Free Whealling: 51 years ago, E.O. Whealler set a Georgia Tech record for longest field goal against VMI. The story behind that kick? It could be even more legendary – assuming it’s true.
Inside The Chart | By Andy Demetra (The Voice of the Yellow Jackets)
Aidan Birr served notice in April when he booted a 62-yard field goal in the White and Gold Spring Game at Bobby Dodd Stadium at Hyundai Field.
The Georgia Tech school record for longest field goal, a mark that has stood for more than half a century, could be on its last legs.
“That’s a goal,” the preseason Lou Groza Award Watch List candidate said this spring.
Birr paused, then volunteered some modesty.
“I’m not sure what the longest is here,” he admitted.
For the record, it’s 55 yards, shared by three players. And Birr could have a chance to bring the record full circle this weekend.
On November 10, 1973 against VMI, E.O. Whealler became the first Yellow Jacket to kick a 55-yard field goal, in a 36-7 win over the Keydets at Grant Field. Ron Rice (1982 vs. The Citadel) and David Bell (1986 vs. Georgia) have since joined him, but Whealler’s kick set a standard that five decades of Georgia Tech placekickers have spent chasing.
Birr may one day top the record. But he’ll never top the legendary story that surrounds it.
For 50 years it has been an apocryphal anecdote in Georgia Tech history, a passing blurb in a 1975 Sports Illustrated article the only evidence of its existence. The game recap in the Atlanta Constitution makes no mention of it. There’s no other source online that corroborates it. Some Georgia Tech fans have accepted it as canon – while some players on that 1973 team had never heard of it. It seems to have landed in that murky territory where rumor, reality and myth all blend together, lapping at the edges of people’s memories.
If true, though, it could make Whealler’s kick even more epic.
Literally and figuratively, it’s time to set the record straight.
Was E.O. Whealler asleep on the bench moments before kicking his school record field goal?
“He was different.”
Since childhood, two things were clear about Edward Osborne (E.O.) Whealler: He had a passion for Georgia Tech and a penchant for mischief.
His father, John Anson, studied engineering at Tech in the 1920’s, and on Sundays he took his family to All Saints’ Episcopal Church at the corner of Peachtree Street and North Avenue. Sunday school didn’t always capture young E.O.’s attention, though, and two other hallowed places of worship were right down the road.
“He would kind of sneak out,” said his son, Ben, “then he’d go to the Varsity and get himself a chili dog, or maybe some onion rings as well. And then he would work his way down to Grant Field. I think at the time, they kind of just left the gates open at Grant Field. He would walk around on the field.”
“I can imagine that probably kicked off his love for Georgia Tech in general, if he didn’t already have it from his own parents,” he added.
Whealler earned all-state honors in soccer and football at Druid Hills High School in Decatur, Ga., before arriving on The Flats as a 17-year-old in 1972 (the Georgia Tech Athletic Association promptly misspelled his name “Wheeler” in his freshman picture). As one of the first soccer-style kickers to play for the Yellow Jackets, his thunderous right leg quickly drew attention.
“It just blew us out of the water how hard and how far he could kick that thing,” said former Tech punter Dick Bowley (1971-73), who roomed with Whealler the night before road games.
“Everything fundamentally was separate from what we were working on. He was kind of a max-effort kicker compared to what we were. We were more of a touch and feel-type kicker. He came at it and let it fly from the side,” said former placekicker Cam Bonifay (1971-73).
He stood out for other reasons too. Even at a position known for its high per capita of eccentrics, Whealler was in a class by himself.
“He was just a character. A fun-loving kid. Not really loud, but he loved to party and have a good time,” said quarterback Joby Leahy, who served as Georgia Tech’s holder in 1973.
“He was a little bit of a flake,” Leahy noted. “Actually, he was a lot of a bit of a flake. He didn’t take football that seriously.”
