Wrong. He was born in a driving rain storm, immediately picked up a shovel and walked to the nearest coal mine, where he proceeded to load 17 tons of No. 9 coal (just to show Tennessee Ernie Ford who was boss) stayed up late that night and read both the Bible and Plato’s Republic cover to cover, woke up the next morning and ate fifteen cathead biscuits with molasses and washed ‘em down with moonshine, then declared “Mother, I’m off to university.”
He then hopped a freight train to Knoxville, gave a hard stare to a railroad bull who then tipped his cap to the young lad and said “have a good day, Mr. Wilks,” before wondering to himself “How did I know his name?” Rod then walked from the Southern Railway yard straight into Neyland Stadium, where a scrimmage was ongoing. Fulmer took one look at him and stood petrified until Rod walked up and shook his hand.
“Good morning, coach,” Rod said.
Fulmer shook his hand nervously, “Alright, we’re gonna work like heck to get a scholarship drawn up by the end of the week.”
“Make it end of day, Phil,” Rod said with a pat on Fulmer’s shoulder.
And the rest is history.