A Delicate Balance : Grandparents Had Given Him a Glimpse, but USC Let Him Into the Real World After a Strict Childhood Regimen

The 11-by-22-inch poster of former rock stars Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison was a simple composition of two stark faces staring blankly into space. Yet it evoked a subtle complexity.

Much like its artist, Todd Marinovich.

Out of hundreds of entries, the poster was honored for deftly illustrating the theme of the 1988 Capistrano by the Sea Hospital student art contest, “Mental Health Is a Balanced Life.”

The judges were particularly moved by the inscription on the piece that warned, “Don’t Tip the Scales.”

Three years removed from the canvas of high school, Marinovich could not have guessed how poignant his words would sound. But life is full of little ironies.

To some, the Robo QB malfunctioned last year when the scales were tipped against him. The image, once postcard-perfect, was punctured. His frailties, once obscured, were real. The child who was programmed to some day play professional football was human after all.

Cracks surfaced when Marinovich left his father’s home for USC, where he started as quarterback for much of the 1989 and ’90 seasons. He had fleeting moments of brilliance, moments that were diminished by rumors of drug use and dissension.

Then came the avalanche.

Last January, Marinovich was arrested for possession of cocaine and marijuana only yards from his mother’s home in Balboa. His grades as a fine arts major had fallen below a C average. And a once-flourishing college football career ended in dismissal by USC Coach Larry Smith.

In some ways, Marinovich mirrored the poster that he drew as a senior at Capistrano Valley High, when he was everybody’s all-American.

Two faces, two Todds.

But every picture tells a story.

THEORY OF CREATION

In a way, they were the same about wanting to be the best, but they had different ideas how to get there.

--Todd Marinovich on the views of his father and grandparents

Marv Marinovich was a ballplayer whose fortitude, as much as talent, made him an outstanding USC lineman. He was captain of the 1962 Trojans and briefly played for the Oakland Raiders.

His wife, Trudi Fertig, was a USC student whose brother, Craig, was a star Trojan quarterback.

It seemed inevitable that their son, Todd, would one day wear the cardinal and gold into the Coliseum on Saturday afternoons.

The making of a quarterback started with Trudi taking vitamin supplements and minerals before she was pregnant with her second child. Once born, Todd teethed on frozen raw kidney chunks for vitamins and minerals. He nursed on mother’s milk and goat’s milk and was not served processed foods.

He did daily stretching exercises with soft background music when 2 weeks old. A football was placed in his crib for amusement. The Marinovich children were permitted to watch only educational programming on television.

With his father’s prodding, Marinovich trained every day, weekends and holidays included. Marv, a coach, trainer and NFL scout, not only instilled his knowledge, but enlisted a cadre of experts.

Under such guidance, Marinovich grew into a solid figure. Teachers at Newport Elementary School assigned him to seats in the back row because of his size. But they eventually moved him up because he was shy.

Every year during teacher-parent conferences, Trudi heard the same discourse: A good child but needs to be more outgoing. That was difficult. His older sister, Traci, like his mother, was extroverted. She dominated Todd, so he crawled into his own, bashful world.

There, he discovered art. When Todd was 6, he was mesmerized by his great grandmother’s painting during a visit in Santa Cruz.

Nell Brink set up a tiny easel next to hers. Todd sat down and she helped him copy her work. They produced a colorful, potted flower scene. Since then, oils have been Marinovich’s favorite medium.

Todd saw how other people lived by spending time with his mother’s parents, Henry and Virginia Fertig of Balboa, a fun-loving couple and football fans. Henry, a former Huntington Park police chief, turned his family room into a living museum with mementos of USC and the Fertig football legacy. He always left space for Todd’s future accomplishments.

But as much as football engulfed their lives, the Fertigs did not endorse Marv Marinovich’s map to greatness. They told Todd not to perform Marv’s workouts if he did not feel like it. They fed him hamburgers and other food Marv prohibited.

Consequently, Henry Fertig and Marv clashed.

“It has been good for me to be in one situation for a while. Then I can always get up and go to another one,” Marinovich said. “It never confused me. I knew what both sides were thinking.”

