Fallen Giant

"A whole lifetime was over," legendary quarterback Y.A. Tittle recalls

  • By Michael Shapiro
  • Smithsonian magazine, February 2007, Subscribe
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In his picture of Y. A. Tittle Morris Berman captured the vanquished warriors bloody struggle. But the now-classic photograph wasnt even published at first.
In his picture of Y. A. Tittle, Morris Berman captured the vanquished warrior's bloody struggle. But the now-classic photograph wasn't even published at first. (Martin Gordon Gallery)

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The Greek poet Pindar had wonderful things to say about heroes but less about defeat. So a couple of millennia later, Dianne Tittle de Laet, herself a poet as well as a classical scholar, was left to make sense of this image of her father, the New York Giants quarterback Y. A. Tittle.

The photograph captures a moment on a Sunday afternoon in Pittsburgh in September 1964. For three years, Tittle had led the Giants to the National Football League championship game, only to lose each time. He had been the league's Most Valuable Player in 1963. He was also a football ancient—38 years old—and looked it.

On the play preceding this moment, he had thrown a screen pass that was intercepted and returned for a touchdown. He had held his arms high as he threw. John Baker, a 270-pound defensive end for the Steelers, drove his helmet into Tittle's sternum and slammed him to the turf. A fair, if brutal, hit. Tittle could not breathe.

Still, being hurt was nothing new. Tittle had played organized football since the sixth grade in East Texas and had suffered a partially collapsed lung, a broken left hand (mercifully, he's a righty), a crushed cheekbone, broken fingers, fractured vertebrae, separated shoulders and muscles torn so deeply they took months to heal. "Every injury I ever had in my lifetime, I could tape it," he says. "Every injury I ever had, I could Novocain it." Not this time; the pain he felt now was different.

An X-ray revealed no broken bones. But his ribs were bruised, and the muscle was torn from his rib cage. He spent the night following the game in a hospital. And he played the following Friday.

He had lived his life refusing to give in to pain because, he recalls, "If you say something, they're going to get the next guy to do your job, and he may do it better." But when he returned to the game after this injury, he was not the same quarterback, as became ever more apparent as the season unfolded. The pain "made me one thing I never was," he says. "It made me gun-shy. For the first time in my life I didn't want to get hit, because I couldn't get up."

If you couldn't get up, you couldn't play. And if you couldn't play, he says, "you're no place."

The season ended. The Giants had gone 2-10-2. Tittle retired. When he considered a comeback the following season—his injuries had healed—his wife advised him against making a fool of himself. Instead, he went into the insurance business. He entered pro football's Hall of Fame in 1971.


The Greek poet Pindar had wonderful things to say about heroes but less about defeat. So a couple of millennia later, Dianne Tittle de Laet, herself a poet as well as a classical scholar, was left to make sense of this image of her father, the New York Giants quarterback Y. A. Tittle.

The photograph captures a moment on a Sunday afternoon in Pittsburgh in September 1964. For three years, Tittle had led the Giants to the National Football League championship game, only to lose each time. He had been the league's Most Valuable Player in 1963. He was also a football ancient—38 years old—and looked it.

On the play preceding this moment, he had thrown a screen pass that was intercepted and returned for a touchdown. He had held his arms high as he threw. John Baker, a 270-pound defensive end for the Steelers, drove his helmet into Tittle's sternum and slammed him to the turf. A fair, if brutal, hit. Tittle could not breathe.

Still, being hurt was nothing new. Tittle had played organized football since the sixth grade in East Texas and had suffered a partially collapsed lung, a broken left hand (mercifully, he's a righty), a crushed cheekbone, broken fingers, fractured vertebrae, separated shoulders and muscles torn so deeply they took months to heal. "Every injury I ever had in my lifetime, I could tape it," he says. "Every injury I ever had, I could Novocain it." Not this time; the pain he felt now was different.

An X-ray revealed no broken bones. But his ribs were bruised, and the muscle was torn from his rib cage. He spent the night following the game in a hospital. And he played the following Friday.

He had lived his life refusing to give in to pain because, he recalls, "If you say something, they're going to get the next guy to do your job, and he may do it better." But when he returned to the game after this injury, he was not the same quarterback, as became ever more apparent as the season unfolded. The pain "made me one thing I never was," he says. "It made me gun-shy. For the first time in my life I didn't want to get hit, because I couldn't get up."

If you couldn't get up, you couldn't play. And if you couldn't play, he says, "you're no place."

The season ended. The Giants had gone 2-10-2. Tittle retired. When he considered a comeback the following season—his injuries had healed—his wife advised him against making a fool of himself. Instead, he went into the insurance business. He entered pro football's Hall of Fame in 1971.

