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The campaign had never gained much traction when Walter was a junior, but now it caught a wave. One day Doug Shanks, the Jackson city commissioner and Tigers loyalist, came to one of Payton’s summer workouts accompanied by Alan Nations, a local journalist who had worked on political campaigns. Shanks pulled Payton aside, introduced him to Nations and said, “Walter, Alan here is going to try and get you some publicity for the Heisman.” Payton nodded, and Nations, in the name of small talk, asked, “Walter, are you married?”

“No,” Payton replied. “Do I need to be?”

“He was serious,” said Shanks. “Walter would have found a way to get hitched in the name of winning that trophy.”

Though he failed to propose to Connie, Walter did take one peculiar step. When asked by members of the media for his age, Payton said “twenty” instead of “twenty-one.” On those occasions when he needed to supply his birthday, he wrote July 25, 1954—not July 25, 1953. For some peculiar reason, Payton seemed to believe the award’s voters would view him more favorably as a younger man. Back in the 1970s, when collegiate athletics weren’t close to being the billion-dollar business that they are today, such details could be easily overlooked. If Walter Payton said he was twenty, Sam Jefferson believed he was twenty. The deception stuck. For the remainder of his life, Payton would be listed as being one year younger than he actually was.

The real Heisman run began on July 6, 1974, when subscribers of The Sporting News, at the time one of the nation’s leading sports weeklies, turned to Dick Young’s regular column, “Young Ideas,” and read the following: “Long range, long-shot prediction: Walter Payton, Jackson State running back, will be the first man from a black college to win the Heisman Trophy, six months hence.”

Shortly thereafter the Associated Press sent a story across its wires titled, “Payton a ‘Heisman’ Hopeful.”

The Payton-for-the-Heisman drive, possibly a virtue of its unusualness on behalf of a small college player as well as a recognition of Payton’s accomplishments, already has drawn some national note.

Newspapers from New York, Miami, and other cities have already called, and the university is pushing publicity with great vigor.

Payton, whose ego appears to have remained of modest proportions despite the publicity boomlet, shyly explains that his teammates inspired the campaign.

“We had several players at the time that were just as good or better than I am, but the positions they played would have made it harder to publicize them, so they voted to push me.”

As well connected as anyone in the city of Jackson, Hill asked Marvin Hogan, the head of a local nonprofit agency called Friends of Children, to use the office’s printing machines to mass-produce signs and bumper stickers reading WHY NOT PAYTON FOR HEISMAN TROPHY? Sam Jefferson, Jackson State’s sports information director, shipped the material to newspapers, magazines, and television stations across the country, along with a crude twopage synopsis that included the sentence, “He doesn’t smoke, drink, or frequent the so called ‘Hep Parties.’ ” Before long, newspapers like The New York Times and Newsday were referring to Payton and his Heisman ambitions. Ironically, with the exception of Payton himself, no one at Jackson State believed he had a real shot.

“We were fully aware it wouldn’t happen,” said Jefferson. “We harbored no illusions, and while I won’t say it was impossible, it was improbable. You can’t be a small school on a shoestring budget and expect to mount a real campaign against the big guys.”

Payton, however, now had a new motivation. Throughout the first three years of his collegiate career, Payton ran with power and determination. But he never ran with a grudge. To Hill’s dismay, Payton would barrel over defensive players, then extend his hand after the whistle to help them up. He was a gentleman in shoulder pads.

With the Heisman hype, Hill no longer had to worry. Payton heard the talk—via TV, via magazines, via newspapers—that while he was a promising