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Hall of Fame
QB Y.A. Tittle
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The New York Giants, in the playoffs as the astonishing yet flaky No. 1 seed in the
NFC, hold other distinctions. One of those other distinctions is "most books written
about." There have been six histories of the 75-year-old franchise, plus a score of
biographies and autobiographies, two by me.
You could say this distinction exists because New York is a talky town — the
communications center of the universe, attracting writers and publishers like moths to the
candle. True. The Giants, however, have been worthy subjects. Their best period —
1956 to ’63 — holds together the latest book, "What Giants They Were."
Richard Whittingham is the author, Triumph Books of Chicago the publisher of the nice
240-page blend of text and photos.
The author, who has written 14 other football titles, recorded his subject’s
memories on tape, following the same format that found favor with Lawrence Ritter’s
"The Glory of Their Times," in which old-time baseball players talked. There was
a core group of Giants on teams that won one league title in ’56 and then lost five
times in the NFL’s championship game through ’63.
Five are in the Hall of Fame: OT Roosevelt Brown, WR-RB Frank Gifford, LB Sam Huff, end
Andy Robustelli and Y.A. Tittle, quarterback of the last three such teams. All speak in
the book.
Collectively, the Giants did not have the best talent of their era. They were
overachievers with great heart, or "more than their individual parts," as
84-year-old co-owner Wellington Mara has often said.
The theme of family was repeated often to Whittingham by the Hall of Famers and by
Charlie Conerly and Jim Katcavage before their recent deaths. We also hear from Dick
Lynch, Dick Modzelewski, Kyle Rote, Pat Summerall and Alex Webster. A rare photo of
broadcaster Summerall is on the cover, rare because the kicker and sometimes end is shown
carrying the ball.
They were good guys to write about on a daily basis. Access was easy; no one had any
money (big money); social boozing and humor went hand in hand. The team physician, Doc
Sweeney, kept Scotch whiskey in his medical bag, and on a cold afternoon in Chicago’s
Wrigley Field, he had been nipping. Gifford had a torn lip that needed stitching at
halftime, and Doc stuck in the needle. But he had forgotten the surgical thread and
wandered off to find some, leaving the agitated Gifford sitting there with this needle
protruding from his lip.
Head coach Jim Lee Howell figures in two good stories. Howell, from Arkansas,
distrusted what he called "West Coasters," fancy players from California and
those other places. LB Harland "Swede" Svare and QB Don Heinrich — who both
later became long-time NFL coaches like so many of these former Giants — came from
Washington and were roommates at training camp.
One night, after a long scrimmage day, Svare’s back hurt, and he tossed and turned
in a non-air-conditioned dorm room at St. Michael’s College in Vermont. Heinrich
volunteered "to pop your back so we both can get some sleep."
Fine. So Svare turns over, Heinrich takes position and Howell walks in with a
flashlight for the bed check. The coach then slams the door and says to the other coaches
downstairs in the lounge, "Oh, those West Coasters. We got to do something about
those West Coasters."
Rote, the best story teller and the best athlete according to his teammates, was the
source on that story, as well as this one: Cliff Livingston, a linebacker, liked to live
it up a little. One night, Cliff was leaving a training-camp dormitory after the 11 p.m.
curfew, his shoes in his hands as he crept by the room where the coaches were having a
late coffee. There was a running car waiting outside.
Howell sees him and says, "Cliff, where the hell are you going?"
"Coach, I lost my wallet somewhere, and I was just going back to the café to see
if I can find it."
Howell looks at the shoes and says, "What (are) you planning to do, Cliff —
sneak up on it?"
Livingston was the focus of perhaps the former Giants’ favorite tale, one not
found in the book. It was about Cliff’s zeal to catch the team plane and rejoin his
Giants family for the return to New York from a preseason game in Dallas.
This was the summer after the Giants had lost to the Baltimore Colts in the first
sudden-death championship match in ’58. After losing the preseason tilt to the Colts
on a hot night in the Cotton Bowl, the players dispersed to many places.
Somewhere in swanky Highland Park around a private pool, Livingston took a late nap. In
the morning, Cliff arose but could not find his clothes. So he dashed by cab to nearby
Love Field and climbed the steps to the charter plane clad only in bathing trunks —
but just in time.
Howell fined him anyway.
Bill Wallace has been covering pro football for half a century and has been with Pro
Football Weekly since its inception in 1967. He is based in Westport, Conn |
