Gabriel Tuggle was once a multi-sport star with enough talent to perhaps one day choose between professional football or baseball, but a .44-caliber bullet to the head changed everything. Even so, he battled through a grim prognosis to rise again with another call to greatness.
Some athletes train for excellence, while others are born with natural prowess. Gabriel Tuggle had his feet in both groups. “When I picked up my first football at 2 years old, my mom saw how happy I was,” he said. “I carried that ball around with me every day, all the time.” Several outstanding basketball players on both sides of his family proved that some of his ability was owed to good genes. The rest came from hard work and dedication, as Tuggle grew up the youngest of four children in a single-parent family, determined to use his skills for good.
“My grandparents took all of us in,” he said. “Nine or 10 people lived in a two-bedroom house. My grandfather was the patriarch and worked several jobs. His main one was driving trucks. He also had a garden and a little farm that he took care of every morning before work. We didn’t have much, but I grew up in a house full of gratefulness and hard work. We appreciated what we had.”
Tuggle’s family could not afford to enroll him in youth sports, but that did not stop him from learning how to play football and baseball. “I’ve always picked up on stuff fast,” he said. “I would go watch my cousins’ and neighbors’ games and study how they swung the bat and hit the ball. Then I would practice until I became good at it.” Tuggle played touch football with older kids on his street, and the fact that they all wanted him on their team pushed him to elevate his game even faster.
“I would do my homework during breaks at school, so I could play sports with my friends as soon as I got home,” he said. “After we played football, we’d go play basketball, then a game of softball. I had my grandfather’s and my mom’s work ethic. Once I understood my strengths, I had one mission: to get my family out of our financial situation.”
“I had everything in the palm of my hand.”
Gabriel Tuggle
By middle school, coaches were already noticing the young star. Tuggle added track to become a four-sport athlete in high school. He started on junior varsity but was invited to join varsity teams ahead of schedule. By 10th grade, he was receiving offers from colleges, and by his junior year, he had narrowed his focus to just football and baseball.
“I was going to be the next multiple-sport athlete coming up,” he said. “I was a top [Division I] prospect. I could’ve gone to college with dual-scholarship offers.” Tuggle’s friends often failed to understand his intense focus. “The guys were like, ‘Man, you live, eat [and] breathe sports. Come and take some time to have fun.’ But I was having fun, getting all-county, state and national recognition. That’s all I could focus on because I had goals, dreams and a vision to provide my mom with the life she deserved. While the other guys were playing around, I was studying, watching games on TV to learn my craft.”
Tuggle also examined the lives of other professional athletes, including Dale Carter and Deion Sanders, as he strived relentlessly for self-improvement. During his senior year, Tuggle was confident that he was going places after graduation. Then everything changed.
“There are some dates in life that you never forget. One I’ll always remember is Sunday, Feb. 10, 1991,” said Tuggle, his tone switching from nostalgic reminiscence to cold seriousness. He describes it as starting like any other Sunday. “I woke up like normal, ate breakfast, watched TV, did my homework for Monday, walked over and hung out with friends across the street.” Later that evening, he went to another friend’s house to practice a routine for a competitive dance group the young men were in together. “I heard all the commotion in the back rooms and walked into the joking and laughing,” he said. “I stood in the corner, engaged in the activities. I made a joking remark to one of the dancers in the group. He picked up a gun, pointed it at me and said, ‘What did you say, [expletive]?’ That was the last thing I heard.”
Tuggle had been shot in the head at point-blank range with a .44-caliber gun. The bullet entered the left side of his brain and immediately rendered him unconscious.
“I was on the floor, bleeding, fighting for my life,” he said. “I only know what people have told me. They rushed me to Newton [General] Hospital, but due to brain swelling, they took me to Piedmont in Atlanta. I do remember hearing doctors and nurses rushing around, hollering as they hurried me into surgery.”
The operation took hours. Later, doctors told Tuggle’s family that he was unlikely to survive because the damage was too severe. The few visitors allowed into the ICU commented later that he looked angry as he lay there, teetering between life and death. When Tuggle regained consciousness, he found himself in what he describes as the darkest place of his life. “I couldn’t talk, walk or even feed myself,” he said. “The most difficult thing was that early on, I didn’t recognize my family. I developed a staring problem that I still deal with now. All I could do in the hospital bed was stare, shake my head and hum out answers.” Tuggle faced a long hospitalization filled with intense speech, occupational and physical therapy. “The doctor told me my football career was over,” he said. “To be so close to making it to the big leagues and finding out it’s over—that was tough. I had everything in the palm of my hand. I had so much to lose, but one joking remark and one bullet killed my athletic dreams.” Slowly, Tuggle realized that everything for which he had disciplined himself in the past also applied to his new fight.
“I could’ve given up on life then, but when I found out I was going to live, I remembered the story of the Little Engine That Could,” he said. “At first, the Engine doubted himself, but once he built some momentum, he switched to ‘I think I can,’ which changed to ‘I know I can.’ I transitioned all the training, sweat, consistency, dedication and discipline to my recovery.”
Once again, Tuggle pushed himself to be the best—even when he did not feel up to it. When he finally left the hospital two and a half months later, the staff applauded him for recovering from an injury most people would not have survived. Even though the bullet injured the part of the brain responsible for speech, his voice and communication are completely clear today.
Tuggle went on to enjoy a 30-year career in logistics operations. He currently works for a tech company. Tuggle had a son, Adrian, who tragically died in an auto accident in 2013, 10 days before his 24th birthday. “That was another catastrophic event,” he said. “I only survived that through the grace of God.” Tuggle remains determined to use the trials of his life as building blocks for a better future. His shooter was never prosecuted because law enforcement ruled the incident an accident.
“This guy never even apologized,” he said. “I have forgiven him, but I haven’t forgotten. That’s my character. If you can’t forgive, you can’t move on. Sometimes in life, we feel that it’s over, but it’s not. You have to tell your brain no, this is not the end, and develop that resilience to keep pushing. Keep going, and the end will be beautiful.”
Click here to read more stories by Kari Apted.
Related Stories
Fast Lane
Brave New World
