Dick Butkus in his final season in the NFL (Ed Feeney/Chicago Tribune),
Dick Butkus left this earth on October 5, 2023, at 80 years old in Malibu, California. He will be missed by his surviving family—his wife Helen and his children, Matt, Richard Butkus Jr., and Nikki.
I honor players best by providing a truthful, fair, and in-depth look at their lives from all angles. It’s not always flattering, and it’s rarely fun. If the wound of Butkus passing away is especially painful for you, this article might not be for you right now. Read one of my funniest articles to date here instead of what I am naming the “Butkus Bible.”
Dick Butkus Passes Away
The family released an official statement: “The Butkus Family confirms that football and entertainment legend Dick Butkus died peacefully in his sleep overnight at home in Malibu, Calif. The Butkus family is gathering with Dick’s wife Helen. They appreciate your prayers and support.”
Unfortunately, this just isn’t true. While I wasn’t expecting a medical report from the family, a statement that was realistic would have been ideal. I realize that this may be the Butkus’ family way of rationalizing hard truths, so it’s not a critique, just an observation.
Dick Butkus did not pass away over night. He posted on Instagram around 11 a.m. on October 5th. Someone who knew the former Chicago Bear went to his home to check on him and found him unresponsive. Paramedics were called to the scene at 12:51 PM, where he was declared dead from cardiac arrest.
Even if someone wrote that Instagram post for him, he was still alone and found dead in his home after noon. There would have been no way of determining when he passed away exactly or the circumstances in which he did.
Butkus’s heart:
Many former opponents would argue that Butkus didn’t have a heart; he just put fear into theirs. However, the Chicago Bear did have a heart, a hard one, from atherosclerosis.
Butkus, always a man for promoting awareness on different topics, went to a cardiologist to learn more about a relatively new procedure for the general public at the time, the EBCT heart scan, that can detect heart disease. He was offered the normally $15k procedure that insurance didn’t cover in exchange for a radio ad.
Butkus decided to get the scan himself, and within 48 hours he was in surgery, having a quintuple bypass surgery. He didn’t have a family history of heart disease, and he felt fine, so the diagnosis and subsequent procedure were shocking.
That surgery prolonged Dick’s life for another 22 years to spend with his wife and children.
The Beginning
I typically don’t start telling a story at the end of the book, but when it occurred just yesterday, it felt critical to address the end of Dick Butkus’s life first. But let’s switch it up and start with where it all began for Butkus.
The Birth of a Legend
Little Richard was born on December 9th, 1942, on the South Side of Chicago in the Roseland neighborhood. Butkus was the youngest of eight children (or nine) and the first to be born in a hospital. This was probably because of his size; he was born at over 13 pounds. Poor Mrs. Butkus.
Baby Richard was also a “blue baby” and had to be incubated for a week after he was born. His wife always said he was “born mean” since he had significant spice off the gridiron for the people that had the misfortune to cross him. His mama would probably agree.
Dick’s father, John Butkus, was a Lithuanian immigrant who had come through Ellis Island. John spoke broken English, survived concentration camps, and was an electrician for a railroad company. John’s wife, Emma, was born in Illinois and would work 50 hours a week at a laundry facility.
A 1940 census report showed that Emma was born around 1902. Her husband was 49 in 1940. At that time, they had five of their eight children in their household. Daughters Alberta (18), Eleanor (16), Rita (13), and sons John (10) and Ronald (4).
Long Hair, Do Not Care
Baby Richard would share an 8×10 room with his four older brothers. As a toddler, Dick had very long hair because his mom wouldn’t cut it for the first three years of his life; she was hoping for a girl for her last baby. Baby Butkus was a shy boy too, who avoided eye contact at all costs.
Jerry Brudos, the serial killer, also had a mother who wished he was a boy. Henry Lee Lucas, also an infamous serial killer, was dressed as a girl when he was a young boy, against his will. All I’m saying is that we got lucky that Butkus was a football player…
What About That Football?
Butkus’ life was all about sports from the beginning. He loved the Chicago Cardinals and would watch their games. The Cardinals were in Illinois from the infancy of the NFL until 1959. Dick would also see his older brother Ron play college football and attempt to get into the NFL before an injury sidelined him for good.
One of Dick’s proudest accomplishments was having the ability to take his vision at 10 years old and bring it into existence. It was at that age that he obsessively chose football, knowing it would be his life someday.
Dick Butkus himself played some baseball, water polo, and swimming, but mostly football. He was every man on the team, basically playing four positions: fullback, linebacker, punter, and placekicker. He most enjoyed playing as a linebacker, making 70% of his team’s tackles when he was playing the position.
