Steve Kiner, best linebacker and one of the most famous names in Tennessee football history, has died.
Steve Kiner
Word to the wise: Got to be careful with that “best” anointment, Al Wilson was a pretty good linebacker. He led a national championship team.
Kiner could run faster.
“He could go from sideline to sideline,” said coach Doug Dickey.
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Steven Albert Kiner, 77, died Thursday at an assistant living facility near Tampa. There was no word about cause of death. Old teammates are almost certain too many violent helmet hits were a factor.
Kiner was sophomore of the year in the Southeastern Conference, a consensus All-American in 1968 and a unanimous All-American in 1969. He is in the College Football Hall of Fame. The Vols had a 26-6-1 record and won two SEC titles during his time.
He played nine years in the NFL – with Dallas, New England, Washington and Houston.
Later, he totally changed from hurting people to helping people. He added two degrees, including a doctorate in clinical psychology. He managed emergency psychiatric services for the Emory University School of Medicine in Atlanta.
Kiner forever offered a helping hand to former Vol Walter Chadwick. The tailback never got over damages suffered when a money delivery truck ran over his Volkswagen bug. Kiner never gave up doing what he could to help.
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The Kiner story is chapter 8 in my second book, Legends of the Tennessee Vols. He was born into a military family. As a youth he lived at Army bases everywhere, including Germany and Switzerland. His father was a captain, a tough guy, a four-year survivor as a prisoner of war.
Steve was all-state offense and defense, a quarterback and strong safety, in Tampa high school football. He followed his dad’s wishes and accepted a Florida scholarship. It included a summer job at the home of Bill Watson, a giant in the construction business and an extra-large Gator booster.
Steve’s assignment was mowing grass – and playing the three par-3 holes of golf on the estate.
The donor’s daughter, sunning beside the pool one day, asked Steve to bring her a Coca-Cola. He did. When she wanted another, he told her to get her own, that he was busy and her legs weren’t broken.
“Miss Watson took a very dim view of my sarcasm. That night she told her father. The next morning, Florida coach Ray Graves called to tell me my scholarship had been revoked – based on defective citizenship.”
A Florida assistant coach called a Tennessee assistant coach. Vince Gibson arrived in Gainesville that evening. Soon thereafter, Steve Kiner was a Volunteer. Florida never has liked these details.
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Kiner was a tough guy at Tennessee. A scout squad player once tried to chop-block him in practice. Kiner broke his jaw with one punch.
Years later Steve said: “To this day, I still feel badly about that one.”
Kiner, 6-1 and 210, was heavyweight fight champ of the Gibbs Hall dining room. Rupert Breedlove, a much larger basketball player, wanted to sit where Kiner was seated.
“He told me to move. His very words were ‘If you don’t like it, move to another table.’ I thought he was joking but I looked him right in the eye and decided he wasn’t.”
Tackle and captain Dick Williams was at the table.
“It wasn’t Kiner’s fault. He did nothing wrong. Rupert challenged Kiner with something like ‘You think you’re tough, don’t you.’ Kiner said no. Rupert kept on and Kiner finally stood up. Rupert gave him a push and Kiner hit him – several times.”
After that, all hell broke loose.
Kiner actually picked up Breedlove and slammed him onto the table.
Receiver Gary Kreis said he was right there, “too close for comfort.”
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In August before the 1969 season, somebody on the infamous Skywriters tour asked the linebacker about Ole Miss having the “horses” to contend for the SEC title.
I wasn’t in the room but Kiner supposedly said some people don’t know mules from horses. The Rebels took offense. Coach John Vaught, a master motivator, was delighted. He added fuel to the fire.
Kiner and Walter Chadwick in 2008
During game week in November, a mule, named Mr. Kiner, just happened to attend Ole Miss practice. A small plane flew over campus and dropped leaflet putdowns of quarterback Archie Manning, asking Archie Who?
Much later we learned that the mule and the insults were the coach’s ideas.
The net result was awful. The undefeated Volunteers prepared for a football game in Jackson, Miss. They walked into a war. The Rebels scored three touchdowns in the first quarter. They continued to overwhelm Tennessee until they grew weary of the romp. The final was 38-0. What I saw looked worse than the score. It was called the Jackson Massacre.
