NY Giants' Justin Tuck has roots in Alabama

Kevin Manahan | By Kevin Manahan |
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on January 30, 2008 at 6:00 AM, updated January 31, 2008 at 6:41 PM

KELLYTON, Ala. - Jimmy Tuck, 53 and still as skinny as 6 o'clock, stands at the bottom of the concrete front steps of the four-bedroom home he built on a scratchy lot on County Road 71 in 1973, and he proudly describes each phase: how, in exchange for meals and favors, he sweet-talked friends into helping him pound nails, lay bricks and spread shingles long into the moonlight after his exhausting warehouse shifts for a local homebuilder.

Here in this town of 2,365, where a neighbor is probably family - and if he isn't, you treat him as if he was - you can barter for hard labor with cornbread.

Sunday dinner is served at the Tuck home as (left to right) Justin Tuck's grandfather Sam, uncle Spencer, brother Jamison, sister Tiffany and father Jimmy dig in. The Giants Justin Tuck lives in Kellyton, AL., surrounded by a large, close knit family.

"We didn't have a lot of money when we built this," he says with his hands in the pants pockets of his Sunday going-to-church suit. "We still don't. But we still got it built. Money isn't important to us. Never will be."

It's a week before Super Bowl XLII, a week before Justin Tuck, defensive lineman for the Giants, the son of Jimmy and Elaine and the team's newest millionaire, will play on the National Football League's biggest stage. But the heart rate of the backcountry homestead, where the NFL star was raised, hasn't increased a single beat. Here, on the latest stop of the Star-Ledger's road trip to the Super Bowl, life remains remarkably simple.

This is still the place where Justin, inspired by cartoons, would run through the house screaming, "By the power of Greyskull!" or "I have the power!" He was nicknamed "He-Man" after his hero, but also because he was the biggest kid in town. This is still the place where uncle after uncle would line up to beat Justin at basketball, until the day they couldn't beat him and they didn't want to play anymore.

Church still begins promptly at 11 a.m. - 10 a.m. for those attending Bible study - and, afterward, when they gather at the house, the women prepare the food, as they always have, while the men watch sports on television, as they always have.

On this day, as the women ignore them, the men argue over the better player, Kobe or LeBron, how long it will take Lou Saban to bring a national championship to their beloved but downtrodden Crimson Tide, and how badly the Giants will beat the New England Patriots.

More than 25 Tucks are crammed into the place - the number keeps changing as the members of the clan come and go and come again. "But this is nothin'," says Jeffrey Tuck, Justin's uncle. "When the Giants are playing, you can't move in here. We've had 50 people, more."

Jimmy Tuck, known as Jimmy Lee, isn't much for material things, but there is one thing he'll gladly spend his money on - a satellite dish, because "I gotta see my boy play." That just attracts more Tucks.

Kellyton, about 60 miles southeast of Birmingham, is jokingly called "Tuckville" by some of the locals, and there's a reason. The Tucks' family tree is more like a vine, which makes being the mailman the worst job in town. Scores of mailboxes read "Tuck."

"But if it's dropped off at the wrong house, we'll get it to the right person," Elaine Tuck says.

Ask the Tucks how many relatives live in Kellyton or in surrounding Coosa County, and they start naming brothers and sisters, first cousins and second cousins, nieces and nephews ... Heck, even Adalius Thomas, a Coosa County native who will play for the Patriots on Sunday, is somehow related.

Spencer Tuck, Jimmy's brother, makes it simple: "We don't really know how many Tucks there are around here," he says. "We've never counted."

Find Kellyton on a map and draw a circle 10 miles out. You've just lassoed every Tuck in Jimmy Lee's family.

Grandpa Tuck, the seldom heard patriarch, lives next door. A widower since 2001, he is 80 and his sons tease him about finding a woman. He's witty, but he's like Popeye: His best one-liners are mumbled.

Spencer, the second oldest behind Jimmy Lee, is the easiest laugh in the family. He brags about the times he schooled Justin in video games - he bought the kids a Nintendo "just so I could whup'em all." He is also the town's recognized dominoes champion.

Uncle Larry is a preacher. Uncle Greg is the quiet one. Uncle Jeffrey is the instigator who knows how to push everyone's buttons. Debra, Brenda and Jackie fill out the rest of Jimmy Lee's siblings. And then there are the countless nieces and nephews, who have started to have kids of their own.

