Coach “Iron Mike” Ditka passed away earlier this week. May he rest in peace.
I am privileged to have had the honor of meeting him a short time after he had a heart attack in 1988. I remember being very struck by how tough he seemed and how absolutely unbothered he seemed by any health problems he may have been having.
The day I met him was one of the most surreal days of my entire life.
I think it may have been December 7th (Pearl Harbor day sticks in my mind for some reason), but in any case it was that first full week of December 1988. Ditka had a heart attack in early November of that year. If you were a Bears fan, you may remember how he barely missed any time at all, and seemingly went right back to work, as the Bears were in mid-season at the time.
I was a 17 year old high school senior at St. Francis in Wheaton that fall. On the day this all happened, I was sitting in my fourth period class that morning when my (former) French teacher, Mrs. Koenitz, appeared in the doorway of the room and asked to speak with me. It seemed that Tony Paoni, the father of DJ Paoni, one of my classmates, had called the school and asked her to suggest one of her students to record some lines — in French — that very afternoon. Mrs. Koenitz thought very highly of me, so here she was, coming to find me, asking me if I was interested in basically playing hookey from school for the afternoon to go to a recording studio. If you know me at all, this was the biggest no-brainer of all time. Of course I wanted to do it!
Mr. Paoni picked me up at school a short time later, and, together with another guy in his early 20s who also spoke French (I don’t remember his name; I’ll call him Jean-Marc), we drive down to a studio in Chicago. There, we take turns recording lines in French, playing the part of some of Mr. Paoni’s foreign clients, extolling the virtues of Mr. Paoni’s software company for an ad they were creating.
We are joined in the studio by a “voice of god” voiceover artist — one of those older men with an incredible baritone voice that just conveys authority, respect, and gravitas. I don’t remember his name, but his voice was instantly recognizable; you could hear him all over Chicago radio and TV for clients such as Homemakers Furniture & Buick.
That moment in and of itself was pretty wild for me as a 17 year old kid who liked audio. “What the heck am I even doing here?”
So it had already been a very surreal day, going from sitting in 4th hour class at my little Catholic high school in suburban Wheaton, to winding up in a full-blown pro recording studio in downtown Chicago, reading lines in French for a classmate’s dad, just an hour later.
Of course, this story involves Mike Ditka. Stay with me here.
Recording session over, Jean-Marc and I get back in Mr. Paoni’s car, presumably to head back to Wheaton. Mr. Paoni says he first needs to run an errand, if that’s OK with us. Again, I’m basically playing hookey from school at this point, so of course, this is fine by me.
He picks up the handset on his then-state-of-the-art “mobile phone” (the old school, hardwired kind, mounted between the front seats in the car, that costs like a dollar a minute for “airtime”), and, while driving, hits a “speed dial” key.
“Mike Ditka please. It’s Tony Paoni.”
A short pause, and then Mr. Paoni says into the phone “hey, I’m gonna stop by”, probably to either pick something up, or drop something off. “Okay, thanks”, and hangs up.
There’s a moment of silence in the car. Neither I nor Jean-Marc are quite sure we just heard what we just heard. Jean-Marc lives in Illinois but comes from France, so he’s not super-super keyed in on the local sports scene in Chicago, but that name sounded familiar. I’m in the back seat and likewise I’m not sure I heard Mr. Paoni clearly.
Jean-Marc, in the front seat, finally pipes up.
“Mike Ditka…?”
Mr. Paoni, who clearly seems unfazed by the massive bomb he’s just dropped on us, proceeds to explain that his company, for whom we’ve just recorded an ad on less than an hour’s notice, also does software for the Bears’ coaching staff.
So again, as if this day hasn’t been out-of-body enough already, we are now on our way to the Bears Headquarters at Halas Hall in Lake Forest.
We arrive a short time later and walk into the building, where the Lombardi Trophy from the Bears’ 1986 Super Bowl victory is proudly on display right in the lobby. A short wait, and then the staff shows us to the waiting area outside Ditka’s office. Mr. Paoni goes in to see him. Jean-Marc and I are wondering if we’ll even get a glimpse of Ditka once Mr. Paoni disappears behind the closed door.
Not more than a minute or two later, Mr. Paoni pops his head back out and beckons to us. “Come on in, guys”.
We walk into Ditka’s office. I am so overwhelmed at this point with “I can’t believe I’m standing here” that I don’t remember too much about what the room looked like. But there may have been another reason for that: having suffered a heart attack barely a month prior, and having only been back on the job for a couple of weeks after that, Ditka’s office is absolutely overflowing with all manner of stuffed animals (teddy BEARS, of course), flowers, and assorted homemade tchotchkes from friends, fans and well-wishers.
Ditka’s desk is near one corner of the room along the wall. He stands to greet us as we walk in. He looked like he was in absolute perfect shape & nothing about him said he’d just had a heart attack. I particularly remember how firm his handshake was. I wish I could say I remember what we talked about, but we proceeded to have a very friendly, pleasant conversation with him for about 5 minutes. I remember that in person he was every bit as quick and funny as he appeared on TV.
It was time to go, so Mr. Paoni thanked Mike, and turned toward the door. Mike shook each of our hands again, we walked out, and the last absolutely surreal chapter of an incredible day came to a close.
It was getting dark by the time we left Halas Hall. I remember thinking on the drive back to Wheaton that when I woke up that morning, in a million years I never could have guessed the afternoon I was about to have.
This story happened 38 years ago. Hearing yesterday that Mike Ditka passed away, I think about what a memorable day that was for me — and how much Ditka just seemed perfectly comfortable that a heart attack at age 49 was “no big deal” because he had work to do.
Turns out he was right. They called him “Iron Mike” for a reason.
Rest in peace, Coach. It was an honor meeting you.