A ‘bull in the box,’ a friend on the field: Houston remembers George Longoria
George Longoria was a big man who made a large and sprawling city feel small. He worked security for 30 years, putting him in the seam between thousands of performing athletes and musicians and possibly millions of Houstonians who built hours of their lives around a visit to a club, an arena or a stadium.
Because of his work, Longoria was widely seen and occasionally noticed, as he exuded a warm and peaceful presence while keeping safe those gathered for sporting events, concerts, rodeos and civic functions. While the city was shut down, Longoria died from COVID-19 complications on July 10. His coronavirus diagnosis came on June 21, Father’s Day, and he was hospitalized a few days later with pneumonia. He was 50.
The response to Longoria’s death was swift and heartfelt. Such was the connection he had with Houston.
“He was like the 12th man in our organization,” said Juan Rodriguez, executive vice president and general manager at BBVA Compass Stadium, home to soccer teams the Dynamo and the Dash. “He worked with the Dynamo since the organization began. Our staff, our organization, we’re crushed. We’re all hurting.”
Brian Ching, who played with the Dynamo from 2006 to 2013, said, “He was a Houston celebrity in a lot of ways. And that’s on him. The way he was and the way he impacted people. You think of security guards as these big imposing figures. And he did that job when the situation required it. But he also created these lasting relationships with a lot of people by doing his job the way he did.”
Dominic Kinnear, who coached the Dynamo from 2005 to 2014, said he’d review tape after games and notice a white security shirt moving with excited fervor.
“He always had his eye on the crowd to make sure the fans were celebrating correctly, but he also would always celebrate the goals,” Kinnear said. “Which made me feel good: that it’s not just the players and coaches and fans. There was this big group of people that were part of the team.”
Carli Lloyd tweeted that she and Longoria would fist-bump before each Dash game she played in Houston. “He was a great man and I always looked forward to seeing his smile and greeting him in the tunnel,” she wrote.
Longoria went about his job quietly, invisible to some. But others noticed a bright and engaged presence. He appeared not to be working an assignment but rather serving as an enthusiastic and organic part of these community rituals.
“There was something about how he carried himself,” Rodriguez said. “He could look at somebody in the crowd and bring a smile to their face. He made people feel safe, and he also made them feel comfortable. Show somebody a picture, and they recognize him.”
Longoria was a Houston native and a graduate of Clements High School in Sugar Land. He studied business management at Sam Houston State University. While still in school, he began working security events for an organization that would become 5 Star Event Services.
He took to security work quickly. Longoria was a strong man capable of neutralizing conflict, but until a situation called for intervention, he conveyed warmth.
Early on, Longoria found himself working club shows at Numbers, where he was hired the day after Ricardo Magdaleno, who would become a lifelong friend. There they witnessed a vibrant nightlife scene and dealt with a club near the bursting point in 1995 when a free Nine Inch Nails show was announced. One night they had to fish Courtney Love out of a mob of adoring fans.
“Clubs like that work on a trust system,” said Magdaleno, senior superintendent at the mayor’s office of special events. “Immediately if there’s a new guy, people ask, ‘Am I going to like him?’ But we did our jobs, and we did them well. Everybody loved working with George. Our methodology in those days was to talk to the people. We weren’t bouncer grunts unless we had to be. We preferred not to be.”
Longoria would remain engaged with patrons at shows the remainder of his life, whether he was it was a club like Warehouse Live or a stadium like the Astrodome or NRG Stadium.
When Longoria told Magdaleno he’d played goalkeeper, Magdaleno recruited his colleague for his Albion Red FC team in the Houston Football Association. They played together on Sundays for 27 years until a knee injury sidelined Longoria last year. Magdaleno recalled a man of formidable size with a loud, high-pitched voice that didn’t match his build.
“His voice could take over the entire field,” he said. “He also surprised a lot of the teams that had players with better skill sets. They’d think he was too big, too slow. But he could go vertical, horizontal, whatever it took to stop the ball. And his hands were huge. He was a bull in the box but also agile for his size.”
Bryan Labbie, a former police officer whom Longoria mentored at 5 Star Event Services, described a friend who often worked three jobs but always made time for family and friends.
“He was always up to work extra hours,” Labbie said. “But it was always for his family, like when his daughter was fixing to go to college, and he wanted to save a little more money. He was a hard worker, but he also loved being with people. And you’d see it at these events with thousands of people he didn’t know. Until somebody gave him a reason not to, he always saw the good in people.”
Longoria, Labbie and two other security guards at 5 Star grew so close their colleagues nicknamed them the Four Horsemen, a nod to their occasional work at professional wrestling events.
“In our world, we called him the Godfather,” Labbie said. “You knew if you were working with George, you were going to be taken care of. You were going to work a good event.”
And he worked all sorts of them: Astros, Rockets, Dynamo and Dash games; concerts by bands such as U2, the Rolling Stones and the Eagles. Sometimes Longoria would be in front of the stage. Other times, he’d work near the dressing rooms, where artists and athletes sometimes wish to be left alone. Sometimes, they’d find comfort in his company.
“I used to be a very bad guy in a dark spot who did not-nice things, and he saw the heart inside me,” said Justin Furstenfeld, frontman of the band Blue October. “He was with me everywhere I went and made sure I stayed out of trouble. And after I got sober, we played the Revention Center. He was there to open the bus door. He carried my kids inside and upstairs. He was with me when I went on stage. And he walked me off stage and to the bus. He took care of me.
“He was a beautiful man. And he never asked anything from anybody. He was just a giver.”
All who knew Longoria suggested his personality drew people like Furstenfeld to him.
“I attribute it to him coming from that older generation,” Magdaleno said. “When we were coming up, there was a different standard for concert security.
You don’t go around with a Sharpie when you’re supposed to be watching the dressing-room door. But his persona was a certain way, and people loved him because of that.”
Labbie said Longoria never took security jobs strictly for the paycheck. He loved the events that brought people together, and he relished his role in working them.
“At the end of the day, the people who love doing this, we’re protectors,” he said. “But we enjoy that part of it. Keeping people safe. He also had this other thing: this great love for the sights and sounds of his city. That part still hasn’t hit me yet. We’d see each other three, four, five times a week. I don’t know how it’ll feel when that starts again, and he’s not there.”
While Longoria was hospitalized and on a ventilator, Labbie called a family member so his friend could hear his voice.
“He couldn’t talk, but I know he could hear,” Labbie said. “He knew we loved him. And I know that I’ll see him again when my time comes. The Horsemen will ride again. I believe that.”
Longoria is survived by his wife, Andrea, and his daughter, Lauren, as well as his mother and extended family.
“He could look at somebody in the crowd and bring a smile to their face. He made people feel safe, and he also made them feel comfortable.”
Juan Rodriguez