And when Terry Bolender watches, she sees Mortensen’s life story — all the struggle, all the sacrifice — played out on the football field.
“I think it made him tougher,” Bolender says.
“He’s tough,” she says again. Because he had to be.
“Protective,” she says. Because he had to be.
“And he’s fearless.”
— Edited by Brenna Hawley


http://www.kansan.com/stories/2008/sep/04/fearless_joe_mortensen/