How journalist Kent Babb used text messages to write about a daughter struggling to connect with her football star father

Corwin Brown played for close to a decade in college and pro football as a safety — a live-wire position that sees its share of game-saving plays and violent collisions. 

Twenty-five years after Brown’s playing career ended, Kent Babb of The Washington Post has written a thorough and wrenching story about the battles that came afterward for Brown and his family. 

“Dad was a football star — until dad was ‘a monster’” follows Brown’s daughter Jaedan, one of his three children, as she navigates her relationship with her father, who has exhibited symptoms of mental illness, outbursts, and paranoia. 

Family members suspect that Brown’s struggles stem from chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a brain condition linked to repeated head trauma that currently can only be diagnosed posthumously. 

As Jaedan tries to maintain precious links to her father, Babb is able to portray their struggle from a vantage point that feels almost uncomfortably — but valuably — intimate. It’s one readers don’t often get, and one Babb used patience and candor to earn. He moved slowly while reaching out to family members and explained what the reporting and publication of the story might mean for them. It’s an approach he thinks of as a “long-term collaboration.”

“I try hard to be a human being first and a reporter second,” Babb said.

While writing a piece that covered so many years and so much ground, Babb found an image to serve as a sort of recurring signpost: the bubbles that appear in a text-message thread while one of the participants is composing.

Early on, Babb writes:

The story returns to the image twice more, including once in the final paragraph that leaves the story on a note that is both hopeful and ambiguous:

Babb said of this recurring image: "Considering Corwin's history of poor impulse control and mental illness, I imagine Jaedan sometimes feared the worst. Until she saw those bubbles. It was affirmation of many things, not the least of which was that a daughter's dad was alive, engaged, and writing back.”

As skillful as it was to weave those signposts into the story, Babb faced another test when it came to a sobering revelation. Late in the story, it’s revealed that Brown — then in the throes of paranoia — harbored thoughts of killing colleagues on the New England Patriots coaching staff, including then-head coach Bill Belichick.

While this revelation is an important part of the story that shows just how acute Brown’s problems had become, it’s not offered up as an early hook for readers. Instead, it’s woven into the narrative, offered to us as it was to Jaedan.

“I … didn't want this to suddenly become a story about a murder plot against Belichick,” said Babb. “That's not what we set out to do, and while we can't control readers' takeaway or what is distilled on social media, we agreed that the construction of this story had to be about something more nuanced and, to me, bigger than just one juicy morsel.”

Babb talked about these details and others in a Q&A with Nieman Storyboard. His answers have been edited for clarity.

How did you come across this story, and what was the reporting process like?

For a few years now, I have communicated fairly regularly with Chris Nowinski, the chief executive of the Concussion Legacy Foundation and the subject of another deeply personal piece of mine, about a group of former Harvard roommates torn apart by CTE. Chris is a former pro wrestler, and he understands story in a way that, in my opinion, most sources and activists do not. He and the group's communications person, Julia Manning, reached out last fall to tell me about Jaedan. 

At first, I assumed that Jaedan's father had died and that CTE had been confirmed post-mortem. But Julia let me know that this situation was different. I reached out to Jaedan, and for a lot of reasons, I was extremely forthright about my process and what a possible story might entail. Including, I told her, that rather than make things better with her family, it very well could make things more strained. I asked her to spend a week thinking about and weighing the pros and cons of continuing. 

It may seem self-defeating to talk a willing participant out of speaking with me for a story, but with pieces like this, I try hard to be a human being first and a reporter second. It's extremely personal, mega-sensitive, and the immersive nature of this kind of story isn't for everyone. 

Thankfully, a week later, Jaedan texted to say she was positive that she wanted to proceed. 

How did you ask members of the Brown family — either together, separately, or both — to participate in this story? Specifically, how did you approach Corwin Brown?

