Never in my wildest dreams during my early years in New York did I expect to play professional football. Some good people’s faith in me and a lot of hard work led to my exciting seasons as a Chicago Bear.
My dream while I worked toward a bachelor of science degree at Columbia University between 1935 and 1939 was to become a doctor, if I could pay the tuition. And if I couldn’t-and without money in the family, that seemed likely-my alternate plan was to get a job in industry.
I already held three part-time jobs to stay in school. My football coach, Lou Little, treated me like a son and steered me to them when he heard I couldn’t finish my freshman year. I drove his wife around Manhattan, baby-sat for a wonderful family and worked at a gym.
The baby-sitting job was a double blessing. It gave me the only time during the week to sit and study, and that was vital to how I perceived my athletic prowess.
Academics was more important than football at Columbia. Even though Coach Little was tough on training and exacting in every way, most of our players, like those at the other Ivy League schools, were athletically ordinary. The boys on Harvard, Yale and Princeton teams, for example, had better reputations as scholars than as athletes. No way could a tailback on the Columbia team during the ’30s feel he stood a chance against boys from schools that prized football.
The late George Halas, “Mr. Chicago,” whom everyone knew and respected as a football coach and as a man, happened to watch me play and thought otherwise. He caught a Sunday college game after his Bears played the Giants one Saturday in New York.
From the way I called signals, threw passes and handed off the ball for Columbia, he saw a potential T-formation quarterback for Chicago. At the time, only Halas used the formation that would revolutionize football and make the quarterback most critical to its success. Now, it’s the norm for every high school, college and professional football team.
To say I was proud and honored to be Halas’ No. 1 draft choice after graduation in 1939 is an understatement. But even though I was selected to the National College Football Hall of Fame, I had misgivings about my talent and found reasons to say no.
At 6 feet, I weighed 175, a little light for pro football. I was going with Estelle, the lovely lady I planned to marry and who would share my life for 42 years until she died. I was ready to start a sales job with Cellu-Craft, a packaging company I’m still associated with after 53 years.
I wrote Halas, “Thanks for asking me to be your quarterback, but I don’t think I’ll do that.”
Halas was roughly 15 years older than I, and like Coach Little, he treated me with fatherly concern. Rather than let me throw away my athletic potential, he showed up at the tiny Brooklyn apartment Estelle and I had rented after our wedding to make her his ally. They hit it off right away and together convinced me to chance a football career.
His parting words to my bride, who had to stay in New York so I could concentrate on my game, still stick in my mind: “I promise you one thing, Estelle. Your husband will make it. I’ll see that he does.”
That season I roomed with two other players and spent my free time making friends with some of the Chicagoans I met at a luncheon Halas threw for me soon after I arrived. New Yorkers didn’t travel far in those days, so I didn’t know anybody who lived beyond the Hudson River.
Halas and I spent many wonderful hours together until he passed away at age 88. Remember, he was my coach for 12 seasons through three decades, the ’30s, ’40s and ’50s. My locker was next to his for the 17 or 18 years I coached after No. 42-my number-was retired by the Bears in 1951.
True to form, he kept his promise to Estelle. From the start, Halas insisted I do whatever made it possible for me to succeed. He never raised his voice or screamed at me but was stern and uncompromising when he felt I wasn’t making full use of my abilities. He didn’t tell me until my retirement that he thought I was the greatest quarterback that ever lived-so far.
I feel blessed that so many people made Chicago seem like home right away. Their friendship is right up there with the camaraderie of the boys I played with, the smell of the turf, the touch of the football, the excitement of a first season among the pros and the anticipation of the season’s last game against the Giants in New York.
If I were now sitting across the table from the Lord in heaven, which I hope to do one day, and he wanted to do something nice for me, and I hope he would, I would ask to come back and live exactly the life I led here on Earth. Nothing can ever match the thrills I got from athletics and the joys I find in friendships.