Not surprisingly, practice wasn’t the best place for someone of Whealler’s puckishness. Sports Illustrated described him as having “a reputation for oversleeping, missing busses and disappearing from practice to call his girl or get his car fixed.” While teammates labored through drills, he and the other specialists would duck inside the T Club to play ping pong – working on their hand-eye coordination, Bowley joked.
Bowley remembered days when a traffic helicopter, still a relatively new phenomenon back then, would circle overhead at practice. Georgia Tech head baseball coach Jim Luck, who also doubled as the Yellow Jackets’ kicking coach, knew Whealler’s head was perpetually in the clouds.
“When this helicopter would fly over, every once in a while Coach Luck would look at us and smile and say, ‘Look out for E.O. Keep E.O. under control,’” Bowley laughed.
Over the years, Ben had heard some of the stories of his Dad’s “crazy” college career. He once lost his 1972 Liberty Bowl ring, only for someone to discover it in a scrap yard and return it several months later. Whealler began that year on the freshman team, which played a game against Tennessee in early September. When the buses rolled off, Whealler was nowhere to be found.
“In the crazy fashion that my father went about himself in college, he went to look for some bell bottom jeans at Lenox Mall the morning of the game,” Ben recounted.
“He comes back, and the phone was ringing off the hook. I think it was one of the coaches telling him, ‘Where the hell have you been? You’re on the roster. You need to get your [rear end] here now!’ So he had to rush and run off to the game.”
An assistant sports information director eventually chauffeured Whealler to the game, where he suited up, came in, and booted a field goal with seconds remaining to give Tech a 9-7 win.
Shaggy-haired. Free spirited. A man about town. A man who lived in his own world. E.O. Whealler was the antithesis of the intense, scowling football player.
Yet as laid-back as he looked, he also had an undeniable competitive streak. And more importantly, he knew how to bomb kicks.
Let It Fly
In addition to placekicking, the 6-foot, 184-pound Whealler served as Georgia Tech’s kickoff specialist in 1973. Tech fans famously serenaded him with chants of “Eeeeeeee!” when he approached the tee, followed by “Oooooooo!” when he struck the ball. When it came to field goal kicking, head coach Bill Fulcher had divvied up the duties that year, using the senior Bonifay as his short-range specialist while tabbing the sophomore Whealler for kicks of 47 yards or longer.
“He didn’t think he could miss anywhere from the field. He had that type of mentality. He was a spray guy, though, because at the time he had not refined, when I was with him, the accuracy that you need,” Bonifay said.
Fulcher needed Whealler’s leg more than usual against VMI. With Tech leading 7-0 late in the first quarter, the Yellow Jackets had crossed into Keydets territory. But VMI, who were coached that year by former Georgia Tech assistant Bob Thalman, stiffened up.
Leahy remembers standing on the sideline next to Tech offensive coordinator Steve Sloan, charting plays on a clipboard.
“I remember Coach Sloan saying, ‘If we don’t get this first down, we’re going to kick a field goal, so go get E.O.’ By the time I put my clipboard down, they were yelling, ‘Field goal!’ It was sort of a code name for E.O. Everybody’s yelling ‘Where’s E.O.? Where’s E.O.?’” Leahy recalled.
“People were yelling his name and he wasn’t moving. That’s when I ran over.”
Leahy hustled to the Georgia Tech bench and found Whealler … in a state of deep meditation.
“I kind of knew where he sat usually. And he was over there kind of half-dozing, half-daydreaming, and I said, ‘E.O., we’re on!’” he said.
Making Peace
Packed away in a storage unit, Ben Whealler still keeps plenty of mementos from his dad’s Georgia Tech days.
He has his No. 10 jersey, off-white but still crisp. He has a slew of programs and newspaper clippings, as well as a plaque he received that commemorated his school record field goal. Curiously, Whealler didn’t receive a game ball from that 1973 VMI game, though he did receive a ball for his performance in Tech’s 1975 game versus VMI. Ben has that, too, still in its original plastic wrapping, along with another game ball he received as a junior in 1974. His last name is misspelled on that ball too.
