Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [237]
Payton’s press conference was held on a Tuesday. By Friday, his office had been besieged by nearly twenty thousand letters, postcards, and packages (some thirty-odd letters came from people offering their livers). Bundles of flowers lined the doorway. Payton didn’t merely look at the piles from afar. He dug in, reading many of the notes, personally responding to some of the people. One letter especially moved him:
Dear Mr. Payton:
My name is Christopher and I am nine years old . . . I have a [liver ailment] too. My doctors don’t know how I got it and they don’t know what caused it. They don’t even know a name for my sick liver. . . . I’ve got an enlarged spleen, too. I can’t play any sports so my spleen won’t bust. I need to help my liver. I’m real popular at the hospital. They keep taking my blood to run tests, but they can’t figure out why I have it . . . I’m sorry that you have to go through all of this. I’ll pray for you. Mommy said God will take care of you just like he’s going to take care of me. Don’t be scared, please. Maybe you can do tests with me at my hospital. Will you please write back?
Yours truly,
Christopher Cash, Jonesboro, Georgia
Payton wrote back, and kept the piece of lined notebook paper with Christopher’s words on his desk. When a Sports Illustrated writer came to visit him, he picked the page up and read it aloud. “Christopher says I shouldn’t be scared,” Payton said. “God will take care of me.” 23
In early February a spokeswoman for Payton told the Associated Press that his liver disease was progressing faster than expected, and private planes had been offered to speed him to Mayo when a transplant became available. In April Dr. Joe Lagattuta, one of Payton’s personal physicians, reportedly told the Itasca Business Council in a speech that Payton had an excellent chance of receiving a new liver imminently. Once again, the information was puzzling. Within weeks of Payton’s press conference, his doctors confirmed the news many had suspected: He had cancer of the bile duct. By now, Payton—despite his hear-no-evil approach to negative news—was well aware that a transplant would not be in the cards. Though the word “cancer” was being avoided at all costs (as far as the general public was concerned, Payton was only battling a liver ailment), the disease was his greatest enemy.
Payton began making regular trips to Rochester to undergo lengthy, nightmarish chemotherapy treatments. He often flew on an airplane belonging to Tom Wieringa, a wealthy sponsor of Payton’s CART racing team. One of his regular companions was Suhey, who refused to let his longtime friend go through this alone. It was during that time, seeing Payton at his absolute lowest, that Suhey saw Payton at his absolute greatest.
“Walter would get his chemo at Mayo at night,” said Suhey. “And typically he would feel horrible afterward. He’d go back to the hotel and sleep. One night it was cold, and Walter and I were going upstairs to the room. This family just drove up from Chicago; they had just gotten there. And the child, who was probably ten or eleven or twelve, had cancer. He had no hair, he looked weak. It was not great. And all he wanted to do was meet Walter. I said, ‘Walter, do you really want to?’ and he said, ‘Absolutely!’ He walked outside, and it was really cold out. He met the kid, talked to the kid, and they sat down—just he and the kid went and sat down. And Walter felt just horrible, but he sat there and talked to the kid for half an hour. Right after chemo. God bless him. The family wrote me a letter, I think I still have it. It was written a year or two after Walter passed. I don’t think the child lived, but it meant a lot to him. Under very difficult circumstances. That moment really spoke to the kindness—to walk out there and spend the time with the kid. That