On fourth down, Hickey sent in his rookie kicker, Tommy Davis, to try a thirty-seven-yard field goal—a probable game-winner if he made it, which seemed possible, as he had already put kicks of twenty-eight and thirty-two yards through the uprights. The crowd quieted. The snap and hold were perfect, and Davis approached and swung his right leg forward. Like a golfer attempting a wedge shot, he dug up a small divot as he brought his leg through, taking up too much grass. The ball sailed into the twenty-mile-per-hour crosswind toward the uprights, but it lacked the necessary thrust. The wind pushed it to the right and it fell short of the end zone.
He missed!
The crowd sent out a giddy yowl. Lombardi smiled. Phil Bengston pounded him on the shoulder.
Our ball game, Vince, our ball game.
Heh, yes sir.
McHan handed off to Hornung twice as the 49ers, out of time-outs, watched the clock tick down. The Golden Boy's final carry was his twenty-eighth of the afternoon. He had rushed for 138 yards, caught a pass, scored a touchdown, and kicked three extra points. His neck and ribs were so sore he would spend that night in a hospital.
But he had earned his ten-dollar bill.
Exhausted by the game's dramatic ebb and flow, the fans stood for the final seconds, counted down the clock, and, for the third straight week, hurled their cushions and programs into the air as the final gun sounded. The Packers pounded each other as they ran up the tunnel to the locker room. Lombardi shook hands with Hickey. They agreed that their surprising teams had played one hell of a game. Lombardi walked on with a broad smile, listening to the cheers, watching his players celebrate. Three weeks into the season, the Packers were the NFL's last-remaining unbeaten team.
Three wins, no losses.
Not even Lombardi, in his most optimistic moment, had expected that.
14
LOMBARDI'S EUPHORIA DIDN'T last long. In the locker room he was told that NFL commissioner Bert Bell had suffered a heart attack and died while watching the Eagles in Philadelphia. Lombardi slumped into a chair.
Bell, sixty-five, had ruled the league with dignity and class and was as responsible as anyone for the pro game's growing popularity. He had been loyal to Green Bay, telling newsman Art Daley that the city would always have a team as long as he was commissioner. He had helped the Packers, too, encouraging them to build a new stadium and advising them to hire Lombardi. If the Packers had continued to play at the old City Stadium, failed to hire the new coach, and continued to lose, their future in Green Bay could have become tenuous, and Bell, had he lived, might have been forced to break his promise. But the Packers appeared to be on the upswing now, thanks in no small part to Bell.
Lombardi gathered his thoughts as reporters entered the locker room. "I don't know how the National Football League is going to replace Bert," he said. "He has been the backbone of the league for years. We just lost the strongest member of our family. He truly cannot be replaced. We all loved him and he loved all of us."
His demeanor brightened when the subject changed to the 21–20 victory the Packers had just scored.
"The biggest thing was we came from behind to win," he said. "We had to overcome some obstacles, and we did. We have a battling group of players."
His eyes bulged when an assistant handed him a copy of the game statistics. The Packers had rushed fifty-five times for 284 yards, their highest single-game total in six years. Besides Hornung's 138 yards, Carpenter had gained 62, McHan 45, and McIlhenny 39.
"We knew we could run on them," Lombardi said. "We learned it in the [exhibition] game in August."
Paul Hornung sat on a metal folding chair by his locker, too tired to take off his uniform. "I hurt all over," he told reporters. "Someone was really popping me, and there were three or four guys on me every time I went down. They're a tough defensive club. I'm just glad we hung in and won."
In the visitors' locker room, Coach Red Hickey shook his head when he saw the statistics. "We gave up too damn many rushing yards," he said. "That allowed them to control the ball. They did a fine job, but our tackling wasn't good at all."
Regarding Hornung, Hickey said, "He played a fine all-around ball game. I didn't know he could run like that."
As they dressed, the 49ers obviously believed they had let a winnable game slip away, despite the Packers' statistical dominance. "It was a great ball game but I'm not sure the best team won," R. C. Owens said. Tittle added, "They were tough, but we will see them again on the coast [in December] and see what happens."
