This Son of Piedmont Is Adopted in Westwood

PIEDMONT, Calif. — From this peaceful hillside town into cluttered Westwood they flow, cellular angels landing weekly on the weary shoulders of Drew Olson.

Three phone calls received, three messages left, before every UCLA football game for the last three years.

The first call comes from the father of Olson’s girlfriend when he was in the seventh grade, reciting a variety of quotes to help focus a kid whose passes once knocked down live telephone wires.

“It’s not anything about me inspiring him, it’s about how Drew has inspired us,” Ernie Reddick says.

The second call comes from a mom at whose home Olson left his bike each morning before walking across a field to elementary school. She reminds him that he still rules those fields.

“I always tell him, be the leader you are,” Dana Kirby says.

The third call comes from a Piedmont policeman who befriended Olson while the cop was breaking up a high school party.

“Just giving my man some love,” Officer Todd Mather says.

In four years at UCLA, as he fought against the belief in Matt Moore and skepticism of Karl Dorrell, the often-insulted and ignored Olson has been surrounded by many things.

Who knew love was one of them?

While we were watching his wincing face, who knew that somebody always had his back?

Those somebodies live about six hours north of the Rose Bowl, in the hills above Oakland, in an affluent community where they have captivating views of the Golden Gate Bridge but are just as happy watching the hometown quarterback.

“Yeah, the past four years have been tough, real tough,” Olson says. “But I always had somewhere to go. I always knew there was somebody in my corner. I always had my home.”

For the quarterback who will enter Saturday’s USC-UCLA game as the most surprising success story in the country -- Olson leads the nation in passing efficiency and has matched USC’s Matt Leinart -- home is where the refrigerator is.

In the kitchen of his parent’s elegant 1904 house, the only clutter can be found on the fridge, where photos of the five-member family adorn the door and sides, including snapshots of Drew at early birthdays and late parties.

None, however, of him playing UCLA football.

“This is about Drew as a person,” his father David says.

That’s how he is viewed here. Not as some sort of athletic savior entrusted with Piedmont’s reputation, but as a son and a neighbor and a person.

“It’s not all about sports here, it’s about getting good grades, becoming good people,” says Mike Humphries, athletic director at Piedmont High, where Drew is already the most celebrated sports alumnus. “Watching him on TV, it’s not so much about football, it’s about seeing him on the sidelines and saying, ‘Oh, look, that’s Drew!’ ”

It starts with his parents, David, a lawyer, and Gail, a health care administrator. They have attended all but two of their son’s UCLA games. They like to cheer him, but mostly they come to hang out with him.

For Rose Bowl games, they show up four hours early, enter the grounds with a vendor’s pass, and set up a giant tailgate party with other family and friends.

They are there to wave to their son when he comes off the bus and walks into the stadium. They are there to hug him later, when he comes outside and sits in a camping chair and shoots the breeze.

Perhaps Olson’s most impressive feat this year was not the 510 passing yards against Arizona State, but that he tossed a football to kids at the tailgate party afterward.

“If kids are there, why not throw to them?” Olson says. “I remember when I was a kid, that would have made my whole year if somebody threw to me.”

Says Gail: “We learned something about our son this year. We saw what’s deep inside, and it’s pretty impressive.”

Olson’s circle of life continues with his older brother Eric, a former college quarterback and minor league third baseman, and his older sister Sarah, a new mom.

As with his parents, he talks to Eric and Sarah nearly every day on a cellphone whose plan has been rearranged twice to account for the constant increase in minutes.

Eric gives him athletic advice. Sarah reminds him what’s important.

When Olson emerged after the Arizona loss, two days before Sarah was scheduled to give birth for the first time, it was he who comforted his parents.

“Bad day,” he told his clan. “But, hey, we’re gonna have a baby!”

Olson is like that, totally unaffected by his success, still inviting as many as 10 Piedmont friends to sleep on his apartment floor before home games.

“He’s a jock without the jock mentality,” says his cousin and close friend, Ted Kearns.

What other UCLA athlete, during the height of his best and final season, would remain grounded enough to request a meeting with John Wooden?

There was Olson, meeting Coach for breakfast last month, then sitting at his knee for two hours in Wooden’s apartment.

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, he has so much to teach us,” Olson says. “I’ll never forget him saying, ‘Make yourself happy, because only then will you do good things for others.’ ”

Olson has done just that, somehow remaining free from the angst often felt by those who transform themselves from scrubs to Heisman candidates in three short months.

“I could be bitter, I could be saying, ‘I told you so’ to everybody,” Olson says. “But I haven’t done it to spite other people. I’ve done it for myself and my family and my friends, for my people back home. That’s what’s important.”

Guys like Mather are what’s important. While some high-profile college athletes run from the police, Olson embraces Mather as a buddy and inspiration.

A couple of times a year, the cop shows up on the UCLA sideline with a photo pass and assignment to write about Olson for the weekly Piedmont Press.

He’s not exactly an impartial journalist, once running up and screaming congratulations into Olson’s

ear while the quarterback was trying to talk to coaches on a sideline phone.

Says Mather: “I couldn’t help myself, that’s our guy!”

Says Olson: “I know.”