PITTSBURGH — Jerome Bettis knew it was time to enter the 1993 NFL draft after his junior year at the University of Notre Dame, but that decision first had to go through his mother.
Gladys Bettis’ resistance was about more than the family’s emphasis on education: Of her three children, she already watched both her older son and daughter drop out of college.
“So, I was thinking: I got this last child. He’s going to finish school,” she recalled.
But her son’s argument was compelling: One bad hit and the career he envisioned could be gone.
She insisted on a meeting with Notre Dame’s then-football coach, Lou Holtz. He spoke about her son’s readiness for the NFL, but he also warned them against agents who might say he’d be a first- or second-round pick. He knew that wouldn’t be the case but was certain he’d “do well” — a display of honesty that won her over.
She gave her blessing, but only after asking her son to promise that he’d return to school, not just for her but for himself.
That day came last month when, at age 50, Bettis graduated from the University of Notre Dame’s Mendoza College of Business after a 28-year break.
With the very same mindset used during his 13-year, Hall of Fame football career, he pushed through obstacles and again earned his place among elite company.
“This was an accomplishment that was long overdue,” he told the Post-Gazette. “It took on a larger meaning than walking in the stadium and getting my degree. It was symbolic of that take-charge, never-quit attitude. Keep going, and find a way to get it done.”
What a run
Coach Holtz proved to be correct about his standout running back’s readiness.
Bettis was selected 10th overall in the 1993 draft by the Los Angeles Rams and finished second in the league that season with 1,429 rushing yards. The Rams traded him to the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1996, where he became known as “The Bus” for his powerful running style. He appeared in six Pro Bowls, was named Walter Payton Man of the Year for his work with his “Bus Stops Here Foundation” for underprivileged youth among other efforts, and was a keystone of the Steelers’ 2006 Super Bowl win against the Seattle Seahawks.
He retired after that Super Bowl win and took on a gig with NBC’s “Football Night in America” Sunday night show which lasted until 2008, and in the meantime, became associated with now-closed Jerome Bettis Grille 36 on Pittsburgh’s North Shore.
While broadcasting is still a part of his life in the form of “The Jerome Bettis Show,” which runs during football season on local NBC affiliate WPXI, most of his career is oriented toward his trucking, staffing, development and marketing companies, which are much closer to his childhood ambitions than football ever was.
Bettis bond
Jerome’s father, Johnnie, was an electrical engineer. When his briefcases became too scuffed or a latch broke, his youngest son clamored to give them a second life, using them to carry his books to elementary school.
They also held the inventory for his first business: an assortment of small toys and candy which he sold to classmates.
As his “always business-minded” nature flourished, so did another talent: bowling.
His mother fell in love with the sport after her husband introduced her to it. She took classes in bowling education, and taught their children, all of whom became accomplished bowlers.
Jerome was one of the best in the state of Michigan and traveled the country competing. As a teenager, he first showed his capacity to perform under pressure as he rolled a 300 in front of professional bowlers at a pro-am event, which later, in a 2015 The Sporting News story, he called “the single biggest moment I ever had.”
His goals changed at age 14 when his uncle, a football coach, introduced him to the sport, but bowling’s impact has lasting effects.
The Bettis family is known to come as a unit, even to organizations as large as Notre Dame, the Steelers and NBC, which invited the Bettis crew to Italy when Bettis’ role on “Football Night in America” was announced live during the 2006 Winter Olympics.
Mrs. Bettis was featured alongside her son in a 2002 Campbell’s Soup campaign called “Mama’s Boys.” And stories of the family’s dinners open to Bettis’ coaches and teammates are common knowledge among Steelers fans.
That bond, which made a 28-year-old knee-jerk promise to finish college non-negotiable, can be traced back to the time put in learning and achieving at bowling together, as Mrs. Bettis sees it: “That’s where the family really started being a family.”
‘This 50-year-old guy’
As years ticked by, the idea of returning to school never left Bettis’ intentions. “Life kind of happens,” he said. Kids and entrepreneurship took up much of his time. “That’s when you hope it happens, but if it doesn’t, you understand why.”
Mrs. Bettis did understand and is proud of her son’s endeavors, which also include participation in kids’ camps, motivational speaking and appearances at charity golf tournaments in addition to his businesses.
But when the gifted storyteller was asked if she would have been comfortable had her son never returned to school, she answered with a single word: “No.”
