Starr: My Life in Football
I think there’s a general mythical feeling of sorts toward Bart Starr. He seems like he’s from a different planet, in some ways. He played back in the 1960s, which often comes across as a more “pure” time in American history, if there is such a thing, and his career definitely predates the NFL’s development into a big-money league.
But Starr isn’t some perfect angel, because nobody is. He’s a human being who had struggles, got frustrated, made big plays, and had off-field issues just like anybody else.
Those struggles started early. In 1942, when Starr was just eight years old, his father, Ben, entered a combat zone in World War II and didn’t see his family again for four years, though his family got to see him make quite a cameo in some newsreel footage. Ben Starr is among the people behind General Douglas MacArthur when he made his famous landing on the Philippines.
Starr had a younger brother, Hilton, though he was most commonly known as “Bubba.” Of the two, Bubba was more athletically inclined. But shortly after their father returned from the war, tragedy struck the Starr household. Bubba developed a tetanus infection after stepping on an old dog bone while playing in the yard, and died three days later. He was just 11 years old.
Starr’s relationship with his dad deteriorated after Bubba’s death. His father pushed him hard, trying to get him to achieve the athletic excellence he believed Bubba had been destined for. “He didn’t believe I could excel unless I adopted my brother’s personality, and constantly prodded me with pointed comments that began “Your brother would have…”
Starr struggled under his father’s firm hand, and they didn’t fully reconcile their relationship until after the Packers had won their first title under Vince Lombardi.
In the book, Starr details his journey from high school football to college to the pros, which included two interesting interactions. First, as a developing high school player, he received personalized offseason coaching from future Packers quarterback Babe Parilli, who was then an All-American at Kentucky. Starr wanted to follow in Parilli’s footsteps at Kentucky, but chose to stay closer to home at Alabama so he could date his future wife.
Then, after his college career ended, the basketball coach at Alabama, a man named Johnny Dee, went out of his way to recommend Starr to Jack Vainisi, then the head of the Packers’ scouting operations. Starr implies in the book that it was that recommendation that led to the Packers selecting him in the 17th round of the 1956 NFL Draft.
Starr floundered through his early Packers career and even struggled for a time under Lombardi. Even after Starr helped lead the Packers to the NFL title game in 1960, Lombardi told reporters he’d have traded any two players on the Packers for Don Meredith of the Dallas Cowboys.
Still, Lombardi and Starr ended up doing great things together, and they eventually developed a cordial relationship, though never a social one. “My relationship with him was almost entirely on the professional level — I saw him socially only a few times, and even then it was by accident.”
By the time Lombardi left Green Bay, though, he thought quite highly of his quarterback, and even asked if he could have a copy of all of Starr’s game notes when he left to coach in Washington.
As many athletes do, Starr struggled with injuries near the end of his career. Prior to the 1971 season, Starr had surgery to correct a shoulder issue and nearly died after the surgeon failed to suture an artery properly. Those shoulder injuries persisted into his final season to the point that in the final game of 1971, he asked to come out, but then head coach Dan Devine refused to bench him. He’d retire during training camp in 1972, then stuck around for that season as the Packers’ quarterbacks coach.
Prior to 1975, Starr was offered a three-year deal to become the Packers' head coach and general manager, and he accepted it against the advice of his friends.
“To a man, my close friends urged me not to. Bob Skoronski, the offensive captain of the Packers during most of my career as a player, was particularly adamant. ‘Bart,” he said, “you have nothing to gain. Also, you’re not prepared for the job…you don’t have the experience.”
Starr would come to agree.
“The decision to hire me was based on emotion rather than logic. Perhaps they were attempting to maintain a link with the Lombardi era. I was not the best man for the job, but I accepted and promised them my best effort. I needed a crash course.”
Starr immediately had issues hiring assistant coaches in Green Bay because the notoriously thrifty Packers refused to participate in the NFL’s pension program for coaches. They ran their own program, but years of service accrued elsewhere didn’t count in Green Bay, meaning coaches were essentially starting from scratch when they moved to the Packers’ staff. Starr struggled to get the coaches he wanted as a result.
He also struggled in the draft, in part because Green Bay had a terrible reputation as the Siberia of the NFL at this point. In 1980, the Packers selected Bruce Clark with the first overall selection, but he refused to play for the Packers on the grounds that they wanted him to play nose tackle. That came as a surprise to Starr and the Packers, who had met with Clark weeks before the draft. According to Starr, Clark had been on board with their plan at the time. Ultimately, he signed with the Toronto Argonauts of the CFL for less money than the Packers offered.
That was hardly Starr’s only draft snafu. In 1979, he’d wanted to draft a Notre Dame quarterback by the name of Joe Montana, but was persuaded to take defensive lineman Charles Johnson instead, which Starr said he knew was a mistake from the moment he did it.
“There is no question that I made a terrible mistake in passing on Joe Montana in 1979. He could play, I knew it, and I blew it.”
For what it’s worth, Starr said his call to take quarterback Rich Campbell ahead of safety Ronnie Lott was even worse.
Starr’s teams made the playoffs just one time, squeaking into the 16-team playoff field during the strike-shortened 1982 season. He was fired the morning after the final game of the 1983 season. Judge Robert Parins, then the president of the Packers, delivered the news in a short meeting.
“He didn’t thank me for my efforts, didn’t say a word about my twenty-six-year, contribution to the Green Bay Packer organization. He didn’t even express any regret about having to make the decision. He sounded as though he were delivering a cold, unemotional sentence in his circuit court.”
