‘Football was everything’ for this Chicago peewee coach. Even after he became blind

James Bell stands on the sidelines listening to the sounds of the football game. “Get fired up, get fired up, get fired up, let’s go!” cheerleaders yell as junior football players trot back to the line of scrimmage.

The players on the field are all young, 9 to 11 years old. Bell, 37, of Bronzeville, is helping them learn the fundamentals of offense and defense. He is a loud and motivating figure who constantly moves up and down the sidelines cheering on his team, relying on other coaches for information he might have missed because he is blind.

This is exactly where he wants to be.

The teams set up on the field. Silence falls. Bell, short and stocky, with the build of a power running back, gazes into the distance as he awaits the snap.

Football has been part of Bell’s life since he began playing in a youth football league when he was 8 in Louisiana. It’s been a through line that has helped him cope with so many struggles — including his parents’ drug addictions, divorce and custody battles, the death of his mother and then the mother of his children, being a single father, getting shot twice, losing his sight and suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

His story is one of adversity in many forms, of tragedy and grief but also resilience, optimism, family, strength and redemption. And, always, his love of football.

The kickoff

It starts in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where Bell grew up, the middle child of five, with two older half-sisters and two younger half-brothers.

As a child, he bounced from place to place, caught in the middle of custody battles between his parents. Both wanted him in their lives. Both struggled with drug addiction – especially his mother, with whom he primarily lived. She’d often cash in her child-support check to buy drugs. He remembers sleeping in crack houses with no lights or gas and being taken away from one parent by the other and back again, always moving to yet another location.

“You’re confused because you don’t know whose side to be on,” Bell said. “My mother told us, ‘Don’t tell on me because the people will come and take y’all.’ … So we knew what to do and knew what to say. You get brainwashed as a kid, and you know you can’t say the wrong thing.”

He sought ways to provide for his younger siblings. As a young boy, he found two men who taught him how to put together motors, carburetors and more. He began working at a boatyard, where he was paid under the table. Bell used the money to buy things for his younger brothers.

“Everything my mother was supposed to be doing, I took her place,” he said.

But things with his mother grew worse. When he was 10, his grandmother intervened, taking custody of Bell, moving him to West Englewood and leaving his siblings in Baton Rouge with other relatives.

At first, Bell struggled to adjust to life in Chicago. He was kicked out of the first school for fighting and transferred to the alternative Triumphant Charter School.

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His grandfather found out he was smoking marijuana and worried he was falling under the influence of his uncles, who sold drugs. Looking for a way to help, his grandfather enrolled him in a youth football league, the Chicago Park District’s Junior Bear Football league.

Football quickly became the only thing Bell cared about. It made him feel he was part of a bigger family, with new brothers to fill the void of the family he left in Louisiana. The mental and physical challenges of football instilled discipline and kept him from dwelling on negative emotions and thoughts.

“It meant a lot to me coming from poverty not having anything, made me feel wanted,” Bell said. “It made me feel like I was somebody. Football made me feel like I was somebody special.”

He kept at it, transitioning into the Chicago Public Schools’ Anderson Bulldogs during middle school, then starting on the freshman team at Harper High School, where he was named most valuable player as a power running back and downhill runner.

The snap

The summer after freshman year, Bell got the news his mother had died of brain cancer. He got in a car with his younger cousin and his aunts, heading to Louisiana for the funeral. But they never got there. They were in a car wreck that killed Bell’s cousin and left his aunts seriously injured. Bell sustained a torn ACL, a fractured skull and other broken bones.

When he awoke in a hospital in Mississippi, the first thing on his mind was football. He remembers feeling a sense of relief when the doctor told him he would be able to play again.

“Football was everything,” he said. “I took all my pain, everything, out on the field.”

His injuries meant he had to sit out his sophomore year of football. He came back as a rotational player his junior year before again being a starter senior year.

After graduating from high school in 2006, Bell enrolled at the College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn with plans to play football for the community college.

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But the financial aid he was counting on fell through, leaving him desperate for money to pay for his education and rent so he could continue playing the sport he loved. He got a job at a grocery store, but it wasn’t enough.

