FINALLY, JUST ONE JOB TITLE: TOMSULA, 49ERS' LONGEST-TENURED COACH, TOOK ARDUOUS PATH TO NFL RANKS

His furniture was in storage, his mailing address was nonexistent and Jim Tomsula's bed was the reclined driver's seat of a red Cadillac.

To Tomsula's right, sleeping shotgun, was his black lab, Harley. In the back, curled up on the ledge near the window, was the cat, Cali. In Florida, or maybe Missouri, was his family. His wife and two young daughters were visiting various relatives while Tomsula re-established himself as a football coach by leaping back on the lowest rung of the ladder.

It was 1997 and Tomsula, now the 49ers' fifth-year defensive line coach, was then a 29-year-old college graduate sleeping in a deserted parking lot at Division II Catawba College, his alma mater, which had hired him as an unpaid volunteer assistant.

Tomsula laughs as he looks back -- Cali eventually swapped her litter box for his ties -- but looks quizzical when asked this: Did he ever dream he'd travel from that parking lot in Salisbury, N.C., to the NFL?

"I've never thought that way, man," Tomsula explained. "I mean, the only goal I ever had was to be able to coach football."

Tomsula, 43, a journeyman coach on a one-of-a-kind journey, has ditched big paychecks and worked an endless string of odd jobs -- janitor and rug salesman among them -- to pursue his passion. A tireless worker raised near Pittsburgh's steel mills, Tomsula has crammed 28 seasons of coaching into the past 22 years.

As a result, he's slogged his way out of obscurity to become the youngest head coach in NFL Europe history and the 17th head coach of the 49ers, a position he held for one game as an interim last year.

He is the longest-tenured coach on San Francisco's staff, the only assistant retained by both Mike Singletary and Jim Harbaugh.

Against long odds, Tomsula has reached the top of his profession. And it's telling that his outlook hasn't changed along with his bank account.

Fourteen years after snoozing in his car, Tomsula, who has dubbed himself a "little fat guy" and "Jim Nobody from Nowhere," remains all passion and no pretense: He still just wants to coach football.

"I can tell when he's had grown-up meetings at work because he comes home with a scowl on his face," said Julie Tomsula, his wife of 19 years. "I'll say, 'Oh, no. Did you have a grown-up meeting? What was it about?' And he'll say healthcare. Or 401(k). Honestly, standing in the grass and coaching is the only interest Jim has in the profession."

The lockout, naturally, is torture for Tomsula, who is thoroughly bored by the business of the NFL. He has refused to hire an agent and his "contract negotiation" was almost comical when the Niners hired him in 2007. Then-head coach Mike Nolan told him the salary and Tomsula, after asking if it was fair, accepted.

Given his attitude toward money, it's surprising to discover Tomsula's goal out of college: Get rich.

A former defensive lineman at Catawba, Tomsula blew out his knee as a senior and served as a student assistant coach to retain his scholarship. After graduation, biding his time until he landed a real job, he worked as an assistant for one season at Woodland Hills (Pa.) High, his alma mater.

But he eagerly left coaching when he had the chance. He got a job selling medical supplies for Thera-Kinetics, which quickly had him in a two-story house on two acres overlooking a lake in North Carolina.

FOUR JOBS AT ONE TIME

Money couldn't make an unexpectedly powerful pull inside him disappear, however. Whatever satisfaction he found in selling Pulsed-Galvanic stimulators paled in comparison to the camaraderie he'd felt in football.

With Julie's blessing, they left the good life after their honeymoon and, as Tomsula puts it, took up residence in a "questionable apartment" in Charleston, S.C., in 1992.

Tomsula's job as an assistant coach at Charleston Southern University was also less than extravagant. His office was a dorm room, the practice field was a grassy area of the quad and his salary was $9,100, which presented a problem.

"Once we paid the car payment and the rent," Tomsula said, "we were out of money."

Tomsula responded by collecting various job titles. He had no choice. Britney, now 18, and Brooke, 16, were born during their three years in Charleston and Julie stayed home to care for them (their son, Bear, is 3).

At one point, Tomsula had four jobs: football coach, janitor at an insurance agency, newspaper deliverer for The Charleston Post and Courier and, finally, he cut firewood, earning $55 for every third truckload.

His schedule was seemingly impossible to maintain: running a chainsaw late into the night, picking up newspapers at the Piggly-Wiggly at 3:30 a.m., scrubbing toilets and vacuuming after throwing his last Post and Courier, coaching football, running a chainsaw ... It was a struggle with a smile. He was coaching football, man.

