Harold Lusk was sitting on the back pew of his father's church when he got the call. The pastor had just finished his sermon when Harold's body started to tingle and the tears began to roll. He got to his feet and walked up the aisle to the front of the chapel as the congregation looked on curiously.
At the pulpit, Lusk whispered into the ear of his pastor/father, the Reverend Herbert Lusk Sr. "I must tell them now.""What are you talking about?" he replied.
"It's time to tell them."
With that, 18-year-old Harold told the congregation, in his rumbling baritone, "All these years I've been running and running. Now it's time for me to take my rightful place at the pulpit."
"Hallelujah!" the people shouted between the clapping and praying. "Praise the Lord!"
Harold Lusk had accepted a call to the ministry. The only question was whether the Lord had dialed a wrong number. Had He meant to reach Harold - a.k.a. The Bad Lusk Brother - or his older brother Henry?
Heaven knows, this wasn't the first time the Lord had called a Lusk to the ministry. More than three decades ago He called the boys' father, Herb Sr., who was aspiring to become a lawyer and a nightclub owner, of all things. Sitting in church was the last thing he wanted to do.
Herb had spent his youth either fishing or attending church and swore he'd never do either as an adult. But the call, "the divine urge," changed his mind about everything except fishing. For 34 years he has served as pastor of the Bethel Missionary Baptist Church in Seaside, Calif.
Some 15 years ago, the Lord placed another call, this time to the oldest of the three Lusk brothers, Herb Jr. A third-year running back with the Philadelphia Eagles, Herb shucked his pads in training camp and opened a church in Philly.
It figured that the Lusks had another call coming, but surely it would be placed to the gentlemanly, obedient Henry, the second brother and director of the church choir. My how that boy could get people to sing, even when he was just a young teenager.
"He makes me bring out music I have deep inside," people used to tell his mother, Dr. Bettye Lusk. He made the choir rehearse over and over until you wondered how adults put up with such a demanding kid.
This was a boy for the ministry, but he didn't get the call. Harold - the dude with the 'tude, the guy with a chip on his shoulder the size of a railroad tie, the boy with the angry streak, the kid who not only wrestles with temptation but loses sometimes too - got the call.
Harold finally answered the call that Sunday in church, although he eventually put the Lord on hold to play college football, grow up, earn a degree and wrestle with his demons.
"The ministry is something I am definitely going to do," he says. "The Lord is just letting me get everything out of the way. He's saying, Harold, you do what you've got to do now, then one day, He'll say, It's time for you to do what I want you to do."
So Harold, the University of Utah's mercurial football player, does what he will do. What do you make of an aspiring minister/pro football player who has run-ins with police, weekend fistfights, suspensions, forced therapy for anger control, a late-night brawl - and leads teammates in prayer before games.
"A lot of people wonder why I want to preach when I'm so bad," says Harold. "I'm not bad all the time. That's all people see or talk about."
Asked about Harold, Jugi Hogue, Utah's secondary coach doesn't miss a beat. "He's a little weird. And he's extremely talented."
Apparently, that comes with the genes. Herb was one of the nation's top running backs at Long Beach State in 1975, a step or so behind Ricky Bell, and was drafted by the Eagles. Two decades later, along came his half-brothers, Henry and Harold.
As a freshman and sophomore, Henry played safety, fullback and flanker, before finding a home at flanker. As a freshman, Harold was the team's fourth wide receiver, third tailback, goal-line quarterback and, when injuries decimated the secondary, starting free safety, which became his full-time job.
"Harold is an NFL guy," says Hogue. "If Henry gets in the right offense, he's an NFL guy, too."
Henry, a 6-foot-2, 225-pound senior, is a surprising combination of size, strength, speed and athleticism, equipped with a 351/2-inch vertical leap and a 440-pound bench press. He caught 86 passes in his sophomore and junior seasons and earned Most Valuable Player honors in the 1993 Freedom Bowl. Billed as an All-America candidate, he has a modest 32 catches this season.
"In the three years I've covered him (in practice), only twice have I stopped him, and not many receivers can beat me," says Harold.