The football prodigy was heavily recruited by colleges, capturing their attention after being labeled “Chicago’s High School Player of the Year” by the Chicago Sun-Times.
Which College Would Dick Butkus Choose?
The linebacker/fullback/punter/placekicker would bring his talents to the University of Illinois, where he knocked everyone’s socks off. He was on the varsity team his first year in 1962, when he was named to the 1962 All-Big Ten Conference Football Team. In 1963, Butkus’ team won the Rose Bowl, and he was nominated team MVP and Big Ten’s MVP as well.
Somehow, Dick was a senior after being at the university for just three years. A far cry from the super, super, super seniors of college football today. In 1964, the linebacker was co-captain of the team, won “Lineman of the Year,” “Player of the Year,” and MVP of his team again, and was named a member of the 1964 All-American team. He was also 6th up for the Heisman in 1963 and 3rd in 1964—pretty good for a defensive player.
The Enforcer Goes Pro
Dick Butkus was selected 3rd overall in the 1965 NFL draft by the Chicago Bears and in the 2nd round of the AFL draft by the Denver Broncos. Although Denver offered more money, Butkus wanted to stay in his home city with the esteemed George Halas. His long-time friend and teammate, Gale Sayers (we will talk about him another day), was also drafted in the first round of the 1965 draft.
Butkus would give his parents his NFL signing bonus, which they purchased burial plots with. When their youngest son tried to gift them with other items, they declined. Except for live chickens, those were fine.
Butkus was no draft bust. His rookie year he intercepted five passes, recovered six fumbles and unofficially forcing six fumbles. He would be invited to the Pro Bowl for the first time of many in his career (eight to be exact).
Dick would score his first points in 1969 when he tackled the QB in the endzone, netting his team two points. He had 25 tackles in that game!
The linebacker wanted to leave in 1969 after his five-year contract was up because the Bears were terrible. The team upped his contract, and he stuck around.
Things Get Beary Sticky
Before the 1971 season, Butkus had a preventive surgery on his knee that he tore ligaments in back in high school. What is it with the Butkus’ men and their knees?
In 1972, Dick became an author, releasing a book that detailed the final week of the 1971 season. He called out his team; he called out the Detroit Lions; and he called out to the sky when he was yelling at the clouds. The book didn’t go over well with teammates and opponents alike. It didn’t seem to affect the linebacker’s game at all, though.
In his last year in the league, he was accused of “intimidating the officials,” who allegedly gave him a touchdown after he shouted “touchdown” at them. In week 5 of 1973, Butkus’s knee would finally give out. He played another four games anyway.
A Few Awards for Dick Butkus
Although it would be difficult to name every award Butkus ever got in the NFL (and this article would be longer than the constitution), here are some of his most notable achievements:
Defensive Player of the Year (1969, 1970), eight-time Pro Bowler (1965–1972), First-Team All Pro five times (1965, 1968–1972, 1972), and Second-Team All Pro three times (1966, 1967, 1971).
Post-retirement, the linebacker wracked up way more (not all included). He was enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1979, his first year of eligibility. He received the George Halas Award in 1974. His number 51 was retired by the Chicago Bears, and he was named one of the 100 greatest bears of all time as well as a top 100 NFL player of all time.
Retirement for The Enforcer
An orthopedic surgeon told him prior to the 1974 season, “I don’t know how a man in your shape can play football or why you would even want to.” Rumor has it that an orthopedic surgeon said it was the worst knee he had ever seen.
The doctor advised that Butkus walk strictly on crutches and be on steady bedrest whenever he wasn’t on the field for gameday. The doctor also advised that Dick play until his knee hurts really bad and then leave the game, no matter what. But doc, the cortisone shots the team doctor shot into his knee helped when it got really bad. Didn’t think about that, did ya?
Butkus’ doctor wasn’t particularly worried about Dick continuing to play on his bad knee. There wasn’t much left of the joint to injure. Head coach Abe Gibron said the linebacker had told him he wanted to play. The word around the block was that Butkus was going to undergo knee surgery in the off-season so he could come back.
It was rumored that Dick was going to need a “metal knee,” or a total knee replacement, but they weren’t (and probably still aren’t) able to take on the trauma associated with football tackles. It’s not exactly clear why he chose to retire in 1974, since the team didn’t seem to mind him coming back, and he showed interest. But Dick Butkus did hang up the cleats after nine seasons on the gridiron.
Four independent specialists did tell him to not get back on the gridiron, but Butkus was a stubborn man, so it likely took more than that for him to call it quits.
Here’s Another reason why…
His family. Dick Butkus married the woman, Helen Essenberg, that he would die still in holy matrimony with, in 1963. The two met at the university and decided to make it a forever thing.
