Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [238]
If people assumed Payton was sitting inside his house, bemoaning his fate, they were mistaken. “I don’t feel sorry for myself, because that’s the first step toward giving up and I’m not giving up,” he said. “I know something good is going to come from this. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.” When he wasn’t receiving treatment at Mayo, Payton fought to stay active. He took a trip with Mike Lanigan to Las Vegas, where for an hour straight he stood at the roulette table and placed chips on number thirty-four. (“It never came up,” said Lanigan. “Not once.”) He helped finalize a deal to bring Chicago an Arena Football League team in 2001. He confided regularly in his fellow Roundhouse owners. Years earlier Payton had agreed to make appearances on behalf of Bridgestone/ Firestone. Now that Payton was sick Gamauf expected him to remain in Chicago and rest. “I called him once to see how he was doing,” Gamauf said. “Walter said to me, ‘Gam, I don’t want to sit home and look at the walls. I have to stay active and keep my mind fresh. I want to keep doing engagements.’ ”
Gamauf lined up a series of speaking opportunities. “Walter was 160 pounds when I saw him,” he said. “He needed different suits because his shoulders had gotten so small, and there were times when he was doubled over in pain. But he never walked onto the stage showing any weakness. He was the same old Walter Payton, and people loved him.”
In particular, Gamauf treasured a trip the two took to New York in April to speak at a dealership, Wholesale Tire, on Long Island. On the night before the event, the men talked for two and a half hours inside Gamauf’s hotel room. They laughed and cried and swapped stories. Whether Payton consciously realized it or not, he was preparing to die. “Walter either let you in or he didn’t,” Gamauf said. “He let me in.”
The following morning, Payton gave one of the most moving speeches of his life. “Hell yes, I’m scared,” he told the two hundred attendees, “but I’m not going to sit here and worry about it. The Lord’s got it in His hands, and I’m going to say all the prayers I can and I appreciate all the prayers everybody else can say.
“Now let’s talk about cars.”
CHAPTER 26
THE END
ON THE AFTERNOON OF APRIL 12, 1999, MATT SUHEY PICKED UP HIS OLD teammate in his Mercedes 430 and drove him to Wrigley Field. It was the day of the Chicago Cubs’ ninety-seventh home opener, and Walter Payton was scheduled to throw out the first pitch.
En route to the ballpark, an excited Payton turned to Suhey. “Maybe I’ll do this again next year,” he said, “when I nip this thing.”
There was nothing for Suhey to say. When the prognosis was still in doubt, he could laugh as Payton cracked lines like, “This is gonna be another Brian’s Song—only here the brother dies in the end.” By this point, though, Suhey was well aware that, hope and prayer and optimism be damned, his friend was dying. “The cancer was severe,” he said. “His odds were not good.”
Five months earlier, when he first learned of Payton’s illness, Suhey dedicated himself to being by his side as often as possible. Though the two had shared a nice friendship through the years, it was never an overwhelmingly close one. They spoke every so often, partnered in some business dealings, traded holiday cards, hugged when they happened to be at the same place at the same time. That was the extent. When Payton became ill, however, something in Suhey snapped. He had blocked for his friend for eight years, and now he needed to block once again. “Matt was loyal to Walter,” said Mike Lanigan, their friend and business partner. “Fiercely loyal.” Suhey accompanied Payton on many of his trips to Mayo, consulted with the physicians, served as a buffer between former teammates anxious to visit and a star determined to maintain some semblance of privacy. “Matt,” said Ginny Quirk, “was right there when Walter needed him most. What better compliment can you give a person?”
Payton was escorted into Wrigley Field through the media gate, where he was met by a handful of club officials.