But everyone, including The Rev, agrees that Harold is the most talented of the Lusks. A 6-foot, 195-pound junior, he is fast, aggressive, agile, strong, savvy and supremely confident. He is tied for the conference lead in interceptions, but if Harold had his way he'd still be a quarterback. His coaches believe he would have excelled at that position, but they were anxious to get him on the field somewhere immediately and didn't want to wait two years while he learned the offense.
"He was an instant success at safety," says Head Coach Ron McBride. Harold already has 12 career interceptions. So far this season, he has five interceptions, eight pass deflections and two fumble recoveries.
"He can make something out of nothing," says McBride. "He can intercept a pass, break five tackles and score a touchdown."
The only thing that has ever stopped Harold is Harold himself. His stay at Utah has not been a smooth one, marked by weekend fistfights, temperamental outbursts and numerous confrontations with campus parking officers and police. Harold had a habit of violations and unpaid parking tickets, and it seemed everytime he returned to the parking lot he found "two or three police officers waiting for me, and never a woman."
During fall training camp, just before the start of his second season, Harold got into a fight with teammates that began over a late-night game of cards. All Henry knows for certain of the incident is that Harold fell through his door with a bloody gash in the back of his head.
Henry came to his brother's defense - "I can't just stand there while two or three guys beat him up," he says - and the incident escalated into a well-attended brawl behind the dormitory in the wee hours of the morning. The police came, and Harold was taken to the hospital by ambulance to get his head stitched. Ute coaches punished their players by making them run laps at 4 a.m., and Harold was suspended from the season opener.
Last spring Harold had another publicized confrontation with campus parking officials and police and wound up in handcuffs at the police station. McBride suspended him from the team, saying he couldn't return until he underwent counseling for anger control.
For Harold, it was the culmination of years of unchecked anger and a rebellious youth spent running with a gang, fighting and toting a pistol - behavior no one, including Henry and Harold himself, can quite explain.
Maybe you could understand it if Harold had grown up on Mean Street USA in a fatherless, loveless, aimless home, but that was hardly the case. "I just had a lot of anger growing up," says Harold. Asked about this, Henry says, "I don't know what he's angry about. My friends always told me they wished their family was like ours."
Both parents are educated, respected and together. The Rev - as he's often called - earned a master's degree. Bettye earned a doctorate and worked as a high school counselor and principal. With a reverend for a father and a high school principal for a mother, the boys weren't exactly unguided. There were rules and expectations: good grades, curfews, church participation, and an hour-long family Bible study on Saturday evenings.
The Lusks made their home a favorite hangout for their sons' friends. They also made The Rev's church duties a family affair by including the boys in the program. Harold played drums and piano in church, and Henry directed the music for the congregation and the choir.
The boys, three years apart, were close, but different. Henry, a member of the student council and the honor roll, stayed closer to home, figuratively and literally. He was league MVP in both football and basketball, and when he wasn't playing sports, he was watching them on the tube.
"As far as I know, he's never done anything illegal in his life," says Harold. "He was always good."
Says Henry, "When we were growing up, when I was told don't do this, I didn't do it. Harold was rebellious. He pushed things to the limit. I'd be home watching a game on TV while he's out doing all that stuff."
Harold ran with a gang, the 408 Crips, named after their area code. (He never wore red, the color of the rival Bloods, until he came to Utah.) The rest is predictable. He sold drugs (although he says he never partook), dodged bullets and made easy money. He wore a beeper and gold rings and necklaces, kept a gun in his car or under his pillow at night, and watched his backside.
"Sometimes I'd get up at 3 a.m. because I couldn't sleep," he says. "I'd pace my room. I had nightmares. Once in high school I was sent up (to Utah) to stay with Henry for a week because there was a rumor that someone had put a contract out on me."
No amount of advice or talking could convince Harold to change, even when it came from his brother. "Henry would say, Harold where you going?," recalls Harold. "Why are you doing this? Why are you going with those guys? I didn't want to hear what anyone said. I wanted my own identity.
"I jumped back forth between being bad and good till after my junior year. My parents built a foundation that was always there. I always knew what I did was wrong and felt bad about it. I thought I could either keep doing what I'm doing and wind up dead or in jail or follow Henry. I wasn't going to be the only Lusk brother not to get a degree. I decided that since I already had tried the bad side, I'd see what was on the good side. My senior year I was on the honor roll."
