Love, Zac

by Reid Forgrave

  They say that you must hit bottom before you renounce your addiction. What would the bottom look like for a nation addicted to football? Perhaps it could be something spectacular, like a player dying from a massive hit during a nationally televised game. Or it could be something more mundane, like a credible lab test that can use biomarkers to diagnose the onset of CTE in living brain tissue and show an exact percentage of American high school football players who already have incipient CTE.

  Think about Myles Easter’s all-time favorite player: Jack Tatum, “the Assassin.” When a hit by Tatum paralyzed Darryl Stingley in 1978, that could be compartmentalized by the average American football fan. This was a freak hit: unnecessary roughness, not a natural part of the game of football. These types of hits can be legislated out of the sport, and that’s exactly what the NFL and every lower form of football has attempted to do in recent years. But what if, like many scientists posit, it may not be those huge, bone-rattling hits that are the primary precursor for CTE but instead the multiple subconcussive hits that occur hundreds of times during every NFL game (and every college game, and every high school game)? Those hits are necessary roughness, a routine by-product of how the game is played. An improved concussion protocol won’t make a difference for the cases of CTE that stem from years of repeated subconcussive hits. While the notion of football being ostracized by society is today mocked as an idea of the effete, liberal, nanny-state crowd, the social pressures to stop smoking or to wear seat belts were once mocked in much the same way, too. The day may come when parents would be as apt to let their children play football as they are to allow them to ride in a car without a car seat.

  But we love violence, right? What if football is recognized as so dangerous that the vast majority of parents won’t allow their sons to play, and it becomes our equivalent of gladiatorial combat, only engaged in by the poor and people without options? America’s have-nots, going out to the gridiron and destroying themselves for the pleasure of America’s haves. Football could become the forbidden fruit, the sport so many are afraid to play—and, perhaps, the game would become even more violent in response. In ancient Rome, gladiators were seen as human sacrifices. Echoes of those gladiators can be heard in the words of former Pittsburgh Steelers running back Rashard Mendenhall, who in 2014 said no thanks to millions more dollars and retired from football at age twenty-six: “I no longer wish to put my body at risk for the sake of entertainment.”

  So is football worth it? It may be the most important question of our American sporting time. And it’s a question without a clean answer. Perhaps it’s the story of Zac Easter that can lead us to the most appropriate way to look at football. Zac knew he had CTE. He knew before the doctors did. And he blamed football, and the concussions he suffered while playing the sport. At times, he hated everything about the sport. At times, though, he loved the sport as much as just about anything in his life. Even after knowing what the sport and the way he approached the sport had done to his brain, even after the very public suicide attempt that landed him in the psych ward, there Zac was, sitting in his parents’ basement on Thanksgiving night, watching his beloved Green Bay Packers.

  Football is awful, a sport that brings out the very worst violent tendencies in the human species, and that destroys us in the process.

  Football is great, the one true sport, teaching us how to deal with physical pain without being utterly defeated by it while forging the true American male.

  Football is a dangerous, vile sport. Football is a beautiful, cathartic sport.

  Football, perhaps, is both.

  A week after Zac’s death, on Ali’s twenty-third birthday, Brenda Easter handed her an envelope. Inside was $1,400, the money from Zac’s final paycheck for a landscaping job. He had left instructions that it go to Ali. Zac hadn’t been working for a while, so this underscored to Ali just how purposeful his suicide had been—that he’d been planning it for a long time.

  In the months after his death, Ali began to think of herself as a widow; even though they hadn’t been married, they’d been best friends for five years, and dated off and on that entire period, so labeling herself as a widow felt morbidly appropriate. Ali went to a jewelry store and designed a ring. It had five stones. Two were pearls—Zac’s birthstone—and three were blue sapphires, their shared favorite color. On the inside of the ring was inscribed, Z+W, for Zac+Winslow. She thought of it as their wedding ring of sorts. They’d been planning to spend their lives together. The ring represented what could have been.

  For Christmas 2016, one year after Zac’s death, Ali made some presents for Zac’s parents and brothers—picture frames engraved with Zac’s handwriting and personalized football sweatshirts for each of them: Vikings sweatshirts for Myles Sr. and Myles II, a Chiefs sweatshirt for Levi, a Packers sweatshirt for Brenda. The back of each sweatshirt read EASTER, with Zac’s old football number, 44.

  After buying the ring, Ali still had some of Zac’s money left over. So on December 23, 2016, when she was home for winter break of her second year in law school, Ali and Jake Powers, Zac’s old friend and roommate, got in Jake’s truck at the crack of dawn and drove east. They passed through the cornfields of Iowa, crossed the Mississippi River at Dubuque, headed northeast through Wisconsin, and came to a halt seven hours later in Green Bay, Wisconsin, for the Packers’ final home game of the 2016 regular season. For Ali, it was a trip full of complicated emotions. Lambeau Field was one of Zac’s favorite places on Earth, a cathedral of football. He’d been there only once, in December 2014, for the first Packers game he’d ever attended. Zac came back from that trip inspired to turn that into an annual tradition with Jake. Ali wanted to be there in Zac’s place, even if that meant paying homage to the sport that had contributed to his destruction.

