Silent Cry

by Dorothy J. Newton

  A friend of mine and her husband had come into town and came over for a visit. She wanted to know all about the lifestyle of being married to a professional athlete (even my friends thought we were married because Nate always referred to me as his wife in the media). I looked her straight in the eyes and told her Nate was cheating on me and that I wanted to leave him.

  “Do you know for sure?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t have proof, if that’s what you mean, but I know he is cheating. I have something I want to check out. Will you go with me?” I asked.

  She was reluctant, but I didn’t want to go alone, and I persuaded her to tag along. We went to an address on a piece of paper that fell out of Nate’s pocket one drunken night. Jackpot! Nate was actually there! Not only was he there; he was sitting outside, snuggling up with the woman in plain sight. I had suspected this all along, but seeing it with my own eyes was still a shock.

  Reality set in, and I saw red. I made a scene so he would know I was there and then took my friend back to her husband. Afterward, I felt terrible. Not only was I disgusted with Nate, but I was upset for dragging my friend through the ordeal. I didn’t know what else to do but apologize to her. I was truly sorry I had involved her.

  When I got back home, Nate was waiting for me. He begged for my forgiveness, but I was too angry to give it to him. I pleaded with him to give me enough money for an apartment and day care — just until I could get on my feet, and then I would never bother him again. I just wanted to leave. He obviously didn’t want me, so why should I stay?

  Out came Nate’s broken record, playing the same old tune, but this time he added a new note: “Everyone has always abandoned me, Dot. I need you. You are the only person in my life I can count on — the only one who has never let me down, has never left me. I need your help. You can’t leave me.”

  My heart was hardened. In the moment, I might have told him he was forgiven, but I certainly didn’t mean it. Instead, I started planning. I had received payment for some of my work scheduling Nate’s appearances and endorsements and I was expecting an income tax refund of $1,400. It wasn’t much, but I was going to use the money to get out. I knew it would be four to six weeks before the check came, which was enough time to find a cheap and decent day care for Tré while I found a job.

  For weeks, I kept an eye out for that tax refund. It was time to escape. When I went to the mailbox and finally saw an envelope from the IRS, my heart skipped a beat. I ran back into the house and tore it open, but there was no check inside. Instead, there was a notice saying the refund I was expecting had gone to pay property taxes in my name — and I owed an additional $700! I felt crushed by disappointment. Stuck again!

  I had no knowledge about the property. When I called my mother to ask about it, she said she did have property in my name, but she had definitely paid the taxes. There was no way to clear it up quickly; it was going to take some time to sort out. I had no choice but to tell Nate and ask for his help. He graciously paid the remaining balance, and I thanked God that Nate was willing to help, but I was still unhappy that I was financially dependent on him. I decided it was time to position myself for independence. It was time to get a job.

  While Nate was in training camp, I secured a job at First Coppell Bank. Time went by, and Nate and I came to terms with things. We found a place of happiness. I was more at ease because I was earning an income, so I didn’t feel trapped anymore. I could stay, or I could leave. But I couldn’t shake my guilt about living together and not being married, so I started praying about our relationship. I looked back over the past ten months and realized that things had been calm and even. In fact, things were good. I enjoyed being with Nate. He was a good father to Tré. I had no more excuses not to marry him.

  I approached Nate about getting married, and he was open to it. I told him I had been spending a lot of time in prayer and that I could no longer continue living together with him in sin. I told him that if the way things were between us now was the real deal, then I would be happy to become his wife.

  My objection to marrying Nate had been because he wasn’t saved. Nate reminded me that he still wasn’t a Christian. I knew this, but he always encouraged my walk with the Lord, and I attributed Nate’s lack of devotion to his hectic football schedule. I told myself that when football was over for him, he would accept Christ once and for all. The new year was fast approaching, and I wanted to start if off right.

  PART 4

  A Troubled Marriage

  CHAPTER 18

  I Do . . .

  Between a man and his wife nothing ought to rule but love.

  William Penn

  Do you, Nathaniel Newton Jr., take this woman, Dorothy Johnson, to be your lawfully wedded wife?” asked the justice of the peace.

  “I do,” Nate answered.

  “Do you, Dorothy Johnson, take this man, Nathaniel Newton Jr., to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “I do.”

  After a couple of years spent living together, we were married in a simple courthouse ceremony. T. Hayes stood up with Nate, and Sheila stood up with me. We sent announcements to all of our friends, and everyone was shocked — they thought we had been married since Tré was born.

  Nineteen ninety-two was a good year for us. The Cowboys won the Super Bowl at the end of the 1992 season, and Nate went on to play in the Pro Bowl. We spent lots of time together, just the three of us. Nate communicated with me differently now, and I felt more secure. At Easter, he was asked to speak at church, and he surprised me by saying yes! He encouraged me to spend time with the Lord and be active in church. Whenever I asked him to come to church with me, he was always clear that he had too much respect for God to play with him. He’d say, “When I get myself completely together, I’ll start going to church. Right now, I’m just not good enough.”

