A TRUE BEAR HUG Shroeder's near-death experience in Junction is viewed by him as water under the bridge By Rusty Burson

Lesser men – or at least less forgiving men – would probably still be filled with outrage, anger and possibly even hatred. At the very least, you would expect – and easily understand – lingering internal battles with bitterness.

It’s been 47 years, but there are just some things most of us could never forget, some injustices you would forever struggle to forgive.

But that’s simply not Bill Schroeder’s persona. The successful lawyer and former Texas A&M lineman still recalls the afternoon of Sept. 6, 1954, but there are no grudges. And he certainly harbors no feelings of ill-will toward the man responsible for his nightmarish and near-death experience on the parched practice field in Junction.

"I can truthfully and honestly say I never hated him," Schroeder said recently from his law office in Lockhart. "Not then, not now. Life is too short for that. But I will say I was greatly disappointed at what I was told happened at the time that I went down."

Perhaps that’s why it has been easier for Schroeder to let go of any resentment. The truth of the matter is that he doesn’t even remember how it all unfolded. Not the worst part, anyway. That’s probably for the best.

Six days into Bear Bryant’s infamous and hellish training/survival camp in Junction, Schroeder was 15 pounds lighter than when he had first arrived. He was weak, dehydrated and past the point of exhaustion toward the end of that afternoon’s practice.

Paul "Bear" Bryant was notorious for his ruthless practice sessions in Junction in 1954.

But Schroeder’s uncle had played for the legendary Homer Norton at A&M in the late 1930s, and Bill had been dreaming of playing for the Aggies ever since. No amount of heat, whether produced by the scorching sun or volatile Bryant, would cause him to quit. So, Schroeder pushed on as the punt drills, the conditioning phase of practice, began.

Time and again, Schroeder and his teammates would run down the field to cover punts, then run back to where they started, huddle up and do it again. No breeze, no water breaks, no mercy.

"We had been doing this for quite some time," Schroeder said. "I was very exhausted, but we had not completed that drill, so you continue to work as hard as you possibly can and devote as much effort as you possibly can to that particular drill.

"That’s what I was doing. Apparently, I went down the field to cover the punt and, at that end of the field, I basically collapsed. I went to the ground. That is as much as I remember."

Schroeder’s internal auto pilot took over, as he pulled himself off the ground and made it back to the huddle. Unconsciously, he broke the huddle with teammates and began heading toward the line of scrimmage once again when he tripped and toppled into the drought-ravaged dirt.

Schroeder’s face began turning to shades of purple and gray. His heart raced, producing somewhere between 250 and 300 beats per minute. Schroeder had just endured a severe heatstroke, and it was time for somebody to do something to prevent him from dying.

Just at that moment, Bear Bryant did something – something appalling. Bryant kicked Schroeder hard enough that the thud could be heard from 50 yards away. Then Bryant instructed A&M trainers to, "Get this (expletive) big ox off the field and out of my sight."

Fortunately for Schroeder, that’s exactly what Billy Pickard did. Pickard, now the senior associate athletic director/facilities, raced Schroeder to a clinic in town where a Junction physician, John "Doc" Wiedeman, packed the young Schroeder in ice.

Schroeder doesn’t remember the kick, the frantic ride to the clinic or the initial moments of having his body packed with ice like a side of beef. In fact, he didn’t even realize, after coming to, the serious nature of his condition.

"I remember coming in and out of consciousness, and I kept wondering why there were these soaking wet sheets around me," Schroeder said. "But as I look back, I am just so thankful to Doc Wiedeman and his nurses. If you do not reduce the temperature quickly enough, then you’re going to have severe permanent damage that can be done to your body and your brain. It could also result in death, as has happened recently with high school, college and professional players.

"I was very fortunate he was able to get my temperature down and under some control within a short period of time so that I did not suffer brain damage, although at times I think my wife probably claims I have some."

Schroeder has no problems joking about the incident today. But his parents were certainly in no laughing mood when they heard about the entire episode.

