CLEVELAND, Ohio -- Reggie Rucker walked into a recent Cleveland Peacemakers Alliance meeting late, his worlds colliding, his morning calendar overbooked.

The 66-year-old group patriarch had just arrived from a University Hospitals board meeting, an engagement 180 degrees different in tenor and scope.

Getting quickly up to speed, the former Browns receiver wanted updates from his collection of volunteers and paid workers, some with criminal pasts: How had they tried to make the Cleveland streets safer in the past week?

The Peacemakers president frowned as one of his "violence interrupters" told of how a 7-year-old girl and her father had been injured in a drive-by-shooting on the West Side.

• Related: Reggie Rucker's tough upbringing has shaped his leadership with Cleveland Peacemakers Alliance

"Two innocent people shot, one of them a child," Rucker said, speaking to his members assembled at the Boys and Girls Club on Broadway. "We want to protect our babies and our children and our wives."

Most Clevelanders think of Rucker as a former football player and local broadcaster. The wideout enjoyed a productive 12-year career running varied patterns, beating defenders deep while also catching balls over the middle in an era when rules offered little protection to those venturing into the hard areas of NFL fields.

Reggie Rucker, center, plays many roles for the Cleveland Peacemakers Alliance. Here he leads a meeting at the Boys and Girls Club of Cleveland.

In the autumn of his life, Rucker's route tree is in full bloom. He's running every which direction trying to prevent inner-city kids from becoming another chalk outline.

He's working with branches of law enforcement and sidling up to politicians. He's fundraising in the corporate community and touting a new partnership with MetroHealth, which will notify the Peacemakers each time a young shooting victim is admitted so members can mobilize to try to prevent retaliations.

"We know we stop people from shooting other people, but too many people in this community don't (know)," Rucker said, as heads nodded in approval. "They don't know you took a gun away or stopped a retaliatory shooting that may have saved their lives."

The unique services the Peacemakers provide are lauded by various law-enforcement agencies. The Peacemakers lack arresting powers, carry no guns and are armed only with their street cred. They place members at recreation centers, high-crime areas and on the periphery of school grounds.

In the name of prevention, they attempt to break up fights, mediate beefs, mentor at-risk kids and document their efforts. The only Peacemaker known to agitate for the cause is their leader.

Rucker is opinionated, blunt and imperfect. His 2002 autobiography, "From Ghetto to God," represents an unflinching look at growing up poor in Washington D.C.; a flirtation with mayhem – he lost his virginity in a gang initiation; and his extramarital affairs.

The Peacemakers isn't just business to Rucker, it's personal.

He has seen three of his seven siblings die in prison, and offers a message to those who think the answer to youth crime is stricter law enforcement: "We can't arrest ourselves out of this crisis."

As the meeting unfurled, Rucker alternated between preacher and marketing strategist, reminding members about the importance of branding the Cleveland Peacemakers Alliance name at community functions.

He wants local companies and the city's pro sports teams to do their part in donating time and money.

"We're a poor community, but a rich corporate community," Rucker said. "They have a responsibility to make their community safe and secure . . . The corporate part is the last part of this to come to the table."

Lack of money is a constant concern for the Peacemakers. Roughly half of the 40-member staff draws a salary. The Cleveland Foundation, the program's major funder, dropped its annual contribution from $600,000 to $450,000. A supporting organization, the Treu-Mart Fund, kicked in $100,000, said Lisa Bottoms of the Cleveland Foundation.

The rest falls on the shoulders of old No. 33. It's Rucker's task to use his celebrity and connections to raise awareness and funding.

"He makes a great leader because he can cross so many lines," Bottoms said. "He can work directly with the street, the outreach workers and violence interrupters and yet sit in a boardroom and ask for money and raise money and that makes him a unique individual."

'360 degrees of mayhem'

At the bottom of the steps leading to his finished basement hangs a framed photo of Rucker celebrating a touchdown catch during the Kardiac Kids season of 1980.

It's his favorite image of himself. It's also more than three decades old.

After retiring from the NFL in 1982 and spending years in sports broadcasting, Rucker yearned for another challenge. His three sons from a previous marriage were grown. He worked as an investment counselor and won a $2.2 million lawsuit in 2002 only to lose it on appeal.

"Are you good at that stuff?"

Watson replied: "Yeah."

"Then I'm going to appoint you as director of the website," Rucker said. "You're the youngest person here and you probably have all those technological skills. Our website is not up-to-date."

As Watson attempts to spread the Peacemakers' message digitally -- he launched the organization's Twitter account this week -- Rucker prefers the face-to-face approach.

He meets with politicians and corporate leaders about sponsorship opportunities. He gets requests from suburban officials about expanding the Peacemakers' reach, but no offers of funding.

"I'm doing everything I can to get you money," Rucker told volunteers at the meeting. "You can stay out there for a certain time but you can't stay out there forever without money."

The president draws a $75,000 salary, but Bottoms believes he's losing money to keep his organization buoyant.

Reggie Rucker and other members of the Cleveland Peacemakers Alliance conclude a meeting with a team huddle.

"When the guys are running short, it's nothing for him to write a check," said the Cleveland Foundation director for human services and child and youth development said. "We've been trying to get him to stop doing that and to fund raise."

Rucker said he's spoken to Browns owner Jimmy Haslam regarding the Peacemakers and contacted his wife, Dee Haslam -- who runs a television production company -- about turning the organization's activities into a reality TV series.

He's also reaching out to Glenville product and new Browns safety Donte Whitner, who's been vocal on social media about curbing the violence in his hometown.

Rucker probably did himself no favors last fall in blasting the Browns on air for allowing Josh Gordon to eclipse Ozzie Newsome's single-game receiving records in a blowout loss to Pittsburgh.

He won't retreat from his opinions, however, just like he won't back down from gang leaders. He's witnessed the toll the streets can take on a family.

Watching three stepbrothers die in custody is still difficult for Rucker to discuss years later.

"When I see people who have come out of prison and want to give life a second chance, I want to help," he said. "I believe I have the ability to bring people together and create something positive. I have a different belief system than others because I was there. I saw it first hand."

Reggie Rucker played for the Browns from 1975 to 1981, and still ranks seventh all-time in franchise receiving yards with 4,953.

Asked if he gets frustrated in the face of so much youth violence, Rucker relates the parable of the starfish.

It's the story of the elderly man who sees a young boy at the beach surrounded by thousands of stranded starfish. As the child feverishly throws the creatures back into the ocean, the old man says: "Son, there are thousands of starfish and only one of you. What difference can you make?"

Rucker smiled as he recited the ending: "The boy picks up a starfish and throws it in the ocean and says, 'It will make a difference to that one.' "

In the autumn of his life, the former Browns receiver can still go deep.