Following in his uncles’ footsteps, Bell turned to selling drugs in West Englewood. In October 2007, another dealer confronted Bell over a territory dispute and shot him, the bullet grazing his jaw and neck. Bell ran to his grandmother’s house and was rushed to a hospital, where the doctors said he would recover, but a fragment of the bullet remained lodged in his neck. He was to avoid any strenuous activity, including football. His football aspirations were over, and he had to reconsider what he wanted out of life.

“I almost died having no kids, and it made me look at life in a whole different way,” Bell said. “This ain’t me. I got to go back to the drawing board.”

A turnover

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One person who was there for him was Ranita Howell, his girlfriend. They’d met in high school, and he developed a crush on her during their freshman year, when both were involved with other people. Bell remembers teasing Howell to get her attention and Howell threatening to have her boyfriend set him straight. As they spent time in several classes together, the teasing led to a friendship. Their separate relationships deteriorated, and, a few years later, they became involved.

After Bell was shot, Howell would routinely walk a few blocks from her parents’ home to see Bell. She brought soft foods and first aid supplies to help Bell recover. She fed him and helped change his bandages.

Bell knew he wanted children and to give them a better chance at a successful life than he had. He gave up school because football, his main motivation, was no longer possible, and he bounced from job to job before finding work transporting vehicles at Ford Motor Co. Howell and Bell had their first child, James Jr., in 2008, followed by Jamaria, Jamarion and Jamila.

As the primary provider for the family, Bell often worked overtime. After a few years, Howell also got a part-time job at an Ultra Foods grocery store.

At times, it was overwhelming. But Howell kept everyone’s spirits up by organizing family outings and gathering the extended family for the holidays, which always included a buffet of food and music. She was the glue that kept the family together, Bell said.

As they sought new activities to share with their children, Bell turned to his passion for football.

James Jr. was just 3 when he started playing catch with his father. They graduated to running mock plays and running laps at a park.

When James Jr. was 5, Bell signed him up with the Chicago Blitz, a neighborhood youth football team. Bell and Howell could always be found cheering from the stands.

Back to the field

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As Ray Culler, former president of the Chicago Blitz, remembers, Bell slowly made his way to the field.

“Just like most dads, you sit back, and you watch, and you watch, and you start inching closer to the field, closer to the field,” Culler said. “Then, finally we just asked him to come on out.”

Bell started coaching the Blitz’s super peewee team. His coaching style was loud and critical but also supportive.

“Coach James is just like me,” Culler said. “He likes to yell and scream a lot, but the kids responded to that. They loved him for it. He came in with the intensity that we wanted at the time.”

Bell led the team to a championship and multiple playoff appearances.

He had found his way back to the game.

Howell became a “team mom,” volunteering to help the cheerleaders and providing snacks.

James Sr. does an overhead press as he trains alongside his son at Ogden Park in Englewood, Thursday, June 1, 2023. | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times

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James Sr. takes a minute as he trains with his son at Ogden Park in Englewood, Thursday, June 1, 2023. | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times

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James Jr. adds weight to the bar during a training session at Ogden Park in Englewood, Thursday, June 1, 2023. | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times

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James Sr. takes a break as he trains alongside his son James Jr. at Ogden Park in Englewood, Thursday, June 1, 2023. | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times

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James Jr. looks over as his father James Sr. as they warm up for a run at Ogden Park in Englewood, Thursday, June 1, 2023. | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times | Anthony Vazquez/Sun-Times

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“He didn’t just bring his kids to the program,” Sharen Williams, the Blitz organization’s treasurer, said. “He brought the neighborhood. He showed them something different, things that they may or may not have seen in their current environment. That’s rare because, when you are in an underserved community, sometimes it’s all about you just striving to get it done for yourself. But with him, he makes sure to reach one and teach one.”

Williams remembers Bell running up and down the field with her son hours before a weigh-in, motivating him and helping him meet the weight requirements so he could play that year.

“Kids who didn’t believe in themselves, I believe in them,” Bell said. “Kids would come to me with problems, and I would listen. ... It made me feel happy. It made me feel wanted.”

He knows coaching isn’t just about helping kids become better players. He also knows the streets are always calling, and he knows firsthand how easy it can be to fall for the temptations of crime and trouble.