  The Easter family timber; the ridge where Zac shot his 10-point buck is in the distance. From left: Levi, Ali, Myles II, Brenda.

  The next day, Christmas Eve, they went to Lambeau Field, first to the massive tailgate and then to the game. Ali wore her Packers sweatshirt with Zac’s name and number on the back. She wore Zac’s old Packers knit cap.

  Ali’s feelings about football are nuanced. She recognizes it is something that brings people together, and that has many positive influences in people’s lives. But she is angry that football—that the NFL—took so long to recognize the damage the sport can cause. The disregard felt like a betrayal of the very people it employs and entertains. Still, Ali wanted to see Lambeau, and she wanted to cheer on the Packers in place of Zac, even if that meant honoring the thing she believes killed him. If Zac had lived, he would have been here with her, reliving his memories of his beloved Packers. So she yelled wildly as the Packers beat the Vikings, 38–25, and eliminated their archrivals from the playoff race. It was easy to get lost in the excitement, in the tradition, in the history, even if every time a player endured a hard hit to the head, Ali winced.

  This, Ali felt, was the way Zac would have wanted to be honored. Yes, Zac had grown to hate what football had done to him. But the sport had been such a big part of his life: being a man whose character was formed through football, having heroes, believing in something. Ali thought these football pilgrimages could be a way to keep Zac’s spirit alive, and to keep their love alive, too.

  After the game, she and Jake got in his truck and drove back to Iowa. Ali fell asleep. They got home just before midnight on Christmas Eve. During the drive, Ali felt Zac was right there alongside them.

  Epilogue

  The final words of Zac Easter’s autobiography:

  To my family,

  I just want everyone in my family to know that I love them dearly and to not dwell on my death. I have been thinking about this for years now and there is truly nothing anyone could have done to prevent this. I have spent many nights speaking to God and I know that my spirit will live on in rejoice. The lord understands my pain and has accepted me to be one of his children. I ask that no one blame themselves for anything that I have been throug
h. There is nothing you could of done to help me. It has been my choice. I know how it works and I know that a lot of family members will feel a terrible burden and feel that they should have known or should have tried to help. I ask that you all come together and try to spread the word of the dangers of head injuries and mental health. I ask that we can all get along and become closer as a family. You may cry, but just know that I will be always watching over you and will be with you at every holiday, and any moment that you need me in your life. Just look to the lord and pray, and I will be there to guide you through anything difficult that you may be facing. This goes for all friends and family. I ask that you do not feel guilty or blame each other! Do not blame football or specifically anything that had to do with me. Just know that I enjoyed playing through it and after fighting through it all, I still consider myself to be one of the toughest people I know. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. I love all of you and hold no grudges. If only you all knew how guilty and ashamed I feel for taking the easy way out.

  Mom and Dad, I love you both dearly and I am truly sorry that one of your sons has passed before his time. I loved both of you dearly and there is nothing you could of done parenting wise to prevent this. I know that both of you will mourn naturally over the loss of your son, but just know that I am in a place where I am free of the pain. I have spent many nights talking to the lord and I my spirit will be fine. The lord understands my situation and has accepted me into his open arms. I have spent many nights talking to the lord about how truly I am blessed to have parents like you both. Through the good and bad, you two have been there for me through thick and thin. You both worked your asses off to provide for me and I am forever thankful to have parents to teach me such strong values growing up. I have had it much better than anyone I know. You have taught me so much about life and I don’t regret any of the moments we’ve spent together. You both taught me right from wrong and how nothing is earned without a strong work ethic. I hope that you guys don’t ever feel guilty for what I have done. It is not your fault, if it was, you know I’m the type of asshole who would tell you . . . Whatever has happened to me is not your fault. It is what is. Do not dwell for the lord has better plans for all of us.

  To my brothers, I love you two both more than anything and I know this will be tough for you two to handle the most. We have always been brothers through thick and thin. We’ve fought some pretty intense fights in the past and have strengthened the bond over the years. I couldn’t never have been more proud to say that both Levi and Myles are my brothers. The Easter boys have certainly raised hell through the years and I wouldn’t change a minute of it! We’ve lived some of the sickest times together and have been through things I wouldn’t change for a minute. I know both of you are destined to do great things in your own realms. I know both of you will change the world in your own ways. Your both destined for greatness. You may not see it in this time of mourning, but I promise God has a strong purpose for both of you. Please do not morn my death, instead embrace it. Just know that Zac will always be overhead watching over you guys as you carry out your dreams. Don’t be scared to ask for help when times get rough because they will. Just know that I will always be over guys shoulder looking out for you and God’s always got your back. When you call, I will be there, I will help you make it through the long days and dark nights. Have faith, be your own men, keep fighting, and never quit. I look up to both of you for being warriors and fighting through any adversity that may come upon you. I truly am sorry for any times I have said things to make you feel down or feel bad. Just remember me the person I am, not by my actions. I’m not sure what is wrong with me and people will figure it out eventually. Just know that I love you both and I will always be therefore you. Live your lives with no regrets. Get tattoos. Spend your money on drugs and hoes. I will be living those moments with you guys and will never leave you alone. Spread the word of mental illness and concussions. Do great things and know I always have your back. Keep fighting through and good things will happen, and Never ever forget, Zac will have your back. The shame still haunts me of certain times when I was dicks to you guys and made you feel like I was superior, please forgive me for the times I was an asshole. We’ve all seen different sides of Zac and I hope you remember the times when I was actually Zac and not the asshole one who made anyone feel shitty about themselves.