Still, the boy was receiving mixed signals from those closest to him. To please everyone, he learned the art of compromise. He adhered to his father’s strict regimen at home but enjoyed the pleasures of the Fertigs when away.

The beach was an escape from the pressures of training. His grandfather, known as the Chief, took him fishing out of Davey’s Locker in Newport Beach. As he got older, he learned to bodysurf the infamous Wedge at end of the Balboa Peninsula.

He recently told his father that he loved his upbringing but wished he had some time off between sports. If not at a game, he was in the garage, which Marv transformed into a makeshift gymnasium. The neighborhood children spent much of their summers playing strength games there. Half stayed for dinner.

“People always said Marv wanted Todd to be a pro quarterback,” said Mike O’Conner, an Akron University center who trained with Marinovich since sixth grade. “But there is no person who would be capable of putting in the time and effort that Todd did unless they wanted to.”

By junior high school, Marinovich told his father that he wanted to be a professional quarterback. His father immediately developed a program with that in mind. First priority was finding the right high school program.

THROW WITH THE FLOW

I’ve always been one to roll with the punches and go with almost anything.

.--Todd Marinovich on fitting in.

As it turned out, the reasons Todd chose Mater Dei High in Santa Ana had less to do with football than basketball. He wanted to play for the Monarchs’ Gary McKnight, who coached Todd’s youth all-star team.

Marinovich entered the school as a 15-year-old with a big reputation. It took one game, played before fall classes started, for this kind of scrutiny from then Times’ prep writer Pat Cannon:

“Under the microscope: Author George Orwell would have loved Rams’ scout Marv Marinovich and his son, Todd. Programmed from birth to be an athlete, Todd, 15, a freshman, opened at quarterback for Mater Dei Friday night. He completed 9 of 17 passes for 123 yards.

“It is fitting perhaps that in 1984, a father should devote another person’s life to the pursuit of what he perceives to be the ultimate quest--to become a quarterback. Young Todd, a 6-3, 170-pounder, who repeated his seventh grade in order to be physically mature enough for physically demanding eighth grade, has a speed development coach, a technique coach and muscular-development coach.

“If the experiment works out, the thoroughly programmed athlete will eventually land a college scholarship and then a seven-figure contract. And isn’t that what high school sports is all about?”

A part of childhood evaporated that Friday night, Sept. 7, 1984, when Marinovich and Mater Dei barely lost to powerhouse Fountain Valley. As his son stepped onto the field at Orange Coast College’s LeBard Stadium, Marv was teary-eyed.

On the ride home after the game, an excited Marinovich told his father, “It’s all worth it. I love basketball, but there’s nothing like being the quarterback.”

Although playing was exciting, he also wanted to fit in with teammates. At first, they resented him. But then accepted him because of his talent and personality. Marinovich was a willing partner in whatever mischief the gang would suggest.

Marinovich won over Matt Spence, the projected quarterback before his arrival. Spence switched to running back to accommodate the freshman. Through that friendship, he met Spence’s sister, Lanie, who first disliked him because he had taken her brother’s position.

“I thought he was a geek. Then I fell in love with him,” she said.

She was good for the star quarterback, introducing him to the joys of teen-hood. Spence organized Marinovich’s first surprise birthday when he was 16. She invited about 100 family members and friends.

Marinovich walked into the house and everyone shouted, “Surprise!” Lanie could see a sparkle in Todd’s eyes. He went over to the presents and began opening them. Lanie and Trudi said, “Wait a minute, Todd. You’re supposed to come into the party and say hello to everyone and let us sing to you first.”

Said Spence: “He is very much like a little kid in a lot of ways.”

By the time Marinovich turned 16, life was rapidly changing. His father and mother divorced during his sophomore year, and he was about to leave his Mater Dei friends to attend Capistrano Valley High in Mission Viejo.

The excitement of Mater Dei football had not lasted. Marv observed practices and was unimpressed with the football coaching staff. He felt the system was not designed to protect his son in the pocket. He found an ally in Dick Enright at Capistrano Valley, the same Dick Enright who coached Dan Fouts at the University of Oregon.

The transfer caused an uproar in Orange County high school football. Officials of the Southern Section of the California Interscholastic Federation threatened to legislate a rule that would make Marinovich’s transfer illegal. They eventually backed down.

A PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE

Todd is a loyal kid.

--Marv Marinovich

The first time Enright saw his quarterback on campus, he did a double take. Enright was chaperoning a lip sync concert in the Capistrano Valley gymnasium, where students dressed as rock stars and took the stage with blaring music and flashing lights. As Enright looked over the audience, he saw the redhead in the front row, head bobbing, arms flailing. Was it really the same introverted youngster from the Catholic school he had heard so much about?

On the field, Enright was about to get another surprise. The highly touted quarterback did not want to be pampered. When the coaches called for the dreaded “pit drill,” a one-on-one blocking exercise, Marinovich was first to volunteer.

“Who’s the toughest linemen we got?” he asked Enright. Mike West, he was told.

“Mike West, that’s the one I want.”

Said Enright: “Dan Fouts was the toughest quarterback I’ve ever seen, but he wouldn’t do that drill.”

In the first game, Marinovich proved his mettle. He suffered a broken thumb on his passing hand and had to leave. As the Cougars fell behind at halftime, Marinovich asked the team doctor if he could play. The thumb was bandaged, and Marinovich returned to lead the team to victory.

While the Marinovichs were carving a niche in Mission Viejo, across the Saddleback Valley at El Toro High another father-son combination was rivaling their success. Coach Bob Johnson and his quarterback son, Bret, challenged the Marinovichs and Capistrano Valley for the South Coast League title for two seasons.

Bob Johnson made much of the manufacturing of Marinovich. He told reporters that his son was a natural athlete who was not pressured into playing as a child. Marv Marinovich countered that his son would be the one playing in the NFL while Johnson would struggle in college. Johnson, who left UCLA after two seasons because he lost his starting job, recently was demoted to a backup role at Michigan State.

Johnson and El Toro won round one during his junior season, 17-15. But Marinovich led his team to victory in 1988, 22-21, as more than 8,000 watched two of America’s finest prep quarterbacks play. It was Bret Johnson’s first high school loss.

The publicity from the Johnson-Marinovich rivalry turned out to pale in comparison to what happened next. Before the regular-season finale against rival Mission Viejo, an acquaintance of Enright’s was caught video-taping the opponent’s practice, a violation of CIF rules. The ensuing furor resulted in Enright’s dismissal. He has not coached a high school team since.

Enright heard the crowd’s roar from his nearby home that rainy night when Capistrano Valley suffered its first loss of the season. About 1 a.m. Enright heard a knock on the door. He opened it to find Marinovich standing in the doorway, sopping wet from the rain. Enright asked him in.

“I tried to win it for you, Coach. I tried,” he told Enright, then collapsed in his arms.

“He will give you everything that he’s got, and he was always that way,” Enright said. “He is emotional. His eyes would get all teary because he wants to get back in and play.”

BOTH SIDES NOW

People never knew the other side. Once they heard about the training and everything, they didn’t want to hear about anything else.

--Todd Marinovich

While Marinovich was setting high school passing records, many only saw the result of his upbringing. They would have to enter his secret world to go beyond the facade. Marinovich was a teen-ager who liked rock ‘n’ roll, parties and a normal high school life.

He found those characteristics in some Capistrano Valley basketball players with whom he played during the winter. Marinovich was close to the football team--Matt Spence even transferred with him from Mater Dei to remain in his backfield--but he was drawn to the eccentric basketball group.

“They looked like Grateful Dead people,” said Brian Mulligan, a basketball coach and history teacher.

They were creative, energetic teens who paid homage to the late ‘60s. The sights and sounds of the counterculture were far removed from the Marinovich home, now shared by Todd and his father. But the artist in Marinovich was curious.

Marinovich was drawn to one person in particular, Marco Forester. Basketball was OK, but Forester and friends escaped growing pains through music. They introduced Marinovich to their favorite tunes and took him to concerts. Marinovich preferred live performances because he imagined it was the same exhilarating feeling as throwing a touchdown pass in front of thousands.

“I’m glad I ran into them,” Marinovich said. “They let me in on this other part that I didn’t know about.”

