Remembering Joe Taylor: Miami Trailblazer Who Broke Barriers and Beat the Odds to Make the NFL
Today marks what would have been Joe Taylor’s 86th birthday—a name that might not ring out loudly in football circles today, but for those who know, his story is one of grit, perseverance, and quiet impact. Taylor’s journey from the dirt fields of segregated Miami to the NFL’s bright lights is the kind of story that deserves to be retold, especially on a day like this.
Joe Taylor was born in Miami in 1939, and came of age during one of the most turbulent periods in American history. He grew up in Coconut Grove, back when the city—and the nation—was still deep in the grip of Jim Crow segregation. He attended George Washington Carver High School, a small all-Black school in the Grove, with fewer than 500 students. Despite its size and lack of resources, Carver High was a football powerhouse in the late 1950s. And in 1957, they were absolutely dominant.
Taylor, along with his teammate Eugene Cambridge, led the Carver Hornets to an undefeated season that year. They steamrolled the competition. On the field, they were untouchable. But off the field, recognition was nearly nonexistent. The local papers, the Miami Herald and the Miami News, didn’t acknowledge their brilliance. Instead, they crowned Miami Edison—the all-white school—as state champions. The Carver Hornets’ domination was reduced to footnotes, if mentioned at all. The All-City teams were made up entirely of white players from white schools. That didn’t start to change until 1963, when Roger Finnie and Samuel Anderson from Northwestern High finally broke through that barrier.
Carver and other Black schools in the city—Northwestern, Booker T. Washington, and Mays—didn’t play in front of the big crowds or get front-page stories. They played their games at Dorsey Park in Overtown, a dusty field with more dirt than grass. That field was nicknamed the “Dust Bowl,” and it stood in stark contrast to the pristine turf and massive crowds at the Orange Bowl, where white schools competed. If Carver played a “big” game, they might get to use Miami Stadium, a baseball park in Allapattah that later became the spring training home of the Orioles. Still, it wasn’t the same. Not even close.
Despite the challenges, Joe Taylor’s talent couldn’t be denied. But when it came time to look at colleges, the choices were painfully limited. The University of Miami? Off limits. So was Florida State. So was the University of Florida. None of them were recruiting Black athletes in that era. Most of the best Black players in the city ended up at Florida A&M, home to one of the premier HBCU football programs in the country. But Taylor and Cambridge went another route. They chose North Carolina A&T, a small HBCU in Greensboro.
Taylor shined at A&T. He had a solid college career and eventually attracted the attention of pro scouts. He was selected in the 15th round of the 1962 NFL Draft by the New York Giants. But getting drafted didn’t guarantee you a roster spot, especially if you were Black, and especially if you played a position that wasn’t traditionally given to Black athletes. Back then, positions like quarterback, center, middle linebacker, and free safety were seen as “thinking positions,” and teams had unwritten quotas when it came to how many Black players they’d carry.
To make matters even more difficult, Taylor had to fight through a kind of backdoor route into the league. After not making the Giants roster, he spent four years grinding it out in the minor leagues of pro football. He suited up for teams like the Syracuse Stormers and the Quebec Rifles in the United Football League from 1963 to 1966. It was far from glamorous. But Taylor didn’t give up. He stayed ready. And in 1967, at the age of 28—an age when most rookies are well into their prime or already out of the league—he finally got another shot.
That shot came with the Chicago Bears, one of the NFL’s most iconic franchises. Taylor made the roster and played on the last team coached by the legendary George Halas. Imagine that: a kid from Coconut Grove, who played high school football on a dirt field and was overlooked at every level, now wearing a Bears uniform under the guidance of one of football’s founding fathers. That’s the kind of story you don’t hear often enough.
Over the next eight seasons, Taylor played as a defensive back for the Bears. The team didn’t make the playoffs during his time there, but he held his own on a struggling roster. He played alongside some absolute legends—Dick Butkus, Gale Sayers, and Brian Piccolo among them. Piccolo, of course, would go on to inspire the film Brian’s Song before tragically passing away from cancer. Taylor, who understood adversity all too well, was in that locker room during some of the Bears’ most emotional years.
There’s a full-circle moment to Taylor’s story, too. In 1969, he got to play at the Orange Bowl—the same stadium that had once been reserved for white schools only, the same place he had never been allowed to shine during high school. It wasn’t even a regular-season game—just a preseason matchup against the expansion Miami Dolphins—but for Taylor, it must’ve felt like validation. He was back home, on the biggest stage in the city, wearing an NFL uniform. In 1971, he would play there again—this time in a regular season game, though the Bears got thumped 34-3 in a Monday night contest.
He kept going until 1974, calling it a career after eight seasons in the NFL. That’s a long run for any player, let alone someone who didn’t debut until 28. Taylor beat the odds over and over again. And though he never got the headlines or endorsements, what he accomplished means just as much.
Joe Taylor passed away on June 15, 2001, at the age of 61. He’s not a household name. You won’t see him in the Hall of Fame or mentioned on NFL highlight reels. But make no mistake—his story is essential. He paved the way. He endured the indignities of segregation, navigated the limitations placed on him by society, and still found his way to the top of the sport.
Today, when we talk about trailblazers, Joe Taylor belongs in that conversation. Not just because he made it to the NFL, but because of everything he overcame to get there. He represents a generation of Black athletes from Miami and beyond who were overlooked, underappreciated, and systematically excluded—but who refused to be denied.
So let’s remember Joe Taylor today, not just for what he did on the field, but for the ground he helped break off it. His journey reminds us that greatness isn’t always about trophies or titles. Sometimes, it’s about resilience. Sometimes, it’s about showing up every day when nobody believes in you. Sometimes, it’s about making it to the NFL at 28 years old after years in the football wilderness—and doing it your way.
Joe Taylor’s legacy isn’t loud. But it’s strong. It’s steady. And it still speaks volumes. Especially today.
Let’s open this up: What stood out most to you about Joe Taylor’s journey? Did you or someone in your family grow up hearing about Carver High, the “Dust Bowl,” or those segregated football days? Did your folks ever talk about the old days in Coconut Grove or Overtown? Share your thoughts and memories in the comments right here—and if you saw this story on Facebook, head back to the post and leave a comment there too. Let’s honor Joe Taylor’s legacy the best way possible—by keeping the story alive.
