Leslie Curtis knew her third son would be a little hell-raiser, so she named him Tackett.

It was her mother-in-law Pam’s maiden name, and it would be fitting for her youngest son, Leslie felt, because that family tree had some wild boys. Outlaws of the Deep South. Oh, the tales Pam would tell them: her relatives hiding out Bonnie and Clyde on the lam, and her grandma sleeping with her clothes on and purse tucked beside her, in case she needed to make quick to bail those Tackett boys out of jail.

And USC’s Tackett Curtis, true to his name, was a wild boy. Born from the woods of the deep country in Many, Louisiana, a town of less than 3,000 with, according to his father Moses Curtis, two stoplights and about seven restaurants.

Tackett Curtis grew up riding motorcycles, gunning the throttle of a Honda at 9 years old, stretching his belly out on the seat and dangling his little legs off the back and cackling in the face of the whooping he was about to catch.

“He’s my sweetest kid,” drawled Moses Curtis, a mountain of a man with a buttery smile. “But he’s also my craziest.”

Folks born in Many stay there, Moses said, buried blue-collar in rural USA. They’ll grow up and go to work in the oil field out in the gulf or live as loggers among the trees. And maybe, if Tackett hadn’t found football, he’d have followed.

But craziness brought love for the physicality of the game, and dreams taped up on his wall with posters of the best collegiate programs in the nation. And after a standout career at Many High and a full-throttle recruitment from USC, the country boy started at linebacker as a true freshman in the Trojans’ first game Saturday, chasing something a whole lot bigger than the small town he knew.

“I feel like I’ve grown a lot as a person, just having a lot more responsibility, being on my own away from family … just a dream come true,” Tackett said Tuesday, his voice softer than his 6-foot-2, 225-pound frame.

USC linebacker Tackett Curtis does a walk-through prior to the season opener against San Jose State on Saturday at the Coliseum. (Photo by Keith Birmingham, Pasadena Star-News/ SCNG)

Not long after he first came to USC in January, his parents recalled, Tackett’s white Dodge Challenger broke down. He didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t want to bother anybody. So for three weeks until he got it fixed, in the middle of a winter with record rainfall, Tackett zipped around downtown Los Angeles on a university-issued electric scooter.

Fearless, like the Tacketts before him.

“It’s like Crocodile Dundee, man,” Moses said. “He’s out there on that scooter, conquering L.A.”

‘Always thought he was grown’

Growing up, they called him Grandpa.

Moses Curtis, the longtime principal at Many High, raised his sons Gunner, Carson and Tackett on a mantra: Don’t compete, don’t eat. Want to go for ice cream after a Little League game? Better play well. Want to play the XBox? Better do 100 push-ups.

It brewed constant brotherly competition, where everything became an Olympic event. Who could eat the most? Who could run the fastest? Who could hold their breath underwater the longest?

Tackett was at a natural disadvantage, being three years younger than Carson and seven younger than Gunner.

Except Tackett never saw it that way. He was serious from his first years on Earth, his parents remembered, once begging his mom as a rambunctious 3-year-old to tag along with his brothers to go play across the neighborhood.

His mother put her foot down. You have to be 6, she implored.

“He goes, ‘Ma, am 6! Yes, ‘ma am, Mama!’” Leslie imitated, pitching her voice like a young Tackett’s wails. “Oh my gosh, he just always thought he was grown.”

So they called him a grandpa – a serious, little old man. A little old man with some fire. Back in the days of backyard games, wrestling matches with Carson were a weekly occurrence, the middle brother knowing just how to set off Tackett with a sly look.

“It was kinda like the more angry and the more upset he got, the more aggressive and the better he played,” Gunner said. “And so that carried on.”

His whole life, Leslie said, Tackett’s been the youngest. The littlest. Trying, in every situation from Many to USC, to prove himself: just as tough, just as big, just as fast.

“I don’t know if he realizes that or not, but I think it’s always been in there,” Leslie said. “And surely, was part of this, as far as for him to choose to go away.”

‘That switch gets flipped, man, it’s bad’

At Many High, they called him Rambo.

