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Remembering Walter Payton: a memoir
by Greg Smith

As a child, growing up in Chicagoland, my moods on Mondays strictly depended on whether the Bears won or lost. No wonder I identified so strongly with that song, "I Don’t Like Mondays," by the Boomtown Rats. But I knew every week the Bears had a chance to win no matter whom they played because of one ingredient they had that nobody else could match. Walter Payton.

I identified with "Sweetness." In his Bear uniform, he was greatness on a miserable team. In my wheelchair, I felt like I was greatness in a miserable body and a cold physical world. Yet we both held onto our dreams. I grew up, went on to Arizona State and became the sports director of the campus radio station. His team grew up, got good and in 1985 hosted an NFC Divisional Playoff game against the New York Giants. I was home for the holiday break. I called the Bears office and was able to obtain a single locker room pass that would permit me entrance into the Bears locker room after the game. It would not permit me into Soldier Field or into the press box.

My parents and their friends had tickets and rented an RV for the game. The plan was for my cousin and me to watch the game from the parking lot and afterwards go directly to the Bears locker room to interview the players. Shortly after my parents left, my cousin and I looked at each other with devilish grins and didn’t have to say a word. We bundled up on this Subzero Chicago December afternoon. He pushed me in my manual wheelchair to one of the entrances and to our amazement, the locker room pass gained us entry into the stadium! We found a temporary resting-place in the wheelchair section just above the field at about the 40-yard line, but on this painfully frigid day, I could only endure it for 30 minutes. It was just too cold. We decided to try the press box before surrendering back to the RV. And whaddaya know?! The security guard allowed us on the elevator and before we knew it, we were being served hors’derves in a heated press box, receiving detailed statistics, and enjoying the Bears thrashing of the Giants. In all the excitement, I had to continue to remind my cousin that this was the press box... cheering is not allowed.

My greatest concern became the issue of how I was going to get from the press box to the Bears locker room after the game. The only wheelchair accessible path would have taken us completely outside of Soldier Field and against the grain of the departing crowd. The Bears PR Director said not to worry. He instructed ushers to meet me at the bottom of the elevator, and carry me upon their shoulders, in my wheelchair, down the bleachers to the locker room level. I felt like royalty.

They set me down gently. There was Irv Cross from the NFL Today and his camera crew near their makeshift set about to enter the locker room in front of me! We wheeled through the door. Clusters of aggressive reporters so surrounded the most celebrated Bears that in some circles, I couldn’t even see the players. Because he sat alone, neglected by the hungry media, was able to conduct a short interview with Bears offensive lineman Tom Thayer. But because the locker room was so crowded, I felt intimidated, sheepishly scanning the room for the slightest possibility that I could get an interview with just one big-time player. From my wheelchair, I could read the names of the players above their lockers. Huge crowds surrounded Mike Singletary, Willie Gualt, and Jim McMahon. I must have looked pretty dejected at the realization that I would have to wait for “seconds” instead of getting those first passionate statements from players after this victory that moved them to within one game of the Super Bowl.

Ever the optimist, I continued to seek an interview opportunity. And through a crack in the crowd his eyes met mine. Slowly and softly, he extended his arm forward and moved it to his right, brushing it up against the abdomen of a reporter, who took one step aside. He nodded his head, looking me dead in the eye. He didn’t pause from answering the question he was asked. He just moved his arm and created a space for me. I rolled forward and extended my microphone. I was so excited by the moment, and so intimidated by my surroundings that I didn’t even ask a question. But my tape recorder captured the voice of Sweetness. Thank you Walter Payton.