by Eddie Payton
Whether Walter should have gotten a shot at a touchdown in that Super Bowl is something I’ll let you all talk about. Maybe we’ll touch on it later in this book. What I want to get back to right now, though, is how Walter was nothing short of unstoppable the rest of his time at Jackson State. He was like a runaway train without the confinement of tracks. His insanely quick plant-and-cuts allowed him to change his direction faster than he took to Connie. His nuclear explosiveness let him tear through the line of scrimmage, steamrolling would-be tacklers like they were still a bunch of little boys on the playground. His power in the open field enabled him to outrun most anyone in pursuit, as if he was still stealing plums from the Garden of Eatin’. All of that added up to define Walter’s style as a running back during his second year as a Tiger. He was so instinctive, so automatic, so natural, so in the zone. He didn’t have to think about it or reason it out. He just was. My little brother quickly became the most intuitive runner I’d ever seen or would ever see carrying a ball. Anywhere. Any level. Ever.
He was so good the rest of the way at Jackson State that fans could’ve simply called him “The Best.” That would have been fitting, but that didn’t become his nickname. Too obvious, perhaps. Well, he had long left “Bubba” behind, and just calling him “Walter” wasn’t sexy enough for what he was doing out there, so he needed something else. Sometime soon after I graduated, he somehow picked up one of my old nicknames, “Little Monk.” The thing is, that really fit me much better than Walter, since I was the little guy. Plus, he was just becoming too good to follow in my footsteps. So, he was only “Little Monk” for a little while. Then something as sweet as Connie rolled his way once again. It was a nickname that would stick like honey. More heroic than his high school nickname “Spider-Man” and somehow more decadent than “Sugarman.” It was a name unlike anything before used to describe a football player. “Sweetness” may’ve started out as something the other guys called Walter as a way to pick on him for his soft, high-pitched voice, but it soon developed into a moniker of pride for my brother. It was a nickname that matched his voice, yes, but it ended up matching the way he played even better. As a reporter once said about Walter, “He runs so sweet that it gives me cavities just watching him.” I think there was a boom in business for dentists around Jackson State at the time, because Sweetness was there to stay. Walter embraced it, he loved it, and he never shied away from what would become one of sport’s greatest and most-recognized nicknames.
Another reason the name “Sweetness” fit Walter so well was that he started leading the Tigers in their pregame prayer. Before each game, Walter would bring the team before God, and this wasn’t something Coach Hill told him to do. Walter took over the pregame prayer out of choice. He wanted to do it. Now, remember, of course, that we’re talking about the same Walter Payton that some folks in the media have been saying was not religious at all. Well, Walter was obviously religious at Jackson State, and I can tell you for sure that in the same way he didn’t lose many games there, he also did not lose his religion anywhere along the line. Sweetness never wavered as a believer and follower of Jesus Christ, and I’m confident that if you believe in Jesus Christ, too, then you’ll one day see for yourself that I’m right.
One thing I wasn’t right about, I have to admit, was what I was going to do after leaving Jackson State. I expected to go off and create yet another shadow for Walter to one day step into on the next level, but that turned out to be more of a wish and a prayer, I suppose. And God had a different answer for it than I did. I thought I’d end up in the NFL or at least would light the CFL on fire. Well, when the NFL didn’t call me for a workout and the CFL just plain didn’t work out, I soon found out that God’s answer to my prayer was a blessing I didn’t even ask for. Though I wasn’t yet living my dream, I got to watch Walter finish his last two years at Jackson State. I gave him his space while I was there, of course, but I still got to hang out and work out with him. And yes, I had a front row seat to witness him break all of my records. Okay, “break” is too soft of word. He smashed what I did. During his junior season in 1973, Sweetness rushed for 1,139 yards, led the country in scoring with 160 points, was voted the most valuable player in the SWAC, and was named to the Black All-American team. You’re reading about it now, but I got to see it with my own eyes.
And you know, being right there and being his brother, I got to see more than football from Walter. I wasn’t playing with him anymore, but I was still living life with him. And let me tell you, the football field wasn’t the only place where he could play. In fact, he could’ve easily been the captain of the All-American team of off-the-field mischief, had there been one of those teams. Walter knew how to have fun and get into some serious trouble all at the same time. One of his favorite pranks was going around campus and letting the air out of two tires on a vehicle. He’d find a car that was parked, just sitting there, minding its own business, not hurting no one, and just waiting for someone like Walter to come along. Once he was sure there was nobody around or watching, he’d approach the car all stealth-like. He’d quickly bend down out of sight and release the air from the front right tire. Then he’d move around to the other side without standing up and let the air out of the back left tire. He’d then stand up, walk away, and find a spot close enough to the car to see it but far enough so as not to be seen. He’d sit and watch and wait for the owner to come back. Once that poor soul came strolling along, Walter would chuckle at knowing that in a matter of minutes, he’d be watching that car waddle away.