Former teammate Doug Buffone described Butkus’ love for his wife: “He’s crazy about her. She has been right there with him every step of the way. And he is true blue, always has been.”
They began having children a few years later. Nikki was six in 1972, placing her birth around 1966; Ricky was five in 1972, meaning he came the following year, most likely 1967. Matt was the youngest sibling, five years younger than the last, and was known as “the second son of 51.” Although Dick loved all of his children, Matt shared the most common interests with his dad.
Matt Butkus was a good football player for the Trojans at USC. He didn’t have what it took to get into the NFL. Instead, he joined his father’s philanthropic efforts, having a similar passion for helping people as his father.
It’s unclear how many grandkids Butkus had at the time of his passing, but in 2012 he already had four, ranging from 13 years old to nine months old. Grandma and grandpa would go and watch many of their grandchildren’s sports games on the sidelines.
Linebacker Legal Land
Although Dick Butkus cared about others, he was no pushover. The Bears had signed him to a five-year contract that ended in 1977, guaranteeing him $115k a year. It was a no-cut, no-trade contract. It was still supposed to be paid out if knee surgery was required, and all medical bills were to be covered by the Bears. Dick alleged that they hadn’t paid him and hadn’t helped out with his knee care.
The Chicago Bears were like, “You don’t play, we don’t pay.” So Butkus took the Bears along with their team doctor, Dr. Theodore Fox, to court. Meanwhile, the bears were throwing shade, saying he had a low pain tolerance. Even Dick’s brothers questioned the lawsuit.
Fox in particular got the heat turned up underneath him when Butkus alleged that he repeatedly injected his knee with painkillers, had him play when Fox knew he shouldn’t because of his severe knee problems, and dissuaded him from getting second opinions after his 1971 surgery.
The player and the team only metaphorically went to court; the whole thing was settled instead with the Bears paying out the full value of Butkus’ contract. Halas and Butkus were so mad, they didn’t speak for five years. Give the man his money, Halas.
Just like an NFL team banging up their players and not helping pick up the pieces at the end. It’s not clear if a condition of the settlement was that the Bears finally paid up on some medical bills, although it didn’t seem like it. It just mentioned the $600k pay for the remaining four years of Butkus’ contract.
Retirement Looked Good on Dick Butkus
Semi-retirement in Dick’s case. Players prior to the 1980s didn’t make huge amounts of cash, so some were working during their pro career, and most had to work after.
The camera loved Dick Butkus, and he loved it right back. Butkus was acting in movies as early as 1974 and as late as 2002, with quite a roster of appearances. Dick was also the famous face behind many brands in advertisements and was a color analyst for radio and TV, alike. He tried coaching, but it just wasn’t a good fit.
Always a jokester, Butkus would, in his older age, carry a “fart maker” that he would deploy during things like important photographs. He had one for his briefcase and one for his golf bag, because it’s hard to predict when a fake fart is warranted. Particularly during official business.
The Foundation
In the retired NFL player’s spare time, he would focus heavily on philanthropy through his non-profit, The Butkus Foundation. His son, Matt Butkus, is heavily involved with this work. The foundation focused on three primary causes:
- The Butkus Award. Starting in 1985, an independent selection committee of 51 individuals would choose a linebacker at the pro, college, and high school level with strong athletic qualities and a heart for community service.
- A cardiovascular wellness center and non-profit in Orange County, California, that focuses on a screening program that focuses on testing at-risk individuals. Former players and retired military, firemen, and policemen get free screenings.
- The “I Play Clean” campaign that encourages high school football players to avoid steroids and offers them healthy ways to bulk up instead.
Butkus – The Biggest and the Baddest
The biggest and the baddest injuries and health conditions, that is. He had the worst knee an orthopedic surgeon had ever seen; he had the worst case of atherosclerosis a cardiologist had seen, and that was just the beginning.
The former linebacker’s arthritis was the worst his rheumatologist had ever seen in 30 years. Dick Butkus described it as everything hurting, even his teeth. He was on crutches 24/7 before his condition was managed.
Butkus did finally get that “metal knee,” along with an elbow surgery and two knee surgeries. He had an osteotomy on his knee that shortened one leg. As a result, it affected his back, neck, and hips. Between the limp resulting from the surgery and nerve damage in his spine that caused drop foot (the inability to raise the front of one’s foot), Butkus had struggled with mobility for a while.
Unlike his teammates, Dick stayed mentally sharp for the most part. He didn’t suspect he had any concussions in the NFL, despite being “knocked out” once. Realistically, he likely had hundreds. As he says, no one knew “anything about this then.” This being concussions and their long-term effects. At least he didn’t have the worst case of dementia a neurologist had ever seen.
