They say Elko got his start, as an assistant under Glanton, at a 2A school out past Van Horn. Glanton’s bus stopped when it saw him, alone, in the middle of nowhere. “What in the hell are you doing?”, Glanton asked.
“Waiting to join your party, and get some scalps,” Elko replied.
They assumed he meant “scalps” allegorically, but they didn’t think that for long.
His coaching career has had more than its fair share of horrific massacres and disasters, some he came out on top of, others he barely survived. None of that changed his disposition- always upbeat, always relishing the pain and fear of football, always liking that rare red meat.
He went through trainers, that’s for certain, and after a while they learned to stop hiring young ones.
One night, after a Duke win over Holy Cross, as his team showered and the others drank and took pills to push their anguish down some, he sat in the middle of the field. The lights were out, and the moon was shining. He made a trainer sit in his lap. “I could eat you up”, he told the boy, a big open grin showing his so sharp teeth. The lad was terrified, his heart racing like a rabbit’s. He was relieved when the orthopedic doctor called out from the sideline, looking for him. The boy squirmed out of the massive grip. As he scurried to safety, he could hear Elko say softly, almost sing, “Football is god”.