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That mistake aside, Kiner was the real deal. Alabama coach Paul “Bear” Bryant said Steve was the best linebacker in the league in the 1960s.
Ray Trail, then Tennessee offensive line coach, provided interesting insight.
“He was mean as hell with an ego as big as a house. He did not accept defeat. He was just what coaches are always looking for at linebacker.”
Phillip Fulmer was a sophomore guard in ‘69. His recollections are vivid.
“Steve was a wild-horse rider. He was out on the edge pretty good. When it came to practice, nobody practiced harder. When it was time for the game, nobody played harder. He had the knack for the big play. He could make the hit in the open field, he could play pass defense, and he could defend the run as tough as needed. He was one heck of a football player.”
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In my treasury is a scary story from 15 years ago, written by Dale Robertson, Houston Chronicle. It tells of the time when Kiner, driving home from work, found himself in his car in the middle of the interstate’s grassy median, pointed in the wrong direction. He had no idea how he got there.
Kiner told of playing golf with high school friends when, all of a sudden, he looked at one in startled amazement.
“I thought, ‘Who is that guy? What are we doing here?’”
Kiner said he never suffered an officially diagnosed concussion. But he estimated he “got his bell rung a dozen times a season.”
He joined a lawsuit seeking damages from the NFL.
Kiner said there were times when “I will space out to the point where, if I’m sitting with you across a table, I have no earthly idea who you are, or what we’re talking about.”
That was a long time ago. Sad to say I don’t think his memory improved.
Marvin West welcomes comments or questions from readers. His address is marvinwest75@gmail.com
I was fortunate to play with a great group of linebackers 1965 thru 1967 as the monster or rover in 66 and 67 naumof archibald and kiner and reynolds made my job easy I had to be ready because I knew they were coming I am very proud of how few points we gave up made memories I will cherish to the end
My freshman year at UT, 1966, the sports editor of the Daily Beacon couldn’t accompany the team to Houston for a rare game with Rice, so I, new to the staff, was added to the charter flight at the last minute. I didn’t even have time to rush clothes through the laundry in the basement of Hess Hall. With little to wear, I had to go to the expensive “quality men’s store” on Cumberland and buy a shirt. A blue, oxford cloth, button-down. Standard for the day; and many days before and after. It was the first, and with the possible exception of a very nice golf shirt I bought from the pro shop of a course in Hawaii on my 1997 honeymoon, the only shirt for which I have paid full price in a long, some say “too long,” life.
On the flight to Houston, I sat in the middle, between Steve Kiner and Herman Weaver.
We played Tonk for much of the flight. An interesting card game, with winning based a lot on bluffing. The stakes were maximum of a quarter a hand. I dreaded losing quarters but Kiner made clear I was going to play. For money. Came out almost even. Might have broken better than even if Kiner had paid up. Or maybe I really lost those precious dimes, nickels, and quarters.
Weaver won, as I recall. Both players were early in their careers. Widby, was Tennessee’s All American punter that year. But Herman, from rural Georgia, impressed me then, and still now, as one of the kindest country boys I’ve ever known. Distinguished himself by booming a 71-yard punt, among so many others. Becoming All American, like Widby. Then All NFC in a long pro career. Later coached at the high school I had attended in Chattanooga, Notre Dame.
Kiner did just as well; maybe better – though better than Weaver’s punting is a very high bar.
Old timers might remember how fans at Neyland would routinely roar when the visitors got the ball back. Roared because of punts from Widby and then Weaver those visitors were so deep into their own territory, and facing Kiner and others on Dickey’s hellacious defenses, that you could easily see from the stands they were facing a very serious uphill battle. Dickey’s offense nearly always started the next possession in better field possession than what they had before their previous punt.
Kiner and Frank Emanuel are my two favorite Vols on defense from that era. The two I found most tenacious. Dominant. Since then (likely before I started observing) there have been many others. Roland James . . . Leonard Little . . . Eric Berry . . . Deon Grant . . . to name just a few. I completely missed the Al Wilson years. Under my radar. I was in love. Headed to Hawaii. To buy a golf shirt. (Maybe at full price, but I still kind of doubt that part of the story. Just not in my wheelhouse. The golf shirt was the most attractively designed I’ve ever seen. Muted browns, greens, grays, etc. But I damaged it within the year by closing a car door on it and poking a hole in the front bottom right. Just above where it tucks. No matter. I wore it, almost out.)