The Packers' locker room slowly emptied as the players dressed and left to celebrate. Lombardi was so pleased with the win against San Francisco, he addressed Press-Gazette reporter Lee Remmel's question about next week's game against the Rams at County Stadium in Milwaukee with uncharacteristic nonchalance. "Oh, let's let next week take care of itself," he said.
But by the next morning he was focused on the Rams, who had recovered from their horrid loss to the 49ers by beating the Bears in Chicago on Sunday. With one win and two losses so far, the Rams were enigmatic but dangerous.
On his drive to work, Lombardi picked up the Green Bay and Milwaukee papers, wanting to see what his players had said, what the 49ers had said, what the writers were saying about the Rams. Nothing was more eye-popping than the standings. The Packers were the NFL's only unbeaten team.
The national sports media jumped on their improbable turnaround story. Tex Maule interviewed Lombardi on Monday and wrote about the Packers in his Sports Illustrated column that week. The Sporting News, which focused on baseball but also covered other sports, also published an article about the Packers.
Maule's column recounted Lombardi's career and explained that the fans owned the Packers and felt that that gave them the right to second-guess the coach. Lombardi told Maule that improving the defense had been his first priority, and that Lamar McHan and Paul Hornung had made a dormant offense productive. The headline on the column read, "Vince Brings Green Days to Green Bay," with a subhead saying, "Under the analytical eye of Vince Lombardi, the Packers head for better times."
The publicity pleased Lombardi, but by the middle of the week it—and the expectations it generated—began to make him nervous. Yes, the Packers were 3–0, but they hadn't played a road game, hadn't faced real adversity, and hadn't taken on the Colts, New York Giants, or Cleveland Browns, the league's top teams.
Lombardi railed at Tom Miller, the Packer publicity director.
"Dammit, people are going to expect us to win now! And we're not anywhere close to being as good as those other teams!"
The press was just making his job harder. He hated those bastards!
His eyes flashed with anger as he stormed through the halls of the Washington Street offices, bristling with nervous energy.
"Do something about this, Miller!" he thundered like a Brooklyn streetcar.
The calm, lanky publicity director towered over Lombardi but was still intimidated.
"What do you want me to do, Coach?" he asked.
"Oh, go on those shows of yours. Tell people not to get so excited," Lombardi finally said with resignation.
Miller hosted popular television and radio shows about the Packers during the week.
"I'll do that," Miller said.
That night, on his weekly radio show, Miller stated, "Don't raise your hopes, fans. This can't continue indefinitely."
Lombardi wasn't the only one who believed the Packers weren't as good as their record. Red Hickey, still frustrated about the 49ers' loss that Sunday, told reporters he expected the Rams to beat Green Bay, as they had in twenty of the past twenty-six games between the teams. And oddsmakers in Las Vegas favored the Rams by four points even though the Packers were undefeated and playing at home. Clearly the Packers had doubters.
This would be the first of Green Bay's two 1959 regular-season "home" games in Milwaukee, and they hoped for a big crowd. They had played eighteen games at County Stadium since it opened in 1953, with the average attendance a disappo
inting 23,038. Sports fans in Milwaukee were more excited about their own winning baseball team than Green Bay's losing football team. But the 1959 baseball season was over, the Braves having failed to win a third-straight National League pennant—they had finished second, two games behind the Los Angeles Dodgers—and the Packers hoped their surprising start would bring out more spectators.
Tickets sold briskly during the week, the total surpassing 23,000 on Wednesday, 28,000 on Friday, and 32,000 by Saturday afternoon. With sunny, mild weather predicted, the Milwaukee Journal speculated the crowd might top 40,000, a threshold reached only once before, at an August 1955 exhibition game against the Colts and then-rookie Alan Ameche, a Wisconsin native who had won the Heisman Trophy as a University of Wisconsin fullback.
