The Wrong Turn

Komlo was the Lions' ninth-round pick in the 1979 NFL draft. He had hoped to go higher, but he entered training camp full of confidence. He'd just have to do what he always did and play beyond his abilities. "That's how we were raised," says Jeff's younger brother, Drew, who was a quarterback at Maryland. "There's nothing you can't do. It's up to you to work hard and make it happen."

When the Lions' incumbent quarterback, Gary Danielson, had knee surgery in the preseason, Komlo became the starter as a rookie. Though the 2--14 Lions went 2--12 in the games he started, he threw for 2,238 yards, then a team rookie record. For the first time, however, Komlo showed flashes of a disturbing alter ego. He once bloodied a teammate, Keith Dorney, in a barroom dispute by throwing a beer mug at Dorney's head. But Komlo apologized, promised the coaches it wouldn't happen again and became friends with Dorney.

After the season Jeff married Jennifer. During the 1980 season Danielson was healthy again, and Komlo returned to his backup position. He played infrequently for the Lions through 1981 and then was the third-string quarterback with the Falcons in '82 and the Buccaneers in '83. The joke among his friends was that Komlo did his best work in the off-season. A serial networker, he would attend team-related functions and dinners and invariably end up chatting with local business leaders, discussing commercial ventures or real estate deals. "He was always working some angle," says Jennifer. She was surprised to learn that he had taken out an insurance policy on his throwing arm for $500,000—considerably more than his salary. She says she called the wife of Falcons quarterback Steve Bartkowski and asked if this was standard. Jennifer was told that, no, Bartkowski had no such policy. By the mid-'80s Jeff had hooked up with the Seahawks, though he would never play a game for them. While in Seattle he complained of arm pain. Jennifer says that he cashed out the insurance policy, citing a torn ulnar nerve.

Komlo retired as a Seahawk and made a seamless transition into business. He and Jennifer settled in the Main Line Philadelphia suburb of Radnor, Pa. Komlo worked for various companies in financial services and then cofounded a management consulting firm called Bolton Capital. The confidence and work ethic that had served him so well in football did the same in his second career. Komlo may not have had an MBA, but with his effortless charisma he made everyone in his orbit feel comfortable. "He could talk a dog off a meat truck," says one former coworker.

"Jeff was a tough, driven guy," says Ambrose Regan, a longtime friend and colleague of Komlo's, "but he also had this gift where people—some of the highest net-worth people in the country—would meet him once and think he was their best friend."

In 1989 the Komlos moved to a 7,000-square-foot house in Bryn Mawr, Pa., with four cars in the driveway and a pool in back. There were furs and jewelry for Jennifer, memberships in country clubs and a vacation home in Palm Beach, Fla. The family employed housekeepers, nannies, personal trainers and gardeners. Jennifer estimates that by the mid-'90s the Komlos' monthly expenses were $40,000.

Jennifer would give birth to four daughters, each as pretty as the last. This was a source of great amusement to Jeff's old friends and teammates, who recalled his days as a ladies' man. "The joke was, How do we know God has a sense of humor? Jeff Komlo has four girls," says Tom Tomashek, longtime Blue Hens beat writer for the Wilmington News Journal. By all accounts, though, Komlo was a dedicated father, coaching their various sports teams. Besides teamwork and technique, he taught them toughness. "Grow alligator skin," he'd tell them when they were about to cry.

At Delaware, meanwhile, Komlo was as popular as ever. He was no longer just the star quarterback who'd made it to the NFL; he was also a prosperous businessman. Keeler recalls that Komlo would make the hourlong drive to Newark from Philly for alumni functions and spring football scrimmages. Dressed sharply, still fit and blessed with a thick head of stylishly coiffed hair, he would prop his feet on the bleachers and light up a fat cigar. "He had the beautiful wife and kids, the friends, the professional success," says Regan. "You want to talk about a picture-perfect life, this was it."

Except it wasn't. As his 30s galloped by, Komlo worked feverishly to pay for a standard of living that seemed to get more extravagant every year. "We'd say, 'Jeff, you're not in the fast lane; you're in the HOV lane,'" says Drew Komlo. And Jeff seemed to take little pleasure in the status that came with living on the Main Line. "We're here for Jennifer and the girls," he'd confide to friends. "I may belong to the Philadelphia Country Club, but I don't belong. I'm just a simple guy from Maryland horse country."

By the late '90s Jeff's marriage to Jennifer was, after nearly 20 years, deteriorating. She claims he hit her. "I learned not to provoke him," she says. Never much of a drinker in the past—friends kidded him over his fondness for alcohol-free beer—Komlo was now putting away glasses of vodka and cranberry juice when he came home from work. He cut back on his coaching, and his daughters say they would look into the bleachers during their games and see their mom sitting alone.