“If I can change one person’s life, I did my job,” Bell said. “Football can get kids off the streets. It will teach [them] there’s more to life than the streets. Sometimes, a young man just needs to hear, ‘Hey, I love you!’”

Sad holiday

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Howell lost her job at Ultra Foods. And, after getting laid off from Ford, Bell got a new job at WeatherTech, which makes floor and car mats, cargo liners and other items. He continued to pick up overtime shifts. He was on his way to an extra shift a week before Christmas in 2016 when he got a frantic call from Howell’s mother.

“Ranita just called, I don’t know what she’s saying, all I heard was, ‘I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, get me to the hospital,’” she said.

Bell rushed to the hospital.

Howell had spent the previous evening dancing and having a good time at her aunt’s birthday party. The following morning, she woke up with chest pain.

When Bell got to the hospital, doctors told him Howell had suffered a massive heart attack due to a blood clot in a leg. The family was gathering outside as Bell was escorted to Howell’s room. He broke down when he saw the ventilator and tubes.

He whispered to her, “Baby, don’t give up, don’t leave me, fight for your life.”

Howell was pronounced dead shortly after.

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“I just passed out,” Bell said. “I’m talking about literally, like, passed out. I cried, and I cried, ‘Baby, don’t leave me, don’t leave me like this.’ I was lost. I was thinking to myself, ‘What did I do wrong?’”

Bell struggled with depression afterward, spending nights crying.

“They used to tell me, like, ‘Don’t cry in front of the kids.’ I’m, like man, it is hard. Because all I think about is her,” he said. “I was hurt looking at my kids and seeing her.”

Howell’s mother and family helped take care of the kids. His cousin Antwon Moss, 37, described seeing Bell spiraling, seemingly ready for his own death. Bell bought life insurance in case something happened to him, Moss said.

“He cared about his kids, but he really didn’t care about his life,” Moss said. “He was prepared, like, ‘I know I’m gonna die, I’m going to get shot.’ And it used to hurt me. But that was that mentality. After losing his kids’ mother and being in the streets and steadily losing loved ones, you know, it makes you want to give up.”

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Moss worried Bell would return to crime and end up dead.

“I felt like the kids had already lost that mother, and I didn’t want them to lose their father, too, so I felt like it was my duty” to help, Moss said.

He made Bell a deal: If he could get him a job, Bell would leave the streets behind.

With help from his cousin, Bell soon started working in environmental services at Rush University Medical Center. The job helped return some sense of normalcy. Moss saw the change in Bell’s demeanor. He stopped preparing for death. He was able to focus on his children and making strides at work.

Over the next few years, Bell got a promotion and fathered two more children, Jada and Jayden, with an on-again-off-again girlfriend. He balanced work, personal life and coaching and enjoyed helping his children with academics and sports.

‘My last breath’

One late night after an outing at a club in 2020, Bell decided to have one last drink with friends outside a friend’s house. He was ready to go home because he had to be at work at 7:30 a.m. but was convinced to stay out a while longer. They were joking and laughing when someone came out of the gangway between the houses and started shooting at one of Bell’s friends.

Bell felt pain in his head. He stumbled to the ground, thinking about his kids.

“I thought I was gone,” he said. “I thought that was going to be my last breath. I wasn’t going to be able to see my kids.”

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He clung to one of his friends and said what he believed might be his last words: “Tell my kids I love them, and let them know their dad took good care of them.”

The bullet hit Bell’s left temple, and a fragment damaged both of his eyes before exiting between his nose and right eye. He lived, but the wound left him blind. He could see vague outlines and shapes of the world around him in broad daylight, allowing him to maneuver at least somewhat inside his home but lost even that at night.

Bell fell into another pit of depression.

His close encounter with death kept replaying in his head — the decisions he had made and the harm it had caused. What kind of future could he provide for his children? He was anxious all of the time and couldn’t even make it out of his home without feeling overwhelmed.

“I get paranoid when I’m in the car riding through the neighborhoods,” Bell said. “I’ll be jumping, flinching, talking to myself, thinking, ‘Is it going to happen again?’”

Suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder on top of his blindness, Bell said he contemplated suicide. His family again stepped in, helping with the children and trying to support Bell emotionally and physically.