While the midweek conversation in Milwaukee focused on ticket sales, the Packers were in Green Bay, getting ready to play. Practice resumed Tuesday with Packer scout Wally Cruice delivering his report. He had watched the Rams beat the Bears in Chicago the previous Sunday, and he warned the Packers to prepare for a challenge. The Rams had an array of electric offensive players such as Ollie Matson, the halfback who had been obtained from the Chicago Cardinals in a trade for nine other players; runner/receiver Jon Arnett, a former Southern Cal star who had been the second overall pick in the 1957 draft; wide receiver Del Shofner, the league leader in receiving yards in 1958; and veteran quarterback Billy Wade, who had led the league in passing yards the year before. Matson had rushed for 199 yards against the Bears on Sunday, embarrassing Halas's proud unit. Orchestrated by head coach Sid Gillman, an offensive innovator, the Rams' attack figured to give the Packers' resurgent defense its toughest test yet.
Offensively, Lombardi encouraged McHan to continue to rely on the rushing game even though the Rams had injuries in their secondary and planned to start two rookie cornerbacks and a backup safety. "We do what we do best, regardless of the circumstances," Lombardi said. And what the Packers did best, indisputably, was run the ball. In their three wins, they had stayed on the ground on 136 of their 181 offensive snaps—an astounding 75 percent—and picked up more rushing yards than any team in the league. Word had already spread that Lombardi's Packers would mostly just try to cram the ball down the opposition's throats.
After practice on Friday afternoon the Packers took a bus to Milwaukee and checked into the Astor Hotel. The Rams, who had stayed in Chicago to practice during the week instead of commuting back and forth to the West Coast, checked into the Schroeder Hotel that evening. Both teams practiced at County Stadium on Saturday. The players and coaches shook hands and chatted between the workouts. Lombardi and Gillman were both Earl Blaik disciples (Lombardi had taken Gillman's spot on Blaik's staff when Gillman left Army to become the head coach at the University of Cincinnati in 1947) and had many mutual friends. The Rams' line coach, Lou Rymkus, had worked in Green Bay with Jim Ringo and Forrest Gregg.
With reporters from New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago in town to cover the game, along with the usual Packer press, Lombardi wanted to show that the Packers were a classy operation now. He told Tom Miller to invite the reporters to his suite at the Astor for a cocktail party late Saturday afternoon—a renewal of the Five O'clock Club he had started in August.
The Green Bay coach, dressed in a dark suit, greeted the reporters as they arrived. He introduced them to Marie, chatted with them, and made sure the hired bartender fixed what they wanted. He was different around his wife, more jocular than the driven coach who barked at his players and habitually cut off reporters' questions.
Think you can take the Rams tomorrow?
Normally intolerant of such simplistic questions, Lombardi simply smiled. We'll have to play our best game. They have a fine team.
The players registered surprise when they came out to warm up the next day and saw fans sitting in sections of the stands that always had been empty before. The sun-splashed crowd of some thirty-six thousand fell short of the hoped-for forty thousand but was still the second-largest for a Packer game in Milwaukee. The date was October 18, the press contingent so large some reporters were elbowed out into the baseball press box overlooking the end zone.
The Packers' locker room was quieter than usual before kickoff; Lombardi sensed the players feeling extra pressure. That wasn't a good sign, and neither was Don McIlhenny's discovery that he couldn't lift his right arm above his shoulder in warm-ups. He had injured the shoulder against San Francisco and thought all week he would be able to play Sunday, but now he couldn't.
With Jim Taylor also still out because of burns on his hand and foot, the Packers were down to just two healthy running backs, Hornung and Lew Carpenter—and Hornung had been sluggish in practice all week after carrying the ball almost thirty times against the 49ers, battling fatigue and pain in the dramatic final minutes.
Lombardi, concerned about his team's running game, huddled with McHan before heading out to the field.
Lamar, I think we're going to need to pass more today.
Yes, Coach.
Let's get that going early.
Hornung carried on the game's first play but was slammed for a loss by Lamar Lundy, a young defensive end for the Rams. On second down, McGee ran a square-out route and broke open near midfield, but McHan's on-target pass slipped between the receiver's hands. McHan stewed in the huddle before third down. Why is it always my passes that get dropped?