So yes, Leahy can confirm. E.O. Whealler was indeed nodding off – because he was the one who woke him up.
“He just kind of shook his head. His helmet was right there. He threw his helmet on and he followed me in,” Leahy said.
But as Leahy notes, his teammate was always fired up to come in and kick. Whatever cobwebs Whealler had from his sideline siesta, he shook them off quickly. Leahy laid down his kicking tee on the 38-yard line (the NCAA outlawed the use of tees for field goals until 1989). Whealler found his mark, measured his steps, and sent the ball hurtling majestically toward the north end zone.
The referees under the goalposts threw their hands in the air. 38,112 fans at Grant Field erupted in celebration. Whealler clicked his heels as he jogged off. Georgia Tech’s “string bean kicker,” as the Atlanta Constitution once called him, had just broken the school record for longest field goal, previously set by Johnny Duncan with a 54-yarder against Clemson in 1969.
From nap to snap, dozing off to making history, in less than 40 seconds.
“I told E.O., and he was over the moon when he found out [about the record]. Because at the time, he didn’t know where the ball was,” Leahy said.
So Whealler didn’t even know the distance of the field goal he was trying?
Leahy is all but certain. “He just followed me. Here’s where I’m going to put the ball down, and [you] kick it. That’s kind of what he did,” he said.
Leahy didn’t think Whealler catching winks mid-game was an anomaly either.
“It was not surprising. He was not into the game,” he said, laughing. “I mean, come on. He was E.O. He could kick a football. When they needed him, he was there.”
Word soon got back to Bowley about his teammate’s achievement – and the catnap that preceded it.
“That was E.O. It didn’t surprise me,” Bowley said. “And the fact that he made it – that didn’t surprise us either.”
His 55-yarder was only the beginning. Time after time, Georgia Tech’s offense stalled out inside VMI territory. Fulcher, evidently emboldened by Whealler’s record-breaking kick, brought him in to attempt a 52-yarder, a 59-yarder and a 63-yarder, which would have broken the national record. Whealler missed from 59 and 63 yards but he did connect on the 52-yarder, making him the only kicker in Tech history with two made field goals of 50 or more yards in the same game.
“P.S.: E.O.’s O.K. on F.G.’s,” blared the headline in the next day’s Atlanta Constitution.
His record-setting day also featured another oddity: Those were the only two field goals Whealler made that year. While much of it had to do with his role as a long-range kicking specialist, according to Georgia Tech’s official 1973 statistics, he finished the season converting just 2-of-11 attempts.
There was no questioning Whealler’s accuracy in Atlanta that day. A school record, enhanced by an even more legendary story.
Except the only other person with first-hand knowledge of the event – the one who, in keeping with journalistic principles, could confirm Leahy’s account – didn’t agree with his teammate.
For most of his life, E.O. Whealler said it never happened.
Photo Credit: Ben Whealler and Family
Whealler graduated from Tech with an industrial management degree and spent the majority of his career in financial services. He passed away in 2016 at age 61 following a years-long health battle. Ben had known about his father’s escapades, had known he became a running gag later in his career on Pepper Rodgers’ coaches’ TV show, where Rodgers and his celebrity guests made up fantastical stories about all the exotic places they had allegedly seen their gadabout kicker.
Whealler stayed guarded about his true feelings, so his son can only guess about it now. But Ben believes his dad felt conflicted, if not a bit defiant, about how he was remembered at Tech.
“To put it lightly, my father was very headstrong about himself. I think he always wanted to kind of downplay it,” he said.
Who wants four years of college hijinks to define their identity for the rest of their life? People grow up. They mature and move on. E.O. had closed that chapter in his life. Couldn’t others do the same? At a certain point, those crazy college stories start to feel more like an albatross than a source of amusement. “He was a character” stops sounding so endearing.
