Many sides of Malcolm Jenkins

FOR MALCOLM JENKINS, it's about more than football.

Yes, he has a foundation that does good works; yes, he has a private PR firm that coordinates everything from his outreach to his image.

There is football, sure; and there is the Malcolm Jenkins Foundation.

But there also are his bowties; the zombies; and Jimmy Gatz.

The Eagles didn't count on all of that this offseason when they stole Jenkins from the Saints, who splurged on flashier free-agent safety Jarius Byrd, a Pro Bowl ballhawk.

Byrd, in his sixth season, cost the Saints $28 million in guaranteed money and as much as $56 million over the next six seasons. He had no interceptions when he was lost for the season with a knee injury in Game 4.

Jenkins, also in his sixth season, signed a 3-year, $15.5 million deal with $8.5 million guaranteed. He has three interceptions and is the defense's unquestioned leader.

As it turns out, he also is the most peculiar person in a locker room full of eccentrics.

Among his teammates are the world's fiercest hipster, linebacker Conner Barwin; bushy-bearded skater-turned-center Jason Kelce; linebacker Emmanuel Acho, a walking Oxford dictionary; offensive lineman Julian Vandervelde, a classically trained singer . . . who named his son "Azrael," the name of the cat from the Smurfs.

As unusual as they are, none of those Eagles carries around a zombie survival kit.

Everywhere.

"I took a Zombie Survival Course in Jersey this summer," Jenkins said. "They taught you how to put together a bug-out pack. I keep one in my car, one in my house and one that I travel with. It's just essential things you'd need to survive for the first 72 hours."

You know, the standard, 3-day crisis period after an upheaval of the undead.

Jenkins said this calmly as he stood in front of his locker after practice Tuesday.

His eyes are not rolling around in his head. He was not foaming at the mouth.

He was, thankfully, chuckling … but no, really, he has the bug-out packs, among other supplies.

"I don't have a bunker. Not yet," he continued. "I can't tell you everything I have. In case something happens, you know, you can't tell everybody what you've got."

Jenkins said he would make linebacker Trent Cole, an accomplished hunter, his first-round pick as the Eagle he would want on his post-apocalyptic survival squad.

"You could put together a team of guys with different skills. Can't have all hunters, all navigators," Jenkins said. "You've got to have some problem solvers. Some guys who can sew stitches."

Jenkins has it covered, from tree stands to triage.

Even in his most insane moments, Jenkins belies his true nature.

He's a planner. A leader.

That's why he's an Eagle.

"He's been an unbelievable guy around this building in terms of his preparation, in terms of the amount of time he puts in from film study and understanding the game itself," Eagles coach Chip Kelly raved.

Jenkins excels as a run supporter, is a sound tackler and can play cornerback.

His versatility and his creativity only accelerate away from the field.

Jenkins grew up in North Jersey. In April of 2013 he met with of Mona Terrell and Associates, a public relations firm in Piscataway, N.J. Every year, Terrell offers her firm's services, for free, to one or two deserving non-profit organizations, usually for 2 or 3 months.

Jenkins pitched his foundation and blew Terrell away. Over the next few weeks she saw him run free football camps for 400 boys (ital) and (end ital) girls, ages 7-17, that also taught adults about ancillary football concerns: concussions, cardiac arrest, nutrition and hydration, bullying and sleep. Campers received vouchers for a baseline concussion test.

"When you have a young, bright, articulate individual like Malcolm Jenkins, who in an entrepreneur, who also happens to play football. … He has an incredible vision," Terrell said. "I was so excited, so engaged, that we were still working with him 9 months later.

"For free."

Terrell didn't hear from Jenkins for a few weeks as he prepared for the possibility that he would leave New Orleans. Then, on the afternoon of March 11, her phone rang. It was Jenkins.

"I'd like you to work with me," Jenkins said. "I'm going to be a Philadelphia Eagle."

"When do they announce?" she asked, delighted.

"Twenty minutes."

And, so, 20 minutes later Jenkins had been briefed on the Eagles' history, the tenor of the Philadelphia media market and the expectations for the team short and long term.

His introductory press conference was an exhibition in polish and thoroughness … but then, it should have been.

Jenkins has a communications degree from Ohio State. Terrell's firm routinely represents multi-national corporations such as Johnson & Johnson and Merck.

It is a sensible marriage.

Terrell's company now promotes all of Jenkins' missions and initiatives. For instance, the Malcolm Jenkins Foundation helped feed 800 families in Columbus, Ohio on homecoming weekend, the Eagles' bye week, and had done the same in July in Philadelphia.

"Mona's company provides me someone to organize everything; keep the messages the same," Jenkins said.

To be clear: The message is not, "Welcome to my zombie bunker." In fact, you are not welcome.

The message is closer to, "Kids, follow my lead."

Oh yeah: and, "Tell your dad to buy my ties."

__________

The Saints drafted Jenkins 14th overall in 2009, then won the Super Bowl that season. Jenkins found himself more and more anonymous in a locker room crowded with NFL stars.

So, in 2010, he began sporting bowties. Nothing too serious; just a few clip-ons.

"I just started wearing them to stand out. Most guys have to wear coat and tie when they're traveling, so every Saturday turns into a major fashion show across the league," Jenkins said. "My way to stand out was to wear bowties."

Then, in 2011, an admirer approached him at a party and commented on his attire.

"It was a random guy at some event," Jenkins said. "He told me he liked my tie … then he asked me if I'd tied it, or if it was just a clip-on, or if I'd tied it. When I told him it was a clip-on, he looked at me with such disdain I decided I needed to learn."

After a quick Google search and a few practice sessions, Jenkins urbanity took a leap forward. In fact, he quickly grew tired of the limited options in his preferred type of neckware.

"I complained to my wife, Morrisa, that I couldn't find bowties that I liked. Most of them were traditional striped, plaid, and they were all made from just silk," Jenkins said.

Her reply?

"So make your own."

Last year, after seeing the wonderfully costumed "Great Gastby" movie, Jenkins began doing just that.

He named his company Rock Avenue Bow Ties after a street in his hometown of Plainfield, N.J. His website sells pocket squares and bowties … but, as you might imagine, the selection is eclectic.

There is the Saint, a black-and-gold homage to his former employer. There are five Ohio State-themed ties, including the Buckeye Leaf, which resembles another sort of vegetation. There is Color Blind, just the thing for Barwin; the Simpleton, a colorful number that could replace Cole's bright hunting vest; and Demure, which would suit quarterback Nick Foles; at least, according to football clairvoyant Buzz Bissinger.

If you're truly daring and you have deep pockets you might try the $200 Ostruce. It is made from ostrich skin and lamb skin. It looks delicious.

Jenkins' favorite?

"It has to be cotton camouflage."

Of course.

It'll be harder for the zombies to see him.