The music and offbeat friends seemed uncharacteristic, but Marinovich was full of surprises for those who knew the image, not the person. Some Capistrano Valley teachers started hearing rumors about Marinovich’s marijuana use, which he denies.

Marinovich was told by one teacher who knew the family that he was a prime candidate for chemical abuse. The teacher told him to be weary of the trappings that ensnared so many other youngsters. Marinovich nodded his head.

He had heard the lecture before. His grandfather used to tell him about the horrible crimes of the city, and how drugs ruined lives.

But the desire to fit in was strong. That meant going to parties. Only his closest friends were not surprised when he barbecued steaks at a party in San Clemente one night. As it got late, the party’s host told Todd and Mike O’Conner to help themselves in the kitchen. They took six thick steaks out of the freezer. Marinovich looked at O’Conner and said, “Let’s fire up the barbecue.”

Everybody was saying, “Wait a minute, you’re not supposed to be eating that.” Marinovich simply laughed his long, drawn out chuckle.

“We ate until we couldn’t eat anymore,” O’Conner said.

By the end of his senior year, Marinovich was Orange County’s all-time leading prep passer, an all-star basketball player and was drafted by the Angels as a pitcher.

When he won third place in the Capistrano by the Sea Hospital art contest, he was so busy with recruiting trips and athletic award ceremonies that it hardly was noticed. But he was happy to earn the money from the contest so he could pay for the Senior Prom.

Although offers came from every major passing school, Marinovich chose USC--like his father, mother, sister and uncle before him. On one recruiting trip, the veteran players took him out to show him the town. Before picking him up, they decided to be subdued. They wanted to respect Marinovich’s shiny reputation.

They were stunned to discover a wild streak as he asked about the USC party scene. There was much they did not know about their future quarterback.

In time, they would learn.

THROWING A PARTY

He got crazy, but no more than any other college student.

--Scott Ross, a star USC linebacker

and Marinovich’s close friend.

USC players discovered Marinovich was not the strait-laced fellow they had heard so much about. Trojan players from Orange County schools circulated old rumors about Marinovich’s marijuana use, which he got tired of denying. Extra baggage was difficult to ditch, even in Los Angeles.

But not much was made of it while he was in the background his first year. Familiar with close scrutiny, Marinovich ignored the gossip.

Within a year, however, he took his place in the Trojan backfield, and his life was about to change.

Ten days before the 1989 season opener against Illinois, projected starter Pat O’Hara took a hard hit during a scrimmage and suffered a knee injury. Marinovich, then No. 2 on the depth chart, was elevated to starter.

The coaching staff brought the redshirt freshman along slowly. But as the season progressed, so did the quarterback. The watershed came against Washington State at Pullman, in Marinovich’s fourth game. Highly favored USC was trailing, 17-10, late in the game and was on the verge of being eliminated from the Rose Bowl race.

USC had the ball about 80 yards from the end zone. It needed a touchdown and two-point conversion. Marinovich took command in the huddle. He barked orders. All-American seniors jumped. The result was seven crucial completions, including a touchdown pass and two-point conversion for an 18-17 victory.

USC finished 9-2-1, including more Marinovich dramatics in a 17-10 Rose Bowl victory over Michigan. By the end of the season some Trojan fans wore buttons proclaiming, “In Todd We Trust.” Marinovich was voted college football’s freshman player of the year.

While the left-handed passer matured as a quarterback, the strict control by Marv Marinovich slackened. Suddenly, Todd had choices: What to eat, whom to meet. Marinovich embarked upon the often-painful journey of self discovery.

What he found was fraternity life. Or perhaps it found him. He joined Alpha Tau Omega, a group whose wont for partying is part of Fraternity Row’s storied, and often disreputable, past.

“Boy, I had fun with a lot of good friends,” Marinovich said.

His crew enjoyed more than a few beers at the 502 Club near the campus. They became Thursday night regulars. Others took notice.

“Here was this redhead, clean-cut kid, who supposedly didn’t smoke, drink, eat candy or a hamburger,” said a former USC star who declined to be identified.

“And then, every Thursday night you could find him out turning up a pitcher of beer.”

Boy, did people notice.

Staff writers Jerry Crowe and Lonnie White contributed to this story.