As in the preliminary stages, I moved extremely slowly. Jaedan was my point of contact, and I first asked her to tell her siblings and parents that I was interested in speaking with them. While her brother and sister were initially anxious, they told Jaedan to pass their numbers to me. I began with texts before we scheduled phone calls. As I do in most stories like this, I explained to all three siblings that our lines of communication should remain open — including the fact that, if they had second thoughts about something they had shared with me, we should discuss it. With me, this process doesn't end after an interview. It's a long-term collaboration that I take seriously. 

Meeting up with Corwin was different. Jaedan arranged a meeting in Chicago, and the specific location actually changed several times before we met at the coffee shop on the South Side. Jaedan was nervous for what the meeting might hold, but from my standpoint, it was a friendly and insightful conversation. I wasn't sure what to expect from Corwin in terms of behavior, but I was actually shocked by how aware he seemed to be about his own mental deterioration, along with his willingness to share details about his darkest thoughts and worst moments. 

One person who we don't hear from in the story is Corwin's wife, who through her children declined interview requests. How did her decision shape the way you reported and told this story? 

In part, Melissa Brown's preference to not participate was insightful into the family's dynamic. At no point did she discourage either of the three kids from talking to me, but it was clear that, as the kids described to me, prefers to think of Corwin's illness as something that once happened, instead of something that is still happening. My approach was always going to be to focus on the kids and their perspectives, but as is the case in all families, there are some questions the kids just can't answer. How and where did Melissa and Corwin meet? When and how did Melissa notice changes in her husband's behavior? How did she cope with the aftermath of the standoff? Those questions would've been easier if they'd come directly from her, but when it was made clear that it wouldn't be happening (even when I visited South Bend), I had to ask friends, extended family and associates what they thought Melissa's response was. While I always prefer to speak directly with the person, I understand the turmoil that comes with being part of this family, and respect the fact that she did not discourage anyone from speaking with me or answering these questions on her behalf. 

This story would be moving from any angle, but it's especially powerful to experience it through the eyes of Jaedan, who is resolute about connecting with her father when he seems to be withdrawing. How did you land on her viewpoint as the engine of the story? Was it an idea you grasped immediately or did it emerge during the reporting process?

At first I wasn't sure I wanted to take on another CTE story, but my editor at the Post, Joe Tone, saw the potential immediately. There has been lots of coverage of brain injuries and their long-term effects, but what we haven't read about in any thorough way is the kids' perspective. I have two young daughters myself, so I'm always curious about how they perceive and interpret things that, to adults, may or may not be a big deal. What's frightening to them? What gives them anxiety? What do they just shrug off? And I wanted to fully explore that inevitable moment in the life of every child: When they stop seeing their parent as a superhero and realize that they're a human being, often deeply flawed and prone to mistakes. This was an extreme example of that, but it's one I thought was highly relatable despite the extremity of this family's specific experience. 

You vividly portray Corwin Brown's standoff with law enforcement and the events leading up to it. How did you piece it together in such detail?

I interviewed all three siblings about what they remember, along with Corwin's perspective. I also went back and read most everything I could on the coverage surrounding what, at the time, was a shocking incident. Corwin was a rising star, someone who easily could've become a head coach, so such a public — and potentially violent — incident was covered thoroughly by local and national media. 

The tricky thing was, as Joe and I discussed it, keeping the camera focused on Jaedan. She was very young, and her memory of that day remains hazy. So while I weaved in some detail from Tayla and Little Corwin, along with facts from the news accounts, it was important from a narrative standpoint for us to be experiencing this only through Jaedan's eyes. 

One touch I found effective in the story is a recurring image: Jaedan looking at the bubbles that appear when someone you're texting — in the story, her dad — is texting back. It hits hard as a symbol of Jaeden's fraught relationship with her father. How deliberate were you about including that image within the story?