  In the fall of 1992, the new season had begun, and the Dallas Cowboys were off to a great start. They were winning almost every game, and with every victory, the media focused more attention on Nate. He was their darling. He always gave an entertaining interview, and there wasn’t a sports station on television that didn’t want their moment with him. He had more opportunities for endorsements and appearances than ever before. He had become a hot item overnight.

  I was very busy scheduling appearances for Nate, making sure he was always prepared, packing for him, and attending both home and away games. I had quit my job at Coppell Bank in October because taking care of Nate was a full-time endeavor during the week. On the weekends, I was responsible for entertaining family and guests. The more attention Nate received, the more the old Nate surfaced. Once again, he started drinking too much and coming home late — if he came home at all. When he did show up, he demanded meals or sex. The more this old pattern emerged, the more fearful I grew. This cannot be happening again; we just got married! I reminded him of his promise that things would be different.

  “Dot,” he said, “I’m not perfect, but I promise to do the right things. If you wanted a perfect husband, you shouldn’t have married me.”

  We argued constantly, and his temper grew increasingly violent. He sometimes shoved me or grabbed my throat when he was angry, but he always apologized later. He was drinking all the time. I knew he was drinking and driving, but if I expressed any concerns, it started an argument, and the arguments were physically violent. Once he’d crossed that line, it was easier and easier for him to do. The abuse got worse.

  Nate had a routine. On Wednesday, he went to work. Later, he’d call to see if he had an appearance and, if so, at what time. If there was nothing on his schedule, he’d tell me what he wanted me to cook or pick up for him and when I should have it ready. He’d usually arrive home around 7:00 p.m., eat dinner, and then watch movies in his media room until he fell asleep.

  Thursdays were much the same, only it was more likely he had an appearance. He usually wanted Tré and me to be present at all his appearances. We were rarely on camera, but he wanted us to be there supporting
him.

  On Friday before a game, he stayed home or came home early. He would invite people into town to see the game, and it was my job to entertain them. He would be jolly on Friday night, looking good and being gregarious. By Saturday morning, he would be detoxing and treating me like a servant. People stayed with us every weekend there was a home game, and I was supposed to keep all of his guests out of his way. I also had to make sure Tré made absolutely no noise, fix Nate exactly what he wanted to eat, and serve it when he wanted it.

  On Saturday afternoons before a game, the Cowboys sequestered their players in a hotel to keep them out of trouble. Whether the game was home or away, the Cowboys made sure their players were all safely tucked into a hotel where they could keep an eye on their assets. Then I could relax a little — but not much. I knew at some point Nate would call from the hotel and demand that I drop whatever I was doing to bring him food or his music or anything else he wanted.

  On Sunday mornings of home games, he would come home from the hotel, no matter what time the game started. I had to make sure the house was kept in complete silence and that no one disturbed him. I wasn’t supposed to do anything but be in the room with him, keeping everything perfect. He didn’t want the phones to ring or Tré to bother him, and he always asked, “Did you pray for me?” Sundays were stressful.

  On his way to the game, Nate would call me with his ticket list. He loved to get tickets for people, but he liked waiting until the very last minute before deciding to give the tickets away. I was then supposed to contact everyone and organize everything. It was my responsibility to see to it that his guests arrived comfortably at the game and that I was there with Tré as well.

  It was impossible to make it through the weekend without angering him in some way. T. Hayes would call to give me a heads-up if he knew Nate was angry with me. “I talked to that boy,” he’d say, “and I can tell he’s not gonna be in a good mood.” T. Hayes knew what was going on. If things were really bad, I would call and tell him Nate was hurting me. I sometimes asked him, “Why don’t you talk to Nate?”

  “Nate’s trying, Dot,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy.”

  We always went out to eat with family and friends after the game. After we came home, he’d spend an hour drilling me on every play. I had to pay close attention during the game and not get distracted visiting with other wives, or I’d be in trouble. Then it was time for Nate to hit the streets. Sometimes he came back late that night, and sometimes he didn’t. Whenever he did get home, there would be an argument. I tried my hardest to ignore it, but that didn’t work very often. I knew he would come home sometime, insisting I make him food or have sex — and I didn’t want to give him either. I started to hate him.

  At the end of the 1993 season, the Cowboys won another Super Bowl championship. I worked as Nate’s local agent, scheduling appearances and endorsements and reviewing contracts for commercials. This was now my full-time job. Tré and I attended most of the appearances to watch him sign autographs or appear on television or commercials, but in between we rarely saw him. He turned cold and distant.