Some other parked cars suffered worse fates than that. If Walter could find a couple of teammates to help him (and he always could), they’d walk around until something teeny-tiny on four wheels was staring right at them. Those guys would pick up the smallest car they could find, like a Volkswagen or something, and they’d set it somewhere it didn’t belong. They’d put it on a sidewalk, in front of a fireplug, between two trees, or somewhere like that. When the owner came back, he wouldn’t be able to find the car at first. When he did finally locate it, he could at worst have a ticket for parking in front of a fireplug, but at best he’d be scratching his head about how the damn thing ended up where it was. And the whole time, Walter and his teammates would be—yep, you guessed it—chuckling like little kids. Walter would do anything to get a good laugh.
Now, there are some stories that went a little beyond just good ol’ laughter. We can’t talk about all of those stories. Or I should say, I won’t talk about them. Some of things we did—uh, I mean, some of the things they did—will go with me to my grave. But there are enough funny stories that we can talk about, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. The main character in this next one is Sugarman. Remember him? You know, Edward “Sugarman” Moses, who played alongside Walter in high school. Well, he came to Jackson State with Walter, as you know, and they put him in a room with me and Walter during their freshman year. He got to go up and down that tree with us from time to time, but being in that room with Walter and me wasn’t all good for Sugarman. I’ll never forget about how Walter and I’d wait for him to fall asleep. He’d always go to bed earlier than us, and…come on now…in a room with Walter and me, that’s just a big mistake. A few minutes after he was off in dreamland, we’d go to work. On more than one occasion, Sugarman woke up with his bed soaking wet on one side and his blanket on the floor. He would scramble to get it cleaned up, and I don’t think he was ever completely sure whether he actually wet the bed or the two Payton boys had done it.
Sometimes Sugarman’s bed would be a little more than wet. Like it’d be missing. He’d come in from a long, hard day of classes, and his mattress would just be gone. It’d be nowhere in the room, and he’d have to spend the rest of his day looking for it. We’d also do things like take all the clothes out of his closet and just stuff them in his drawer. After a few weeks of that sort of stuff, he started telling us he’d be sleeping with one eye open. Well, Sugarman must’ve have been blind in th
at one eye because we always got him.
Of course, Sugarman’s going to get the last laugh on us Payton boys. I’m sure of that. You see, he went and became a minister. I’m thinking Walter and I will one day have to answer directly to God for a thing or two we did to Sugarman. Then again, I think even God has to think some of that was funny, so who knows? Maybe we’ll get off easy. Regardless, and in all seriousness, Sugarman is one of the top 10 good guys I’ve ever been around in all my life. I’m sure Walter would agree. Wait, what am I’m saying? I’m sure Walter does agree. Sugarman was a hell of an athlete and a heaven of a man. He answered a higher calling when his playing days were through. He kept Walter and me in balance (as best he could, anyway) while we were at Jackson State, and he prayed with us all the time. We Payton boys sure needed that with all the crazy stuff we were doing.
Most of Walter’s mischief back in the day was all in good fun, like in science class when he found out he could mix this and that together to give off the smelliest smell you ever done smelled. Let me tell you, when Walter got a hold of knowledge like that, everyone around him would pay through the nose for it. He stole some “this and that” from the lab once and stunk up the girls’ dorms and even the coaches’ offices.
But not every trick he pulled was just in good fun. Sometimes he and the guys would take things just a tad too far.
The popular swimming hole for a lot of us was Barnett Reservoir, just north of Jackson. Folks would go there to swim and to just have an overall good time. They’d park their cars up on the hill, and they’d head down to jump in the water. Well, Walter and his friends knew all about it. Sometimes they’d drive by, and if there were some cars parked up the hill, they’d park their own car down a bit and walk back to where the swimmers were. They’d check the cars, and if one of them had an open window, it was on. Walter would get inside the car, put it in neutral, and the guys would all push it from behind so that it started rolling down the hill. Once the car was on its way, Walter and his teammates would take off running and chuckling. The car they pushed would eventually hit the water and proceed to partially sink. Or it might sink all the way. Either way, some poor sucker had his car ruined, and all for a good laugh. Of course, now I must confess that it wasn’t always just Walter and his teammates. I went along with ’em a time or two and might’ve participated in a “car drowning.” Or two. Or more. But who’s counting?
I wasn’t involved in everything they were doing, and Walter was sometimes counting on me to be a confidant of sorts. He liked sitting down with me and talking about some of the stuff they did that no good person should ever be getting caught up in. Since I was still hanging around campus as a student, Walter knew that he could come to me and unload some of the crazier shit he and some of the guys on the team were getting into. I couldn’t believe my ears on more than one occasion. Still, I can say that most of the time, Walter knew when to stop…even if his teammates didn’t.
