Former OU All-American Louis Oubre left one football team he loved...only to rediscover another

The Oklahoman ^ | Monday, September 26, 2005 | Berry Tramel

[WestTexasWend]

DALLAS -- Louis Oubre's belongings languish in the sludge of New Orleans East.

Oubre escaped his hometown with his 2005 Mazda Tribute, a little cash, three pairs of shorts, his size-14 sneakers, a McDonogh 35 High School shirt, one pair of underwear and one pair of socks.

Oubre thought he would be back in a day or two but now might never return.

He's starting over in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas, with his fiance and her two children.

Oubre's biggest regret is not lost possessions, not even the memorabilia from his days as an Oklahoma football All-American.

His biggest loss is the breakup of five senior offensive linemen at McDonogh 35, now scattered across the continent by Hurricane Katrina. Oubre was their position coach; they were in his charge.

Oubre had found a calling. Making a difference in the lives of hardscrabble boys.

But a funny thing happened to the man separated from his football team. Oubre found another, one he had lost years before.

Oubre came to OU in 1976 as a National Merit semifinalist from New Orleans, blocked for Thomas Lott and Billy Sims and made All-American in 1980. Earned an accounting degree and played five years in the NFL, four with his hometown Saints.

Then Oubre joined the Treasury Department and became an undercover drug agent.

Sounds exciting. It was. A little too exciting, over 13 years.

Oubre tells stories of sitting across from gun-toting gangsters while a supervisor directed him through a hidden transmitter.

Oubre was involved in a Philadelphia court case in which an affluent lawyer he had gathered evidence against accused him of having sex with her.

After he left the department, Oubre pled guilty to a misdemeanor of embezzling money from the IRS through expense accounts while working undercover.

Oubre says his blood pressure had soared while working undercover. Depression set in. He figures he was suicidal. Maybe even homicidal.

Oubre says he eventually became a drug addict. "I had lost all hope in the world," he said.

Drug rehab didn't work. Shame did.

"It was like God spoke to me, 'What's wrong with you?'" Oubre said. "Louis, you weren't raised like this.'"

Since that day, Oubre said, he hasn't touched drugs and no longer drinks, no small thing for a man who lived it up on Bourbon Street with the likes of Kenny Stabler, the former Saints quarterback and legendary partier.

"I should be dead," Oubre said. "I'm still alive for a reason."

Oubre and fiance Dana Rouzan drove up Interstate 55 to Jackson, Miss., fleeing Katrina.

They had hunkered down in Oubre's apartment on Aug. 27. When they went to sleep, Katrina was a Category 3. The next morning, it was a Category 5.

When New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin issued a mandatory evacuation, off they went, arriving in Jackson the night before the hurricane veered east and took out much of the Mississippi gulf coast.

Reaching I-20, they talked about turning toward Birmingham, Ala., and Atlanta.

But then Oubre thought of Terry Crouch, his old pal from Sooner days, whom Rouzan had never met. Crouch lived in Dallas.

Said Oubre, "Let's go see T.C."

His drug days -- enforcing and using -- behind him, Oubre four years ago found a passion in helping kids.

Teaching. Coaching. Conducting camps.

Working on becoming certified to teach, Oubre began substituting at Thurgood Marshall Junior High, where the students were drawn to the massive man they called "Mr. O."

So was fellow teacher Dana Rouzan.

"His smile, his demeanor, we just clicked," she said.

Rouzan and Oubre, twice married and father of a daughter attending OU, became engaged.

Oubre began coaching at McDonogh 35, a New Orleans magnet school. He connected with five boys who would become his offensive line: Julius Nero, Josh Keelen, William Walker, Rashan Williams and Quincy Hooks.

"My offensive linemen are my sons," Oubre said. "I fuss at 'em. Check on their grades. Take 'em home. Make sure they do the right things."

On Aug. 25, four days before New Orleans began to drown, the Times-Picayune's high-school football preview ran a 1,500-word story on McDonogh 35's offensive line.

Except they're not together anymore. Katrina blew them to Maryland and Nebraska, Boston and Baton Rouge.

Since the hurricane, losing those boys has been the hardest thing. They never will play again at McDonogh 35.

"Material things can be replaced," Rouzan said. "But wondering how far you could have gotten, that's a different story."

Oubre and Terry Crouch were best friends and roommates. Side by side, they were 1980 All-Americans on the OU line.

When Jeff Snook interviewed each last year for his new book, "What It Means To Be A Sooner," Crouch and Oubre spoke warmly of the other.

But they let decades pass without staying in touch.

When interviewed for the book, Crouch asked what had become of Oubre. Snook had a phone number, and Crouch made the call.

They talked of old times and new lives and vowed to stay in touch.

But their reunion came under tragic circumstance. Oubre and Rouzan drove all night from Jackson, stopping maybe 40 times, looking for a room, but every inn was booked.

Finally, around 5 a.m., they rolled into the Dallas suburb of Mesquite and found a little place. They slept all day and into the evening, got up, went to eat and paid little attention to the hurricane, which seemingly had spared New Orleans.

The next morning, they called Crouch and discovered their homes were swamped.

Crouch immediately sprang into action. He refused to let Oubre and Rouzan sit around dazed. He kept them moving, looking for housing, looking for jobs.

As Crouch drove them around Dallas, Rouzan turned to Oubre and said, "Louis, I think I want to stay here. Ain't much to go back to."

Rouzan is certified to teach in Texas, and Crouch helped her find work immediately as a sub in the Cedar Hill school district, with the possibility of a full-time assignment.

Oubre has been subbing and looking for coaching work, too.

A relief agency helped Oubre and Rouzan find an apartment. But they still were starting over, from scratch.

So Crouch sought more help for Oubre, from former teammates and a coach they'll never forget.

"You recruit 'em, you got 'em for life," says Barry Switzer. "That's part of the responsibility."

He coached at OU for 23 years. Those seven seasons as an assistant count, too.

And even after he moved into the big office, he never constructed that wall between players and himself.

Said Oubre, "We all look to him. He knows that. He's stuck with us for life."

And so Crouch made a call.

Switzer recruited help to transport items to Dallas. Called on the listeners to his weekly radio show to donate furniture. The care package included a sofa, some beds, a dinette set and television.

Switzer; his wife, Becky, and some OU boosters delivered the items two weeks ago. Crouch came over, Rouzan cooked red beans and they all sat around for hours, telling old stories.

But the OU connections went deeper than Switzer. Crouch also contacted former teammates, telling them of Oubre's plight.

And here came the letters, stocked with cash. From stars like Lott and Sims; from Sooners maybe you've forgotten about, like Bruce Taton and Bud Hebert, Scott Hill and Ed Culver; and from Sooners that maybe you never heard of, like Jeff Williams and Bill O'Gara, Ken Sitton and Keith Angel, Kent Bradford and Jim Jones.

The letters from his teammates sit like an ornament in a neat pile on his donated coffee table.

"I feel like I'm back with family now," Oubre said. "Yeah, I've lost everything. But I got it once, I can get it again.

"I don't feel alone. I felt alone at times in New Orleans. I can call anyone in that pile here. I forgot how that felt."