Halas needed a strong assistant. His skill was recruiting and retaining great players, and running the business. On Sundays, he was emotionally hyped. Fortunately, Luke Johnsos called the offensive plays from the press box and Dad ran the players in and out. Halas just tried to contain himself.
When the Bears played in New York, Halas, my father and the sportswriters would play tackle football with Toots Shor at his restaurant after the games. Toots would kick everybody out at 10 or 11, and they would push aside all the tables and have at it. The first line of Dad's autobiography got right to the point: "Football has been my life and I enjoyed every minute of it."
The games were the rewards for me. My father would let me tag along at training camp, where I roomed with the players. The Bears had two practices a day for a month, and I joined in the workouts. I'd go to the skull sessions at night and sit for hours watching film, going through game plans.
These were serious men, with college degrees and better-paying jobs out of season, but they had fun, too.
Sid Luckman and George McAfee would take a gang of us to the local fair in Rensselaer, Indiana, and they would throw darts or knock down milk bottles and win all the prizes within 20 minutes. The carnies chased us out.
McAfee, a Hall of Fame halfback, was my hero. I wore his number and watched him with awe. I went to Duke because he had gone there. But I was worthless as a football player. I was a 156-pound halfback and they needed a defensive end, and I was run over continually. I switched to track and had four great years, and it was not an issue with Dad.
As a player, he would throw dirt, gouge eyes, bruise arms and legs. But he was a dear and loving father, and all he asked was that you loved what you did and worked hard at it.
He died of emphysema at age 79; in many of my photos of him, he has a cigarette in his hand on the sideline. But I still see him in my grandson, Austin, who has a habit of chewing his tongue when he's playing basketball at Darien High. I never did it, and neither did my four sons. But Dad did.
Another grandson, William, is 7 and plays football in Hingham, Mass. I'm told he just completed two length-of-the-field touchdown runs. He would have fit right in with the 1940 Bears.
Bill Anderson is a retired systems executive living in Darien, Connecticut
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