When it comes time to eat, the six chairs at the kitchen table fill up fast, so the women, after serving the men, spill into the living room. The male overflow trickles back to the TV. Three rooms, filled with Tucks, are laughing and teasing and eating their dinners off Styrofoam plates with plastic utensils - heaping portions of pork chops, pinto beans, macaroni and cheese and pea salad. Gallons of sweetened tea are slurped.

Dinnerware? How pretentious. Besides, Corning doesn't make enough plates for all of the Tucks.

"We're going to eat until it's all gone," Elaine Tuck says. "And then we'll just make some more."

Eventually, Jimmy Lee is outside again, enjoying the slowly setting sun. He recalls the phone call he received from Justin a few weeks ago when the kid signed a five-year extension that could pay him as much as $30 million.

"Justin said, 'Daddy what can I buy you?' I said, 'Nothing.'"

Above his head, there is missing trim on the porch's overhang, and maybe the bricks that transformed the carport into a family room don't exactly match the originals. There's a dirty mop, having a bad hair day, resting against the house, a cloudy Tupperware container playing hide-and-seek in the bushes. The cement driveway is cracked and chipped, and a rusting, bent basketball hoop is barely clinging to the backboard at the foot of the hill.

But Tuck, smiling as he continues to tell the story of the home's creation in a quiet voice, doesn't see the flaws. He sees the place where his family has gathered for decades to fill their souls, their hearts and their bellies.

A Sunday school teacher, he cites a passage from the New Testament, Luke 12:34, the lesson he had taught a few hours earlier at Elam II Missionary Baptist Church, about a mile down the road: "For where your treasure is, there your heart be also," he says.

Just then, another burst of laughter seeps from the house. His treasure.

The Rev. Autry Powell is 15 minutes into his sermon, and he is just getting warmed up. Brenda Tuck Davis can sense it. So she jumps from her pew near the altar, sits at the keyboards and provides impromptu background music for the byplay between preacher and congregation. That gets the drummer going, too.

"Are you ready to let Him in?"

"Yeah, man!"

"Are you ready to accept Him?"

"Yeah, man!"

The small, wood-paneled church, less than a mile from the house, is another center of gravity for the Tucks, who make up the majority of the 60-person congregation at Elam II Missionary Baptist Church. They teach Sunday school - Justin was the youngest instructor in the district before he went to college at Notre Dame. They sing in the choir. They play the keyboards.

They are ushers. They pass the collection plates. Okay, so the drummer isn't a Tuck, but the drummer-in-waiting is.

Powell is a smoldering preacher with the shoulders of a linebacker. As he preaches, in a frock embroidered with his name on the left breast, he wipes the sweat from his shaven head with a dish towel. He lets you know when he is making an important point by pausing and asking, "Can I get a witness?" or saying, "I'm going somewhere with this, now come along with me!"

For an hour and a half, four generations of Tucks sing and clap, sway and dance, shout and cheer and praise God. They pass the microphone around the choir in a sort of Kingdom Karaoke and belt out solos. Justin used to be part of all this, they remember. He will be again, when he comes home.

On this day, a week before the Super Bowl, the hymns are appropriate:

I've got the Victory.


Yes, I got it, I got it.

Got it in my home. I've got it.

Got it on my job. I've got it.

Got it in my hands. I've got it.

Got it in my feet. I've got it.

It's in my soul. I've got it.


The collection plates are circulated often, but dollar bills are the donation of choice and necessity in this community, where the median income is approximately $30,000. Jimmy Lee and Elaine raised their seven children with shift work - Elaine recently retired after 30 years at a Russell athletic wear factory, most on the graveyard shift, and Jimmy Lee now works for the Alabama Department of Transportation. In a county where 11,000 people are spread across 650 square miles, land is cheap.

Before dismissing the congregation, Powell can't help mentioning the most famous sheep of his flock: "When I came here, Justin was a 12-year-old boy, and now he's a grown man, a successful man. But he's always remembered where he came from.

"He's from Kellyton, and proud to be from Kellyton. His parents have raised him right, with a lot of love. They have kept him humble, and because of that humbleness, God has exulted him."

As he leaves the church after the service, Powell is asked what his sermon will be on Super Bowl Sunday, when many of the Tucks will be in Arizona. Blessed are the meek, right? So will he ask God for V-I-C-T-O-R-Y?

He smiles and turns toward the door.

"I'm still praying on it," he says.