ELDER W ILLIAM “BILL” ELGERT COLLINS,SR. 1948 – 2025
By: Roy Douglas Malonson
Bill Collins didn’t just play football—he made history every time he stepped onto the field. As the first Black football captain to lead the University of Colorado for an entire season, Bill broke barriers, silenced doubt, and left a legacy that continues to inspire generations. On July 31, 2025, he passed away in Dallas, Texas, at the age of 76 after a battle with cancer. His life was a testament to what it means to rise, lead, and open doors for those who follow.
Before Bill became a college football pioneer, I knew him as the young man who lived just 100 feet away from me in Acres Home. Even then, it was clear he had something special. At George Washington Carver High School, he was the starting quarterback on the football team and the starting pitcher for the baseball team. He didn’t just play—he excelled. On the field and in the classroom, he stood out as a leader, a thinker, and someone destined for greatness.
Opportunities for Black youth were scarce back then, especially in leadership positions on the field. Back then, they didn’t allow Black kids to be starting quarterbacks in white colleges. That role was considered off-limits. No matter how much talent a young man like Bill had, there was always a ceiling. But he never let that stop him. He carried himself with quiet determination and kept preparing for greater things.
His road to college football wasn’t easy.
He didn’t receive a scholarship out of high school. Instead, he wrote letters, advocated for himself, and walked on to the University of Colorado football team without any promises. But by the spring of his freshman year in 1966, he had earned that scholarship—and much more. From 1967 to 1969, he played with heart and power, helping lead CU to a 21–11 record and two bowl victories.
The defining moment of his legacy came during the 1969 Liberty Bowl, when Colorado played against an all- white Alabama team. The racial tension in Memphis that night was thick. And when it came time for the coin toss, Bill’s white co-captains stopped short—letting him walk alone to midfield. That moment was powerful. He called “tails,” won the toss, and led Colorado to a 47–33 victory. But more than that, he led with dignity and courage. That coin toss wasn’t just about football—it was a moment of defiance, pride, and representation.
When I look at college football today, I see Deion Sanders coaching at Colorado and his son Shedeur Sanders starting at quarterback. That same program that once didn’t allow men like Bill to lead at that level now uplifts them. And I know—without a doubt—that Bill Collins helped make that possible.
His senior season was legendary. He earned second-team All-Big Eight honors and tied a school record with 23 tackles in a single game. Over his career, he racked up 167 tackles, 11 for loss, and eight pass deflections. But the numbers only tell part of the story. What really made him special was his presence. Bobby Anderson called Bill’s walk to midfield “the most courageous moment” in CU football history. Eric Harris said he “made contact” with people’s lives—and I couldn’t agree more. Bill moved through the world with purpose and humility.
He is survived by his wife of 45 years, Esther D., seven children—daughters Tammy Franklin (Kirk), Da’Vidra West, Tamara Collins, Dawn Wilburn, Kimberly Tripp (Derrick), Celeste Howell (Keith), and son William “Bill” III (Novelette); 21 grandchildren: Kerrion, Carrington (Maxx), Caziah (Alena), Kennedy, Micah, Brandon, Andrew, Imani, Derrick II, Kelise, Gideon-Michael, William III, Caleb, Stephen-Gabriel, Evadney, John-Alan, Dylan, Kendyl, Kason, Kenzlie, and Keith III; and two great- grandchildren, Shiloh and Levi Noelle. His celebration of life was held on August 7 in Dallas, where guests were asked to wear his favorite colors—blue and tan.
Bill Collins lived the way he played: with courage, integrity, and quiet strength. His story is more than athletic achievement— it’s about transformation. He showed young Black men that leadership is not given—it’s earned, claimed, and often fought for.
To the next generation—especially those coming out of Acres Home— remember this: you don’t need permission to be great. You need purpose. Bill Collins had it. And because of him, so can you.
Rest well, “Foots.” You were always steps ahead, and even in passing, you’re still clearing the path for the next generation.
