The System: The Glory and Scandal of Big-Time College Football (13 page)

With BYU changing its approach to recruiting, Crowton turned to his close friend Bronco Mendenhall for help. Mendenhall was the defensive coordinator at New Mexico, where he’d spent the previous five seasons building the No. 1 defense in the Mountain West Conference. The idea of moving to Provo didn’t thrill Mendenhall. His wife wasn’t excited about trading Albuquerque for Provo, either. But Crowton was one of Mendenhall’s closest friends, and when he said he needed a new defensive coordinator, Mendenhall felt obligated. His arrival coincided with the push to recruit more tough-nosed football players to Provo, a move Mendenhall supported.

“We clearly went after the athletes that year,” Mendenhall said. “I remember the meetings. ‘We need more athleticism.’ ‘We need more speed.’ ‘We need athletes.’ ”

Crowton was counting on Mendenhall to be his enforcer. “The reason I hired Bronco is because I knew he could help me honor the standards,” Crowton said. “He was a real strong guy. He wanted to build the top defense in the nation. He was challenging me, saying, ‘I can handle these guys. I can make sure they won’t get into trouble.’ ”

Karland Bennett and B. J. Mathis arrived in Provo and became roommates at the end of July 2004, a little more than a week before the start of fall camp. Their apartment complex housed mainly freshmen football players, including eleven other African-Americans from Texas, California and Georgia. On August 8, a bunch of them ventured away from campus to the Provo Towne Center mall. It was a Sunday and there were few people at the mall. But a group of African-Americans in BYU football garb drew eyes. They were approached for autographs. Others wished them luck in the upcoming season. It felt pretty good.

Then the players spotted a cute girl. She was short but curvy, with dirty-blond hair. She didn’t seem to mind that she’d been noticed. One player approached and said that one of his teammates wanted to get to know her but was a little shy. He pointed at Karland Bennett.

All the players were handsome, with athletic builds. But the girl quickly surmised that Bennett was the best looking one in the group. He looked
like a
GQ
model. Before she knew it, he was approaching with his teammates. One by one, they introduced themselves as BYU football players. She told them her name and her age—Jane Brown,
^*
seventeen.

Like them, Brown wasn’t from Utah and wasn’t a Mormon. She had moved with her parents from Wyoming to nearby Sandy, a Salt Lake City suburb. But she certainly knew about BYU and its clean reputation. The idea that a group of its football players were paying attention to her was flattering.

Flattery, it turned out, was a healthy thing for Brown. Privately, she struggled with insecurities and was taking antidepressants. But all she felt was excitement when Bennett started talking to her. He suggested she get some of her friends and come by his apartment later that evening to hang out and watch movies. They exchanged cell phone numbers. Bennett said he’d call her around eight.

Brown didn’t have many friends in the area, so she called her twenty-one-year-old cousin Kim Smith.
^†
Basically, Smith was Brown’s best friend and a big sister all in one. A six-foot-one basketball player at a small college in Wyoming, Smith was home for the summer. She lived in Salt Lake City. When she heard the enthusiasm in her cousin’s voice, she said she’d be happy to tag along. At college she had dated a guy whose brother played football for BYU. Maybe he’d be at the party, Smith hoped.

It was 10:30 by the time the girls arrived at University Villa in Provo and made their way to the third-floor end unit, number 124. Bennett and Mathis showed them inside. To the left was a small kitchen area with a table and chairs. To the right four guys were huddled around a large television, playing video games on an Xbox. They were some of the same guys Brown had seen earlier at the mall. They said hello again.

Bennett offered the girls a seat on the long couch. He sat between them and grabbed a joystick. While he played, Brown made small talk, and Smith asked the others if they knew the BYU player who was the brother of the guy she used to date. None did.

After a while, a guy emerged from the living room closet wearing nothing
but SpongeBob boxer shorts and holding a drink. He was seventeen, the youngest player of the group. He was clearly the clown of the bunch.

Bennett turned to his guests. “Want something to drink?” he said.

“I’d love a glass of water,” Brown said. Smith passed.

