Payton book may actually do some good
A debate rages over whether the new Walter Payton biography needed to be written 12 years after his death from cancer and liver disease.
Why shouldn’t it be? Payton is a historical figure, sports category, and should be chronicled just as the likes of Abe Lincoln and Marilyn Monroe have been.
Just the part about the late Bears’ running back suffering suicidal thoughts make it worthwhile for focusing light on the subject of depression.
Of all the athletes I have come across the past 40 years, Payton is the one that most needs to be fleshed out.
Curiosity compelled me to read the excerpts of “Sweetness: The Hero No One Knows.” The author, Jeff Pearlman, reportedly conducted nearly 700 interviews in an effort to provide depth to the person/player.
I was one of the interviewees, though I doubt much of what I said was of much help.
I talked to Payton by phone on the day the Bears drafted him in 1975 and attended his memorial service in 1999.
During the quarter-century in between, through all the news conferences, the private lunch we had at the old Arlington Park Hilton, the 13 seasons of games, the openings of his restaurants in the Northwest suburbs …
Despite all that, like most people in the media and public, I can’t say that I ever really knew Walter Payton.
Maybe his teammates feel they did, but I’m thinking even most of them never reached the inner Payton.
The point is, we all knew quite a bit about this greatest football player ever but very little about the man.
That’s how it is with most world-class athletes, and most world-class celebrities for that matter, isn’t it? We don’t know them, do we?
The part in the book about Payton’s marital difficulties is no revelation because they already were widely whispered.
The part about his alleged extensive use of painkillers could be assumed because football players lean on those to relieve the consequences of a punishing profession.
The allegations about Payton’s depression and that he considered suicide … now that’s freshly interesting.
The lyrics to Smokey Robinson’s “Tears of a Clown” come to mind.
Just like Pagliacci didI try to keep my surface hidSmiling in the public eyeBut in my lonely room I cryThe tears of a clown.
Walter Payton seemed to have everything: A great athletic career, remarkable physical gifts, the admiration of millions, healthy kids, an understanding wife, financial security, successful businesses, a support system of family and friends.
Yet apparently this same person suffered demons. How many others walking among us suffer demons quietly, privately, horrifically?
The message should be that if Walter Payton could be depressed, it isn#146;t something to be ashamed of but something to be treated.
Publicly, Payton was a prankster with sort of a mischievous smile. He enjoyed surprising visitors with a pinch on the butt as he walked past.
But if the book #147;Sweetness#148; is to be believed, maybe that was his defense mechanism to shield a troubled soul.
Don#146;t let my glad expressionGive you the wrong impressionDon#146;t let this smile I wearMake you think that I don#146;t careWhen really I#146;m sad #133; I#146;m hurting so badIf those lines fit Walter Payton and even he could suffer depression, any focus on the subject is worthwhile.
mimrem@dailyherald.com