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A Lasting Hero by Tom Walsh '62BA My number one player was always Johnny Lattner. At that Tony said, "John Lattner, he comes into my restaurant once in awhile. Would you like me to get his autograph?" By this time Tony was talking to an empty room, as I'd shot into the library looking for anything with Notre Dame on it, for the possible autograph. Now most if the above is true, except for the part about starting last summer. Actually, it started a little earlier. Let's say almost 50 years ago. As an Irish Catholic kid growing up in oh-so-Irish St. Paul, there was only one football team in the world for me, and I followed them as well as I could. While the memory of those years has fuzzed up somewhat, I think we used to see clips on Notre Dame at the movies, in the Movietone News. At any rate, the Irish were my team, and Johnny Lattner was my man. The images were always black and white, and how well I remember the leather helmets, with the black cross over the top. Whenever we played sandlot football either in the street or the alley, I was Lattner, and I tried my darnedest to spin, bob and weave like he did. Dickey Freeman or Jimmy Olson were often with the hated Boilermakers or Sooners or whoever else tried to sully our name. When Lattner won the Heisman as the best player in the land in 1953, I was in my glory. Some Minnesotans groused about their wonderful back Paul Giel, but they just didn't know who Johnny Lattner was! By the time I hit high school, playing football at a strapping 129 pounds, I began to realize that there might be a little difficulty for me being the next John Lattner. As things would have it, we made plans to go to Notre Dame and Chicago that fall, after Tony's visit. We spent two great weekends with my classmate and pal Louie Schirano, who retired to South Bend, and went up to see Tony and Trish in the midweek. When Tony returned from the restaurant that afternoon, he told me, "Well Tom, I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is I wasn't able to get John Lattner's autograph." I'd kind of forgotten about it over the summer, then Tony countered with, "The good news is, we're having lunch with him at the restaurant tomorrow." The sudden weakness of the knees, the roaring sound in the ears and the increased heart rate were all difficult to hide. Behind all of this was that little voice saying, "Listen pal, at 60 years of age don't you think this is a bit foolish?" Well, when we walked into Riggio's on the north side, there at a table was Lattner, with a nice head of white hair. At this point I shook hands with John and sat down next to him, but couldn't think of anything to say. After a few moments of almost uncomfortable silence, Trish leaned over the table and said, "You know Tom, I don't want to embarrass you, but I've never seen your big mouth so quiet for so long. Isn't there anything you want to say to Johnny? Thanks, Trish! I finally mumbled something like, "John, I don't know whether to call you excellency, or your eminence?" He looked at me and said, "Come on Tom, cut the crap and let's have a beer." Thus began one of the finest afternoons of my life. John told me one story that was predicated with the statement that he had held a few records at Notre Dame, and they'd all been broken by now but one. I didn't feel it would be quite proper to tell him I knew more about Johnny Lattner than he did, so I kept quiet. The next revelation was, "In the Purdue game, I fumbled the ball five times in one game." I was incredulous and I asked Johnny what Coach Leahy had to say. "He called me over, and in a nice, fatherly manner asked me, 'Oh John Lattner, and why would you choose to disgrace Our Lady's wonderful school by coughing up the football five times in one game to our mortal enemy?'" Now you don't get to be in your 60's without somehow learning who the good guys and the bad guys are. The next few hours seemed to just race by, but I had a wonderful feeling that maybe, somehow as a kid, I must have had something going for me, as I picked out as good a hero as any kid ever did. John Lattner had all the commonness and humility I had grown to admire about the south and west siders over the years. After we bid our good-byes in Tony's parking lot, I looked back over my shoulder at Johnny Lattner walking to his car, maybe just a bit stooped and with not the world's best knees, and for just a moment again I saw number 14 slashing and cutting down the field. I'd picked the right guy to idolize, and it felt so good to realize that. * * * Notre Dame Magazine Online, Summer 2002 |
Tom Walsh and Johnny Lattner '54BA |
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| © Notre Dame Magazine |
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It all began
last summer, when good friends from Chicago were visiting my wife and
I here in the Teton Valley. Tony Riggio and I were having a beer on our
deck, looking at the magnificent alpenglow colors being splashed on the
Grand Teton in the waning part of the day. Tony asked me casually, "Well
Tom, who would say your favorite Notre Dame football player was? Was it
Paul Hornung?" I told Tony, absolutely not. While I liked Hornung a lot,
we were probably a little too close in age for the hero thing.