Dick Plasman

Dick Plasman in a black and white photo that was colorized (Pro Football Journal/Twitter).

Dick Plasman is memorialized as the last man to play in the NFL without a helmet. In a field full of leather helmets, Plasman’s blond hair stood out. It might be easy to assume that he would be an easy target for NFL players, but in reality, a wall was his biggest nemesis.

His Biggest Opponents On The Gridiron

Besides himself, the most serious opponent Dick Plasman had to face was a wall.

Dick Plasman Himself

Plasman didn’t earn the “Eric the Red” nickname for no reason. He had a hot head. The Bears were down by one touchdown against the Washington team. In frustration, Dick threw a punch at the late great Sammy Baugh. One punch created an entire riot.

Immediate justice was served to Plasman’s face by Baugh’s teammates, who swung well-aimed punches. Bears were running to Dick’s aid from across the field; police and fans also streamed down to the incident; it was so extreme that even Washington’s owner, George Preston Marshall, got into it with owner and coach of the Bears, George Halas.

We’re with George Halas on this one (Photo courtesy of SI Vault).

It wasn’t the only skirmish Plasman had that wasn’t with a wall. Dick Plasman recalls a guy who kept throwing cheap shots at his helmetless head, and he described his resolution to the problem: “The guy kept bashing me with his elbows. I told him I was getting sick of it. He kept on. So one day he was on the ground and I stepped on a vulnerable part of him. He stopped after that.”

The Wall

In 1938, the Chicago Bears were playing a home game against the Green Bay Packers. Playing the wide receiver position on that fateful play, Plasman had his eye on the ball, and only on the ball.

Quarterback Ray Buivid lobbed a pass to Plasman. Dick had his eye on the ball, and his arms were outstretched. Until he ate the wall

To be fair, the brick wall was two feet into the end zone. At that time, the Bears shared Wrigley Field with the baseball team, and space was tight. So tight in fact that the brick grandstand wall was inside the football field.

The wall is in the literal end zone (Photo courtesy of Pro Football Daly). This was before the wall was covered in padding and then eventually removed.

It’s an unbelievable design that should have had the team asking how this kind of thing didn’t happen more often.

This wall situation also remained George Halas’s daughter’s most traumatizing childhood memory. The little girl was the Helmetless Wonder’s biggest fan, and she thought she had seen him pass away before her very eyes. She shared that concern with most spectators of the incident.

The Aftermath Of The Hit

Different sources describe the scene in different ways. Some had more creative word art than others. 

Injuries

We know the culmination of his injuries was a severe scalp laceration, three fractured ribs, a broken wrist, and a fractured arm. 

Dick Plasman was the focus of many major headlines (The New York Times).

Teammate Dick Schweidler recalled it like this: “He hit it head on, full stride, and peeled his whole scalp off his head.” It was a cut that almost ran across the entire top of his head. He was knocked out on impact and was bleeding profusely from his head.

Although not mentioned officially, there was mention of a huge indentation in his forehead that was “around the acreage in his left temple” and that was also described as a “hole” in his head. This dent of sorts was a distinguishing feature of his face, one that a lesser man would cover with a hat. 

A newspaper at the time mentioned head contusions in the event that “marred” the game. What a sensitive perspective.

In Monsters: The 1985 Chicago Bears and the Wild Heart of Football, the scene was described as mayhem. People were screaming, personnel were waving theirarms, and, doctors in the stands were running to the field. They were also the only source that confirmed that Dick Plasmas made the catch.

In the 1930s, football was a different animal (Pro Football Hall of Fame/NFL). Pictured above is running back Cliff Battles rushing the ball in 1932.

The Washington Times said it the most eloquently: “The collision knocked him cuckoo and left him with an ugly cut stretching across the top of his head. But that was Wrigley for you. If the Bears didn’t get you, the wall behind the south end zone would.”

The Mending

Dick doesn’t remember anything after the hit. His next memory was waking up a few days later at the hospital with a hat of bandages.

