It was surprisingly lovely, seeing the black drapes come down from the large bronze statues of George Halas and Walter Payton on Tuesday morning in front of the main entrance to Soldier Field.
We hear about this pair constantly, don’t we?
There shouldn’t be anything new here.
Just some more metal forged into pieces of outdoor art, like the many statues so much of Chicago is gifted with.
Halas was the crusty old owner and coach of the Bears and basically the founder of the NFL.
And Payton, good old No. 34, was the Bears running back whose nickname of “Sweetness’’ was an ironic term of endearment never cleared with opposing players who had their senses rocked by his lowered head or oaken forearm.
The George Halas Trophy goes to the winner of the NFC Championship Game. The Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year Award goes to the player selected for his charitable work and excellence afield.
What more is needed to honor these two?
And yet, these new 12-foot, 3,000-pound statues somehow officially make the pair into the icons they have become through actions, legend and lore. I’ll guarantee the brass figures will be destination selfie spots and must-see tourism stops in the future.
The Packers-Bears season opener Thursday night might get a little delayed competition from the ticket holders who just have to pose outside the stadium like Halas with his right leg forward and his finger pointed at something afield, and Payton high-stepping while holding the ball in one hand like a grapefruit.
Two thoughts strike one at the sight of the statues, so skillfully created by sculptor Chad Fisher: Why did it take so long to get the pieces here in this city that crazily loves its Bears? And wouldn’t it have been nice if the men were alive to appreciate the honor?
There were Halas descendants in the gallery, and team owner and George’s daughter, 96-year-old Virginia, made a charming speech after being called up by emcee Jeff Joniak.
And there were Payton’s offspring — Jarrett and Brittney — and their spouses and children, and, of course, Walter’s widow, Connie, in attendance.
All of them spoke of Payton’s humility and work ethic, and the word that was heard most often regarding his contribution to the game was “heart.’’
Old Man Halas was not always old, you know. He was a player and a young guy once upon a time. And even though he is thought of as memorably crusty, flinty and frugal, and a non-ball of humor, there were those in attendance at this private unveiling who remembered him differently.
Matt Suhey, Payton’s blocking back, was drafted by Halas in 1980, and Halas told the rookie that he had ‘‘handled my grandfather pretty well’’ when they both played pro ball. But that was just get-acquainted joshing.
“He was so nice to me,’’ Suhey said before the ceremony. “He really was. Just so friendly.’’
Suhey, of course, is the player who, in a classic photo, is down in his stance at a Bears practice, while Payton stands at the tailback position behind him, pulling Suhey’s shorts straight back like a slingshot. This is a photo you will not forget. It’s a coffee-spewer even after repeated viewings.
“Walter used it as his Christmas card!’’ said Suhey, who grew so close to Payton that they were best buds by the time Payton died of liver disease 20 years ago.
Statues bring out the nostalgia and melancholy in those who remember. And they bring out the curiosity and joy of those who are just learning.
Walter’s older, smaller but almost as athletic brother, Eddie, was a darned good pro football player himself. He now works for the Mississippi State Athletic Commission, and he was humbled by seeing his brother so revered and memorialized.
That they both went to small-time, traditionally all-black Jackson State rather than, say, nearby Ole Miss or damn near any college that plays big-time football doesn’t really trouble him.
“When we came up, it was full segregation down there [in Columbia, Mississippi],’’ he said. “So it didn’t bother us. We enjoyed being brothers. We lived in a three-room house, so you know we were close.’’
Former Bears defensive tackle Steve “Mongo’’ McMichael, a Super Bowl XX champ, enjoyed the spectacle on this windy, overcast day.
“That’s the only guy who could carry the ball like that,’’ he said as he studied the Payton statue.
“His hands . . . well, I’d walk around like a Texas gunslinger in the locker room, and he’d grab me from behind, wrap his iron arms around my chest, squeeze and then he’d walk away, strutting like a gunslinger.’’
A chuckle. Sweetness. Toughness.
True Bears.