There were fairly substantial rumors my senior year that Kiner, also a senior, played some games on LSD. And that it made him more ferocious than ever. My fellow druggies, legions, championed those rumors. I found them very hard to believe. Doing drugs that year wasn’t something you hid. Badge of honor. So I could understand him letting it slip, and then not denying. But football, or sports of any sort, from my experience, would be very difficult to play, especially concentrate on between plays, while under the influence of hallucinogens. Those rumors just didn’t make sense.
“Speed,” on the other hand (amphetamines), was even more prevalent than LSD, psilocybin, and derivatives, in 1970, and was available to and used by countless students pulling all-nighters to study for exams. I can easily see an already premier athlete, picking up on the essence of amphetamines he used a couple of times for all-nighters, and then playing well ahead of the approaching curve, wreaking havoc on the field. I played five inches above my height on a San Francisco basketball court one afternoon after a speed-fueled all-nighter spent sending out resumes. Success on both fronts.
I don’t mean in any way to besmirch Steve Kiner’s reputation. Just recounting one memorable meeting, and then a widely rumored aspect of his play from the day. My recollection is that he valued being seen as a tough guy. A bad guy.
I was especially pleased to catch up through Mr. West on Steve Kiner’s after-football career. Doctorate is a remarkable achievement. Except for the fact that it’s maybe unremarkable, as Mr. West knows from his own remarkable illustrious career, for achievers to keep achieving.
I was a Midstate kid following the Vols through the great John Ward on radio and The Nashville Tennessean’s sports pages. Steve Kiner, Curt Watson, Chip Kell, Bobby Scott et al were Saturday afternoon heroes. Dreamed of getting to Knoxville some day, which finally occurred 2 or 3 years later when another hero nicknamed The Artful Dodger was playing. The 1969 Vols were ranked No. 3 and likely headed to the Orange Bowl and a shot at the National Championship when the 38-0 debacle happened in Jackson, Miss. — a heartbreaker, a stunner. I remember to this day the Tennessean’s Sunday morning headline: REBEL ‘MULES’ KICK VOLS. Subhed: Orange Bowl Now Doubtful.
R.I.P. Mr. Kiner.
I was in the Navy during those years and I would eagerly search for news
about the Vols. The “ Jackson Massacre “ not withstanding, those are some
of my fondest memories of UT football.
Wow what a tribute to Steve Kiner Mr. West. Only you could tell the Steve Kiner Story, because you lived it! You validated everything I’d read/heard about Kiner and so much more. (and I have your amazing book!)
The “Archie Who” game vs Ole Miss led to the song I remember hearing about Papa Manning– “Archie Who” , and in a small way makes me feel connected to Steve Kiner.
As good as Al Wilson was, I don’t think he would have wanted to tangle with Steve Kiner; more than once. RIP to a Legendary VFL.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and some Steve Kiner stories, Mr. West. My earliest memories of Tennessee football was the 1967 team. Steve Kiner was one of my favorite players among the many “characters” on that team. It saddens me to learn of his death, but the equipment of his day was minimal in comparison with today’s and he is one of many who have met a premature end as a consequence. Best wishes!
Marvin, this is just such a perfect tribute to Steve. All of us who knew him well would echo your description here. A warrior, a prankster, brilliant, occasionally troubled but a Vol until too many concussions robbed him of all his memories. Thank you for honoring him with this.
Great, sad article, Marvin. Steve and Jack Reynolds surely were the greatest pair of linebackers to ever play college football together.
I agree. Then Jackie Walker joined Kiner and Reynolds for the best LB trio I ever saw on any team. Steve Kiner spent a lot of time at Rule High School when he was working on a psychology project at UT. He took a couple of guys from the projects under his wing and wound up hosting bunches of us at a time at his house on Alcoa Hwy, just past the hospital. What a thrill to meet Steve Kiner it was for me.