New York Daily News

QBs,FATHERS & SONS

In Gary Myers’ new book, Phil Simms details how he overcame alcoholic father to find success in NFL and fatherhood

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It is the goal of every parent for their children to have a better life than they did, especially growing up. Phil Simms’ 15 years in the NFL and his post-football career as the lead analyst for the NFL, first on NBC and then on CBS, provided very nicely for his wife, sons and a daughter.

When Simms’ mother passed away in 2015, the family went to the funeral in Louisville. The Catholic church was only 500 yards from Simms’ old house. After the service, they walked over to 1003 Sarah Drive.

“This is where I grew up,” Simms said.

It was just a little brick house. His kids were in shock.

“Dad instilled a lot of good values in us early on,” oldest son Chris said. “People said you grew up with a silver spoon. Yeah, my mom is the daughter of a butcher and my dad is the son of a farmer/factory worker. They really knew how to spoil us. I know he gets angry when people say that.”

Phil Simms came from nothing. He was the fourth of five boys in a family with eight children. They lived on his grandfathe­r’s tobacco farm in Springfiel­d, Kentucky. His mother had the kids in a hurry. The youngest and oldest of seven of them are just 10 years apart. After Phil completed first grade, they moved to Louisville and lived in a rental for one year before his parents bought a three-bedroom house. Boys in one bedroom sharing two beds, girls in another room, and Barbara and William Simms slept in their own bedroom.

Simms adored his mother. She had a heart of gold, and at five foot nine she was always self-conscious about her height. His father was an alcoholic. He was into sports and spirits, short on the compliment­s, and lacked warmth.

There wasn’t much money, so as soon as the Simms boys were old enough, they worked. Beginning in the second grade, Phil would help out his oldest brother on his paper route delivering the Louisville Courier-Journal until he was old enough to get his own route. One of the perks of being a newspaper delivery boy was the Simms family received a free copy every day.

Phil’s son, Chris, never had a paper route in New Jersey. He often rode his bicycle to school. Phil couldn’t ride his bike to do his paper route. It was too hard to maneuver in and out of driveways, and if he cut across the front yards, the customers would complain. He did it all on foot.

“We would wake up at five and we were out the door by 5:05 because you had your clothes laid out,” he said. “We would do this whatever the weather was. We would have our paper sacks and would jog to where the papers were dropped off.”

Even though Barbara Simms had eight kids, she worked every day. She and her husband left the house for their factory jobs by 6:30. “My sisters all had jobs in the kitchen,” Simms said. “You make the oatmeal. You make the eggs. You cook the toast. You clean the table. Somebody had to wash the dishes. Somebody had to dry them. It all had to be done every day, and there was never a day it wasn’t done. When my parents got home, if there was something that wasn’t done, there was hell to be paid.”

The boys would eat breakfast and take a shower, and all eight kids would be off to school.

William Simms set the tone in the house. He had been a tobacco farmer. He smoked a lot. That was not all. “He was an alcoholic,” Phil said.

Ten people in a small house with the father a bad drinker. “It was either a bottle or nothing,” Simms said. “He was very stern, very tough. He had eight kids in a threebedro­om house. We were like machines. Everybody had jobs. If you wanted something for school, well, good luck. You want new pants and a new shirt? Go get it!”

The father would go on drunken rampages, and Phil thought he planned the tirades so he could storm out of the house and then do whatever he wanted. “I remember standing in the kitchen with two of my brothers, Tommy and David, who were two years apart,” Simms said. “Dad was going through one of his rampages and he said something to my mom. My brother David was one of those naturally, extremely, incredibly strong guys. If he grabbed your hand, you’d go, “Wow. What is that?”

The tension was rising in the kitchen in Louisville. “My dad said something smart to my mom, and David said something to my dad,” Phil said. “He talked back to my dad, which he would never do.” “Hey boy,” William Simms said. “Yeah,” David fired back. Silence. “My dad felt the tone and realized, ‘If I carry this any further, I’m going to lose this battle,’” Phil said. “He called my brother some names and walked out the door.”

His drinking never changed the routine in the Simms household. William didn’t get violent when he went on his binges, and the kids and Barbara knew to stay away from him when he was drunk.

Simms didn’t wonder when he was a kid why his father felt compelled to drink. He’s thought about it as an adult. “Who knows? You got eight kids, you’re a factory worker, you know how it is at the end of a work week,” he said. “I never sat there and thought, “Why is he like this?” He was tough. His big thing was he wanted you to be as independen­t as fast as he could get you there, contrary to today’s world. None of us raise our kids like that anymore. It’s not just part of the world.”

William Simms passed away in 1991 after suffering a heart attack. He was just 62 years old. “Lived a hard life,” Phil said. “He sucked 62 years out of it, which was a miracle.”

He did not drink his last 10 years. “He actually became somewhat of a health nut,” Simms said. “We all kind of laughed. It was funny. He bought a bike. It was pretty cool.”

William was a very good athlete. He was a pitcher in a time in the farming communitie­s when baseball was everything. He never made it past playing weekend baseball on days off from his job as a farmer before moving to Louisville. He never coached Phil in any sport. Never gave him a pat on the back. Never gave him much encouragem­ent. When you messed up, he wanted no excuses.

After coming home from a youth baseball game, Phil was eager to tell his father about his accomplish­ments. He was looking for his father’s approval.

“How’d you do today,” William asked. “I pitched a no-hitter,” Phil said. “You didn’t throw too many curveballs, did you?” William said.

“No, I threw a few and hit three home runs,” Phil said.

“Yeah? Did you hit them or did you pop them up?” William said.

By the end of the conversati­on, Phil felt beaten down. He’d had a huge game, but his father refused to let him feel good about it. “By the time he got done, I felt like I failed,” he said. “He wasn’t a big compliment guy.”

It wasn’t as if his father was trying to motivate him to play even

 ??  ?? Like many NFL quarterbac­ks and their fathers, the Mannings (from l.), Harbaughs, Winstons and Bradys all share special relationsh­ips as
Like many NFL quarterbac­ks and their fathers, the Mannings (from l.), Harbaughs, Winstons and Bradys all share special relationsh­ips as
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 ??  ?? Excerpted from the ‘My First Coach: Inspiring Stories of NFL Quarterbac­ks and Their Dads’ by Gary Myers Copyright © 2017 Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved.
Excerpted from the ‘My First Coach: Inspiring Stories of NFL Quarterbac­ks and Their Dads’ by Gary Myers Copyright © 2017 Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved.

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