She gathered with about 20 family members at a private, graveside service late Friday afternoon near Smithfield to say goodbye to the youngest of her two sons.

Curtis Whitley, 39, a former Carolina Panthers center, was found dead last Sunday -- Mother's Day -- in his rented trailer in the West Texas desert.

It was a tragic end to a life of extremes. He brought family and friends joy and fun. He also brought heartache.

He was gentle and caring with animals, once sleeping beside a horse to nurse it back to health after a vet suggested euthanasia. He carried a scar on his right hand from age 11, earned when he reached into a water trough to save a drowning rat that bit him during the rescue.

He was a talented, incredibly strong football player. He bench-pressed 505 pounds in college at Clemson. He started the first 24 games in Panthers' history, proudly lighting a victory cigar after the franchise's first win.

He had a gift for making people laugh, often just by being himself. He was an NFL cowboy -- hat, boots, jeans, smile, and swagger on a 6-foot-1 body that neared 300 pounds during his playing days.

But there was a dark side: an alcohol and drug addiction that repeatedly landed him in trouble. He was waived or suspended from three NFL teams, including the Panthers. After his football career was over, he was convicted of multiple felonies and misdemeanors.

Coaches, teammates, family members and friends desperately tried to help the Good Curtis prevail. Most, however, grew frustrated by his frequent setbacks.

Finally, in the past couple of years, his family believed he was sober.

Even if that's true -- how could they be sure? -- standing next to his freshly dug grave Friday while local pastors tried to console them was almost more than they could bear.

"I really can't describe it," said Whitley's older brother Norman, 40, a sergeant in the Johnston County (N.C.) Sheriff's Department.

There are still many questions. Authorities in Texas are awaiting autopsy, toxicology and blood test results, but say there is no evidence of foul play.

Betty Whitley and Curtis' father, her former husband Norman, haven't spoken publicly since their son died. The pain is too fresh.

"It's hard to carry on a conversation with them now," said Norman, their son.

"You don't expect to outlive your children."

Farm living

The free-spirited country boy the Panthers selected in the 1995 NFL expansion draft grew up on a 200-acre farm in Smithfield, just southeast of Raleigh.He worked in the tobacco fields as a youngster and dreamed of becoming a veterinarian.

He particularly loved horses. There was a wild one named Charlie that only he could ride.

He enjoyed watching westerns with his father, who preferred the black-and-white classics featuring Lash LaRue, the bullwhip-toting cowboy of the 1940s.

Before Whitley was 10, he asked for the Miami Dolphins uniform he wore often. A trip to a local punt, pass and kick competition ignited his love for playing football.

He was an all-state lineman as a senior in 1986 at Smithfield-Selma High.

His brother is convinced he hadn't yet started drinking.

"I never saw him consume any alcohol whatsoever in high school," Norman said. "I could never get him to drink with me."

That changed at Clemson, where Whitley attended on a football scholarship.

He was booted out of school in 1989 after participating in a drunken bar fight that fractured the jaw of another student.

He transferred to Chowan Junior College, but was allowed back at Clemson in 1990 after Ken Hatfield replaced Danny Ford as the Tigers' coach.

Whitley played regularly for two years, but missed the Jan. 1, 1991, Hall of Fame Bowl game against Illinois for violating team rules.

"I am very disappointed in Curtis Whitley," Hatfield said at the time.

After his senior season, Whitley was picked in the fifth round of the 1992 NFL draft by San Diego.

Hard Charger

Deems May now lives in Charlotte and is senior vice president of a financial services company.

A few weeks ago, he got a random phone call from Whitley, his former Chargers teammate.

Whitley was driving a truck back to Texas and had paused at Bill's Truck Stop in Lexington, N.C.

"He seemed awesome," said May, a Lexington native who played tight end at San Diego. "He was even talking about putting some money away."

The Chargers picked May two rounds after Whitley in the '92 draft. Possibly because of their Carolinas connection, May was given the sometimes difficult job of making sure Whitley stayed out of trouble and showed up on time. They roomed together on the road for three years.

"Sober, he was as good a guy as you could find," said May. "He would drive here from Texas if you told him you were in trouble.

"But he was mean when he was drinking. He liked Jack Daniels (liquor) and Marlboro Red (cigarettes), and he didn't try to hide it."

May said Whitley was the best center and strongest man he's ever seen. The strength came naturally. Whitley didn't like lifting weights and didn't work out with teammates, drawing the ire of the team's conditioning coaches, who threatened to fine him for conduct detrimental to the team.

May said Whitley once arrived at the Chargers' weight room -- in boots and spurs -- and lit a cigarette.

"He asked what (all-pro linebacker) Junior Seau did on the bench press," said May. "He was told Junior had benched 405 pounds three times.

"After warming up, Whit lifts 405 pounds five or seven times. Then he gets up and says, `When Junior can do that, call me and I'll come lift with y'all.' "

The room erupted with laughter.

