Email from my sister Jan, the day after Walter Payton died, Nov. 2, 1999 . . .

<<<Tom, I am glad I heard it from you. People don't believe me when I tell them that I used to talk to him every day and they always ask me if I got his autograph. Of course I didn't, I remember the look he would give me when people would ask . . . it was always yes, but he looked like "why do you want mine?" I have never forgiven myself for not going running with him when he asked me to. I remember just how sweet he really was. Every one was always asking him for something footballs, jerseys, everything. I always thought just treat him like a regular guy, who is just a great football player, but he was more then a football player, he really was a sweet and kind man, who loved to run around and laugh. I heard Ditka say "he had a much greater impact on my life then I had on his" and that is true for me also, I won't forget talking to him and he probably never remembered having ever met me. But when he was there he acted like we were old friends. I know Chicago will miss him, I will miss him. I would have liked him if he played for another team, but I loved that he was a Chicago Bear. The boys have his poster up in their room, I teach them that he was a great football player, a wonderful man and he was someone I admired. I wish I was home now to be around others who loved him as much as I did. I will miss seeing him as he represents Chicago and the Bears. I will miss hoping to bump into him when I come home. I am so sad that I won't have the chance to introduce my kids to him.  Remember how great it was to watch him run, win or lose it was wonderful to watch him play.>>>

'I'm a person who is willing to give his all. That's how I want to be remembered.'

Walter Payton touched people. And how.

Mike Hartenstine, drafted by the Bears in the second round in 1975, played 12 years with him. Their birthdays are two days apart and their sons were born a month apart. For 12 years, Hartenstine never said much.

''The thing I'll miss is the smile and the hug. He was like a brother to me. You could just feel the love there,'' Hartenstine said.

Smaller teammates will remember more than love from those hugs.

''He had to touch you. He had to engage you,'' said Gary Fencik. ''He couldn't just walk up and say, 'Hi, I'm Walter Payton.' He had to pick you up off the ground and almost break your ribs.''

His handshake could bring you to your knees.

Payton demanded that everyone around him have as much fun as he had. Off the field he had to work at being serious. He once interrupted an NFL security officer's somber lecture about drugs by sprinkling sugar in his mustache and yelling: ''Ain't no cocaine on this team.''

''People see what they want to see,'' Payton said. ''They look at me and say, 'He's a black man. He's a football player. He's a running back. He's a Chicago Bear.' But I'm more than all that. I'm a father. I'm a husband. I'm a citizen. I'm a person who is willing to give his all. That's how I want to be remembered.''

He was also a race-car driver, professional and amateur, a restaurant owner and an entrepreneur. As part of his Bear contracts negotiated by former adviser Bud Holmes, Payton invested in forest land and nursing homes. He leased heavy equipment and made up to $1 million a year giving motivational speeches. With adviser Ginny Quirk, he turned Walter Payton Inc., into a full-time job of managing his money and appearances.

When Pete Rozelle was NFL commissioner, he came as close as a commissioner can come to promising Payton an expansion franchise. But labor problems and Rozelle's retirement forced Payton to get in line with the rest of the crowd. He was in the picture for an expansion team in St. Louis before the league went to Jacksonville and Carolina. His latest foray into football was as an investor in the arena league.

Since his retirement, he had been sitting on the Bears' board of directors, although it's inconceivable to mention Payton and sitting in the same sentence. ''When I'm through with this game, I want to dance,'' he said.

He never pretended to be a perfect person, or a perfect football player, although he came as close to the latter as anybody who ever tried.

''He was the greatest Bear of all,'' said his last coach, Mike Ditka, who knows first-hand about the territory that covers.

The startling numbers in the record books only start to measure the greatness.

To Payton, the very huddle itself was more important than what happened when it broke. Payton the merry prankster worked harder than anybody to bridge the gaps between offense and defense, between black and white, between star and newcomer.

''He was the one guy who really pulled that team together,'' Ditka said. His teammates held him in as much awe as fans did. Jay Hilgenberg was the best center in the league and remembers going to Pro Bowls with Payton.

''Here I am on the same team as Walter Payton in a Pro Bowl,'' Hilgenberg said. ''And how he would treat me like a close teammate in front of all the NFL stars made me feel good. He was an incredible guy.''

Payton may have been the only person who didn't assume he would be around forever.

''Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,'' he said.

So he lived for the day, for the moment, for the smile, for the pinch, for the teammates. Struck down by liver cancer at 45, he found out last spring and refused to let the public know, just as he hated to reveal football injuries. Friends said he never complained or lost his resolve or his sense of humor, sticking steadfastly to a lesson learned early from football: ''Never die easy.'' In the end, he was with his wife and his son and his daughter, his mother, brother, and sister, and he was at peace at last, said close friend Mike Singletary.