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“It’s kind of hard to tell somebody to keep faith when they are doing what they’re supposed to do as human beings,” Moss said. Bell “got completely out [of] the streets and [was] doing the right thing, working legally, taking care of his kids, doing everything he was supposed to do, you know? A full 180 and still to come out with the same results? … I kind of started seeing him look at it as, like, ‘Why even try?’”

Bell lost his job at Rush. He spent most days at home, unable to leave the house unaccompanied. He wanted to get work, but his disability made getting a job hard.

“I was depending on people. That was a hurtful thing,” Bell said. “I was begging people to take me here, begging people to take me there.”

Growing up quickly

Bell’s reliance on his children brought them closer than ever. His two oldest took on various responsibilities, helping Bell with medication and walking around the apartment. James Jr., then 12, handled day-to-day paperwork and bills, while oldest daughter Jamaria, then 11, took charge of the cooking. They looked after their younger siblings and split the cleaning duties.

“I thought about killing myself, but I thought about it. … Why would I leave them?” Bell said. “I gotta be able to be the man I am.”

When Bell went blind, James Jr. quickly became the primary caretaker for the family.

“It’s taught me how to survive in real life, how to adapt quickly and become a man,” he said.

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James Jr. takes care of his five younger siblings, helping to get them ready for school and with homework, keeping them on their best behavior — and taking over football drills for his two younger brothers.

It’s an echo of Bell’s own childhood, when he helped take care of his siblings.

“He’s a smart kid,” Bell said of James Jr. “He’s the man of the house right now — like he takes care of all my business.”

Bell said he tries to let James Jr. be a kid, too.

“I don’t try to put too much on him, but he’s growing as a man,” he said. “I want him to be every bit better than me, better than me and my father.”

Bell, who has since had two more children, Jalani and Ja’Airyre, knows his eight kids still need someone to guide them. He wants to be there for them. And that includes returning to coaching.

Bell continues to fight his way back onto the field. He no longer can coach the same way he used to, but he has found ways to contribute in a supporting role.

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The game

At one of the last practices for the Blitz, Bell reminds the team how to tackle properly during a drill.

“Here, lift up on them,” he says, gesturing at their thighs. “If you don’t do that, you’ll break your arm.”

When the offensive line commits a false start, he stands over them as they do push-ups as punishment: “One thing we are going to do is we going to be disciplined at the line!”

Without his sight, he’ll misidentify a player once in a while or need to ask where a player is. After a series of practice plays, he’ll ask a fellow coach how the players are doing.

“It is a little frustrating sometimes,” Bell said. “I gotta ask the coach what was going on. I’m happy a little bit, and I’m sad a little bit, too, because I want to be able to see my son run the ball and see what he is doing wrong.”

After practice, he finds James Jr., now 14, among players he previously coached.

The eighth graders talk about Bell’s influence on them as peewee players. One describes how much he pushes them to compete. Another jokes that despite Bell getting on his nerves, the coach inspired them to reach the championships in 2019.

James Jr. stands at his father’s side, smiling: “He taught me how to play running back, linebacker and really every position on the field.”

He remembers running drills — catching, running and tackling drills — with his father when he was just 3 years old.

Football has become an outlet for James Jr., as it was for his father.

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“Any time I have a problem, I can just go to the field, call a few friends and go play catch, and it’s going to make me forget about what’s going on in real life,” he said.

James Jr. is a freshman at Morgan Park High School on the far South Side, where he hopes to make an impact on the team as a running back or safety.

Bell isn’t sure what his own future holds. He volunteers with the Chicago Park District Ogden Park Vikings football team after leaving the Blitz and plans to continue mentoring young football players.

Because playing and coaching football has positively influenced his own life, he believes football can be a way out for troubled kids. He hopes one day to start a mentorship organization for young students and athletes.

For now, he is happy to live vicariously through his son as he trains and prepares for high school football. Bell hopes to be there for James Jr. and his other children. Football has become a true family sport, with the boys playing and the girls volunteering with the team or joining the cheer squad.

“I still know the game,” Bell said. “I know everything about the game. I taught my son the game. Now, I got two more sons, I got to teach them the game. And I got to teach them: Don’t pick up a gun — put that gun down, pick up a ball.”

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