The book concludes from there with a few personal anecdotes, including an absolute heartbreaker near the end — though Starr couldn’t have known it at the time. It tells of how, in 1986, he and his wife celebrated their younger son, Bret, who had battled a drug addiction for years, at Christmas time. In the book, which was published in 1987, Starr is thrilled for his son, who he thinks has finally overcome his demons. But in 1988, Bret would die of a drug overdose. He was just 24 years old.
The 3N Test
That’s the gist of the book. Does it grade well enough to make it into our football canon? Let’s run it through our 3N test. As a reminder, the 3 Ns stand for novelty, nuance, and narrative. We’ll score each one on a scale of 1 to 10, and if a book scores 20 or higher, it goes into the canon of football literature.
In terms of novelty, it’s unique perspective, I’d rate this one a nine out of 10. This book is as close to a tell-all as you could reasonably hope for from a player in this era, especially one as straitlaced and conservative as Bart Starr. You simply can’t ask for better insights, and Starr wrote things here that I’ve never heard or read anywhere else. If you want a perspective on the Lombardi-era Packers, Starr gives you plenty of behind-the-scenes details, including some that call into question later reporting on the Packers. Could Paul Hornung really be the best player Lombardi ever coached if he was willing to trade him for Don Meredith?
As far as nuance, how well the book understands its subject, I’d also give this book a nine out of 10. It’s impossible to understand yourself fully, but Starr comes across as very self-aware in this book. He’s honest to a fault about his shortcomings, and even shares a few semi-embarrassing or even ribald anecdotes, which came as a surprise.
And finally, in terms of narrative, the actual quality of the writing, I’d rate this book merely a six out of 10. It’s readable enough, but you can certainly tell that the quotes are somewhat cleaned up, and it comes across as a little inauthentic in the dialogue that’s included as a result. That’s partly due to the era in which this was written and the era its author came up in, but a modern book would probably be a little bit more true to life than this one reads.
Still, that gives up a score of 24 out of a possible 30 points, easily enough to merit inclusion in the football canon. If you’re a Packers fan looking for a unique perspective on one of the best eras of Packers football, you’d do well to give this one a read.
Scorecard
Novelty - 9 out of 10
Nuance - 9 out of 10
Narrative - 6 out of 10
Total - 24 out of 30
What’s next?
Up next, we’re going even deeper into Packers history. Next month, I’ll be taking a look at Vagabond Halfback: the Life and Times of Johnny Blood McNally by Denis Gullickson. Grab yourself a copy and get reading, because Johnny Blood is one of the most colorful characters in Packers history.
Notable Quotes
I was born on January 9, 1934, and named Byran Bartlett Starr. “Bryan” was my father’s middle name; Haywood Bartlett was the obstetrician who delivered me (in more recent years, I have been amused by letters from devoted fans indicating they had named their son, Bartholemew, after me).
Cherry was in for quite a shock when she arrived [in Green Bay]. She lived in a dry state and had never tried an alcoholic beverage. When she entered Green Bay on Broadway Avenue, she counted twenty-three taverns in the first mile. Milwaukee produced most of the Beer in the country and Green Bay consumed it.
As difficult as practices were in training camp, especially when a guest coach such as Woody Hayes would attend, our regular-season practices were not physically taxing at all. Lombardi understood the value of fresh legs on Sunday and focused instead on preparing us emotionally and mentally.
Ray [Nitschke] never became completely disciplined on the field, however. During a game against the Redskins, Ray wandered about 10 yards away from his zone, picked off a pass, and lumbered upfield. As he ran toward our sideline, Coach [Phil] Bengston greeted Ray, saying, “Hell of an interception, Ray. You weren’t supposed to be there, you know.” Ray replied, “No, I was supposed to be there. Here’s the ball to prove it, right, Coach?” Bengston turned to Lombardi and winked.
Ray [Nitschke] had the ability to humble all quarterbacks, including those on our team. Each year during training camp, the coaches held a long-throw contest. Only eight or ten players would participate, and at least one of the quarterbacks usually managed to heave one 65 or 70 yards. After everyone had completed his throws, Ray would step up, grab a ball, and fire it at least 20 yards beyond the second-best effort.
Lombardi on Herb Adderly, via Starr: “It scares me to think I almost put him in the wrong position. Good running backs are a dime a dozen; great defensive backs are rare. They must possess a unique combination of speed, daring, and mental toughness.”
[Lombardi] once called our right tackle, Forrest Gregg, “the finest player I have ever coached.” I understood why.
Lombardi selected [Jim Grabowski] to replace the legendary Jimmy Taylor, who had chosen to play out his option in 1966 and return to Louisiana. Lombardi believed that Taylor’s decision was a breach of loyalty, and he hardly spoke to Jimmy the entire season.
Had I been able to vote for the MVP of the game [Super Bowl I], I would have chosen Max [McGee]. He caught seven passes for 138 yards and two touchdowns, but more important, he set the tempo for our passing game. The award is given to the Most Valuable Player, and had Mx not stepped in for Boyd [Dowler] and played so well, our offense might have struggled.
[Just four weeks prior to the 1980 season], Larry McCarren had undergone hernia surgery. Larry had a consecutive-game streak that was into triple digits, but the team doctors told him the streak was in jeopardy. We knew how much the streak meant to Larry, and devised a plan for him to keep it alive. Larry would snap the ball for one play,then watch the rest of the game from the sidelines while his backup took over. Larry wanted no part of our idea. AFter the first play, we sent in his replacement, but Larry motioned him off the field. He continued to play the entire game — against the Bears, no less — and helped lead our team to a 12-6 victory in overtime.