Butkus’ arthritis medicine left the former player susceptible to infection. To avoid germs, Dick was advised to fist-bump instead of shaking hands. An individual went in for a handshake and didn’t see the fist bump coming. Their finger was broken.
The Biggest and the Baddest… Prayer?
Religion was important to Dick Butkus. He was a Catholic who had an active prayer life.
Butkus prayed that no one would get hurt in the games that he played with teammates and opponents alike. He drew the line at actually praying with his opponents; he didn’t see the logic behind fraternizing with the enemy.
Butkus would respect what he perceived as his spiritual deity gifting him with the body of a linebacker – short legs and a long torso. His creator must have skipped over the knee part. You can’t have everything.
Last But Not Least…
The moment we have all been waiting for. Dick Butkus’s rep. We haven’t gotten into the meat and potatoes of Butkus’ persona on the field that changed football forever.
It’s either frustrating or cute that Dick was in such denial about his reputation. He didn’t enjoy the way he was portrayed, but intentional or not, he often played the part. According to Butkus, his football career was the beginning of his acting career: “I was just saying **** to go along with what everybody wanted. It actually was playing a role.”
This quote feels particularly honest: “I wouldn’t ever go out to hurt anybody deliberately. Unless it was, you know, important—like a league game or something.”
Some of his other famous quotes were a bit more outlandish, like when he told an interviewer: “I sometimes have a dream where I hit a man so hard his head pops off and rolls downfield.”
What Other People Said About “The Enforcer.”
Deacon Jones, the pro-hall of fame defensive end, said, “Dick was an animal. I called him a maniac. A stone maniac. He was a well-conditioned animal, and every time he hit you, he tried to put you in the cemetery, not the hospital.”
Former teammate Ed O’Bradovich wrote in a book: “Tackling wasn’t good enough. Just to hit people wasn’t good enough. He loved to crush people.”
In a Playboy article, he was described this way: “He’s the meanest, angriest, toughest, dirtiest son of a bitch in football. An animal, a savage, subhuman.”
Hall of Famer Charlie Sanders said: “You mention his name, my body starts aching.”
Doug Buffone expresses his thankfulness that Butkus was a friend and not a foe: “I used to line up at the outside linebacker position and look inside. I’d see him hulking over the center. He always had a little blood trickling down his face. I don’t know if he would cut himself or what. But I’d always say to myself, ‘Thank you, Lord, he’s on my side.’ “
On-Field Shenanigans
Butkus had some terrifying on-field behaviors. A “legal” one was his ability to force fumbles—a stat that wasn’t recorded in his time. His ability to “manufacture” anger that drove him was his superpower.
He also had some scary one-offs. Butkus once hit a metal football blocking sled so hard that he crumpled it up and left a piece dangling. The sleds weigh 240 pounds.
The Infamous Revenge Plots:
Butkus was a revenge guy.
After intercepting a pass from Fran Tarkenton in a game, Butkus targeted the quarterback, trying to run him over instead of running for the endzone for the easy touchdown.
A rookie ran his mouth about Butkus, saying he was “overrated.” At their next meeting on the gridiron, Butkus charged at him. To avoid the hit, the rookie went out of bounds. Dick kept chasing the young player out of bounds, causing the terrified man to jump into the stands to escape the terrifying linebacker.
In a loss against the Lions, once, Butkus “knocked out” four of his opponents. There was one minute left and the Lions were trying to kill the clock. After the first play, Butkus leaped up and yelled “timeout” out of nowhere.
Buffone describes the rest of the scene: “We line up. He is over the top of the center Ed Flanagan, then takes four, five steps back. The center snaps it, and Dick comes running 100 mph and just smashes the center. Then he jumped up and called timeout again. He just wanted three more cracks at the center before the game ended.”
Unconventional Techniques
There were his unique “tactics,” like snarling at his opponents, poking people in the eyes, and biting people.
It’s never been confirmed, but a ref came out of a dog pile holding his finger, and Dick allegedly left the pile with a sly grin on his face, showing off reddish teeth.
Final Thoughts
Dick Butkus was a lot of things to a lot of people. A devoted husband, a loving dad, a force of nature on the field, an actor, a friend, and many more things still.
The attempt was to capture Dick Butkus as an individual as much as possible, but books have and will continue to be written about him because he’s a voluminous guy. It’s an honor to study his life and share it with everyone.
Do you have any memories of the late Dick Butkus? Did I miss a crucial story? Sound off below! I want to have the most complete picture of Dick Butkus as possible.
