Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [127]
Finally, one day before the Bears’ 1978 season opener against the Cardinals at Soldier Field, an agreement was reached. “Walter actually came into the room and said, ‘They’re offering me more than four hundred thousand dollars—what should I do?’ ” recalled Mike Raines, a free agent defensive end out of Alabama who roomed with Payton at Lake Forest. “I’d just played a season in the Canadian Football League making minimum wage. I told him he had to take it.”
Payton signed three one-year contracts that would pay him $400,000 in 1978, $425,000 in 1979, and $450,000 in 1980. With incentive clauses that could add as much as $97,000 annually, Payton was now a $1.3 million man. As soon as the news was announced, Payton sat down with reporters, beaming from ear to ear. Even if it was not quite O. J. money, he was happy to be rich. He was even happier for the whole ordeal to be over.
The call came to the Chicago Bears headquarters on the morning of Sunday, September 3, only seventy minutes before the opening-game kickoff against St. Louis. A receptionist picked up the telephone, held it to her ear, and heard this: “If Walter Payton plays today, I will shoot him.”
The man identified himself as a member of the American White People’s Party, an organization with the stated goal of “returning control of this continent to the Aryan peoples who originally conquered, populated, and created its culture and political institutions.” He said that four party members armed with rifles and bombs were stationed inside Soldier Field, and that Payton, as well as any blacks sitting in the stands, would be gunned down.
The Bears front office faced a major decision. Finks learned of the threat and debated whether to say something. On the one hand, a person has the right to know about someone itching to assassinate him. On the other hand, the Chicago offense with a distracted Payton was barely an offense at all.
The information was kept quiet.
The Bears won 17–10, and Payton played brilliantly, running for 101 yards on twenty-six carries, catching three balls for twenty-two yards, and scoring a touchdown. Afterward, safety Doug Plank was euphoric. “No one can run an end like he can or add excitement and enthusiasm,” he said. “Even when he lost six yards that time when he cut back and danced around, everyone was cheering. He transfers electricity to the team.”
As Payton undressed by his locker, Stevie Wonder’s Greatest Hits blaring from a small tape recorder, he was approached by Israel, the Tribune columnist. Midway through the game the media was told of the death threat. Israel asked Payton for a reaction.
“To what?” he said.
Israel explained, and Payton giggled. “When I go out on the field, I believe it’s with Jesus Christ’s help,” he said. “If he said it’s my time, it’s my time. I can’t do anything about it.”
Upon further reflection, however, Payton was taken aback. Even though Finks made the decision to keep Payton out of the loop, the running back blamed Armstrong. Shouldn’t someone have at least filled him in beforehand? Even if these guys were cranks, wasn’t he owed a heads-up? Though never especially close with Pardee, Payton did trust him. The relationship with Armstrong, on the other hand, was off to a rocky start.
Chicago followed up the Cardinals triumph with wins over the 49ers and Lions, then dropped a nail-biter to the rival Vikings, 24–20. Throughout the city, fans were elated by a 3-1 start that had the Bears looking like contenders. Payton, however, was miserable, and needed to let everyone know how he felt. Through the first four games, Payton ran for 298 yards—164 less than the previous season. Usually jovial and upbeat around teammates, he now could regularly be found sitting alone at his locker, a pair of enormous black headphones blocking out the world. Like most of his peers, Payton gave constant lip