In one day, Quinton Porter went from completely content to devastated.

On Feb. 15, Porter attended his older brother Luke’s wedding in Portland, Maine. He was slated to begin his junior season as Boston College’s starting quarterback. He had just finished making his first weekend trip home to Portland – a city he still praises for its small-town hospitality but endless entertainment opportunities – since Winter Break.

One day later he was driving back to Chestnut Hill, Mass., with his parents, Michael and Georgia, and his girlfriend. After stopping at a deli, his father complained of chest pains and blamed it on indigestion. His mother stepped into a grocery store to buy a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. Michael crumpled to the ground, holding his chest. Porter ran into the deli and screamed for an employee to dial 911. After an hour in the hospital, Michael Porter, 58, was pronounced dead.

‘When he collapsed I could have almost reached out and caught him,’ Porter said. ‘That’s how close I was. He died soon after the ambulance arrived.’

‘That was what bothered him the most,’ Georgia said. ‘He had that feeling that if he caught him, things would have been different.’

For three weeks Porter stayed at his home in Portland and grieved for the man who had instilled in him a love for nature and Bob Dylan. He leafed through his father’s collection of records, from obscure 1930s blues singer Blind Willie Johnson to The Clash and The Ramones.

Porter read through a poem his father had written, ‘Ghost,’ that he would later read at his memorial. And he shuffled through the rough draft of an unpublished book that his father hoped to write about Maine’s swimming holes.

And then he started to rethink his entire life.

‘He’s a quiet person, he pretty much kept it to himself,’ center Chris Hathy said. ‘A bunch of us went to the funeral to support him, but he did most of it on his own.’

His dad had been so proud of him when he earned that full scholarship to Boston College. He’d been to every game, both home and away. He’d sent him to high school summer camps at Kentucky, Purdue and Northwestern to build his reputation. And he was there in college, where Porter spent his first two seasons sitting behind quarterback Brian St. Pierre.

But after the death of his father, football didn’t seem so important to Porter. Going back to Boston and revisiting the spot where Michael fell would be torture. So Porter sat and thought.

‘It was so shocking, it took me a while to decide whether I wanted to keep doing it at all,’ Porter said. ‘Going back to BC, playing football, all of it.’

After three weeks, he returned thanks to the support of seven family members who piled into a van and made the two-hour drive to Chestnut Hill as Porter’s moral support. They stopped and stood silent outside the deli and placed a candle and some flowers from his brother’s wedding down on the BC campus.

‘Quin felt that he was going to have a very difficult time going back to Boston where his dad died,’ Georgia said. ‘He was saying that to various members of the family.’

The image of his father’s fall replays in Porter’s head every day. But on the football field, he can hide from it. As a quarterback, his mind focuses on other things.

Zone or man-to-man? Scamper for a first down or sit in the pocket where his offensive line likes him? Slide before the safety takes his head off or shake him out of his shoes?

‘I try to separate football from my life,’ Porter said. ‘I see football more as an escape. I can focus on football and escape from everything else.’

Michael was a legend in downtown Portland. He played college basketball at Nasson College and, at 55, was still the first choice in pick-up basketball games. He was hoping to play in the senior Olympics and was actually looking forward to turning 60, so he could dominate the competition in a senior league.

To Michael, who stayed in great shape, the pick-up games were an extension of his college career. On breakaway lay-ups he’d commit hard fouls. Sometimes his opponents moaned. Sometimes they yelled. Sometimes they challenged him to fight. But they never scored.

‘He played nearly every day in the summer,’ Georgia said. ‘The older brother’s wouldn’t even go with him. Only Michael went. He was so intense about it.’

Michael was nearly as rabid about Porter’s career. He would have gushed at his son’s gaudy numbers, 87 of 154 for 1044 yards, which place him third in the Big East in passing efficiency and second in touchdowns with 11.

‘When they first started showing his highlights on ESPN, he always said, ‘I can’t believe dad’s not around to see this,” Georgia said. ‘Like last week when he won Big East Co-Offensive Player of the Week. There’s always the flip side that his dad isn’t there to see it.’

But now, whenever Porter needs motivation, a revitalized competitive spirit or just a reason to get knocked down one more time, he looks at the pictures stored in the upper corner of his locker or at the wristband wrapped around his arm.

When Michael died he wore a BC knit hat on his head. The Eagles crest was stitched to the front. Porter cut the logo, attaching it to the wristband he wears on the field.

‘What I learned most from my dad was to be competitive,’ Porter said. ‘He’d play pick-up games like he was in the NBA playoffs. I bring that motivation whenever I play.’

Published on October 15, 2003 at 12:00 pm