Preserving the Legacy of Warren ‘Wondrous’ McVea 

How two University of Houston alumni — a standout running back and a devoted historian — teamed up to tell the story of breaking the color barrier in college football. 

By Will Maddox
Photography by Anthony Gollab
Archival imagery courtesy of UH Athletics

Black-and-white photo of Warren McVea in his football uniform on a red background

Preserving the Legacy of Warren ‘Wondrous’ McVea 

How two University of Houston alumni — a standout running back and a devoted historian — teamed up to tell the story of breaking the color barrier in college football. 

By Will Maddox
Photography by Anthony Gollab
Archival imagery courtesy of UH Athletics

Black-and-white photo of Warren McVea in his football uniform on a red background

In the fall of 1966, at the newly opened Astrodome, the University of Houston Cougars football team began a drive from deep inside their own territory. Just 1 yard from their own end zone, they were facing a Washington State defense determined to force a punt or, better yet, a safety. Unfortunately for the visitors from Pullman, Houston running back Warren McVea had other plans.

In one of the first college football games ever played on AstroTurf, the San Antonio native caught a pass and, using his trademark speed and shiftiness, took full advantage of the enhanced surface underfoot. Outmaneuvering and then outrunning the defenders, McVea scored on a 99-yard reception, setting a UH record along the way. 

A highly recruited high school athlete, McVea racked up plenty of on-the-field exploits and achievements. He would go on to be a two-time All-American running back for the Cougars and get drafted into the NFL, eventually winning a Super Bowl with the Kansas City Chiefs and earning the nickname “Wondrous Warren” for his ability to shake tackles and make big plays. 

Warren McVea playing for the UH Cougars in 1966

Warren McVea eludes a defender — as he often did — in a 1966 Cougars game.

Warren McVea eludes a defender — as he often did — in a 1966 Cougars game.

But McVea would make history for another, arguably more important, reason: He was the first Black football player to earn a scholarship and play for a major Texas college football program. At a time when schools such as The University of Texas at Austin, Texas A&M University and other football powerhouses in the Deep South were still playing with all-white teams, McVea broke the color barrier for big-time Texas college football, which is as close to a religion as many Texans get outside of a church. 

Despite McVea’s athletic and cultural accomplishments, his story had become lost in the shuffle, with the spotlight shifting to other prominent integration pioneers. Even though he was the first Black person to enter, much less play in, stadiums across the South, his full story wasn’t unearthed until another UH alum, Robert D. Jacobus (’89, M.A. ’94), spent years researching and telling McVea’s story in his 2015 book, “Houston Cougars in the 1960s: Death Threats, the Veer Offense, and the Game of the Century.” 

The University’s historic decision paid dividends on the field as well. “UH was at the forefront of recruiting Black players after that,” Jacobus says, adding that UH’s performance in a 1965 game against the University of Missouri marked a turning point for the program.

Houston Leads the Way 

The University of Houston admitted its first Black students in 1962, and while major universities around the state were slowly permitting integrated classrooms, no major college football program had fielded a Black athlete. 

Houston’s head football coach at the time, Bill Yeoman, arrived in 1962 from Michigan State, which had been recruiting Black athletes from the South for decades. He wanted to ensure Houston had access to the best talent, which meant welcoming players of color to the team. 

UH Football Head Coach Bill Yeoman in 1962

Head Coach Bill Yeoman arrived at UH in 1962, around the time this photo was taken. He wanted Houston to have the best talent, which meant recruiting players of color. 

Head Coach Bill Yeoman arrived at UH in 1962, around the time this photo was taken. He wanted Houston to have the best talent, which meant recruiting players of color. 

Along with legendary Houston men’s basketball coach Guy Lewis, the University administration and coaches decided to integrate their teams in the summer of 1964, bringing in three outstanding athletes for summer school to help them adjust ahead of the school year.  

McVea, a standout from San Antonio’s integrated Brackenridge High School who had more than 70 scholarship offers from schools all over the country, opted to stay close enough for his parents to come watch him play in Houston. 

“My mother thought the world of Coach Yeoman,” McVea told longtime Houston Chronicle reporter Jerry Wizig for his book, “Eat ’Em Up Cougars.” “Coach Yeoman promised my mama that he would always take care of her son. And he did just that.” 

McVea was joined by Elvin Hayes and Don Chaney, who would go on to make two Final Fours and play in the “Game of the Century” in the Astrodome, when the Cougars beat powerhouse UCLA and Lew Alcindor— later known as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar — in the first nationally televised primetime college basketball game. Both Chaney and Hayes had long NBA careers and won NBA titles, with Hayes eventually entering the Naismith Memorial Hall of Fame and Chaney becoming a longtime NBA coach. 

Robert Jacobus in his home office, wearing a red UH polo and typing on a laptop

McVea’s exploits and achievements may not have received the attention they deserved if it weren’t for Robert Jacobus, a former high school teacher and coach turned sports historian.

McVea’s exploits and achievements may not have received the attention they deserved if it weren’t for Robert Jacobus, a former high school teacher and coach turned sports historian.

