Lee Jenkins: Polamalu Dances With Fire

January 20, 2005
Polamalu Dances With Fire, Just Not in the End Zone
By LEE JENKINS
The New York Times

PITTSBURGH, Jan. 19 - The man who worked as a dancer for Don Ho, who danced at the World's Fair in Flushing and who spent most of his professional life twirling a sword engulfed in flames demands that Troy Polamalu politely hand the football to the official.

If you want to dance in the end zone, Salu Polamalu says, then you might as well just come back home and boogie in the backyard. Salu will place in your hands the 16-inch sword that he lugged from Samoa to Hawaii to New York City to a small town in the Pacific Northwest - the only souvenir he kept from a career in Polynesian dance shows - and he will light both ends.

Should you take your eye off the blade for even a second, it will slice your wrists and char your nose. It will remind you that the sword was a weapon carried by Samoan soldiers in island wars, and that the Samoan fire-knife dance is a tribute to them.

"I tell Troy all the time," Salu said, "I don't like any fancy dancing."

Polamalu learned the fire-knife dance from his uncle Salu, practiced it as a boy on the front lawn, even showed it off a few times during Polynesian parties in college. But Polamalu is now a Pro Bowl safety for the Pittsburgh Steelers, and if Coach Bill Cowher ever caught him juggling a burning knife, who knows where it would end up?

Polamalu has given up the fire-knife dance for other, less dangerous ways of honoring his heritage and imparting his culture. There are more than 25 Samoans in the N.F.L., but most became ambassadors after they reached college stardom or the professional ranks. Polamalu is that rare breed who has been an ambassador since he was in the third grade.

Tenmile, Ore., got its name because it is 10 miles from Winston, Ore., which is a town of about 4,000 people. Tenmile, population 150, is believed to include one Samoan family. There was just Salu, Shelley and their three boys, until the summer Polamalu turned 8 years old, and all of a sudden the family got a fourth son.

During that summer, they took him water-skiing on the lake and camping in the mountains and fishing by the dock, the best recruiting trip a boy could have. When summer turned to fall and it was time for Polamalu to return to his mother in Santa Ana, Calif., he refused to go.

Polamalu explained that his older brother had entered a gang in Santa Ana, and he was beginning to fear for his own future. Polamalu, after all, had already smoked a cigarette and stolen a woman's dog for reward. He believed that Tenmile was the place to correct his course.

Salu cut a deal that a streetwise kid could understand. Polamalu would improve his grades, do his chores and follow orders, or he would go home on the next Greyhound bus. Soon enough, when Polamalu spiked a football in a youth-league game, Salu pulled him off the field. When Polamalu tried to leave a practice early, Salu refused to drive him home. And when Polamalu cut his hand on a fence after botching a play, Salu told him that he deserved it.

"I knew that I had it tough compared to children around me," Polamalu said Wednesday at the Steelers' practice facility. "But I felt like I needed it. I think I had the wisdom as a child to know that it would help me later on."

Tenmile was a strange place for a Samoan child from Southern California, but the child and the place grew together. At Douglas High School, where an estimated one out of 100 students is an ethnic minority, Polamalu became recognized more for his spirit than his race. He smiles easily at everyone he meets, fixes people with eyes that look too big for his face and talks in a tone barely louder than a whisper.

Polamalu became a straight-A student, spent free time playing with mentally disabled students in the special-education program and flourished in the woodshop. He built coffee tables and treasure chests, carved Polynesian symbols into the wood and won ribbons in local contests for his pieces. Then he would give them away to family members and friends as gifts.

"He did a lot for this school and this town," said Jim Anderson, the woodshop teacher at Douglas High, who keeps in touch with Polamalu. "He was probably better than anybody else at almost every subject, but he never acted that way. He never thought of himself as being different from anyone."