He was lucky in that he didn’t have to see how terrifying his recovery was. Virginia Halas and everyone else got to see him eventually carried back out of the locker room, still unconscious, with a bandage wrapped around his head that was already soaked with the red stuff.

As if medical care wasn’t already alarming enough, seeing him leave the locker room for the hospital was less scary than how he got in the locker room in the first place. It’s frankly amazing that everyone didn’t just die on the field. Heaven forbid, you have a spinal injury. I say this because Dick Plasman was carried off the field after the initial hit by one police officer on either side, hoisting a leg and an arm.

The modified “swing him over your shoulder” technique of the 1930s (AP Photo).

Allegedly, he asked people in the locker room, “Did we score?” but other sources cited him already being out cold at that point, so we will never know. It’s believable, though—he wouldn’t be the first player suffering from a significant injury to ask if the team succeeded. It’s a football phenomenon.

The Future

Dick Plasman’s mother came out to the media with the statement, “I’m afraid Dick will never play again. His broken arm has been reset and luckily he sustained only mild head injuries. However, I hardly see how his arm can ever be the same.” I digress with mom on the mild head injuries part. He was unconscious for several days, likely from a huge brain bleed. He wasn’t permanently, obviously, brain damaged, so maybe that’s what she meant.

His mother’s prophecy did not come true. He did play again the following season. Without a helmet (the leather helmet would drop over his eyes when he was looking up), I’m sure she was thrilled.

While in the hospital, Dick Plasman found more than just healing. He also found love. He met a beautiful nurse, June, and he didn’t leave the hospital without her. The couple were married his entire life, which was relatively short (he died at 67). 

Dick Plasman’s injury didn’t create an obvious mark in any of the few photos he was in post-incident.

Post-coaching career, Plasman was working, selling optical equipment, and living a quiet life with his lady in a Chicago suburb in his 50s. He had football pains, but most weren’t coming from his head. He had to make some life adjustments, like not sleeping on his right side because it was too painful from injuries.

His wife seemed to feel like there was more going on upstairs than he may have thought, saying, “”You know something, you never recovered from that head injury.” We hear you, June. He probably didn’t. 

Dick Plasman Was A Hater of Hats

Plasman really didn’t like hats. Maybe he had a big head, or he had a sensitivity to sensory stimulation on his head, or maybe he just had a really warm head. No one’s quite sure. It wasn’t exactly a time in history when people’s individual needs were a focus. 

Allegedly, he was so frustrated by losing a hat in college after it blew away in the wind that he was done with things. If that’s the sole reason, he really took that loss hard. 

Dick Plasman’s enemy, Sammy Baugh, is modeling the leather helmet that Plasman hated so much (Pro Football Hall of Fame/YouTube).

We do know that his lack of appreciation for hats was serious enough that he almost got court-martialed for not wearing one while he was in the Army Air Forces from 1942 to 1944. Another fun fact about his time in the military was that he was too tall to serve for both the Navy and the Marines. 

To Hat Or Not To Hat?

Apparently, the military did prepare Plasman to accept other head pieces when they were required. During his time in the military, the NFL made helmets mandatory. When he played in 1944 and again from 1946 to 1947, he also put on a leather headpiece, according to some. Others report that he received an exemption for the requirement as a sort of grandfathered-in rule.

They probably just didn’t want to have to hear a man with a dented head complain to them about unfair labor practices and undue hardship if that rumor is true.

This man’s aversion to headwear ran so deep that he never wore a covering even as an assistant coach for some very cold-weathered teams like the Chicago Cardinals, Pittsburgh Steelers, and the Green Bay Packers. It’s not clear exactly who he was coaching for at the time, but while out on the field on a very cold day, he got frostbite on one ear. 

What would he have worn as protection if he played in football today? Plasman thought about it and said, “earmuffs.” 

For other characters in NFL history, check out my other work here.