Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [216]
As the July 31, 1993, Hall of Fame induction ceremony approached, Payton struggled. Initially, the difficulty was in choosing a presenter. The first person to come to mind was Jim Finks, the former Bears general manager who used the fourth selection in the 1975 NFL Draft to pick an undersized running back from Jackson State. Payton actually asked Finks, who was honored by the request. When the sixty-five-year-old five-packs-a-day cigarette smoker was diagnosed with lung cancer, however, he had to decline. Bud Holmes, his longtime agent who was responsible for much of Payton’s success, was next to be considered. Holmes quickly deferred. “Walter,” he said, “nobody cares about me. Pick someone else. Pick a family member.” Finally, after much deliberation, Payton settled on Jarrett, his charming, boisterous, twelve-year-old son. “Man, when Dad told me he wanted me to do that . . . I was nervous as a kid can be,” said Jarrett. “My housekeeper, Miss Luna, helped me write the speech, and we went over it and over it in the kitchen. I wanted it to be perfect, because I knew how much this day meant to my dad.”
Many of those who knew Payton relatively well were shocked by the anxiety he seemed to be experiencing in the lead-up to the ceremony. He was having trouble concentrating, and was short and curt with anyone who dared strike up a conversation. Normally jovial with fans and autograph seekers, Payton wanted no part of it. He demanded quiet and solitude. Some were under the impression that Jarrett’s speech was burdening Payton; that his nervousness and apprehension had to do with a twelve-year-old standing before thousands of people and speaking glowingly of his father.
They had no idea.
Shortly after he learned of his acceptance into the Hall, Payton spoke with Lita Gonzalez, the New Jersey–based flight attendant who he was dating. “I’m coming to the ceremony,” she said. “There’s no way I’d miss it.”
It had now been almost five years since she first met Walter, and Gonzalez’s patience was wearing thin. Theirs was a relationship of extremes—either passionate romance or nonstop screaming and threats. Lita insisted they go to couple’s therapy, and Walter begrudgingly agreed. “It was to pacify her,” said Quirk. “Only a few visits.” Lita demanded a commitment from Walter, and he finally made one, presenting her with a one-carat diamond “promise” ring that, he said, signified his love for her. Lita was momentarily placated, especially when he had her attend an increasing number of his races on the Trans-Am circuit. But just as the relationship seemed to be going well, something always interfered. Lita wanted to relocate to Chicago—Walter told her not to. Lita wanted Walter to finally divorce Connie and devote himself to her—Walter made one assurance after another, but never committed. Lita wanted Walter to take her to public events and have her on his arm—Walter couldn’t. (He did, however, take Lita’s father, Javier, to the 1988 Super Bowl in San Diego.) “It was a very hostile pairing,” said Quirk. “I could never fully understand Lita’s lack of common sense, because Walter made it clear through his actions that he wasn’t going to commit fully to her. She gave herself to him, and he wouldn’t give himself back.”
“Honestly, I think Lita provided Walter with a motherly inner sanctum,” Holmes said. “He could sit and talk to her and fantasize to her and he wouldn’t get any resistance from Lita. Connie, on the other hand, always kept busy and had things to do besides listening to Walter ramble on. Lita was like a bottle to Walter’s alcoholism. She provided what he needed. An ear.”
In Payton’s offices—first in the back of Studebaker’s, then in complexes in Arlington Heights and,