THE FRONT ROW with MARK NELKE: After all these years, Jerry Kramer still tells a great story

Folks strolled by the reception desks at The Coeur d'Alene Resort on Saturday morning, sneaking a peak at the gentleman nearby, sitting across from the big fish tank, being interviewed by a Spokane TV sports caster, then by a local sports writer.

You wonder how many of them recognized Jerry Kramer.

The Montana-born Kramer, who achieved legendary status playing football at Sandpoint High, at the University of Idaho and with the Green Bay Packers, was at ease as always, as he shared stories about the past, the present and the future.

At age 85.

Kramer, who lives in Garden City just outside Boise, has spent much of the last year in quarantine. Now fully vaccinated, he recently started getting back out on the road — participating in autograph sessions and tending to other business.

Basically, being Jerry Kramer.

This weekend Kramer, sporting a huge ring on his left hand marking his induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 2018, was in town as guest speaker at the 58th North Idaho Sports Banquet at The Resort.

Here are just a few stories — for now — that he shared Saturday morning.

HIS SON Matt, who came up with his dad for the weekend, told the story of an email he received from a pair of former Vandals, Mike Hughes and Eric Hisaw, that talked about playing Boise State, then a heated rival, a couple decades ago.

"He (Jerry) came in and gave a halftime speech, and the energy level and the enthusiasm was so damn high … it didn’t matter who was on the field, we would have smashed em," Matt said, quoting the message. "The motivation and the speech that he gave, the fire in your belly and the burn in your belly and the ice in your mind so you play cool-headed, but with fire in your heart. It was pretty awesome."

Jerry Kramer takes it from there.

"I’m a very strong believer in passion and emotion and fire ... hunger … drive … need," he said. "I think they increase your strength. They give you another level of performance. Normally in the athletic world, we know how much activity we’re going to have, and we kinda pace ourselves … we’re going to run four laps, but we’re not going to sprint, we’re going to jog. We’re going to get around there and everything’s fine, right?

"Well, you get real passionate about things, and you believe in things and you get emotional, and that emotion overcomes that lethargy of trotting. Now all of a sudden you’re running, and you’re busting your hump too, and you don’t think about being tired or being worn out. You think about getting it done. Your heart’s pounding, and your mind is clear and crisp. And the emotion is a fire; it’s something that we haven’t totally understood."

Kramer then related an experience he had at the state track meet, while at Sandpoint High, that "stunned me."

"I shot myself in the arm with my shotgun (right arm), and blew it half off," he recalled of his teenage years in Sandpoint. "I can’t open my fingers, and so I was still trying to throw the shot put because I didn’t want to be thought of as a cripple, right? I got down to Boise for state as a senior in high school, and there was a lot of people in the stands (at Bronco Stadium), several thousand people, right.

"And I choked.

"I got the lump. I’m the first thrower, I’ve got the best throw in the state, and I’m standing beside the ring, warmed up, and I’m ready to throw, and just before I step into the ring, the loudspeaker goes off:

'And now, from Sandpoint, Idaho, Jerrrrry Kramerrrrr.'

"And I just choked like a goat. I threw the shot put, and it only went about 30 feet. And they had four judges there that were judging the event, and they couldn’t mark it, it was so short, that they couldn’t mark it. So we stood there for 20 minutes, and they talked about what they were going to do, and not going to do, and what they should do.

‘Well, it was way up there. You’ve got to mark it.'

‘Well, there’s a lot of indentations up there, I don’t know which one it was.'

‘Well, it’s a fair throw, you’ve got to mark it.'

"And 20 minutes of that, they said 'Well, let’s give him another throw.' And they literally gave me an extra throw, because they couldn’t mark the first one.

"So, I’m angry now. I’m angry at myself. And my passion is high. My energy level is high. And I’m a little bit angry.

So I step in the ring, and my next throw is 51-10. And I break a state record that had been there for 17 years.

"And I’m thinking, what just happened? That’s an iron ball. A 12-pound ball, and your mind can impact the performance to that degree. Is that possible? What happened?

"I stunned myself with my performance; they didn’t know how to measure it; they didn’t know what to think … so ultimately and eventually, I developed that anger. I’d get angry; I’d have to work at it.

"If I was going to play on Sunday (in the NFL), I’d get a little bit angry on Wednesday; I’d spend 15, 20, 30 minutes. And then Thursday, maybe an hour and Friday, maybe an hour. And then Sunday morning I’d get up and I’m angry. And I don’t want to see anybody, I don’t want to talk to anybody, I want to build that fire.

"So I went through the preparation, and all that energy generation, for the rest of my career. As long as I played the game, I played with passion. It was kind of an anger, but more of a passion, because it wasn’t stupid. … I was still intelligent about the penalties and the things that might hurt your team. You didn’t want to do anything stupid like that. But it was an exercise in passion, I guess.

"I still feel very passionate about it, and am still a little bit stunned that you can double your performance with a big iron ball. It just doesn’t make a helluva lot of sense."

Do you have a favorite story about your high school coach, "Cotton" Barlow?

"We used to go from the high school, down to the stadium (to practice at Memorial Field), and it was probably half a mile," Kramer said. "And we’d run down the alley, behind the houses, we’d come out by Dub’s Drive-Inn, and then we’d run toward the stadium. And there were always a few apple trees, and that time of year, the apples were getting pretty good. "So I would grab a couple of apples, and stuff them in my pants, or shirt, or wherever. And I would find time to eat them when I was at a drill that coach Barlow wasn’t at. So, I had a couple apples one day and I finished one and I threw the core — I was trying to throw it far enough away where he wouldn’t see it and he looked up … 'What was that? What is that? Go get that!'

So he let us run a few extra windsprints, and gave me a chewin’. It was kinda funny in a way, but the other guys didn’t think it was funny because everybody had to run.

"He (Barlow) was a very bright fellow, good man," Kramer continued. "When I first met him, I said I wanted to play fullback. My brother was a halfback, and I wanted to be a fullback.

"He said, 'Well, Jerry, that’s fine. You can be a fullback if you want to sit on the bench, because we have a fullback. And we don’t have a tackle. We need a tackle. If you want to play tackle, you could probably start.'

"I sure would much rather start than sit on the bench. So I guess I’ll play tackle.

And the advent of the motivational phrase Kramer has used for decades — "You can, if you will."

"We had a line coach named 'Dusty' Kline," Kramer recalled, "and he came up to me, and he was an older gentleman, wise and whatnot, and I was a sophomore, and I was awkward, a baby calf — stumble, fumble and fall. I was growing ...

"He comes up to me one day and he takes my hands … 'Son, you have big hands, and you’ve got big feet. And you’re going to grow into them one of these days. And you’re going to be a whale of a player. It’s going to take a while, but …

"And then he started to walk away and he stopped and turned back and looked at me, and it was almost like a Mona Lisa smile — just a faint smile from a wise, old gentleman. And he said, ‘You can, if you will.'

"Can what? If I will what? What are you talking about? What do you mean?" Kramer thought.

"And he just left me to think about it. And it was something that stayed with me the rest of my life.

"He was a veteran; he’d been to town, and he was wise, so I listened to him. And there’s a whole lot of stuff in that little sentence."

Mark Nelke is sports editor of The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2019, or via email at mnelke@cdapress.com. Follow him on Twitter @CdAPressSports.