Back then, all freshmen played junior varsity their first year, so, in 1965, McVea became the first Black player on a scholarship at a major college football team in Texas and the South. Though some players were a bit uncomfortable with sharing a locker room with a Black athlete, Jacobus says that most of McVea’s teammates handled the team’s integration well. 

“I think the reason we had so little backlash is that people around here wanted to win, and if they thought Warren could help us, they didn’t care what color he was,” Yeoman told Jacobus for his book. 

But when Houston played other schools on the road, it was a different story. As an independent team, Houston traveled all over the South to find strong competition. Over the next couple of years, with games in Florida, Tennessee and Mississippi, McVea integrated many stadiums across the region, becoming the first Black person allowed to enter or play in them. 

A game his senior year, in Oxford, Mississippi, against powerhouse Ole Miss, stood out as a difficult place to play. McVea received death threats before the game, and his fears of violence changed the way he played. One threat warned that if he entered the end zone to score, he would be shot. “Ole Miss was rough,” McVea told Jacobus. “Their fans called me everything in the book from the stands.” 

Jacobus spoke with McVea and Yeoman and found newspaper accounts detailing how McVea let himself be caught from behind, which almost never happened due to his world-class speed. On another play, it looked like McVea was in the clear for a big run and seemed to fall to the ground with no one around. 

Robert Jacobus holds open his book to display a photo of Warren McVea
    “It took him a few years. He had to be a little older to realize that he was an integration pioneer.”
— Robert Jacobus (’89, M.A. ’94), Author of “Houston Cougars in the 1960s: Death Threats, the Veer Offense, and the Game of the Century”

“There were a couple of times Warren had broken free, and he was wide open, and he just kind of fell down,” Jacobus says. “As it turns out, he was afraid he was going to be shot.” 

McVea feared that if he was all alone in the open field, or cruising into the end zone with no one close, he would make an easier target, so he made sure he stayed near the scrum. Houston lost the game 13–14. The racist threats had impacted the outcome of the game. 

Despite the hostility from fans, McVea said the contrary was true of the athletes they played against. “I never encountered anything racial from opposing players throughout my college career,” he told Jacobus, “including late hits, cheap shots or racial remarks.” 

From One UH Alum to Another 

McVea would go on to be a standout for the Cougars, becoming a two-time All-American and averaging 6.7 yards per rush in his UH career. He would later be named to the San Antonio Sports Hall of Fame and the UH Hall of Honor. 

The Cincinnati Bengals drafted him in 1968, and he would go on to play five seasons in the NFL, winning Super Bowl IV with the Chiefs in 1970. (While in Kansas City, broadcasters nicknamed him “the flea,” for his ability to elude defenders, and McVea told The Kansas City Times in 1969 it was the “greatest thrill” of his life to play there.) A knee injury would cut his NFL career short, but his legacy and impact reach far beyond trophies and records. 

Even though the public loves an inspiring sports integration story, McVea’s exploits and achievements may not have received the attention they deserved if it weren’t for Jacobus. A former high school teacher and coach turned sports historian, college professor and author, he spent years tracking down McVea and those who knew him to write the book telling the story of McVea, Hayes and Chaney’s historic tenure with the Cougars. 

Framed photograph in Robert Jacobus' office featuring him and Warren McVea

Jacobus spent years tracking down McVea and those who knew him to tell the story of his historic tenure with the Cougars. 

Jacobus spent years tracking down McVea and those who knew him to tell the story of his historic tenure with the Cougars. 

Inspired by the movie “Glory Road” about the Texas Western men’s basketball team that started five Black players and beat basketball blue blood Kentucky and its all-white basketball team for the 1966 National Championship, Jacobus knew that the University of Houston had its own inspiring story of breaking the color barrier. 

Despite having no experience writing books, working a full-time job as a teacher and raising a family, Jacobus worked nights and weekends for years, digging through University archives and interviewing hundreds of people who knew, coached and played with McVea, Hayes and Chaney. The book tells the story of how these young men made history all across the South, often under threat of violence, and at times in violation of Jim Crow laws largely keeping Black people out of stadiums and gymnasiums. Jacobus went on to write three more books about sports, integration and Texas, and he has another one on the way. 

Jacobus says McVea, who passed away in October 2025 at the age of 79, was aware he was making history, but the day-to-day grind and excitement of being a college athlete didn’t leave much time for reflection. In his later years, he began to see the magnitude of what he did, as well as the bravery of people like Yeoman, who passed away in 2020.  

McVea’s spirit and abilities, it seems, even won over some of his harshest critics. NFL legend and former McVea teammate Wade Phillips wrote the foreword to Jacobus’ book and recalled how McVea and his teammates made a lasting impression at the University of Kentucky, which was still segregated at the time.

“The fans were throwing things at Warren when we went out on the field to play the first half,” Phillips writes. “After witnessing his superior athletic abilities, some of those same people were cheering him in the second half.” 

Through his years of research, Jacobus saw how McVea grew into embracing his role in breaking the color barrier in Texas college football. “It took him a few years. He had to be a little older to realize that he was an integration pioneer,” Jacobus says. “I don’t think they got enough credit for doing what they did.”  

Jacobus’ efforts to tell McVea’s story go a long way toward ensuring that credit is given where it belongs. 

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