Eagles' rookie fullback was shaped by his Liberian roots

By Shannon Ryan

Inquirer Staff Writer

Thomas Tapeh never envisioned a life in which he could afford an expensive car, a roomy home, and a booming state-of-the-art stereo.

But even as an Eagles running back making more money this year than he had seen over his lifetime, Tapeh does not indulge in such luxuries. A native of Liberia, he encountered plenty of struggles - financial and emotional - on his long journey to the NFL.

Tapeh grew up playing soccer in a country on the brink of war before coming to the United States at age 9 to join his determined mother, who had left for St. Paul, Minn., three years earlier. His father abandoned the family, which scrimped and saved to make it in a new country, in a place with bitterly cold weather.

Tapeh, 24, a rookie backup, remembers his family's fortitude. He parks his 1995 Oldsmobile at practice alongside teammates' Hummers and Lexuses. As other Eagles talk on cell phones and play video games in the locker room, he hovers over his Bible. He says he does not drink or smoke.

As he did as a child in Liberia, Tapeh sleeps on the floor, now in a one-bedroom Yeadon apartment. He only bought a bed to put an end to his friends' jokes.

"I live a simple life," he said.

He says that what he does is "eat, study, sleep."

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The Eagles drafted Tapeh in the fifth round out of the the University of Minnesota last spring. The sturdy and muscular 6-foot-1 243-pounder is being paid $230,000 this year and is scheduled to make $1.38 million over the next four years. He has been active for five games, picking up 29 yards on 10 carries and making two special-teams tackles.

"You come to work every day to show you can do it or they're going to find someone who can," he said.

Tapeh's family arrived in Philadelphia from Minnesota on Friday for a 10-day visit. On the itinerary: dinner at an African restaurant, Angie's Kitchen, in Philadelphia, taking in the sights of the city, and watching the Eagles play the Cowboys today.

Hard work is nothing unusual for the Tapehs. They belonged to the Kru tribe and lived in the Liberian capital of Monrovia before a long civil war that divided the country.

Thomas Tapeh's tireless and tenacious mother, Cecily Woiwor, raised him and his sisters, Vickey and Winifred, on $125 a month as a bank teller. After work and on weekends, she shouted "dollar, dollar, dollar" as she sold a type of fish stew on busy streets.

In 1986, when Tapeh was 6, Woiwor said goodbye to her children and left for the United States to work in a nursing home for $5.40 an hour. She saw her children only for short times over the next three years while they lived with Thomas' paternal grandmother, whom everyone called Grandma Tapeh.

For sleeping accommodations, the children ripped cardboard boxes and spread them on the hard floor of Grandma Tapeh's one-room home. Among their chores was walking five blocks to draw bathwater from a well.

"She was hard-core," Thomas Tapeh said of his grandmother. "She was an old lady, but she was tough."

Liberia, a country of 3.4 million on Africa's west coast, is attempting to recover from 14 years of civil war and economic collapse. Tapeh and his friends grew up playing soccer in the streets to all hours - or until it became unsafe. Curfews came earlier and earlier. Violence erupted in surrounding areas.

In the United States, Woiwor worked 15 hours a day, sending back $225 monthly from her meager paycheck.

"Oh, she is fierce," Tapeh said, his admiration apparent as he spoke in his melodic accent. "I'm blessed to have her as my mother. She's a very strong, very caring woman."

In 1989, Grandma Tapeh photographed the three children and mailed the photo to Woiwor. They were dressed in clean school clothes but were spindly thin and had shaved heads. The sight pained their mother.

"They looked like kids from Ethiopia," she said. "I said, 'I am doing all I can, but what is going wrong? I don't care what it will take. I have to be with my children.' "

Woiwor, who keeps the photo in her living room as a reminder, flew to Liberia to retrieve her children in 1989. A month later, war broke out. Grandma Tapeh, who was moving - without medicine or money - from town to town to escape the violence, died.

Life in America turned out not to be so easy, either.