Hornung gained six yards on a third-down sweep, and McGee dropped back to punt. Standing on the Packer 15, he caught the chest-high snap and stepped forward. The Rams' Sam Williams, a rookie defensive end, rushed in untouched from the right side and smothered the kick. The ball ricocheted off Williams's chest and sailed behind McGee, landing in the end zone and rolling through it. The referee clasped his hands together over his head, signaling a safety—two points for the Rams.
The crowd, which had cheered loudly at the game's outset, sat quietly. As the rules for a safety dictated, McGee punted again from the Packer 20. The Rams began a drive at their 40. Matson ran up the middle for six. Wade passed to Arnett in the left flat for seven and to Shofner on the ride sideline for fifteen. Matson barged up the middle for seven. The Packer defense hadn't seen this kind of speed. Wade passed to Shofner for twelve. Arnett gained eight around left end. Every play the Rams tried worked.
Linebackers Tom Bettis and Bill Forester implored their teammates in the huddle. Come on! Let's play! They made a stand, finally stopping the drive inside the 10. The Rams lined up for a short field goal try, and Forester broke through the line and blocked it, bringing the crowd to its feet. Maybe that would get the Packers going.
It didn't. The Rams stopped the Packers on three downs again, and McGee punted, this time successfully kicking the ball away. The Rams took it and drove deep into Packer territory, niftily blending runs and throws. The Packer secondary finally knocked away a couple of passes near the end zone, and the Rams settled for a field goal and a 5–0 lead.
As the next Packer possession began, McHan kneeled and looked around the huddle. OK, we start now. Let's catch the passes.
But the Rams' defensive ends, Lundy and Lou Michaels, and linebacker Jack Pardee—three young players—broke down the Packer blocking, leaving Hornung and Carpenter nowhere to run. McHan had little time to throw when he dropped back, pressured by red-dogging linebackers. McGee punted for the third time, and the Ram offense went to work again. Their quick guards opened holes on sweeps and runs up the middle. Matson and Arnett ripped past the line and into the secondary. Wade had plenty of time to throw, as rushes by Forester and Dan Currie were blunted at the line.
On the last play of the first quarter, Rams wide receiver Del Shofner lined up wide right at the Packer 26 and ran a square-out, and Wade tossed the ball in his direction as he neared the sideline. Bobby Dillon saw the play developing, went for the ball, and grabbed it just as Shofner got his hands on it. They wrestled for possession but Shofner had a better grip and pulled it away. Dillon fell and Shofner jogged to the end z
one with the ball, completing the scoring play. The holder fumbled the snap on the conversion, leaving the Rams' lead at 11–0.
The Packer offense finally got going on its next series. Hornung gained eighteen on a right sweep through a hole opened by Fred Thurston, who knocked Pardee over. McHan flipped successive passes to the Golden Boy and picked up fifteen. McGee ran a crossing pattern and reeled in a pass from McHan for twelve. The fans cheered as the drive neared the end zone, thinking the Packers were waking up and getting into the game. But McGee slipped and dropped a sure touchdown on second down from the 7, and Boyd Dowler dropped a pass on third down.
McHan was furious as he left the field. Damn! What is it with everyone dropping my passes?
A field goal by Hornung narrowed the margin to 11–3.
On the first play of the Rams' next possession, Arnett charged through a gaping hole by his left guard, Hanner having been shoved aside, shook off an attempted tackle by Currie, and sprinted for thirty yards. The Rams just kept coming. Matson picked up a first down on a pair of runs. Wade threw for twenty-two yards to Rams receiver Jim "Red" Phillips. The drive ended in a field goal, which the Packers matched as Hornung booted a forty-six-yarder to make the score 14–6 at halftime.
In the locker room Lombardi said he was encouraged that the Packers weren't further behind after having been so thoroughly outplayed. The defense had not stopped the Rams from driving on any possession, and the offense hadn't moved much.
That First Season: How Vince Lombardi Took the Worst Team in the NFL and Set It on the Path to Glory Page 20