By then, Harold realized that football offered him opportunity. A prep quarterback, he was listed among the top 100 recruits in the country. Shortly after graduation, Harold heard his call to the ministry, but his brothers and father convinced him first to pursue an education and a football career. He chose to attend Utah because he wanted to throw passes to his older brother.
Harold wasn't exactly embraced by his new teammates at Utah. His cockiness, his scowl and his tough-guy swagger contrasted sharply with his brother's open, pleasant countenance.
"He was perceived as a jerk," says Henry. "People would say to me, Man, why don't you leave your brother home?"
Says Harold, "(Henry) would say, Harold, chill out, smile, don't look angry. But I thought, There's nothin' wrong with me."
Harold's boldness both helped and hurt him on the football field. A natural showman with a craving for the spotlight (why do you think he wants to be a quarterback so badly?), he made a last-minute, game-saving interception in the end zone during the climactic battle of unbeatens at Colorado State last season. Instead of downing the ball in the end zone and not risking a fumble as most would have done, he returned it 105 yards for a touchdown, even while his coaches were shouting for him to take a knee. With a national TV audience watching, Harold later explained, there was no way he would pass up this chance to shine.
Harold's theatrics cemented one of the biggest wins in Ute history, but three weeks later it cost them a chance to beat Air Force and win the conference title. Instead of falling on an Air Force fumble as coaches had instructed him to do repeatedly, he tried to pick it up to make a big play and wound up losing the ball to Air Force. His coaches angrily benched him.
"Deion (Sanders) is my idol," says Harold. "He makes big plays. It was my chance to be like Deion. A lot of people tell me I'm cocky the way I play and act. I don't want people to get the wrong impression, but I am a bigtime spotlight-type of player."
Harold's brash style usually succeeds on the gridiron, but it hasn't been nearly as effective or popular off the field. Last spring's confrontation with police, the latest in a series of incidents, prompted McBride to suspend Harold and send him to anger therapy.
Even Harold was finally disturbed by his behavior and the perceptions it fostered. "People think I'm bad," he confided to his mom late one night. He underwent therapy for six weeks in California and rejoined the Utes this fall, although he was suspended for the season opener.
"When I went home last summer I wasn't coming back," says Harold. "People didn't like me. You can tell. The room gets quiet when you come in a room. There's that Harold, the bad Lusk brother. There's Henry, the good Lusk brother. I'm not bad, I just have a temper I haven't learned to control.
"I want people to see the new Harold and not the old. I came back a different person. If I hadn't changed, I wouldn't have come back. I decided I have many opportunities, and the only way to achieve them is to change me."
So far, he seems to have done just that. This fall, a car smashed into Harold's car and the driver of the other vehicle fled.
"The old Harold would have pulled the guy over and beaten him up," says McBride. "He would gone fruitcake. But Harold got the guy to pull over and told him to sit in the car till the police came. He was so proud of himself. He came and told me about it. He said, Coach, I didn't hit him or anything. Harold's not a bad kid at all. He's just had a problem with his temper."
Harold does have a softer side. When a teammate lacked the money to fix his broken-down car, Harold paid for it. When another teammate found himself without a place to stay last summer, Harold invited him to move in with him.
"Harold has done a lot of nice things for people," says Henry.
Such as the gesture he made last season when he learned that Henry was sidelined for the year with an injury. He wore Henry's No. 9 the entire season to honor his brother. Henry repaid the gesture by getting a tattoo on his bicep - an 8*9, encircled by a football, which Harold liked so much he got one of his own.
The brothers remain close, despite their differences. They lived together for two years until Henry had to leave school to recover from surgery. Now they live separately, but Henry still watches over little brother.
"When I call his house, I want to know where he is," he says.
Henry will graduate with a degree in sociology this spring. He plans to coach someday and hopes eventually to write and produce gospel music.
Harold remains earnest about pursuing the ministry, but Henry believes that will take time. "There are a lot of things he has to change before the Lord will bless him in his ministry," he says. "He can't preach on Sunday when on Monday through Saturday he's doing these other things. He has to learn that. I don't think he's ready."
Harold believes that time will come, though. "I love to hear my dad and brother (Herb) preach. I get a feeling I get nowhere else, even when I play football. I can't wait to live out this episode of my life so I can get on with the next."