Sometimes, when you’re hanging out with friends, things can get out of hand. A group of young guys hanging out night after night will sure enough get into some trouble even if they don’t mean to. Walter found himself in one of those “sho’ nuff” predicaments one night. He was just chilling with some of his teammates, and one of them followed another one who followed another one to a place they shouldn’t have been. From what I was told, there was this girl who decided one night she wanted to take on three or four guys from the football team at once, so one of the guys found his way to that girl and led the others there, too. Well, Walter was hanging with that particular group on that particular night, so you know where he ended up. Before he could do anything about it, there he was in a room with his teammates as one after the other had their way with that girl. It was all consensual, mind you, but still not right. Walter knew it wasn’t right, too. He was kicking himself for being there and, even worse, staying there. Well, a few weeks later, that girl said she thought she was pregnant and was going to sue them all and have ’em all arrested and whatnot. Sho’ nuff, she pressed charges of sexual battery against the whole group. The cops showed up and put together a lineup of suspects, which included my brother. They were all taken to the station, and the girl was ready to start doing some identifying. “Well, which ones were involved?” the cops asked her. “Point them out.”
Her finger made its way to each guy in the lineup, followed by words of condemnation for all. Except one. She finally pointed at Walter and said, “Yeah, he was there.” Walter just knew what was coming next. He was sure she’d lie or remember incorrectly or something, and he was thinking he was going to need himself a good lawyer. Well, she did remember correctly and the lie never came. The girl lowered her finger and finished, “But he didn’t do nothing.” And that was absolutely right. My brother didn’t do nothing. Well, nothing except find himself in a bad situation that he didn’t know how to get out of. He knew what was right and wrong, and he didn’t do a thing to that girl. I know he wouldn’t have done that, even if he wasn’t seeing Connie at the time, but the fact that he was committed to her made the temptation even easier to resist. He was in love with Connie, and nothing was going to get in the way of that.
So, what about the other guys? Did they go to trial? Did they have to go to jail? Well, the answers are no and no. And it was all thanks to Coach Hill. God bless that man for going through more crap with his players than a human being should have to endure. They did something wrong that night by taking that girl up on her offer, but they didn’t do nothing illegal. Still, they should’ve at the very least been smarter than to do what they did. Coach Hill talked with them and then with the girl. I have no idea what was said by Coach Hill, but I do know the girl dropped all of the charges. There was just no way any of those boys were going to go to jail for a crime that never happened. Coach made sure of that.
Amazingly, that wasn’t the only time Walter could’ve gone to jail while he was at Jackson State. During his senior year, right before the NFL draft, Walter, Rickey Young, Robert Brazile, and Vernon Perry (the young one just hanging around with the old guys) came up with a sort of “last hurrah” type of prank. They all knew they were about to be drafted, so Walter arranged to buy this Nissan 240Z sports car on credit. Everyone knew he was about to make a bunch of money, so he was good for it. And that car was good for picking up girls. It was a sexy little performance car, that’s for sure. Thing is, Walter and the guys didn’t want to pick up girls with that car. They wanted to scare ’em.
Walter and his boys of mischief went out and got this lifelike monster mask that resembled the Hunchback of Notre Dame, with bumps on it and bulging eyes and all kinds of just straight nastiness. They put the mask on Robert Brazile and put him in the trunk of the car (still not sure how they fit him in there), leaving it cracked open. Then they drove down to Lynch Street, just off campus, and found a group of girls just waiting to be scared, even if they didn’t know it. The car pulled up to the girls and stopped in front of them. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Walter said in his most polite Southern voice, “could you close my trunk that popped open?” One of the girls went to the back of the car to grant his request, and Brazile popped out wearing that mask. He didn’t have to utter a word. In my opinion, he didn’t even have to wear the mask, but that’s neither here nor there. Those girls were scared out of their wits. They took off running, and the boys had the deep, end-of-an-era belly laugh that they were looking for. But that wasn’t enough for them. They wanted more. They wanted to do some serious scaring and decided to take the show to downtown Jackson.
The boys cruised around downtown with Brazile stuffed down in the half-opened trunk, and then finally came across a couple of white girls walking down Capitol Street. Walter pulled up beside them, rolled down his window, and started up the conversation. “Excuse me, girls, could one of you slam that trunk down for me?” Well, both of them walked back there, probably unsure if they could say no, and Brazile popped out with the mask. Those girls were freaked
out. And I mean, really freaked out. They went running down the street screaming, but that’s not all. It didn’t take them long to trip and fall, skinnin’ themselves up but good. They were crying as hard as they fell, and the guys couldn’t stop laughing until they were crying, too. Walter hit the gas, and they all headed back to campus, tired from all the scaring they’d done that night. Well, it turned out those two white girls weren’t too scared to tell someone what happened.
The girls reported it to the police, and the police thought the description the girls gave sure sounded like some Jackson State football players. Word about the incident got back to you-know-who….yep, Coach Hill. The Jackson Police Department called Coach and let him know what was going on. “Coach,” they said, “we’re looking for a few football players who scared some girls so bad tonight that they fell down and got hurt. The girls say they were driving a 240Z sports car. Do you know anything about that?”