As COVID-19 restrictions set in, Bettis began his senior year classes virtually from his Atlanta home. But the “biggest hurdle” was Notre Dame’s requirement for his final four classes to be taken in person and on campus in South Bend, Ind.
With the support of his wife, Trameka, and his children, Jada, 17, and Jerome Jr., 15, he rented a townhouse in northern Illinois.
“I was just trying to get in and get out and stay under the radar, that as the goal for me,” he said. “Obviously, I stick out like a sore thumb because there’s this 50-year-old guy in these classes with all these young people.”
To at least one of his classmates, he stuck out for more than his age.
‘Ghost’ of a good thing
A Notre Dame football player was in one of Bettis’ classes. At his next opportunity, the player walked into the office of then-first-year Notre Dame football coach Marcus Freeman and reported the presence of one of the school’s most notable former players.
Freeman had never spoken to Bettis, but got ahold of his phone number and asked if he might like to stop by sometime, fully expecting his schedule might be pretty tight.
Bettis met with him the next day.
“That was a way for me to pay my respects to him, but also to open the doors of our football program to him,” Freeman said.
Bettis was given a locker with an open invitation to work out, and they agreed to weekly meetings, which were scheduled for 30 minutes but often lasted twice as long.
As was his wish, Bettis never made a show of his presence, though he did quietly lend a hand at Freeman’s invitation.
He offered ideas about how to create stronger ties with Notre Dame football alumni, including channels for former players to recommend potential recruits in their areas. He suggested a former players-only meeting ahead of the university’s annual Blue-Gold Game, which Freeman evolved into a monthly Zoom meeting with the group. And Bettis served as the commissioner of the Blue-Gold Game draft.
“I’m 100 percent sure that it was way more beneficial for me than it was for him,” Freeman said. But even if that’s the case, those interactions will pay forward indefinitely.
“That’s the thing I use with our players: I want you to come to Notre Dame, and play this game at the highest level, and be a first-round pick and a Pro Football Hall of Famer,” he said. “I also want you to understand the value of this education. I’m not saying I want you guys to come back at 50 and get this degree, but I want you to understand how valuable it is when you’re here, as Jerome Bettis showed.”
Same mindset
A 28-year break from college courses created a learning curve. He learned to access every syllabus and assignment by computer, but stuck to some of his “old” habits by taking notes with pen and paper. And he felt the material was presented at a much faster pace, though he joked, “Maybe I was just slower.”
“There were some days where I said to myself, ‘What am I doing here?’ ” he said. “It was 5-degrees with snow on the ground, and I’m thinking, ‘You don’t have to do this. It’s not like it’s gonna change your life significantly.’ ”
Likening the experience to football kept him on track. “My whole mindset was, always, I want to be the best version of myself I can possibly be,” he said. “I’m going to push myself in the offseason when nobody’s watching. This was the same thing. Nobody’s watching, but I gotta take care of business.”
But there were people watching: his children.
With permission from his professors, he brought Jada to a few classes with him as she prepares for her own college career, which her dad “hopes” will bring her back to Notre Dame.
Promises and examples
More eyes were on Bettis than his kids’, especially as he officially graduated from Notre Dame on May 15.
Former teammate, “lifetime” friend and CEO of The Jasmine Nyree Campus Pittsburgh, Joey Porter, knows the importance of returning to school, after completing his degree at Colorado State University at age 38.
“I knew he would do it. He’s one of the most competitive guys I know,” he said.
Steelers’ president, Art Rooney II, said in a statement to the Post-Gazette, “He has always been a role model both on and off the field, and his commitment to his education is another opportunity for younger players and children to look at him and his success as a guide to follow in life to never give up and follow your dreams.”
Somehow, those dreams keep involving Notre Dame stadium. On May 15, he walked out in front of a far smaller crowd than he used to see there — “just” 25,000 spectators — wearing a much different uniform. In a black cap and gown with a blue and gold stole draped overtop, Bettis became a college graduate.
He delivered a commencement address at his own graduation where he first thanked his wife and children for their support, and then cracked a few jokes about “this old guy” behind the podium.
But when he talked about his motivation for being there, he said, “Mom: promise made, promise kept.”
Mrs. Bettis kept a hand on her chest through much of the commencement ceremony, thinking about her husband, who passed away in 2006. But when she heard her son’s public acknowledgment of a nearly three-decade-old promise, she pumped the same hand in the air and yelled, “Yes, son! Yes, you did it!”
