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Dorney worries about his head, Ringo suffers from Alzheimer's and Bednarik is fed up.

By Gordie Jones
(Allentown, Pa.) The Morning Call

July 15, 2007

Mostly, Keith Dorney worries about his head.

He has undergone 13 orthopedic surgeries for injuries sustained during his nine-year NFL career. His knees are bad, and getting worse. And the former Detroit Lions offensive tackle, knowing of seven ex-teammates who died before their time, took his pension at the first opportunity -- four years ago, at age 45.

But he worries most about his head.

After all, he said, he "always led" with it.

"I prided myself on violent collisions," he said.

That was true when he was growing up in Macungie and playing at Emmaus High School, true at Penn State and especially true during his pro career (1979-87).

He has not undergone a CT scan, though. He admitted over the phone the other day that that is probably not wise, that what he doesn't know might very well hurt him.

"I'm scared to get anything done," he said. "I'm just trying to throw it under the rug, and not think about it."

Dorney, who now lives in California and does seminars and motivational speeches for the Financial Knowledge Network, fears the NFL is doing the same thing in response to complaints from former players, who believe they deserve more in the way of pension and disability benefits.

And Dorney also wonders if all of the heart-wrenching tales brought to light in recent months -- including that of Phillipsburg native Jim Ringo, the retired Hall of Fame center now residing in a specialized Alzheimer's unit in Virginia Beach -- will make any difference in the way the league goes about its business.

"I am optimistic that there will be some type of change, compensation, bone thrown our way," Dorney said. "It will not be anything extraordinary. ... I'm not counting on any future revenue stream from the NFL, that's for sure."

John Spagnola is more optimistic. Spagnola, the Bethlehem Catholic graduate and former Eagles tight end whose playing career nearly mirrored Dorney's, said things began "snowballing" in November 2006, when ex-Eagles safety Andre Waters committed suicide.

Wracked by depression that was believed to be the result of repeated concussions, Waters offered another reminder of the plight of former players.

Others have emerged, or re-emerged. The Sporting News reported last month that ex-Colts tight end John Mackey, suffering from dementia (another likely side effect of concussions), performs the most basic tasks only because his wife, Sylvia, leaves notes ostensibly signed by former NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue.

ESPN.com recently profiled former Cardinals bad boy Conrad Dobler, who gobbles down Vicodin to dull the pain from his aching knees.

And Mike Ditka and Joe DeLamielleure, point men in the ex-players' fight for improved benefits, produced former Bengals and Jaguars offensive lineman Brian DeMarco for a news conference, and later a congressional subcommittee. DeMarco, unable to work because of severe back problems, has seen his family left homeless three times in the
last four years.

In the meantime, Gene Upshaw, head of the NFL Players Association, has "mismanaged" things, in the estimation of Spagnola, now an investment counselor near Philadelphia. Upshaw told the Charlotte Observer last year that he works for the current players, not the retirees, and in response to criticism from DeLamielleure told the
Philadelphia Daily News he would "break his ... damn neck."

All of this will have a telling effect on the NFL honchos, Spagnola believes.

"The only thing that will move them is public opinion," he said, "which they're very conscious of."

Judy Ringo, Jim's wife, can only hope the league is swayed. Jim, who played 15 years and coached in the NFL for 20 before his retirement in 1989, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 1996. Now 75, he was admitted to the treatment facility in Virginia Beach, near the couple's home in Chesapeake, last August.

Judy believes she and Jim have been "extremely fortunate." They were able to make do with pensions from Jim's playing and coaching careers, and as of February began receiving help from the "88 Plan," which was formulated by the NFL and NFLPA at the urging of Sylvia Mackey.

The plan, which gets its name from John Mackey's old uniform number, provides as much as $88,000 a year to ex-players being treated for dementia in a facility, as much as $50,000 a year to those being cared for at home.

So Judy counts her lucky stars.

"I hope the same good fortune is given to all disabled players," she said. "It's something they've earned."

But Dorney doesn't see much help coming from the league or the union. Neither does Chuck Bednarik.

"They don't give a damn about us," the legendary ex-Eagle said from his Coopersburg home. "I mean it. ... They don't care, and I don't care about them."

As Dorney noted, "They'll throw a couple bucks my way, and Spagnola's way, to get the media off their backs, and then go on with the status quo."

Retired Cleveland Browns cornerback Bernie Parrish was even more blunt at the congressional hearing on the matter last month.

"We have been betrayed," he said, according to several published reports. "Our union, [commissioner] Roger Goodell and the owners are operating a system of delay, deny and hope you die."

Neither Goodell nor Upshaw were present at the hearing, but the league representatives on hand disputed the ex-players' claims, saying that pension and disability payments have been on the rise for years.

There was, however, the admission from Douglas Ell, counsel for the NFLPA and the disability plan, that 317 ex-players receive disability benefits, out of an estimated 8,000 retirees.

"In one of the most dangerous sports in the history of mankind, only 300 players are receiving disability payments?" Rep. Maxine Waters, D-Los Angeles, asked Ell, according to the Washington Post.

As troubling as that may be, Dorney sees the bigger picture.

"There's a healthcare crisis facing our nation, not just football players," he said. "I'm almost embarrassed when people make a big deal over the injuries of ex-football players. I know construction workers and fruit workers who are in a heck of a lot worse shape than me."

For his part, Bednarik, whose Hall of Fame career stretched from 1949 to '62, said his health is "not bad."

"I turned 82 on May 1," he said. "That's just a number, as far as I'm concerned. I'm in good health. I have no problems. Thank God I've got my wife. That's the most important part. ... I think God's looking after me."

Ringo played center for the Packers and Eagles from 1953 to '67. Asked how many concussions he might have suffered, Judy said, "I think it's got to be a pretty high number. I wouldn't want to guess. I get stories now about him being on the bus [after a game] and not knowing who won. How often that happened, I have no idea."

So now Dorney worries about his head.

He had other concerns in 1987, his last year as a player. All year his right shoulder bothered him so much, he couldn't lift his arm above his head. Repeated cortisone shots enabled him to play.

After he retired, the shoulder continued to trouble him, so he called the Lions.

"The GM said, 'We believe your shoulder was injured in a non-football-related accident,'" Dorney recalled. "That was their line."

Aghast, he spoke with the trainer, who told Dorney that was standard operating procedure; the team figured Dorney was going to file suit, seeking workman's compensation. He wasn't planning to do so, but had no choice at that point.

He said that while he was rewarded a settlement in the neighborhood of $100,000, some $28,000 of that went toward his shoulder surgery.

And, he said, "I had to sign my life away, saying I would never sue the club again. ... It's a pretty sad story. I felt very betrayed at that point."

But not surprised.

"They're a corporation, trying to cut their losses," he said, "like any corporation does."

Dorney, who now lives on a 14-acre spread in Sonoma County, Calif., which he describes as "a gentleman's farm," has worn a number of hats since retirement. He has been a high school teacher and coach. He wrote a memoir last year entitled "Black and Honolulu Blue: In the Trenches of the NFL." And he plans to write a fictional book about pro football that will be ''an updated, 21st-Century version of 'North
Dallas 40.'"

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, though.

And many times, the endings are not happy ones.