  Forever family

  I am terribly sorry for my decision. I have taken the easy way out and have taken the most shameful coarse of action. It brings tears to my eyes thinking about the good times we’ve had. I can’t stop thinking about something has changed in me and I don’t know what it is. I ask to have my brain donated to the Sports Legacy Brain Bank.

  I don’t know what has changed in me, whether it be mental illness or something more from the concussions. All I ask is that you please donate my brain to the sports legacy brain bank to try and find out. What ever it be take it with grace and know I love you all. Spread the word of mental illness and concussions, and over time, please spread my story. Great things can still happen from this event. Think of all the lives that can be saved if all of you come together and help people by spreading the word.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without the indomitable courage of Zac Easter’s family and those closest to him, specifically his parents, Brenda and Myles Sr.; his brothers, Myles II and Levi; and his girlfriend, Alison Epperson. For them to allow me to document the pain they all experienced in the immediate aftermath of Zac’s death—and for them to share with me Zac’s most personal thoughts and writings—took an enormous amount of bravery, as well as trust. I can hope only that this book faithfully portrays the young man they knew and loved.

  So many friends, relatives, and acquaintances of Zac spoke with me as I researched, wrote, and revised this book: Sue Wilson, Eric Kluver, Shawn Spooner, Kamela Kleppe-Yeager, Jake Powers, Nick Haworth, Father Jacob Greiner, Mike Hadden, Ryan Miller, Chase Wells, and many others. Their memories helped paint a full portrait of Zac.

  The scientific experts, the historians, and the activists: From their writings and research, as well as from my own one-on-one interviews, I’ve learned so much about football, about the history of the concept of masculinity, about brain science, and about the efforts to mitigate the effects of head trauma. In no particular order, I owe much gratitude to: Bennet Omalu, Cyndy Feasel, Dominic Malcolm, Tom Oates, Michael Oriard, Jeanne Marie Laskas, Gerald R. Gems, Michael MacCambridge, Michael Sokolove, Kimberly Archie, Debra Pyka, Kevin Bieniek, Randy Benson, Ann McKee, Gary Swenson, Frank Salamone, Dawn Goodale, Joey Goodale, Mary Seau, Alan Sills, Kevin Guskiewicz, Mike McCrea, Jason Mihalik, Adam Bartsch, and others.

  Every story needs a great editor. This book was blessed with several: Devin Gordon, who saw something powerful in my blind submission and (brilliantly, patiently) shepherded the original story from just an idea to its publication in GQ in January 2017. Markus Hoffmann, my literary agent, who showed me, a would-be book author, how to write a successful book proposal. It was Debbie Spander, my media agent, who connected me with Markus. My collaborators at Algonquin were perfect: Amy Gash believed in the book from the beginning and trusted me to write it. Margot Herrera’s gifts as an editor made this book infinitely better. Robin Cruise’s careful attention to wordcraft and typos was crucial. In addition, my wife, Megan—who is always my first and my last editor—was steadfast every step of the way.

  The patience and support of my wife and children was invaluable during this years-long process. My parents nurtured a love of reading in me dating from my birth. My best friend, Bill Reiter, became my writing mentor. I’m indebted to him and many more mentors along the way, including the late, great Ken Fuson.

  Lastly, this book never would have come to be without the foresight and, yes, courage of Zac Easter. The nasty stew of mental illness and concussion-related issues that led to Zac’s demise represents a vital concern in today’s America. My intent for telling Zac’s story is not to glorify
his suicide; his own words underscore the shame and regret Zac’s decision caused him. But I believe that once Zac made the decision his life was too painful for him to continue, he had come to think of himself as a sacrifice—and he hoped that his story could help others who lived after him. I too can only hope that it will.

  About the Author

  Reid Forgrave writes about sports and other topics for GQ, the New York Times Magazine, and Mother Jones, among other publications. He has covered the NFL and college football for FoxSports.com and CBS Sports, and he currently writes for the Star Tribune in Minneapolis. The article in which he first wrote about Zac Easter is included in Best American Sports Writing 2018 . A past life found him working at the Des Moines Register in Iowa, where he wrote long-form narrative journalism and covered the state’s first-in-the-nation presidential caucuses. Forgrave lives in Minneapolis with his wife and two sons. Love, Zac is his first book.

  Published by

  Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill

  Post Office Box 2225

  Chapel Hill, North Carolina 27515-2225

  a division of

  Workman Publishing

  225 Varick Street

  New York, New York 10014

  © 2020 by Reid Forgrave. All rights reserved.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020016842

  e-ISBN: 978-1-64375-109-2