Mondays with Murray

Here, for your reading enjoyment, is the gripping story of Les Richter, a former Los Angeles Rams player who, according to the late, great Jim Murray, was blessed with "legs like tree stumps and a torso like a freight car.” Richter, 6-foot-3 and 238 pounds, played with the Rams from 1954 . . .

MONDAY, MAY 1, 1961, SPORTS
Copyright 1961/THE TIMES MIRROR COMPANY
 
JIM MURRAY
 
Speaker of The House
"Gentlemen, the kick is in the air and we are running down the field. We are going to kill this little safety man. (LAUGHTER) But he is a college man. So he signals for a fair catch. (LAUGHTER) But an official comes running up. The Rams clipped on the play. (GROAN) Gentlemen, this is an impossible call. You cannot clip when you are on defense.
   "But, a few minutes later, we have stopped the great offensive thrust of the Philadelphia Eagles and five officials. (CHEERS) Now, we have the ball and Van Brocklin, a GREAT quarterback, I don't care what anyone says. (LAUGHTER)
   "Now, this Van Brocklin — this great quarterback trips over a white line. This is why he's a great quarterback. He can't run. (LAUGHTER)
   "Here stood Ron Waller. Waller is there but he shouldn't be there. This is what great quarterbacking does. Van Brocklin, this great quarterback, calls audibles at the line of scrimmage. Only Waller misses them. (LAUGHTER) But Van Brocklin rises to the occasion, flips the ball to the halfback who shouldn't be there and he runs 60 yards. We pull out the game through brilliance. (LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE)

Legs Like a Tree Stump
  "So, in conclusion, gentlemen, I want to wish the Burbank Kiwanis lots of luck in its pancake breakfast. I am proud of what you have done and am sure you will all pull together."
   The speaker, a cropped-hair, brown-eyed man with legs like tree stumps and a torso like a freight car, would be easier to recognize if he had No. 48 on his back and a scowl on his face. For this is Les Richter, middle-guard linebacker and mad red dog of the Rams who spends each football season as the Dracula of the line-of-scrimmage and each off-season as the William Jennings Bryan of sports.
   I caught up with Les on Speech No. 69. Last year he logged 113. He has been proud of the Kiwanis in Burbank, the Elks in Long Beach, the Present Day Club in Glendale and he has lectured the graduating class of a reform school and the sheriff's department of El Centro with equal skill and enthusiasm.
   He knows the words to "Hail Kiwanis," can roar like a Lion, slap backs like a Rotarian and has eaten more uncooked chicken than an old fox. His lovely wife Marilyn is afraid to rap a spoon on a glass at home for fear Les will lean up, clear his throat and go into his act. He is so good he is in constant demand. He makes as much money in front of a table as he does in back of the line. He is involved in five businesses from selling real estate (for boss Ed Pauley) to plugging auto races and on the day I saw him he spoke at breakfast in Redondo, lunch in Burbank and dinner in Whittier.
 
Impulsive Golf Swing
   In between, he fitted in a round of golf with a swing that is, to say the least, impulsive.
   Richter is as enthusiastic as a puppy chasing a new cat in the neighborhood. "I love it," he admits. He keeps a repertoire of seven basic speeches but he can stunt or loop off any of them. The material must fit the audience.
   For instance, Les' talks are candid but not every fan is quite prepared for all of Les' experiences in pro football. Like the one in his rookie year when the locker room door burst open before a game and through it came two opposition linemen carrying the starting quarterback for the day. They weren't trying to rest him up. They were trying to hold him up. He was sozzled.
 
Sobered Up He Beat Rams
 Before Les could go leafing through his old copies of Ralph Henry Barbour to see what would cover this situation, the quarterback had been dumped in the shower, gulped a couple of benzedrines and got on the field to riddle the Rams with his passing.
   Les' introduction to the refinements of linebacking would have shocked Frank Merriwell, too. Don Paul broke in. "See that Leon Hart out there? Now, watch, I'll lean over and call him 'gutless' and 'pussycat' and I'll tug on his helmet and call him a blankety-blank," said Don. "He doesn't swear and it makes him sore. He'll spend the whole day playing me instead of the ball game and that means we only got 10 guys to worry about."
   Richter admits there are latter-day Leon Harts around the league quite familiar with the sound of his voice — and the caress of his meat-hand. But no more than the Optimists' Clubs of Southern California. The Rams traded 11 men for Richter and might have thrown in more if they knew they were getting an orator. "All those other guys could do at lunch was eat," admits the team publicist Jack Teele.
 
Reprinted with permission by the Los Angeles Times.
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