Anthony Tapeh, Thomas' father, never played a significant role in his children's lives. Thomas heard that his father was a wealthy man who held a high position on the seaport docks and provided money to friends and children he had with other women. When Woiwor found the courage to ask for money, he sent her away.

"He took care of a lot of people - but not necessarily us," Tapeh said.

When Woiwor brought her children to the United States, Anthony Tapeh also came. But he went only as far as JFK International Airport in New York. He turned to 9-year-old Thomas and said: "You are the man of the family now." Then he left.

Thomas later learned that his father had moved to California. Year after year, the father promised to visit at Christmas, but that gift never arrived.

Woiwor and her five children, including American-born Archie, currently 11, and Amy, 9, as well as an aunt and cousin, lived together in a small apartment in Minnesota. In 1997, they put in 1,000 hours through Habitat for Humanity to build the home in which she still lives. Tapeh's uncle, Richard Tapeh, also came to visit him in Philadelphia this week.

Before his high school graduation, Woiwor told Thomas and his aunt to pick up a friend at the airport.

"Who do I see?" Tapeh said, pausing. "My father. First time since I was 9. I just say, 'How are you doing, sir?' "

Anthony Tapeh did not recognize his own son, thinking Thomas was the aunt's husband. He stayed with the family a few days without doing much explaining of the past.

Then he was gone again - until he resurfaced a few years later. That is when Tapeh's father contacted him at college. The father was sick with diabetes and needed help.

Tapeh was conflicted.

"He deserted you, and he deserted us," he told his mother. "Why take on this burden?"

"Be the bigger man," Woiwor replied. "In life, you have to learn to forgive and forget. God said, 'Vengeance is mine.' We leave that to God."

They decided to help the man who had turned his back on them. Woiwor now cares for him at the nursing home where she still works. Thomas Tapeh calls him and visits him when he is in Minnesota.

"I knew my heavenly father was there for me, but being human, you want to see your natural father," he said. "I had to go through a lot of Bible counseling to learn to forgive."

School was another tough transition for Tapeh. He spoke a native dialect but not much English. Cartoons such as Thundercats eventually helped him learn it. Children teased him about his accent, and he had few friends.

"I cried on the inside a lot," he said. "I had nobody to turn to."

During his teen years, trouble was his escape. He sneaked out of the house, fought, and neglected his studies.

Once, he climbed through a window around 1 a.m. Woiwor was waiting and beat him with a broom.

"I'm trying to raise you," she said. "I'm struggling and suffering for you."

Tapeh promised to straighten out and attend college. His mother never hit him again, she said.

Tapeh reluctantly stopped playing soccer to join the Johnson High football team midway through his sophomore year. He went from failing to excelling in school, and his future opened wide.

The first time Woiwor attended one of Tapeh's football games, she wore a colorful African head wrap. She was handed a pamphlet with her son's photo on the cover along with the words "A Star Is Born."

Four other Big Ten Conference schools - Michigan, Ohio State, Iowa and Wisconsin - offered him scholarships, but Tapeh needed to be close to his family, and he chose Minnesota.

At Minnesota, he redshirted and suffered two foot injuries that limited his play.

"He was a guy who always impressed me," Minnesota coach Glen Mason said. "I can honestly say Thomas is one of those guys who never gave me one minute of problems."

Tapeh said his life is not a glamorous one, nor does he wish that it was. He sees the benefits of a disciplined lifestyle.

"Temptation is always out there," he said. "You can make it fun if you choose, but you must live with the consequences."

He said that living the lessons taught by his mother - hard work, diligence, sacrifice - will lead to success in football.

With his draft money, Tapeh bought Woiwor a 2002 Dodge Durango. She reluctantly accepted it. He also sends her money regularly.

Many family members, including his sister Winifred, 20, still live in Liberia. Tapeh fields frequent requests for money now that he is in the NFL. He said he will return to his homeland one day.

"It is hard," he said, putting his head in his hands as if praying. "I can't save them all, but I do what I can to help."

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