We've all sent a text to which we anxiously wait for a response. It's only when those bubbles appear that we know the other person has received and read the text, essentially proof of life for a conversation. And, for a long time, it was by no means a given that Corwin would reply to Jaedan's texts. She would often send him something, he wouldn't reply, and days or weeks would pass. Considering Corwin's history of poor impulse control and mental illness, I imagine Jaedan sometimes feared the worst. Until she saw those bubbles. It was affirmation of many things, not the least of which was that a daughter's dad was alive, engaged, and writing back. 

One of the most rending sections of the story is the reveal of Corwin's violent thoughts, which readers learn about fairly late. What did you think about when considering how to reveal that?

I knew all along that I wanted readers to learn the details of this story as Jaedan did. There's the superficial image of her unfailing daddy, and that begins to give way to something far more confusing and sinister. Joe and I talked a lot about the paradox of having the incredible anecdote about Corwin's apparent plan to murder Bill Belichick and others but not leading the story with that. How do you keep something so explosive, so juicy from [the] proverbial nut graf or from the first 5,000 words of a story? It's counterintuitive, but it's something Jaedan hadn't known until last Thanksgiving (after I had already begun reporting the story and conducting interviews). I also didn't want this to suddenly become a story about a murder plot against Belichick. That's not what we set out to do, and while we can't control readers' takeaway or what is distilled on social media, we agreed that the construction of this story had to be about something more nuanced and, to me, bigger than just one juicy morsel. I wanted people to read and feel the story, not just click on something because a clever aggregator had pushed out something salacious. 

The final paragraph describes Jaedan's hopes for the future of the relationship. It's one of the most moving in the story. What do you remember about writing and, if relevant, revisiting it?

The throughline in my conversations with Jaedan, and my interpretation of her role in the family, was a persistent optimism that I came to greatly admire. To be honest, I don't know how she keeps on keeping on. So much about this is discouraging, from other family members' fears to the fact that Corwin still gets nervous about these figments of his imagination. Very late in the process, maybe two weeks before the story published, Jaedan texted to let me know that her father had convinced himself that I actually was working for the FBI. She pushed back on that notion, of course, but her heads-up to me was partly to let me know that I may receive some unusual texts from her dad (I didn't) and a request to go through her if I had remaining questions for my dad (I did). 

The important thing was that she wanted to shine a light on this situation without destroying Corwin's trust in the only person he never suspected of working against him. That's a tough balancing act, but again and again, I was struck by how determined this young woman was to thread this needle and believe that, even if it's invisible to everyone else, some good could come from it. 

What was the editing process like for this story? Did it change much in structure from the beginning of the process until the end?

Joe is the best, most thorough, most sensitive editor I will ever have. He understands what a story can be, almost always from the beginning, and he saw this piece more clearly than I often did. My first draft came in at 9,000 words, because I was trying to tell all three kids' stories almost equally. That's overwhelming and disorienting to the reader, and it was Joe's idea — and insistence — that we remain focused on Jaedan. This wasn't a story about Corwin Brown. It wasn't even the story of a family. It was about one daughter's determination to learn everything she can about her dad's plight, and maybe get him some help. 

The structure didn't dramatically change, but the scope did. It was the right decision, albeit a painful one, when I began chipping away at a second (and third and fourth) draft. 

What has the reaction to the story been, both by members of the Brown family and the Post's readers?

This was the rare piece that was almost universally praised, and not because of anything I did. Jaedan is just such an admirable person to read about, especially in the eyes of something so discouraging and frightening, so the feedback was overwhelmingly positive. 

I can't help but care about what the family thinks about a story like this, and I had held fact-checking and sensitivity-based conversations with each of the three siblings before the story ran. It's a regular part of my process, but it's one I spend extra time on in a case like this. I was pleased and, honestly, relieved a few hours after the story posted to get a text from each of the siblings letting me know that the story was hard to read, but that I had done it right. 

Jaedan even sent a screenshot of a text from her dad that day, letting her know that I had done a good job with it and, he wrote, that "I guess he doesn't work for the fbi." 

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Trevor Pyle was a newspaper reporter in the Pacific Northwest for several years, and is a communications officer for a regional nonprofit.