"I was just so excited," he said. "A bill came and you had to pay it. I never saw it as working. I saw it as a living."

'DYING A SLOW DEATH'

But Tomsula's dad wasn't so thrilled with his son's paycheck-to-paycheck existence. He urged him to get out of coaching -- a hobby, in his mind -- and properly provide for his family.

The words weighed heavily on Tomsula, whose devotion to his wife and children has always overwhelmed his love of football. During his nine-year stint in NFL Europe, Tomsula twice turned down promotions with life-altering raises because Britney and Brooke, both younger than 10, didn't want to stop spending half the year overseas. Tomsula's motto: If it's not good for one of us, it's not good for none of us.

He eventually agreed with his dad -- his coaching lifestyle wasn't good for his family. He left Charleston Southern, moved his family to Pennsylvania and began working as a sales rep for Cisco Foods.

He was a natural. His family settled into a white-picket-fence life in Ligonier, Pa., and Julie Tomsula watched as her husband's pager went off at all hours with "side-of-beef emergencies." "I felt like he was dying a slow death," Julie said. " ... I told him, 'This is no way to live.'"

So Tomsula began living ... in his red Cadillac with Harley and Cali.

He coached the defensive line at Catawba in 1997 as an unpaid assistant and started selling entrance rugs on straight commission to earn a paycheck.

Catawba head coach Chip Hester, then in his first year as an assistant with Tomsula, quickly recognized the new guy had a gift.

"Jim's got a passion for the game, but even more than that he's got a passion for people," Hester said. "... Guys have to know that you care about them for you to be able to coach them. And that's something that comes across. He is genuine. He's got a huge heart. And on top of that, he has a knowledge base that guys trust. They know if they do what he says, it's going to work."

PHONE CALL OUT OF BLUE

Hester wasn't the only one to notice. Based on the recommendation of a coach who knew Tomsula, legendary NFL wide receiver Lionel Taylor, the head coach of NFL Europe's London Monarchs, called and offered Tomsula a job as the team's defensive line coach.

Tomsula, who had just lost his sales job because the rug company went out of business, was at a loss for words, a rare occurrence. His initial response: What are you talking about? Who is this?

"I'm not giving religion lessons or anything else," Tomsula said. "I'm just telling you that out of the blue I get this call. ..

. I mean, here we are, one minute I'm looking for a job trying to buff some floors or cut some plywood. And the next thing I know we're living in London and I'm coaching with Lionel Taylor. That's the God's truth."

Tomsula, a master of teaching technique and fundamentals, flourished in the developmental league. The Monarchs folded after he was there one season, but Tomsula was hired by the Scottish Claymores and stayed in Glasgow for five seasons as the defensive line coach. He became the defensive coordinator for the Berlin Thunder, who won the World Bowl in his first season with a defense that ranked first against the run.

Finally, at 38, he became the youngest head coach in league history when the Rhein Fire hired him in 2006.

After the NFL Europe seasons, Tomsula worked at coaching clinics across the continent. The family would then spend the other half of the year back in North Carolina, where Tomsula continued to coach as an assistant at Catawba.

CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT GAME

Catawba defensive coordinator Bob Lancaster, whom Tomsula hired when he coached the Rhein Fire, recognizes his friend as a fellow coaching junkie.

"It's like my dad would tell me, if you can live without the game, do it," said Lancaster, whose dad coached in the Canadian Football League. "Jimmy's one of those guys, I don't think he can live without the game. He loves football. It's just the way he coaches. He has guys willing to run through a brick wall for him."

Tomsula's passionate style has translated to the NFL. The 49ers haven't allowed a 100-yard rusher in 22 straight games, the longest active streak in the league. They have also allowed 3.7 yards per carry since Tomsula's arrival in 2007, the NFL's fourth-best mark during that span.

At this point in his one-of-a-kind journey, Tomsula, Jim Nobody from Nowhere, has been everywhere, from the Piggly Wiggly to Paris to the Pyrenees.

Plenty of other coaches have also slogged their way to the top, but how many have savored their time at the bottom?

Did he ever despair at any point? Maybe while scrubbing toilets, or selling rugs or sleeping with a dog and cat in a Cadillac?

Tomsula smiles. "Heck, no," he said. "I was coaching football."

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You can reach Staff Writer Eric Branch at eric.branch@pressdemocrat.com and follow him at twitter.com/Eric_Branch.