When I met with Tittle recently, he smiled and acknowledged that what people recall first about him is this image—which did not immediately make it into print. It was taken by Morris Berman of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, who had made his reputation as a combat photographer (his next-most-famous photograph is of the bullet-riddled corpses of Mussolini and his mistress). Berman, who died in 2002 at age 92, had gone to Pitt Stadium that day not to cover the game but looking for human interest. He decided to focus on Tittle. But his editor, wanting an action photo, refused to run the injured warrior photograph. It became widely seen only after Berman entered it in contests. (It was chosen the best sports photograph in the National Headliner Award competition of 1964.) Now, it is one of only three pictures hanging in the lobby of the National Press Photographers Association headquarters in Durham, North Carolina, alongside Joe Rosenthal's photograph of the flag-raising at Iwo Jima and the image of the fiery death of the Hindenburg dirigible at Lakehurst, New Jersey.

Tittle, at 80, is vigorous, thick around the middle, broad across the chest and arms. He looks at Berman's photograph and says: "That was the end of my dance. A whole lifetime was over." A good and prosperous life came afterward—four children, nine grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And yet, he says, "Fall is still the saddest part of the year for me. It's because the leaves are turning, and if the leaves are turning, we're getting ready to play Longview or Tyler."

Dianne Tittle de Laet understands the longing and appreciates the sense of incompletion that comes with having such a photograph as her father's legacy. But she does not see a fallen hero in it. Instead, she sees mythical figures—"Hector, and Beowulf going out to meet Grendel," because "myths are about struggle."

Several years ago she wrote a book, Giants & Heroes, that tells how it felt to grow up with a father who, depending on the week, was celebrated or vilified. She did not write about this photograph, at least not directly. Rather, she says, the whole book is about that image. "It shows someone who is broken and maybe beaten. But at the same time it captures who my father was," she says. "It shows the want. I think my father wanted. And he wanted well."

Michael Shapiro's most recent book is The Last Good Season (2003).


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Comments (11)

Great photo and story

Posted by M Flores on October 5,2012 | 09:00 PM

Where can I purchase a copy of this photo? (Y A Tittle )

Posted by Earle Peterson on February 1,2012 | 05:41 PM

the most moving photograph ever taken in sports history God bless Yelverton Abraham Tittle

Posted by george seguine on November 8,2010 | 01:39 AM

As a Louisiana (New Orleans) native, Giants' fan in the '50s and early '60s (prep school in Connecticut...) and a 49ers' fan in the mid-'60s through the 90s (college and a West Coast resident), I was privileged to see YA play and to hear the stories. Unitas may have been better, but, to me YA was always The Man.

And some log-time 49ers'fan and close friends still swear (out loud and in public...) when the name Lou Cordileone is mentioned.

Harry Freiberg
Brookings, OR

Posted by Harry Freiberg on October 12,2010 | 04:14 PM

Whether you agree with his politics and art is another thing but Oliver Stone called Y.A. Tittle a true American hero. The photograph sums up a lifetime to be sure. However, I know that my parents recall him not only as a great athlete but as a warm, caring human being. They both graduated with him in the Marshall, Texas High School Class of 1947. They would tell me that he faithfully made it to each and every class reunion back in East Texas and he was gracious and sincere. No swagger, no bull. Marshall's a small town and has produced the likes of Bill Moyers and George Foreman but I think Y.A. is our best and finest son. Boy, did it feel right to read Y.A.'s quote about fall - that indeed is the time that we were always preparing to battle the Longview Lobos, our hated rival, for all the marbles. And it didn't matter if we had lost every other game; we had to beat those guys. Y.A. would know.

Posted by Warren L. Clark on October 12,2010 | 09:31 AM

today the ny post compared YA Tittles kneeldown after being hit by John Baker to the kneeldown Eli Manning did last night after colliding with a Jet player and a teammate. To compare both kneeldowns as similar to me is totally disgusting.

Posted by stephen didovich on August 17,2010 | 06:21 PM

I loved those Giant teams of those years. I had tremendous confidence in Tittle. Shofner dropped a touchdown in that Bear game. To me that was the game and not the interception. Tittle was truly a great quarterback and Im sorry he couldnt get that championship

Posted by on February 22,2010 | 10:13 PM

Fran Tarkenton himself called him the greatest. The man had retired by the time I really understood football. I'm no football guru, but if Tarkenton says he's the best that he has ever seen, then I tip my hat to the man

Posted by Tye on February 20,2010 | 05:57 PM

I'll admit up front that I wasn't a Giants fan back then but I was a Y A Tittle fan. I remember seeing him "bloody and hurt" sitting on that field. I was 16 and had seen men hurt playing sports before but I had never seen anything that came close to what I saw that day. Today is the first time I've seen that picture in over forty years and I can still feel that fear I felt for him back then. He still ranks as one of the best of all time to me and always will.

Posted by Buck Downey on February 7,2010 | 08:36 PM

Have been cheering for the Giants since mid-'50's, and YA is one of my all time heroes! Talk about tough guys.....

Posted by Vin Bickler on December 23,2008 | 11:35 AM

I watched that game, I have been a Giants Fan ever since I can remember, YA Tittle is truly a hero of the game of Football...

Posted by Jerry Turner on January 17,2008 | 08:30 AM



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