It wasn't funny, though, the day May had to leave practice to fetch Whitley, who had passed out on his bed, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to him. When May arrived, Whitley's alarm clock was blaring, inches from his head.

"When your coaches ask you to do something, you do it," said May. "They'd tell me, `Make sure he's not drinking whiskey; keep him on the beer.' He ran as hard as he could every day."

Whitley tested the patience of San Diego general manager Bobby Beathard and coach Bobby Ross.

"I knew he had some issues, but couldn't tell if it was psychological or not," said Beathard. "I always talked with him and got the sense he was either hiding something or didn't trust people.

"I don't know how you help a person like that. We certainly tried."

Ross said he thought Whitley, a valued backup, had "a serious problem."

"It would seem like every time he was getting near to getting things right, he would revert back," said Ross. "But I liked Curtis. I really did. I thought there was something to the kid."

Whitley found big trouble when he injured another motorist in a drunk driving accident in July 1994. The Chargers waived him, then required him to attend the Betty Ford rehabilitation clinic in Rancho Mirage before being allowed back on the team.

During that exile, Chargers center Courtney Hall reached out to Whitley, sending him a letter at the rehab facility.

"He was touched by it," Hall said of the letter. "He started tearing up right there, but Cowboys don't cry, right? ... Unless the horse dies."

Whitley returned to the Chargers after 26 days of rehabilitation and started three games late in the '94 season when Hall was injured. San Diego made it to the Super Bowl before losing to San Francisco.

Partly because of his difficulties, the Chargers made Whitley available in the expansion draft. Carolina chose him in February 1995.

Hall hated to see Whitley go.

"He was born in the wrong era," said Hall.

"If he would've been born in the old west, he would've been the hero who maybe drank too much and stumbled off his horse, but he would stake his life to protect his town and his family from the bad guys."

Panther days

Whitley finally began reaching his football potential with the Panthers. He started every game in the team's first season and was rewarded with a three-year, $4.5 million contract.He had several outstanding liens, which might or might not have influenced his decision to go to a Charlotte bank carrying a black suitcase and requesting to cash rather than deposit the $1.9 million signing bonus check.

May, his former Chargers teammate, remembers calling Whitley to congratulate him on the contract.

"I asked him what he was going to do with his signing bonus money," said May. "He said, `I'm looking at it right now.' "

Whitley was set as the Panthers' starter in the '96 season. His career was flourishing and his wife, Tracy, gave birth to their second child, son Curtis Jr., on Sept. 22.

But Whitley's brother was concerned. He said football took an enormous physical toll on Whitley's body.

"He had injured knees and shoulders," said Norman. "The team doctors had him on a pain management program. After a game, we'd meet him somewhere and he'd hardly be able to walk.

"It was a pretty educating experience. I had a lot of respect for the (NFL) players. But as far as the organizations, it didn't put them in a very good light. It was pretty clear they just wanted you out there on the field making their money."

Within about two weeks of Curtis Jr.'s birth, Whitley made a horrible decision.

He had passed every drug test with the Panthers and knew a violation would result in a suspension, but didn't resist when a friend of his wife offered to share some crystal methamphetamine with him.

He and Tracy were with a group of friends in an exclusive Charlotte restaurant, and Curtis slipped away to the women's room with his wife's friend. He later admitted to inhaling the crystal meth through a rolled-up $100 bill on the bathroom counter.

In less than a month, he was informed that he'd flunked a drug test and was suspended four games by the NFL. He never started another game for the Panthers, who went on to reach the NFC Championship Game that season.

Before training camp opened the next year, the Panthers released Whitley.

The team's general manager at the time, current Indianapolis Colts president Bill Polian, said this week that Whitley's career struggles should serve as a warning to other players.

"I feel quite sad because Curtis was a good guy and a good player and a good-hearted person," said Polian. "But unfortunately, his career and probably his life was marred by the fact that he couldn't come to grips with his addiction.

"The message is clear: Drugs, period, and alcohol in excess are things to be avoided. I just think people who are caught up in that situation have a very difficult time."

Transition trials

The Oakland Raiders gave Whitley another chance, signing him 16 days after the Panthers cut him.

He played in 15 games in 1997 and signed another three-year contract. But after testing positive again in violation of league policy, he was suspended for at least a year and missed the 1998 season.

He never played in the NFL again. He did have a brief stint with the Arena Football League's Tampa Bay Storm in 2000 before a knee injury ended his career.

Whitley returned home to Smithfield and his life crumbled further.

In 2001, Tracy left him and took their children back to California.

Whitley also had run-ins the law -- mostly misdemeanors.

Asked if Whitley's worsened behavior was linked to the sudden end of his playing career and marriage, his brother said it was possible.

Studies have shown that NFL players often have a tough adjustment to life after football, battling depression, chronic pain, concussions, joint problems, financial decline, divorce, premature death and suicide.

"It's really a tragic story for a lot of football players," said former Panthers tight end Wesley Walls, a close friend of Whitley. "You leave the game you love and your family life falls apart."

