Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [245]
Eddie thanked Walter’s family members and friends, spoke passionately about how much Chicago meant to his brother, then offered up a story that, years later, the day’s attendees still retell:
[Walter would] probably look at me and say, “Slick, tell me one to make me feel good.” And I am probably a jokester, not a prankster. So the one I like best, and I didn’t know which it would be until everybody that passed by [today] kept saying, “Man, I looked at you and you looked just like Walter.” Or said, “Man, I thought you were Walter. Y’all are the spitting image.” Obviously those are people who couldn’t tell true beauty when they were looking at it. But that’s always had its advantages and disadvantages.
I was driving to south Mississippi, to the rural community to speak at an athletic banquet, and I stopped to get some gas in my car and the attendant came out. As he was pumping gas he was kind of staring at me. I kind of looked at him and smiled. He says, “You’re that Payton boy, ain’t you?” I said, “Yes, sir, I am.” He said—rural Mississippi, now . . . “I followed your career for a long time. I watched you when you ran up and down the field at Columbia, Mississippi, and I was a big fan.” I said, “I appreciate that.” He said, “You don’t understand.” He says, “I watched you at Jackson State College and I thought you were the best.” I said, “I appreciate it.”
And he was about to finish and fill up, and I started walking to him. He said, “You don’t understand. I watched you play in that professional league and you was about the best I’ve ever seen.” I said, “Thank you, I appreciate it.” He says, “No, you really don’t understand, I am your biggest fan.” He says, “To show you what a big fan of yours I am, Walter, I’m gonna give you this tank of gas for free.” So I did the only thing I could do. As I got in my car, I looked him straight in the eye, and I thanked him, and I told him if he was ever in Chicago, look me up and I’ll get him two tickets.
One day after the funeral, the Chicago Bears hosted a public memorial service at Soldier Field. Between fifteen thousand and twenty thousand spectators showed up, many with signs offering sentiments like THANKS, PAYTON, FOR THE SWEET MEMORIES and YOU’VE TOUCHED SO MANY. The Sweet Holy Spirit Choir sang joyfully, and the thirty-yard line on each side of the stadium was repainted into a 34 in the team colors of orange, blue, and white. The play clock was frozen at Payton’s number. “In some respects,” wrote J. A. Adande of the Los Angeles Times, “this was just like so many other days, when the only reason to go to Soldier Field was Walter Payton.”
Family members, former teammates, and the entire 1999 Bears roster entered Soldier Field with roses in hand. “In this stadium where he glowed, we wanted an encore,” said Jesse Jackson, who maintained a friendship with Payton. “Walter flew like an eagle, he flew high. We have lost Sweetness, but there is a lot of ‘Sweetness’ left. The light did not go out. This light called ‘Sweetness’ belongs to the heavens, belongs to the ages.”
“I remember this guy playing on this field and leaving it on this field time after time,” added Dan Hampton, the legendary defensive lineman whose voice quivered as he spoke. “I have a little