Kicking-off a New Era

By John Gearan ’65

He lived in the toughest section of Brooklyn, an unforgiving sinkhole of poverty known as Bed-Stuy. Being a black Elvis and speaking with a decidedly English accent called “Brizzle” did not help.

“Coming to America at 12—Bed-Stuy was culturally shocking. I tried to camouflage my British accent. The neighborhood was predominantly black, but kids still mocked me, refusing to use my name and calling me ‘Cocoa’ after the cereal (Cocoa Krispies). I got a lot of stick,” recalls Elvis Comrie, the reigning Holy Cross men’s soccer coach for 16 past seasons.

Comrie’s father had immigrated to Brooklyn two years earlier than his wife and their four kids. Rupert Comrie came to get a foothold in America. “Dad wanted to put food on the table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads. We didn’t have much, but we had each other and never craved for anything else,” Comrie says.

Working as a day laborer, a truck driver and a heavy equipment operator, his father would do anything to make a buck. Elvis’ mom, Mazie, stayed home to nurture her two boys and two girls.

Born in Jamaica, his parents had migrated separately to England where they met, married and had children. In the city of Bristol, his dad eked out a living, driving a bus and doing odd jobs.

“I can remember him blocking those narrow streets with his double-decker just so he could dash up our tenement stairs, tuck us kids in and kiss us goodnight,’’ Comrie recounts. “He was my best mate. His family was his jewels.”

Growing up, Elvis—named in 1959 by his mom after rock legend Elvis Aaron Presley—was king of nothing. He had little going for him except a slight swagger that emerged from his one distinctive talent—an uncanny knack for dribbling a soccer ball. Soccer seemed to be part of his DNA, a genetic factor that he hoped would save him from a robotic life as a factory worker.

To Elvis, soccer was a magnificent obsession. On Saturday mornings, he would play for his school team, the Bristol Boys, then for a club team. On Sundays, he would perform for the Kingswood Rangers, a farm team that fed prospects to the professional Bristol City Robins. His Rangers’ coach, Cliff Morgan, would give young Elvis 50 pence to take the bus home and back for the next game. “I’d have enough change to buy a few biscuits, which I’d hide away to have with my tea,” Comrie says.

Many evenings were spent on the streets, playing one-on-one soccer with neighborhood kids. On the telly, he would watch Match of the Day. In his dreams, Elvis would replay his games and imagine himself as the second coming of Pele. His choices for the future seemed clear: pro soccer or the factories—or worse. Soccer gave him a reason to do well enough in school and instilled enough discipline to keep him out of trouble.

The Bristol City Robins took notice on afternoons when Elvis would flash through defenses and score three goals “to bring a smile to my father’s face.”

Elvis had speed, quickness and the cockiness of a winner. When he was not quite 13, Bristol City put a six-page contract in front of him, an offer to sign onto its apprentice program. “My father said ‘no.’ He took away my dreams. He demanded I finish my education first. I was furious,” says Elvis, now 47, and appreciative of his father’s wisdom.

With the Comrie family reunited in Brooklyn, Elvis’ parents understood they had to get him away from Bed-Stuy for high school. So Elvis found himself getting on a bus at six each morning and taking the long ride to Fort Hamilton High in Bay Ridge. On soccer-practice days, Elvis wouldn’t get home until eight. He’d always be holding down some sort of part-time job. Elvis recalls working at Willie Mitchell’s grocery, until the store was stuck up, and Willie ran out firing his pistol at the fleeing robbers. “I never went back there,” Elvis says with a grin. He also remembers the time that a Good Humor man driving an ice cream truck on his street was shot dead.

“The fear of failure motivated me to work harder and get out,” says Comrie.

In soccer, Elvis’ talents flourished, drawing interest from the likes of Penn State and Connecticut, coached by Joe Morrone, a legend-in-waiting and The Pride of Worcester.

“We met Coach Morrone at my uncle’s house in Queens. We didn’t want him to know where I lived. I was a pretty cocky kid. I told Coach Morrone I didn’t like UConn that much and was still waiting word from Penn State. I wouldn’t sign the letter of intent from UConn,” explains Elvis.

Indeed Penn State rejected Elvis. Morrone returned. And Elvis signed.

“I told Coach I would win a national championship for him,” he says.

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Kicking-off a New Era, continued >>