''I would think people will remember him as a guy who knew how to laugh, who loved to have fun,'' Singletary said. ''A guy who was down to earth, a real person, the superstar who was touchable.''

CHICAGO (AP) -- The running back they called ``Sweetness'' wasn't the strongest or the fastest or the biggest. What Walter Payton had was a huge heart, and it was big enough to make up for any qualities he lacked.

``I wish there was another word I could think of other than greatness,'' former Chicago Bears linebacker Mike Singletary said. ``That's what comes to mind. Greatness.''

Payton, the NFL's leading career rusher, died Monday of bile duct cancer that was discovered earlier this year during treatment for a rare liver disease. He was 45.

Payton rushed for 16,726 yards in his 13-year career, one of sport's most awesome records. Barry Sanders ensured it would be one of the most enduring, too, retiring in July despite being just 1,458 yards shy of breaking the mark.

``I want to set the record so high that the next person who tries for it, it's going to bust his heart,'' Payton once said.

Payton disclosed in February that he was suffering from primary sclerosing cholangitis and needed a liver transplant. His physician, Dr. Greg Gores of the Mayo Clinic, said Payton was subsequently diagnosed with cancer of the bile duct, a vessel that carries digestive fluids from the liver to the small intestine.

``The malignancy was very advanced and progressed very rapidly,'' Gores said. Because the cancer had spread so rapidly outside his liver, a transplant ``was no longer tenable,'' the doctor said.

Other doctors said transplants are never attempted when a patient has liver cancer.

``It's a big shock because he was the strongest man I met in my entire life,'' said Jim McMahon, Payton's teammate from 1982-87 and quarterback of the 1986 Super Bowl champions.

Greatness wasn't preordained when Payton arrived in the NFL in 1975. A two-time Little All-American at Jackson State, he drew immediate comparisons to Bears Hall of Fame running back Gale Sayers, who'd retired four years earlier.

But Payton steadfastly rejected the comparison, insisting, ``I'm no Gale Sayers.''

He wasn't. While Sayers danced around defenders, Payton was more apt to run them over. His nickname, ``Sweetness,'' was a tribute to his personality more than his running style. He took on tacklers with an aggressive, stiff-armed style that belied his size.

``He gave me a new respect for running backs,'' Singletary said. ``He was the first running back I had ever seen who could've really been a great defensive player.''

At just 5-foot-10 and 202 pounds, he was smaller than typical power running backs. But he played much bigger.

He rushed for 679 yards and seven touchdowns in his rookie season, and the next year had the first of what would be 10 1,000-yard seasons, rushing for 1,390 yards and 13 touchdowns.

In 1977, just his third year in the NFL, Payton won the first of two MVP awards with the most productive season of his career. He rushed for 1,852 yards and 14 touchdowns, both career highs. His 5.5 yards per carry also was the best of his career.

Against Minnesota, he ran for 275 yards, an NFL single-game record that still stands. And in 1984, he broke Jim Brown's longstanding rushing record of 12,312 yards.

In tribute to Payton, Lambeau Field in Green Bay fell silent before Monday night's game between the Packers and Seattle Seahawks

``He was a guy of small stature but gigantic heart,'' said Eric Dickerson, third on the NFL's career rushing list behind Payton and Sanders. ``He was an icon to all the guys who played that position. ... I loved to watch him play.''

Even his teammates were amazed by him.

``The guy didn't want to lose, didn't want to be tackled, didn't want to miss a game,'' McMahon said. ``To miss one game in his career was phenomenal. I couldn't figure out how he could do it week after week.''

After carrying mediocre Chicago teams for most of his career, Payton saw the Bears finally make it to the Super Bowl in 1985. He rushed for 1,551 yards and nine touchdowns as the Bears went 15-1 in the regular season, and also caught 49 passes for 483 yards receiving and two TDs.

Chicago beat New England 46-10 in the Super Bowl, but Payton didn't score in the game.

Widely celebrated in Chicago, he was the city's highest-profile athlete in the years after Cubs Hall of Famer Ernie Banks retired and before Bulls superstar Michael Jordan emerged.

``Walter was a Chicago icon long before I arrived there,'' Jordan said. ``He was a great man off the field, and his on-the-field accomplishments speak for themselves. I spent a lot of time with Walter, and I truly feel that we have lost a great man.''

Part of Payton's greatness was his selflessness off the field. As word of his death spread, sports radio talk shows in Chicago were flooded with stories of his kindness and generosity. One woman told of how Payton put her mother at ease at a charity dinner, asking to see photos of her family.

