A Time for Sweetness, Not Sorrow in Chicago

In some respects this was just like so many other days, when the only reason to go to Soldier Field was Walter Payton.

When fall turns to winter in Chicago, when the sailboats leave the lakefront harbors and Grant Park is empty and the dancing waters of Buckingham Fountain go dry, the one community event that consistently causes North Siders, South Siders and guys named Ed to gather in the cold is a Bear game.

In the lean years of the late 1970s and the early 1980s, before the team assembled enough talent around him to make a run at the Super Bowl in 1985, all the Bears had to offer was Payton.

The fans of Chicago cheered him when he ran for 275 yards to set a single-game record on that field. They cheered him when he broke Jim Brown’s NFL career rushing record on that field.

On Saturday, when given the chance to come to Soldier Field for a memorial service to Payton, who died Monday of liver cancer at age 45, they cheered again.

That’s what Chicago fans do best. They do it louder than anyone in the country. They do it with more passion, and sometimes with less reason. It’s the best way they know to sum up their feelings.

The Rev. Jesse Jackson is one of the great orators of our time, but not even his words during Saturday’s service could match the sincerity and the poignancy of the fans’ cheers.

For a city that is always caught up in measuring itself against America’s other metropolises, any person such as Payton who can give Chicago a claim to being the best will always be adored.

Between 15,000 and 20,000 people showed up at Soldier Field. They brought more than signs expressing their fondness for Payton. They brought toys to give to the needy, at Payton’s family’s request. And they used the occasion to register as organ donors, a cause highlighted by Payton’s announcement he had a rare liver disease nine months ago and needed a transplant.

Public officials and the media anticipated a capacity crowd, but apparently their numerous expressions of concern about traffic problems scared people off. Still, when Jackson called on the fans to give another cheer for Payton, they rocked the old stadium. They stood up and clapped and yelled so loud they drowned out the noisy rotors of the four helicopters overhead.

“Express yourself,” Jackson said. “For the yards, for the touchdowns, for the joy. Express yourself.”

The fans wouldn’t stop.

“Wal-ter, Wal-ter” they chanted. Payton’s family and friends waved roses in the air, keeping rhythm with the chant.

If nothing else, that moment made the day a worthy tribute to Payton.

“You felt things in the stands today,” said Ed Villasenor, a 37-year-old Chicago native. “I hope people in the city of Chicago remember this and take it and live it every day of their life.”

Like many others in the stands, he wore a Bear jersey with Payton’s No. 34. He said he bought it before their Super Bowl season, and it had the ketchup stains to back up his claim.

Villasenor was moved not only by Payton’s excellence on the field, but the grace he showed off it.

“We’re here because Walter proved that it was more than just a sport,” he said. “You’ve got to do what’s right.”

No one could reasonably expect better weather on a November day in Chicago than the clear blue skies and temperatures in the 50s on Saturday.

Soldier Field had the appropriate touches. The 30-yard lines were repainted to read “34.” The 35-second play clock stood frozen at 34, while the scoreboard recounted Payton’s record-breaking statistical exploits. A temporary giant video screen, dangling from a crane just beyond the north side of the stadium, showed highlights from his 13-year career.

Even if the prayers from pastors and songs from the Sweet Holy Spirit Gospel Choir made it feel like church at times, there were plenty of reminders that this was a sports venue.

Although a trumpeter was on hand, he didn’t play “Taps.” He played “Bear Down, Chicago Bears,” the team’s fight song.

The fans greeted members of the 1999 team by imploring them to “Beat Green Bay” in today’s renewal of the bitter rivalry.

The Bear-Packer feud apparently does not take time off to grieve.

Political officials on hand proclaimed it “Walter Payton Day” in Chicago and Cook County, but the fans were more interested in seeing Payton’s old teammates and other former Bears, including Mike Singletary, Gary Fencik, Matt Suhey, Otis Wilson and Willie Gault.

A fuller roster of Bears attended the private service on Friday, and it was there that they realized they have spent too many years apart.

“The fact that it took the death of one of our teammates to draw us all together . . . ,” former safety Dave Duerson said. “We saw it should not take a death. We’ve got to take the time to call each other. More important, to tell each other we love each other.”

Family was the theme that emerged from the service. Former Bears implored the current players to uphold the team’s tradition.

Payton’s wife, Connie, said that when Walter first was drafted by the Bears out of Jackson State, she felt sorry for him because he was headed for a cold climate.

“Little did I know that Walter was coming to Chicago to be part of one of the best, best football families of all time,” she said.

Some members of the current Bears pledged to play the rest of the season in Payton’s honor--a somewhat daunting standard to uphold.

“Let me give you some advice from someone who stood in his shadow a number of years,” said Walter’s brother, Eddie. “Whenever you measure what you do--regardless how well you do it--against true greatness, you’re always going to come up short.

“Don’t measure what you do against what Walter did. Try to do it better than anyone else has ever done, and Walter would be proud of you.”

J.A. Adande can be reached at his e-mail address: j.a.adande@latimes.com.