Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [25]
Davis named Boston the receivers’ coach, and unofficially, his liaison to the black players. It was badly needed. Because of the backlash to integration, Columbia’s roster was decimated, what with a mere seventeen players skeptically returning to the team. An additional twenty blacks signed on, meaning the Wildcats had a total of thirty-seven warm bodies. “I wanted to stay and play quarterback,” said Haddox, who departed for Columbia Academy. “But a lot of our parents didn’t want us on the same team as the black kids.”
As was the case in basketball, an air of caution choked the football team’s first integrated workouts. With Haddox’s departure, the leading contender for the quarterback job was Archie Johnson—Jefferson’s black signal caller. “Before practice began,” said Johnson, “I was told by some of the adult blacks that under no terms was I to allow anyone to change my position.” Many of Columbia’s returnees couldn’t fathom such an idea. Meanwhile, the team’s best defensive lineman was Steve Stewart—a white boy and the top holdover tackler for Columbia High. “Those first practices, I thought we were going to kill each other,” said Kim Fink, the Wildcats’ backup quarterback. “We played so hard, trying to prove our manhood and our worth. We did all we could to get our pads off and throw punches. We wanted to just destroy the other guys. We saw them as threats and as encroachers.
“But I’ll say this,” said Fink. “One kid stood out, and you knew—whether you supported integration or didn’t—that we had a chance to be pretty darn good.”
That kid was Walter Payton.
He was, beginning with that initial workout, different. Stronger. Quicker. More powerful. A five-foot-eight, 193-pound block of dynamite. Oh, Johnson could wiggle out of the pocket and throw a tight spiral downfield. And Edward Moses, aka “Sugar Man,” was as fast as anyone had ever seen. And Stewart pulverized opposing ball carriers. “We had a bunch of excellent athletes,” said Stewart. “But Walter was on a new level. My first impression of Walter was, ‘Holy cow—this kid literally has no fat on him!’ With his shirt off, his body was like a Greek god. I asked him that first day if he lifted weights, and he said he didn’t. I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it. He was a statue.”
Before that first practice, some of Columbia’s white players were under the illusion that Sherman Green, the Wildcats’ leading rusher from the previous season, would keep his job. Green was a tough kid who grinded out yards. By the time practice ended, however, it was clear Payton and Green resided on different levels. “Sherman was a big, strong white guy,” said Eli Payton, a black defensive back. “Well, one day Sherman spit on Walter. I don’t know if it was an accident or on purpose, but Walter screamed, ‘Shit man, look what you did!’ and slapped him. Just slapped him across the face. That was the only incident between the two, but it set a tone. Walter wasn’t going to take anything from anyone.”
In one of the first postintegration drills, Rickey Joe Graves, a hard-hitting white linebacker, knew Payton would be coming straight toward him. The play was designed as such—halfback takes the handoff, bursts directly through the hole and toward the middle of the field. Graves, itching to prove himself to the blacks, licked his chops. “I got to the spot right when he did,” said Graves, “and I thought to myself, ‘I’m gonna lay it on this guy.’ ” Graves’ feet left the ground and his arms reached out, only to have Payton’s knees explode into the bottom of his chin. “Walter was gone,” said