A minute later, the guy in boxer shorts came from the kitchen and handed Brown a cup. Without looking, she took a sip and nearly choked. The guy laughed. He had given her vodka. She set it down.

She repeated her request for a glass of water.

The guy in boxers disappeared to his apartment next door. He returned with a large bottle of Smirnoff. A couple players drank straight from the bottle. They offered the girls shots.

“I really don’t want to drink,” Brown said. “I just wanted water.”

Smith said she didn’t want any alcohol either.

The guys took a few more shots. Brown was surprised that BYU players were drinking. But it didn’t change her opinion of them. Plenty of people she knew drank socially—not a particularly big deal.

“Why you not drinking?” one of them said to the girls. “You scared?”

“C’mon,” another one urged.

“Fine,” Smith said. “I’ll take one shot. That’s it.”

Brown went along, taking another. With the players egging her on, she took one more for good measure.

Then one of the players suggested they all watch a “flick.” Smith got suspicious. “Flick” was code for porn in her book. While a couple guys struggled to hook up a portable DVD player, Smith and Brown talked between themselves. Then they heard two women moaning. They were on the screen having sex.

“That’s disgusting,” Smith said.

“Like, you wouldn’t do that?” one player said.

“You’re right,” Smith said. “I wouldn’t ever, ever do that!”

A couple guys smirked but didn’t challenge Smith.

Brown still hadn’t figured out that a porn disc was playing. But she finally realized otherwise when she saw two black men simultaneously having sex with one white woman on the screen.

Embarrassed, Brown looked away.

“You’d like to do that, wouldn’t you?” a player joked to Brown.

“No,” she said, flashing an awkward smile. “I’m not that type of girl.”

Smith and Brown turned their backs to the screen and made conversation with Bennett. He seemed disinterested in the porn. Other guys were coming and going. Bennett stepped out for a second, too. When he returned,
he told Smith that one of his teammates wanted to see her on the balcony. He apparently knew the guy Smith used to date. Smith stepped out, and the guy invited her to go get some fast food. She ducked back inside to let Brown know. “We’ll be right back,” she told Brown. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Brown stayed close to Bennett. He was the main reason she had gone there. At one point she told him that she wished they could go off to a late show or grab a bite to eat. But shortly after Smith left, Brown started feeling dizzy and nauseated. She had taken the antidepressant Paxil earlier that evening. Perhaps the alcohol had triggered an adverse reaction? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she suddenly felt as if she were levitating. It was a strange sensation. Scared, she turned to Bennett. “I don’t feel good.”

First he got her some water. But she needed to lie down. He steadied her and led her to his bedroom. He told her nobody would mess with her in there. It was small and dark—a desk on the left, just inside the door, and a bed to the right. Bennett helped her to his bed. She sat and he stood while they talked for a few minutes. At one point, Bennett heard snickering. Three of his teammates had snuck in the room and were watching him. “Get out,” he told them. They left. And a few minutes later, Bennett left to go find Smith. Brown passed out on his bed.

When Brown woke up a while later, she was no longer on the bed. According to police reports and grand jury transcripts, she was bent over Bennett’s desk. A guy wearing no pants was seated on it. Her face was in his lap, pressed against his genitals. Her jeans and underwear were down around her ankles. Another guy was having intercourse with her from behind.

“No,” she pleaded, trying to jerk her head away.

The guy on the desk tightened his grip, pressing his thumbs into her jaws, while moving her head up and down.

“Stop,” she cried.

The guy behind her reached around and cupped her mouth. “Shut up,” he said. Then the two men switched places.

The struggle continued, Brown crying while men kept switching positions. Her jeans and underwear came the rest of the way off. She could feel different sets of hands grabbing her from behind, along with different hands guiding her head up and down. But it was too dark to see who was doing what. And she was too weak to put up resistance.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and someone flipped on the light. Everyone stopped. The guy holding her head let go. She saw his face. She also turned and saw the other men in the room. None of them were wearing underwear except the guy in SpongeBob boxers.

“What the hell are you thinking?” one of them shouted at the one who had just entered the room. “Shut the lights off. Hurry.”