A well-known prankster, he set off firecrackers in the rookie locker room at the start of training camp. He occasionally would answer the phone at the Bears' reception desk.

The jokes continued even as he was dying. Last week, he purposely sent former Bears running back Matt Suhey to wrong addresses on a trip to Singletary's house, and then had him hide a hamburger and a malt in Singletary's garage.

``It was his duty to bring humor and light in any situation,'' Singletary said. ``The Bears had had some tough years, and Walter was always the guy who, no matter how tough it was, would always make you feel great about playing the game and playing for the Bears.

``As a person, he was a bright spot for any darkness that appeared.''

Which is why it was unfathomable to see Payton looking so gaunt and frail at the emotional news conference in February when he disclosed his liver disease.

``Am I scared? Hell yeah, I'm scared. Wouldn't you be scared?'' he asked. ``But it's not in my hands anymore. It's in God's hands.''

He made few public appearances after that. Though he knew in recent weeks he was dying, he didn't talk about it. Instead, he spent as much time as he could with his family and close friends.

On Wednesday night, his son, Jarrett, who plays for the University of Miami, was called home.

``From the day in February when my dad told the world of his liver disease, the outpouring of love, support and prayers from around the world astounded even him,'' Jarrett Payton said, holding back tears as he read a statement at the Bears' headquarters in Lake Forest, Ill.

Born July 25, 1954, at Columbia, Miss., Payton played college football at Jackson State, where he set nine school records, scored 66 touchdowns and rushed for 3,563 yards. He once scored 46 points in one game.

He led the nation in scoring in 1973 with 160 points, and his 464 career points was an NCAA record. He finished fourth in voting for the Heisman Trophy in 1974, and was drafted fourth overall by the Bears.

He retired after the 1987 season, and the Bears immediately retired No. 34. He was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1993, his first year of eligibility.

``After Brian Piccolo died, my husband and I promised ourselves we wouldn't be so personally involved with the players,'' said an emotional Virginia McCaskey, daughter of Bears' founder George Halas. ``We were able to follow that resolve until Walter Payton came into our lives.''

Besides his son, Payton is survived by his wife, Connie, and daughter Brittney.

Jim Tunney - 11:46am Nov 3, 1999 CST

In 31 years as an NFL referee, I never met a player who had more natural grace about sportsmanship than Walter Payton. He was rightly called "Sweetness." He'd get tackled hard, maybe unnecessarily so, get up, pat the tackler on the back, and say, "Nice tackle."

And he'd pull little stunts. During a time-out in a Chicago-Minnesota game with first place in the division at stake, I was standing near the Bears offensive huddle when Payton came by and rubbed the bottom of his shoe over the top of mine, untying my shoelaces. This was not the first time he'd done that. After the first time, I would usually double-tie my shoelaces for a Bears game. That night I had forgotten, and "Sweetness" noticed. He could spot an opportunity for a little fun as quickly as he could find a seam and twist or jam his way through for a gain.

Another stunt was giving the officials a little pinch on the fanny or thigh. "Just helping you stay alert," he said one time, but the twinkle in his eye gave him the look of a little kid getting away with something. And this was in a game when the Bears had to fight hard for the win. But then, no one entered a game with more heart than "Sweetness" – every game, every play.

Heaven got him early. We were lucky to have him at all. Payton was a rare combination of competitive drive and equanimity. His natural grace, enormous heart and love of life will be remembered, an inspiration to us all.

Jim Tunney NFL Referee (1960-91)

A Personal Statement from Walter the night before he died and a final example of why Waltor Payton is my inspiration.

To All of My Friends and Fans:

Although I have not been making public appearances or statements recently, I want you all to know that every day I have taken strength from your many prayers, kind wishes and messages of encouragement. 

The walls of my office are lined with your cards and letters, and my e-mail inbox is always full!  Thanks to so many of you who wrote and shared your own very personal struggles with illness, your stories are truly inspiring.

Although my family and I have chosen to deal with my illness in a private manner, we have never felt alone in this because we have felt your support. 

As I said when I first made the announcement back in February, when something like this happens to you, you really get in touch with your spiritual side.  And I now know what Martin Luther King, Jr. meant when he said, "I just want to do God's will . . . So I'm happy tonight, I'm not worried about anything."

I pray that in trying to ease the suffering of needy children through the Walter Payton Foundation, and in trying to turn the negative of being afflicted with this illness into the positive of being able to raise awareness for organ donation, that I am indeed doing God's will.

Thank you for your love and support.  May God be with you.

Walter Payton