E.O. had his quirks. He had his well-chronicled moments of flightiness. He once confessed to the Atlanta Constitution, “I like to watch the stands during games. There’s a lot of goodies up there.” But as time went on, he didn’t want to be reduced to a caricature either.
“He might have thought deep down that he didn’t want that to be his lasting legacy at Georgia Tech,” Ben guessed.
“I think he thought that people did not like that side of him when he was in school, when people really did like that side. He always had this internal strife about himself.”
Perhaps that’s why Whealler spent most of his life denying that he dozed off before his 55-yard field goal against VMI. He didn’t want a record he was rightfully proud of to be overshadowed by an anecdote. Acknowledging it would have fed into the E.O. Whealler persona he was trying so hard to distance himself from. At most, he’d say he was distracted before that 55-yarder.
“I think he kind of fabricated a new story about himself that showed himself in a better light,” Ben said. “I think he did struggle with accepting that side of himself.”
When his father first started having health problems in 2011, his family reached out to his old soccer and football teammates to raise money for his medical care. Reconnecting with them, Ben thinks, allowed his dad to make peace with the “goofball” reputation he had at Georgia Tech. All those memories, he realized, were a sign of just how much his former teammates loved him.
“I don’t think he really appreciated that until he was very close to passing on,” Ben noted.
It took a while for E.O. to reckon with that perception, but ultimately he got there. And eventually he confided to his wife, Liz, that yes, the anecdote in Sports Illustrated was true. He did catch a few winks before his record-setting field goal against VMI. No need to feel sensitive about it anymore.
“If I were to ask my dad now, I think he would have looked back fondly on his college career, and his college career in general,” Ben said.
Still Kicking
Asked if he was surprised that a placekicking record has survived for more than 50 years, especially with how specialized the position has become, Birr sees it both ways.
Plenty of factors go into making a successful kick – the snap, the hold, the protection, the conditions, the kicker’s confidence. Then again, modern kickers have access to advantages that players from Whealler’s era never did.
“Every kid that’s coming into college has had a kicking coach and has been kicking for years. But 55 is a tough kick, no doubt,” Birr said.
His admiration only deepened after learning that Whealler was asleep moments before his kick. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I’ve always been super focused in and ready to go,” Birr said.
Whealler’s record has endured, and so has his passion for Tech. He raised Ben in the same house in Druid Hills where he grew up; whenever they watched Georgia Tech games together, Ben marveled at how excited his dad got, the opposite of the laid-back kicker who loitered on the Grant Field sidelines.
Ben inherited his father’s love of soccer and played on youth teams with former Georgia Tech kicker Harrison Butker. One Saturday when he was 11 or 12, he recalls driving home with his dad from an out-of-town soccer game. They passed by Bobby Dodd Stadium, packed and glowing in the late afternoon dusk, as the Yellow Jackets were playing Clemson. He and his dad stopped off for a bite at the Varsity, then walked down to the stadium, retracing the steps that E.O. had taken on so many of those truant adventures from Sunday school.
The game had maybe four minutes left. They approached a security guard, who wouldn’t let them in to the stadium.
Recalled Ben: “My Dad went up to one of these people and said, ‘Don’t you know who I am? I am a former Georgia Tech football player. I am E.O. Whealler.’ They didn’t know who he was, so he did pull out – I don’t know why – but he had his Liberty Bowl ring on him at the time. He pulled it out and showed him. I thought that was just the coolest frickin’ thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“And the guy was like, “Oh, I’m sorry. You can go in.’”
After graduating from Druid Hills High School, Ben followed his dad and grandfather and became a third-generation Jacket, graduating with a degree in aerospace engineering in December 2018. He remains an avid Georgia Tech fan, and he’ll be cheering on Birr as he chases the record his dad now shares.
He’s glad his father could reconcile his legacy before he passed. And he’s glad a new generation of Georgia Tech fans are waking up – pun entirely intended – to his dad’s accomplishments.
“You know the old adage,” Ben Whealler said. “Kickers need love too.”
