The Humdrum Life of a Star
He's Like Any Other Family Man, Except for That NFL Contract

By Timothy Dwyer
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, September 11, 2006

This is the first in an occasional series about how Washington Redskins players interact with everyday Washington.

His workday done, Renaldo Wynn was ready to kick back a little. Dressed comfortably in a Michael Jordan basketball jersey, matching shorts and black sneakers, the starting defensive lineman walked out of the Redskins training facility in Ashburn on Friday, one of the last players to leave after a day of meetings, practice, more meetings and, finally, treatment for an injured ankle that he hopes will be healed sufficiently for him to play tonight in the first game of the season.

Once he leaves Redskins Park, the fact that Wynn is a pro football player often becomes secondary to the rest of his life in Loudoun County. So, because it's Friday, it's movie day. Wynn loves to go to movies. Action/adventure movies, the kind where you have to think about what's happening and figure out who's who. The only things he might like better than movies are car shows. If there's one in the Washington area, he's there. But no such luck this week, so he's got plans to grab a bite at a nearby restaurant where lots of Redskins go, then cross Leesburg Pike to the Regal Countryside Cinemas.

They say Washington is a political town. And although that's true, for at least 16 weeks a year, Washington belongs to the Redskins. So with 3 million fans having their own ideas on how to score more points, get more sacks and beat the Cowboys, how's a 6-foot-3, 292-pound guy such as Wynn supposed to go to dinner and a movie without being deluged with suggestions?

It's surprisingly easy. Wynn said he's just like his neighbors and generally moves about town as they would. "You have the same likes, the same wants like everybody else," he said.

Most of the Redskins players live in Northern Virginia, close to the training facility where they spend almost nine months a year practicing for games or working out in the offseason. Many live in Loudoun and blend in seamlessly and unrecognized as they go to restaurants, movies, church and school functions, getting stuck in the same awful traffic as everyone else. Living in one of America's richest regions, their luxury cars and giant houses are reasonably normal.

For Wynn, that means he's able to pursue his movies, his passion for worship and cars and his charitable work with relative freedom.

Wynn got out of practice and looked around the large parking lot for his car. "I don't see it," he said. "I'm getting it detailed, but I thought it would be done." He stopped and searched some more before spotting it way back in the corner.

He headed toward his white BMW 745Li, checking his cellphone for movie times as he walked. Erik Baten, the owner, president and only employee of Distinctive Details, was the hardest-working man at Redskins Park on Friday. While the team got ready for opening night, he washed, vacuumed and polished their cars and sport-utility vehicles.

"About 20 minutes," he told Wynn. "Had to steam clean the rugs."

"Man, 20 minutes?" Wynn asked, thinking he might miss the beginning of "Crank," the movie he had heard some good things about and decided to see.

The 20 minutes flew by, though, because the talk in the parking lot soon turned to vintage cars. Wynn may drive a big Beamer to practice, but he is a Chevrolet guy at heart, an Impala man to be precise.

"I have a '58 Impala convertible, all original parts, at home that I restored," he told Baten. "Black with a black top. I am a fan of the classics. There's just something about riding around in it. There's nothing like it."

Wynn grew up in Southside Chicago. His mother taught first grade in Chicago public schools, and his father was a mailman. "I never missed a day of school," he said. "I could come down with any type of virus, I could be sick to my stomach, one time I even tried to act like I was sick, but it still didn't work. My mom always made me go to school."

He loved to play basketball when he was a kid and didn't play any organized football until his freshman year at the De La Salle Institute, a Catholic high school, and that was just on a whim.

His father was into new cars when Wynn was growing up. On a mailman and teacher's salaries, new cars didn't come often, but whenever his father needed a car, he always bought new. "He always said that if you bought a used car, you were just inheriting someone else's problems," Wynn said.

His father's favorite car was a four-door 1969 Buick Electra. "He drove that thing until the wheels fell off," Wynn said.

Wynn's brother-in-law got him interested in restoring cars. He told Wynn that a new car's value started depreciating as soon as you bought it but that a classic car began increasing in value the moment you bought it. Wynn's first restoration project was a 1961 Impala convertible. "I call that my firstborn," he said. "I dedicated it to my daughter, Kennedy." He spent several years looking for original parts for the car. He doesn't get under the hood himself, but he goes to car shows and swap meets and keeps an eye on eBay for parts and other cars.

Wynn could talk about cars all day long and so could Baten, but he was done with the car and it was time for a quick bite before the movie.

Wynn likes to eat at Sweetwater Tavern because it's close to work. He came in Friday afternoon as a busy happy hour crowd gathered.

No one seemed to recognize him, except the waitress, who asked, "Where are all your girls today?" She was referring to Kennedy, Wynn's wife, LaTanya, and his mother-in-law, Barbara McNair, who lives with them in a gated community in Ashburn.

"They're home today," he said.

He ordered the ribs and, while he waited, talked about the difference between his childhood in Chicago and raising a daughter in Northern Virginia. "I am blessed," said Wynn, a devout Christian. "I think He was watching over me because there were a lot of gangs in Chicago and sometimes you get forced into them. My daughter had the opportunity of a lifetime because we live in an environment where she will be able to maximize her opportunities."

The ribs came. Wynn bowed his head and prayed before picking a rib from the rack. He talked about how it took him almost two hours to get to school each day on public transportation and how each day it was an adventure because one of the most dangerous housing projects in the city was across the street from his high school.

"Those guys from the Robert Taylor Homes would try to jump us every time," he said. "The train might be at 39th, and we were at 35th. We'd hear, 'Next stop, 35th!' We'd run, dead sprint, by the project and just jump over the turnstiles. If you got caught, man, you were done. I'm telling you, I am telling you the truth, I thank God every day those guys never caught me."

Wynn said his blue-collar upbringing has made him appreciate the wealth that playing in the NFL has brought him. That translates into charity work in Northern Virginia.

"My main thing is to try to give back to the community and help families," he said. "Last year my wife and I came up with the idea for Adopt a Child. We bus in children less fortunate than we are, bus in whole families, actually, and give each child $100 gift cards for Target to buy whatever they want for Christmas. We give the parents $100, too, because we want to make sure the kids get what they want instead of buying something for their parents." He said last year he and his wife gave gift cards to about 200 people and that about 15 other Redskins came out to Target the day of the shopping spree to help the children pick out the gifts.

"The players loved it," he said.

Wynn barely had time to finish his ribs and catch the movie. No popcorn because he was full. He settled into a big chair just as the movie began. It was an action movie, all right, kind of a bad "Pulp Fiction" on speed. Hands were cut off with meat cleavers. Many people died in painstakingly bloody ways.

When the movie ended, he walked out and said, "Man, that was rough. It's a good thing I didn't take my wife."

He gave it two thumbs down. "I mean, I like adventure movies, but I thought there would be just a little bit of swearing in it. That was rough."

The sun was setting as he drove west on a traffic-clogged Route 7 toward his home. A thunderstorm had just moved through and the roads were sparkling in the dusk. At home, he pulled his pride and joy out of the garage, his '58 Impala.

"He doesn't smoke or drink or get into any kind of trouble," his mother-in-law said proudly. "This is what he does," she said, pointing at the car.