Over the next several years, Whitley spiraled further out of control. He moved temporarily to Florida, then Oklahoma, only to come back home both times.

Legal problems seemed to follow him wherever he went. There were misdemeanor convictions for damage to personal property, larceny, possession of a controlled substance and possession of drug paraphernalia.

In November 2005, he was convicted of a felony for breaking a friend's jaw in a drunken brawl.

That same month, his modular home in Smithfield burned to the ground.

Old West finale

Family members noticed a change in Whitley starting in 2006. Finally, it seemed he was straightening out his life.But he wasn't happy living at home anymore.

"There were people here constantly coming to his house," said his brother. "He didn't really have much peace. He wanted to go somewhere he wasn't known and could just be a regular guy."

In October 2007, Whitley moved to Fort Stockton, Texas, a town of about 9,000 people located in the Chihuahuan Desert, about 150 miles from the Mexican border and Big Bend National Park, 500 miles west of Houston and far from any big cities.

It's an old west setting, dirt and cactus instead of grass and trees.

Whitley rented a trailer from his boss, Pete Galvan.

Galvan and business partner Joy Chew head J&P Communications, a construction company. They hired Whitley to operate trucks, bulldozers and backhoes.

"Everybody who works here operates everything," said Galvan, "and those kind of guys are hard to find."

Galvan, his wife, Amy, and their four children live in a double-wide that is connected by an awning to the trailer Whitley was renting. Whitley visited them regularly. Like virtually everyone else in Fort Stockton, they called Whitley "Big." Though he'd lost some weight since his playing days, he was still around 265 pounds.

Whitley cooked out with the Galvans and enjoyed playing with their children. He played soccer with 5-year-old boy Estevan, rode horses with their 18-year-old daughter Ki, and had a particularly special relationship with their 2-year-old son, Kadin.

"Big called the baby `Wiggler,' " said Pete Galvan. "He would hold him and carry him around. The boy is hell on wheels. That boy liked to beat on him. He'd follow Big around, hitting him in the back of the leg with a stick.

"It's just amazing to see somebody that big who could intimidate somebody very easily just by being there, but that baby wasn't intimidated at all."

May 10 was Whitley's 39th birthday. He spoke by phone with both of his parents.

The Galvans went to a rodeo that day and returned home around 1 a.m. last Sunday, noticing Whitley on the steps of his trailer.

By late afternoon, Amy Galvan grew concerned because she went hours without seeing Whitley.

She searched for him and found him face down on the trailer's bathroom floor. He was shirtless and shoeless, wearing only blue warm-up pants. Immediately, she called for her husband.

Representatives from the Pecos County Sheriff's Office were soon on the scene. They found no evidence of foul play, but declined to say whether they found any alcohol or drugs near Whitley's body because the investigation remains open pending autopsy, toxicology and blood test results.

However, they said they believe it was an accidental death and that Whitley likely died six to eight hours before he was found.

Whitley's family wonders if he had a heart attack. Galvan wouldn't speculate.

But he said he never saw Whitley drunk or on drugs, and that he and Amy saw no evidence of such substances in the trailer when they found him.

Because Whitley drove heavy machinery at work, Galvan said he was subjected to a pre-employment drug test and random tests thereafter. Galvan said Whitley passed them all.

"We have to comply with the Texas Department of Transportation," said Galvan. "They test for everything -- alcohol, marijuana, methamphetamine. Nobody knows when they'll show up. It might be in the next 10 minutes and it might not be for 10 months.

"They show up and take a sample right there where you stand. There's no warning of any kind. What does that tell you? If he had been doing something, there's no way he could have known when he was going to have to take those drug tests."

It wasn't until after Whitley's death that Galvan learned Whitley had been an NFL player. He said he knew nothing of Whitley's history of substance abuse until he read about it over the past week in news reports.

"He never spoke of it," said Galvan. "I knew he had a mother and two kids, and that was it."

Whitley's children, daughter Hannah, now 12, and son Curtis Jr., 11, attended his funeral Friday.

His brother Norman never came to Fort Stockton, but Curtis told him he was saving money to buy some land there and build a house.

"The old Curtis wouldn't have ever been able to do that," said Norman. "He sure made Mom real happy."

Want to help?

Curtis Whitley's family has asked that memorial donations be sent to the nonprofit organization Reins From Above, a therapeutic horse riding center for handicapped children in Kenly, N.C.

Reins From Above owner Stacey Ryder didn't know Whitley, but got a surprise visit from his parents late Thursday afternoon, one day before their son's funeral.

Whitley loved horses and was involved with a similar organization when he lived in California in the early 1990s.

Ryder said Whitley's father wrote a check before he left, making him the first to provide a gift in Curtis' memory.

Donations can be made on the Web site www.reinsfromabove.com; by mailing checks to 12160 Highway 42 East, Kenly, N.C., 27542; or by calling (919) 938-1556."

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