By the time Polamalu returned to Southern California, polished and lacquered, he was going to the University of Southern California to play football, only the fourth Trojans player named Troy. When he leveled the Kansas State punt returner Aaron Lockett in a nasty helmet-to-helmet collision, Polamalu apologized publicly to Lockett and his family. When he was voted to the Playboy all-American team, he expressed apprehension about endorsing such a magazine.

"After I first met him, I thought he had a split personality," said Steelers offensive lineman Lenny Vandermade, who played and lived with Polamalu at U.S.C. "He is the most gentle, cordial person you can meet off the field. And then he turns into this madman, this warrior, once he steps on the field."

When Pittsburgh selected Polamalu in the second round of the 2003 draft, it was as if he were headed back to Tenmile, seemingly destined to be the only Samoan wherever he went. A recent census estimated that there were about 40 Samoans in Pittsburgh, making up 0.01 percent of the population. Polamalu, whose long black hair covers the name on the back of his jersey, is by far the most recognizable member of the city's demographic.

"It's sort of like how you would feel if you were dropped off in the middle of the Congo," Polamalu said. "There are different people and a different way of looking at things. It was a pretty big shock. But this is America. I want to represent my culture the best I can. That is always on my mind."

Before every play, Polamalu says, he whispers a quiet prayer for the safety of everyone on the field. Then, with his head down and his hair blowing in the breeze, he either charges into the line of scrimmage like a pass-rushing linebacker, or he drops into pass coverage like a prototypical safety. In only one year, he has gone from a fledgling backup to one of the premier players at his position.

Last Saturday night, in the first postseason game of his career last, Polamalu intercepted a pass from Jets quarterback Chad Pennington and ran over an opposing receiver on his return. Heinz Field erupted, and somewhere in the din was the most unlikely cheerleader of all - a Cleveland Browns assistant coach.

"It was pretty weird," said Kennedy Pola, who is Polamalu's uncle and was an assistant coach at U.S.C. before joining the Browns' staff last year. "But it wasn't as weird as watching my kids walk around the house all season in Steelers jerseys."

When Polamalu first came to Pittsburgh, he fit in worse than he had in Tenmile. He did not go out much with his fellow rookies because he disdains bars and nightclubs. He could not relate to older teammates because most were married with children. He spent many nights on the Internet, looking to buy furniture online, searching for houses on the West Coast, checking out cars he would have to order long distance.

"I told him: 'From now on, you'll buy from the city of Pittsburgh, and you won't buy from anywhere else,' " Pola said. " 'You'll buy into the community where you are. If you want to do woodworking, you can get out there and get your wood in Pittsburgh.' "

Heeding the advice, Polamalu bought a condominium in Pittsburgh and furnished it with local products. He bought his first car, a luxury sport utility vehicle, which he rarely drives. Instead, he takes a Kia to and from practice.

Pittsburgh, a city that yearns to know its football stars, has learned something about Samoa through Polamalu. When Salu reflects on the reasons Samoans so often succeed in football, he immediately refers to their hunger for opportunity and their respect for authority. Polamalu embodies what Salu describes as the cultural ethic.

"I'm proud of him for being that way," Salu said. "It's so rewarding for us to sit back and watch him. I consider him my son."

Back in Oregon, photographs of Polamalu are hanging at Abby's Pizza Parlor in Winston. The teachers at Douglas High are talking about game plans in addition to lesson plans. Salu cannot take a walk without someone approaching him to ask about the American Football Conference championship game on Sunday night.

If Pittsburgh beats New England, Salu will be faced with a difficult decision. He wants to go to the Super Bowl to see his nephew play, but he would prefer to go to the Pro Bowl, if for no other reason than that Hawaii seems more appealing than Jacksonville, Fla. Besides, Hawaii is the place where Salu started dancing at Don Ho's hotel, where he met Shelley, and where this modern but old-fashioned family was born.

Salu can envision his true Hawaiian vacation. He watches his fourth son make an interception, return it for a touchdown, hand the ball politely to the official. Then the whole family goes back to a Polynesian bar, where there are swords and flames and a whole lot of fancy dancing.