Us

I saw Dick Butkus play once, on December 13, 1970, Packers vs. Bears. It was the last ever Bears’ game at Wrigley Field. My brother-in-law Bill and I had seats down the third-base line for a Chicago 35-17 win. I can still see Butkus bouncing, or dribbling, Green Bay quarterback Bart Starr off the frozen infield dirt. I met Butkus once, at a memorabilia show in the late 1990s; he signed a photo for me. I asked him to inscribe it to a friend, someone with a good South Side mix of consonants in his last name. That’s what he did, to my friend “from Butkus. It takes one to know one.” Then he smiled. Butkus was the son of immigrant Lithuanian parents and a child of the South Side. He played with a ferocity that still resonates—and frightens—on film. That he did so knowing full well his team was likely to lose, the Bears went 48-74-4 during his nine-year career from 1965-73, is probably what endeared him to fans. Here's a good working definition of a Chicagoan: Anyone who stares into the mirror, sees the image of Dick Butkus reflected back, and smiles in recognition.