In 1969, Ray Nitschke and several other Packers were trying to enjoy a peaceful dinner in Green Bay. Unfortunately for them, my parents and I happened to be eating at the same restaurant. So I did what any 7-year-old Packer fan would do–I ran over to their booth and asked them for their autographs.
Not only did these men interrupt their meals to give me their autographs, but they seemed genuinely happy to speak with me. Encouraged by how well things were going, I suggested that Nitschke give me his phone number so we could stay in touch. This was greeted with enthusiastic support from all the players at the table, especially Ken Bowman, the Packers’ starting center. Nitschke grinned at me and said, “Sure, kid” and quickly jotted down a phone number for me.
A week went by before I could convince my dad that it was time for me to contact my Packer buddy Nitschke. Because I was a little nervous about calling him myself, my dad relented and dialed the number and asked to speak with Ray Nitschke.
The woman who answered the phone politely informed my dad that he must have the wrong number. When my dad asked what number he had reached, the woman replied, “Ken Bowman’s residence.”
Though I was a little disappointed not to speak with Ray Nitschke, I always felt that I had shared an inside joke with my childhood hero. I will miss him.