At Bryant’s insistence and against Wiedeman’s advice, Schroeder was taken back later that same day to the Quonset huts that served as the team’s headquarters. Meanwhile, his parents were on their way from Lockhart to bring their boy back home. Schroeder’s former Lockhart teammate, Dave Smith, had called to inform them of what had transpired.

But Schroeder was a warrior, and even after being told all that had happened, he wasn’t about to quit.

"(My parents) got to Junction, and they were primarily interested in my well-being," Schroeder recalled. "I was told that Coach Bryant did not meet with them, and that was probably for the best.

"But I was bound and determined that I was not going to leave that team. I’d made up my mind that I was going to hang in there. After they brought me back out to the camp, I was not able to participate in any of the drills. I was in one of those bunk beds, and they would bring me liquids and things like that. I was really weak, but I wasn’t going to quit."

Amazingly, Schroeder came back to College Station with his teammates – one of 35 survivors from the original 115 who had begun the camp. Even more amazingly, Schroeder missed just one game that season – the 1954 opener against Texas Tech, which turned out to be a 41-9 A&M loss.

What Schroeder soon learned was that enduring a heatstroke of that nature makes you much more susceptible to the heat. So, Schroeder often had to be packed in ice on the sidelines of practices and games. Enduring the dismal 1-9 season of 1954 was grueling enough for everyone, but Schroeder’s condition made it particularly tough for him.

He needed an extended break to recuperate, so he asked Bryant to be excused from spring practices that preceded his senior season. Bryant’s answer hurt him much more than the kick the head coach had delivered.

"I basically pleaded with Coach Bryant to allow me to lay out the spring," Schroeder said. "I was completely mentally and physically exhausted. Also at that time, my mother was having a difficult time with all of this because our family doctor in Lockhart said I shouldn’t be playing.

"Coach Bryant said he would not allow me to sit out and come back in the fall because if he treated me like this, he’d have to treat everybody else that way. It was very disappointing, because I wanted so badly to play my senior year. But I knew what I had to do for my health. I couldn’t take my life into my hands like that so soon. I realized that it simply wasn’t meant for me to play that year. It wasn’t going to happen and I accepted it."

Schroeder left the team and never was able to enjoy the thrill of turning the program around. The Aggies went 7-2-1 in 1955 and 9-0-1 in ’56, with Junction survivors playing key roles in leading A&M back to respectability.

Meanwhile, Schroeder struggled for many years simply to play a full round of golf because of the heat-related problems. But he certainly didn’t spend time sulking or wondering what might have been.

Schroeder moved forward, receiving his law degree from Texas in 1963 and going to work for Congressman Jake Pickle later that year. Schroeder served as a legislative assistant and met his wife, Kay, during Pickle’s first campaign for Congress. By 1965, Schroeder was married and practicing law in Lockhart.

Today, Schroeder and his wife have two grown children, Mari-Margaret and Trey (Class of ’95), and they own a title company in Lockhart. His professional career has been an outstanding success, and in some ways, Schroeder says he can attribute some of that success to the tenacity he displayed in Junction.

"I learned some things about myself out there, and I proved to myself way back then that even under the toughest circumstances, I could stick to the cause," Schroeder said. "Mainly, though, when I look back I am just thankful. I was blessed to survive. The Lord was there with me. I have thanked God many times. The good Lord gave me the opportunity to live my life longer than probably I should have.

"I believe God has given me the opportunity to do some things, even though they may not all be grand and glorious, but He has given me the opportunity to play some part in the well being of my family, my friends and community, especially my church. I think I’ve been a more caring person because of that realization."

Schroeder even displayed that caring nature toward Bryant. On May 18, 1979, during a 25-year anniversary of the Junction trip, Schroeder zeroed in on Bryant and did what he had been waiting for years to do. Without saying a word, Schroeder found Bryant and wrapped his arms around the legendary head coach.

"He told me, ‘Billy, I just wasn’t sure if you were going to hit me or hug me,’" Schroeder said of Bryant. "I’m really glad that occurred. I think he felt the same way. And when he died, I didn’t have to wish I had let him know how I felt."

Words to live by, especially in light of the world we live in today.