mitt EVERY SUNDAY!
' ' ' '
The Unitases relax In their Towson, Md., home before last year's championship
game. The children are (I to R) Robert, Christopher, Janice Ann, and John, Jr.
Her husband is professional football's
top quarterback the man every lineman tries
- to "murder"; what does she feel when
he's hit by gridiron goliaths? Here's her story
By Mrs. JOHN UNITAS
as told to Ed Fitzgerald
Every Sunday until the end of the year, you'll find
me watching professional football as few people
. ao with a prayer on my lips and dread in my heart.
And until the final gun, I'll wince at almost every
offensive play, wondering if. this time my prayer
will fail and my husband will be hurt.
My .husband is Johnny Unitas, quarterback for the
Baltimore Colts. For the information of wives who
leave football in the male domain, John is the key
offensive player, the man who calls the signals,
handles the ball, frequently passes, sometimes runs.
In other words, he's the man those huge linemen try
to run down with every ounce of their 225 to 275
pounds. And my Johnny weighs 190.
This Sunday it will happen all over again. Johnny
will be the whipping boy, and I will pray. Probably
he'll come home no more than bruised. Or will it
be like that day we played Green Bay in 1958?
Johnny is a "gambler" a quarterback who, un
like many others, tries to cross up the opposition
by running the ball himself, often into the center of
those behemoth linemen.. That Sunday, as I sat
tensely in the stands hoping he wouldn't "gamble"
with himself, he took the snap from center and,
head down, rammed into the Packers' middle line.
Like everybody else, I was on my feet shouting.
But shouting for Johnny to be all right, not just
make a first down. He was downed like a rock, but
he had fallen clean, and I knew he hadn't been hurt
Then an overeager lineman hurled himself vicious
ly on Johnny. I could hear the crowd go "ooooff!" as
if the wind had been knocked out of everybody.
- The referee pulled the players off Johnny. But
Johnny didn't get up. I couldn't take my eyes off his
still form even though ' I wanted to, and when he
was finally helped off the field, I had to press my'
hands to my mouth to hold back my cries.
Johnny had three broken ribs and a punctured
lung, I was told after an agonizing wait outside the
locker room. Yet three weekends later, taped and
determined, he was back at the job he loves. But you
can imagine how I felt that afternoon every time
some opponent burst through the line to bring him
down. And how I've felt every Sunday since.
Johnny and I began going together as sophomores
at St. Justin's High School in Pittsburgh. He was
our football and basketball star, and it was on a bus
going to a basketball game that I first met him. I
was standing in the aisle when the boy sitting with
John offered me his seat. I sat next to him, and we
had a good talk. The next day, Sunday, he called me
for a date. From then on, that was it.
We talked about getting married after high school,
but even then football was Johnny's great interest
in life. He wanted to play in college, so we decided
to wait. I got a job, and Johnny won a scholarship
to the University of Louisville.
Right from his freshman year, Johnny dreamed
about playing pro football. I remember one Thanks
giving we sat around the television set in my
father's house watching a pro game, and Johnny
said to me: "Dorothy Jean, that's what I'd like to
be. How would you feel about it?"
The truth is I was unsure about it, but all I said
was: "Okay, if that's what you want" I was deter
mined not to stand in his way. It seemed to me that
if we were going to be happy together, he would
have to be happy in what he was doing.
Johnny made his dream come true, but it wasn't
easy. He was drafted by the Pittsburgh Steelers
but was cut from the squad at the end of the training
period in 1955. It was a hard blow because we had
been married on a rainy November day in 1954, and
we had a baby girl, Janice Ann.
But we lived with my folks, and Johnny went to
work as a pile driver on a construction gang. He
kept in shape by playing semiprofessional football.
He was paid six dollars a game, and he gave the
money to me every week. Believe me, no money
. that John brings home today means more than those
six dollars "to get something for yourself."
Johnny's determination paid off in 1956 when the
Colts invited him to their training camp. If he made
good, they promised to pay him $7,000 for the sea
son. He made good.
By the end of the 1957 season, he was the No. 1
quarterback in pro football, and he still is. The Colts
have won the championship the last two years, and
in both of the winning playoff games with the New
York Giants, the Eastern Division champs, Johnny
has been picked as the outstanding player.
So things are good for us now. We own a modest
home in Towson, a suburb of Baltimore. Johnny is
a partner in a bowling alley in Baltimore, and there
will be others later on. Janice Ann has three broth
ers, Johnny, Bobby, and baby Chris.
I'm very grateful ior what God has given me,
especially the kindest and most patient of husbands.
And I'll be even more grateful when this Sunday's
game is over, and Johnny comes home safely.
Johnny often surprises linemen with an impromptu run.
MM(M
Ik t r '
COVER:
Photographer Raymond Jacobs snapped
this amity expressing its hearty endorse
ment o one of the new '61 cars. They're all
in this issue's special auto section packed
with interesting features on the new models.
Family
Weekly
LEONARD S. DAVIDOW JWifciil and P,Ui.hcr
WAITER C DREYFUS V,V Prr.ifc!
PATRICK E. O'ROURKE rldrcrli.iiio Oirrclor
r ! u. li li ?." ""''"'"B communlcallom to
Family Wookly, 153 N. Michigan Ay... Chicago I, III.
tW?ru,l,t 1c""'"1"i"'!pn about editorial holurai to
Fomily Wrakly, 60 E. Join SI., N.w York 22,. N. Y.
10, FAMILY WEEKLY MAGAZINE, INC.,
October IS, I960
Board of Editor!
ERNEST V. HEYN Editor-in-Chief
BEN KARTMAN Bree.llM Editor
ROBERT FITZGIBBON Mannrino Editor
MARGARET BELL Feature Editor
PHILLIP DYKSTRA Art Director
MELANIE DE PROFT food Editor
Bob prlicoltrlrma Heldman, John Hochmann, Jerry Klfln,
Harold London, Jack Ryanj Poor Oppanhcimor, Hollywood.
153 N. Michigan Avo., Chicago 1, III. All right! nnrvod.