In his days playing Little League, Moses remembered, Tackett kept getting ejected – barreling over opposing catchers or first basemen if they stood in his way. And flag football offered no respite. In one youth game, a 6-year-old Tackett got benched twice by his coach for blowing up runners before pulling their flags. He bawled on the car ride home.

“He’s like, ‘I’m never playing football again until we put pads on,’” Moses remembered. “And I said, ‘You know, a couple years from now, that’s exactly what coaches are gonna be begging for.’”

And true to his word, that innate ball-hawking has endeared Curtis to his USC coaches and teammates: a “destroyer” at linebacker, as quarterback Caleb Williams called him, with sideline-to-sideline speed to missile down ball-carriers.

Freshman linebacker Tackett Curtis earned praise from USC coaches and teammates during spring practice. (Photo by Keith Birmingham, Pasadena Star-News/SCNG)

“When it’s time to wrestle,” Moses said, drawling wrassle, “or fight anyone older … he kinda scares me, because that switch gets flipped, man, it’s bad.”

When the family first watched the movie “First Blood,” youngest sister Lola made the point to Moses: John Rambo was exactly like Tackett. Quiet. Not a talker. But when it “got real,” as his uncle and Many High football coach Jess Curtis said, the guy was unleashed.

“He gets out there,” said Many High teammate and LSU commit Joe Wyatt, “he has no doubt in his mind that he’s about to kill you.”

It led to a captivating career at Many, where Tackett, as Jess remembered, did “everything but drive the bus” in playing in four consecutive state championship games. He returned punts. Played quarterback. Ran for an 80-yard touchdown in one championship game.

His weight-room exploits became legendary. During junior prom, he was in the gym lifting.

All of that drew national recruiting interest to a tiny town in Louisiana – USC head coach Lincoln Riley himself traveled all the way from Southern California to meet Tackett. And that meant something, Moses said. It’s hard, plain and simple, to get to Many.

So the freshman, from the moment he set foot in Los Angeles in the spring, wanted to earn respect.

“It was just him wanting to prove to them,” Moses said, “that, ‘I am who you thought I was.’”

‘It’s so much more to this world’

At USC, they call him Captain America.

The name came from the running backs, as MarShawn Lloyd smirked, buzz growing around the new kid with the motor that ran on every rep through spring and fall camp. Grew enough for Tackett to earn a starting job in his first game amid a crowded linebacker room, conquering a steep learning curve with the same bull-rushing aggressiveness that made him a Little League menace.

“You gotta make sure he’s going in the right direction,” Trojans defensive coordinator Alex Grinch said, “but he’s one of those guys that the direction is going to be the football.”

USC linebacker Tackett Curtis takes a picture with fans at the end of the USC Spring Game in April at the Coliseum. (Photo by Raul Romero Jr., Contributing Photographer)

That aggressiveness, though, worries his mother Leslie, who never wanted him to go to USC. One night, Tackett called Moses, upset. He was sitting in the corner of a restaurant, minding his business and eating his food, when he observed a man berating a father with two young boys. If the man had stepped a foot closer to Tackett, Moses remembered his son saying, he would’ve knocked him out.

“His mom was like, ‘See! He don’t need to be out there, he’s gon’ get himself in trouble,’” Moses said.

But Leslie has grudgingly accepted the reality, because when Tackett FaceTimes every week, she hasn’t seen her son so happy – smiling so wide – in years. And back in Many, where generations know generations, word is brewing around town about the Curtis kid set for big things out in Los Angeles.

Friends and families blew up Tackett’s parents’ phones Saturday, delivering messages of hope, asking where they could watch his first game. Parents are posting their kids on Facebook three feet from the television, watching and rewinding Tackett’s game tape, Carson said.

He is Many, blue-collar to the bone. But Many knows, through and through, that Tackett is destined for more.

“I’ve told him, ‘Don’t come back here, man,’” Moses said. “‘Don’t come back here.’ It’s a small town, it’s so much more to this world.”

“And so far, he’s taking that to heart.”

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