Eagles' McCoy Harrisburg's hometown hero

HARRISBURG - Bishop McDevitt's defensive players hated hearing about "Shady," the little kid who lived a few blocks from their twin-spired school, which looms over Harrisburg's Market Street like a dark castle.

Coach Jeff Weachter loved to tell them about LeSean McCoy's youth-football exploits and how the young running back, when he reached high school, was going to leave them all grasping at air.

"We moved him up to varsity in ninth grade," Weachter recalled last week in his dank basement office at the 85-year-old school, where's he's coached nine years. "The first day we let the kids go live, they were yelling, 'Put Shady in!' 'Put Shady in!' They wanted a piece of him.

"We had a very good defense, a tremendous middle linebacker, a freak safety. Shady got the ball, and they were waiting for him. He put them on the ground. He went in standing up. He's laughing and talking the way Shady always does. The older kids came up to me and said, 'You're right, Coach, Shady's the real deal.' "

Now Eagles fans, encouraged by the 21-year-old rookie's early showing, especially his nationally televised performance in a win over the Bears last Sunday, want to believe that, too.

The LeSean McCoy they watched bow proudly to NBC's cameras following his Soldier Field touchdown had been pointed toward that moment ever since Weachter persuaded him he wouldn't be the next Allen Iverson.

Strong, fast and determined, there never was any question about McCoy's ability here in his capital city hometown. He dominated Harrisburg's youth leagues, even though he invariably

played against older boys. He did the same at McDevitt, where as a sophomore and junior he rushed for an astounding 5,389 yards and 59 touchdowns.

Seventy-six Division I schools, including Southern Cal, Notre Dame and Miami, wanted him. Pete Carroll came in person to see him. So did Charlie Weis and scores of other coaches.

The only things that seemed capable of derailing this NFL express were academic troubles and injury. Then, midway through his senior season, both gang-tackled him.

He was without football for the first time, and it began to transform him. It was, after all, his prowess on the field that had inspired McCoy's brassy persona off it.

"He knew he was better than the other kids," said Rob Straining, McCoy's first coach with the East Shore Royals. "LeSean was a good kid. But he was a real [talker], too."

Without football, McCoy began to come apart.

But with the help of a New York prep school, an orthopedic surgeon, and a network of hometown support, he finally broke free from his problems and returned to the path that last April landed him in Philadelphia as the Eagles' No. 2 draft pick.

Shady is back in the sunshine.

"I've known him since he was 8," said Weachter, 40, who also coached his older brother, LeRon, a onetime Arizona Cardinals wideout. "He's a really good kid. Overly friendly. He had good days and bad days like any other kid. But most of his days were really good."

One of those bad days came four years ago, a few weeks after a blindside tackler from archrival Harrisburg had shattered his right ankle and an overflow crowd of 11,000 fans at McDevitt's field had to part to make room for an ambulance.

That day in the fall of 2005, McCoy, as he often did late in the afternoon, went down to Weachter's office. It was clear his bulky ankle cast wasn't the only extra burden the 17-year-old tailback bore. Normally outgoing, he silently crumpled into a worn leather sofa.

"Coach," McCoy mumbled, "I don't think I'm ever going to be the same."

His phenomenal ability had shaped the over-the-top character his friends and teammates knew as Shady McCoy. He needed football to sustain him.

In the junior-year team photo, McCoy is seated next to Weachter, both hands wrapped so tightly around a ball that it looks as if he is afraid someone might try to take it away.

Sidelined now, his self-worth disintegrated. He slipped into depression. His grades, always a concern, tumbled. Suddenly, a future that had seemed so bright was in doubt.

"It was very scary," Weachter said.

One of the big-time college coaches recruiting McCoy - Weachter wouldn't say which one - advised him to get the injured tailback into a prep school as soon as possible.

"He was probably going to have to go anyway, and he said he might as well go now. . . . Shady's an intelligent kid," said Weachter. "But he has some problems with time management. He's still got some maturing to do."

Academic concerns also prevented McCoy from becoming a two-sport star at McDevitt.

In ninth grade, sitting on the school's front steps, he bragged to his coach that he was going to be the next Allen Iverson. Weachter agreed that he'd be rich and famous, but told him it would happen through football. McCoy wasn't convinced.

