College football: Cannon celebrates 50th anniversary of Heisman

Right as the sun started to rise, the train passed the Superdome in New Orleans.

Periodically making stops, the train rolls on through Birmingham, Ala., through Atlanta and then the train turns North.

To Penn Station. To New York.

For Jay McWilliams and his wife, Gina, it’s a long, slightly bumpy ride, but the view is incredible. Playing cards, eating every meal they need, hanging out with the rest of the family.

Not a bad way to see the country.

But there is more to this cross country trip than sightseeing. Taking a trip to New York at this time of the year has one purpose.

“It’s the Heisman Trophy ceremony on Saturday,” McWilliams said. “That’s the whole reason we’re going.”

To pay homage to the Heisman Trophy winner seated across the table.

Fifty years ago, Gina’s father — and McWilliams’ father-in-law — won the Heisman Trophy at LSU.

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Back in 1959, The Punt Return made Billy Cannon an LSU legend.

Trailing Ole Miss 3-0, Cannon lets a punt bounce at the 16, then takes the ball on the right side of the field at the 11. Bouncing to the left, then back to the sideline, Cannon never really avoids a tackler.

He simply runs through them. Seven broken tackles later, Cannon breaks free at about midfield to give LSU a 7-3 lead. Late in the fourth quarter, Cannon stuffs an Ole Miss comeback attempt at the goal line.

Cannon always played both sides of the ball. Running back on offense, safety on defense Served as the Tigers’ punter, too. Back then, there were no debates about whether or not a defensive player should have a shot at the Heisman.

Everybody had to play defense.

“And a lot of it on some days,” Cannon said. “Not that I’m against specialization, but back then we played both ways. And anybody that came out on change of possessions didn’t win the Heisman Trophy.”

So Cannon, who has a vote, has no trouble putting mammoth Nebraska defensive tackle Ndamukong Suh on his ballot this season.

“The only game I saw him play this season was last week against Texas,” Cannon said. “And he was outstanding. A line coach’s dream.”

Cannon didn’t want to reveal his ballot.

But he put Suh in the top three.

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Three times, maybe four in the 50 years since he won the stiff-armed statuette, Cannon didn’t cast a vote.

Not because he was boycotting anybody.

But to Cannon, the award is sacred. To earn the Trophy, a player has to stand head and shoulders over the rest of the college football world.

“There have been years I didn’t vote, that didn’t feel there was a terrific player out there above everybody,” Cannon said. “And I have left some guys off of my ballot that everybody else put on.”

Cannon has kept a keen eye on college football throughout the years.

Back in his day, Cannon was a rare combination of speed and power, a 6-foot-1, 210-pound running back who could both run through defenders and sprint away. At times — like The Punt Return — he did both.

But running backs have simply kept evolving throughout the years. At first they got bigger, more bruising, in the style of Earl Campbell, and then running backs grew taller, more graceful, in the Eric Dickerson mode, until Oklahoma State threw off that equation.

“And then came a guy named Barry Sanders,” Cannon said. “And he changed the whole outlook.”

Coupled with his teammate, Thurman Thomas, Sanders forced teams to look at shorter, quicker backs with multiple skills, leading up to guys like Ole Miss’ Dexter McCluster this season, as quick as anybody Cannon has ever seen.

There have been times that Cannon believed deserving players have been sent home empty-handed.

Like LSU running back Jerry Stovall in 1962, a running back who finished second in the Heisman Trophy voting to Oregon State quarterback Terry Baker, the first beneficiary of the media blitz.

“At LSU, our sports information department had two chairs, one desk, and they shared a phone,” Cannon said. “That’s the way it was at the SEC level.”

Throughout the years, Cannon has always had one simple criteria for a Heisman Trophy winner.

“Some guys I haven’t voted for because I thought they were riding along with the team and not lifting them to another level,” Cannon said. “A Heisman Trophy winner has to bring his teammates up a level.”

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Fifty years have passed since Cannon won the Heisman Trophy.

And now he’s headed back, to be honored by the same New York Athletic Club that handed him the silver stiff-armed statuette. Cannon is the only recipient to get a silver trophy, a trophy that now sits in TJ Ribs, a restaurant in Baton Rouge, La.

A trophy Cannon almost lost.

Cannon’s friend, T.J. Moran, the owner of TJ Ribs, was in Chicago accepting an award for the Ruth’s Chris steak house he owned in the Windy City. Suddenly, a call came to tell Moran the restaurant was on fire.

Luckily, the firemen knew exactly what part of the restaurant to save.

“The firemen went in, broke the glass and brought the trophy out,” Cannon said.

Rather than keep the Heisman Trophy in his house, Cannon wants to let everyone else see the trophy.

To be a part of the same tradition that his family gets to see this weekend. For McWilliams, a former high school football coach, and his son, Cannon, a future high school football coach, rubbing elbows with the athletes who have been a part of the Heisman Trophy is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

For most people, the feeling is the same.

“I like for people to see the trophy,” Cannon said. “I haven’t kept it at home in 25 years. It’s a beautiful, one-of-a-kind trophy, and after you see it, you’ll never forget it.”

A trophy to be taken seriously.