Eventually, the teenager's parents made the decision for him. When his freshman grades slipped, they forced their youngest son to drop basketball.

He still struggled with schoolwork, but as a senior, when he knew he needed to raise his GPA to qualify for a scholarship, he at last buckled down.

"He had straight A's the first few weeks of senior year," said Weachter. "Then he broke the ankle."

The compound fracture was severe. McDevitt officials made sure his operation was performed by the Harrisburg area's top orthopedic surgeon. By the time he got to Milford Academy in remote New Berlin, N.Y., it was clear McCoy's ankle had healed faster than his psyche.

"He was homesick way out there," said Aaron Berry, a teammate at both McDevitt and Pitt. "He's a very social person. And there wasn't anything out there but a Wal-Mart."

McCoy himself said he often sat alone in his room at Milford, wondering if he'd ever again play football at the level he'd displayed at McDevitt.

If nothing else, that experience convinced him he ought to stay close to home. Having committed to Miami, he reversed course and chose Pitt. Two sensational years later, he was an Eagle.

"He's done Harrisburg proud," Berry said.

McCoy grew up on 15th Street in a gritty neighborhood, 10 blocks from the state Capitol. His father, Ron, works for FedEx; his mother, Daphne, for the state.

Because even as a toddler his mood could shift quickly from sunny to gloomy, his mother called him Shady.

Having watched LeRon, six years his senior, play for the East Shore Royals in Harrisburg's Catholic Youth League, McCoy was eager to follow.

"I had LeSean on the line his first year" as a 7-year-old, Straining said. "The next year, I made him a running back."

McCoy, according to Straining and Weachter, couldn't be stopped by players his own age.

"Each year I'd go back and watch him play midgets," Weachter said, "and I'd say, 'I can't wait until I get him.' He had so much natural ability."

At McDevitt, the outspoken star became a locker-room favorite and a workout-room fixture. As a senior, he bench-pressed 370 pounds and weighed the same 210 he's listed at now. (When that season dawned, he was running behind a line that, according to Weachter, averaged 6-foot-4, 315 pounds.)

His weight ballooned to 230 at Milford, but rededicated at Pitt, the pounds came off and the upbeat personality returned.

When the Eagles told him they wanted him to report at 210, McCoy, then 218, worked out during the summer with McDevitt, even playing the role of the opposition's running back at practice one day.

He enjoyed playacting with his old team so much that he told Weachter he'd be back early the next morning to do it again.

"But then his mom reminded him he couldn't do that because he had an appointment to see a realtor in Philadelphia," Weachter recalled. "It didn't even cross his mind. That's just the way he is. He's like a big kid sometimes."

McDevitt, a school whose declining enrollment (just over 750 boys and girls) and cramped campus have forced officials to consider a move to the suburbs, also produced another Eagles running back, Ricky Watters.

At some point, Watters contacted McCoy with advice on college and an NFL career. Now the younger man serves that same role with the school's latest tailback prospect, Jameel Poteat, nephew of Cleveland Browns cornerback Hank Poteat.

McCoy went to one of Poteat's games this season wearing a specially made McDevitt jersey with his number and Poteat's name on it. He has summoned former players to attend homecoming or rivalry games and scolds those who don't.

Two days before Thanksgiving, an Eagles off-day, he was back at school, chatting with Weachter, Poteat and other players. He remains fiercely loyal to those who have helped him.

In his junior season, for example, Internet rumors surfaced that Weachter's job was in jeopardy. McCoy, coming off a minor ankle injury, was upset.

"He barely slept the night before the game," his mother said. "He kept saying he wasn't going to let anything happen to Coach."

On a muddy field against perennial power Cumberland Valley, McCoy took the initial handoff 70 yards for a touchdown. He would end up with 350 yards and six touchdowns. Afterward, he sought out Weachter, hugged him and said, "Coach, I love you."

Now, all seems right for McCoy. He is starting for the Eagles, playing well, poised to garner fame and fortune in his home state. His friends here are happy for him. But still they worry.

"He's awfully close to home," Weachter said. "He's a good kid. He's got a good head on his shoulders. He's not one to party hard. But he's close to Harrisburg, and sometimes he has a hard time telling people no."