  One night, Nate grabbed me by the hair and pulled me around the house. I wanted to call the police, but I just knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Nate always got out of trouble as quickly as he got into it. He could charm his way out of anything.

  Nate spent lots of money on people and was always the life of the party. He gave liberally to my family, including vehicles as well as cash. They all loved him, but it made things worse for me. If one of them made him mad, he took it out on me. If I tried to keep him from giving them things (because it would eventually blow back on me), my family got angry with me. They didn’t understand and thought I was being selfish, trying to keep Nate from sharing with them.

  Then a close friend of mine came to me one day, telling me that Nate had come to her apartment, coming on to her for sex. When I confronted Nate about it, he threatened me, abused me, and choked me. I knew she was telling the truth, but Nate accused her of coming on to him.

  I felt isolated and alone. I desperately wanted help, and part of me wanted to confide in someone, but several things stopped me. First, my friend Lynn was leaving. K-Mart had signed with the Seattle Seahawks, and they were moving to Washington. Telling her seemed pointless. How could she help from Seattle? Plus, each time Nate abused me, I convinced myself it would be the last time. It sometimes felt like I had done something wrong and that when I had been sufficiently punished, the abuse would stop. I was also genuinely afraid that if I went to someone about Nate, they might confront him and make things worse for me. Finally, I believed that if I had to go through all of this in order for Nate to receive Christ, then I was willing to live through it and pay that price.

  So, I told no one. Just God. I cried all of my tears in silence. I poured out my grief and believed I was suffering as a result of my own bad choices, that I somehow deserved this treatment because of my mistakes. Someday I would pay it all back, and this hard part would be over.

  I lived two completely separate lives. One life was inside my home — frightened, abused, angry, and alone. The other life was outside my home — a functional, normal celebrity wife. I remember watching the other wives and wondering about their lives. Were they happy? Were their husbands faithful? Did they struggle with abuse like I did, or were their homes peaceful? Did other celebrity wives go through abuse too, or was there just something wrong with my life?

  I couldn’t wait for the season to be over. I wanted to disappear. It was getting harder and harder to hide the physical abuse, but I knew I had to. If anyone had an inkling of what was really going on, I believed Nate would have killed me.

  After the Super Bowl, the Pro Bowl came around, and we went with Nate to Hawaii. For once, he was completely relaxed, and I didn’t have to worry about extra people, appearances, schedules, or endorsements. It was the nicest time I’d experienced in years.

  When we returned home, the public appearances started up again, and so did Nate’s antics. Now he was constantly in trouble — with women, DUIs, and general bad behavior. In no time at all, he’d gone from media darling to media bad boy. As the press attention turned negative, his reputation suffered. The worse it got in the media, the more he took it out on me. There were times he beat me until I was unable to move. The abuse was happening more frequently, and it was getting more violent. The morning after a beating, Nate would either act as if nothing had happened the night before, or he would be extremely nice to me. I hated my roller-coaster life. I never knew from one moment to the next what to expect from Nate Newton. Sometimes I thought I would go to sleep and it would be my last moment alive.

  The Cowboys continued to do well, and I was extremely busy taking care of Nate and his calendar. The arguments and beatings never stopped, so I just accepted it as part of life. Whenever he was upset, he abused me. Then he would apologize and want to “make things right.” Each time I thought, This is the last thing I’ll have to go through. And of course I was always wrong. I know it sounds crazy, but I honestly thought I deserved the abusive treatment as punishment for my sins.

  I never knew how much money Nate had, and I never cared. I knew he spent lots and lots of money — he had an obsession with cars and dogs — but he didn’t spend it on me. He used only one credit card, American Express. The bill went to his agent in Florida each month, so I had no idea how much he spent or what he spent it on. I received enough money from him each month to pay our household bills, and he paid me for organizing his events and appearances. Since I wasn’t allowed to have many friends or hang out with other Cowboys wives, I didn’t need much money.

  On one occasion, he had so overspent that his agent forwarded the American Express bill to the house for Nate to review. I saw this bill, including charges to Louis Vuitton and fine jewelry stores. Of course, none of these items were for me. But I wondered about the woman he had purchased them for. I wondered if she knew about me. I never shopped lavishly,
and any spending money I received had come from my modest salary at First Coppell Bank and now from scheduling Nate’s appearances. I knew that if I had asked for something, Nate would have given it to me. He was generous with everybody. But I didn’t want to ask.

  One Thursday night, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Nate’s truck, and we were arguing about that credit card bill. I asked him about the charges and who the items were for. Without warning, he hit me in the face over my left eye.

  “It’s my money, b______! You better not ever question me. You have no right to question me about how I spend my money, who I spend it on, where I spend it. Just because you’re my wife doesn’t give you a reason to question my business!”

  The blow left a visible bruise. I knew I couldn’t miss a game without serious consequences from Nate, so I wore big sunglasses and went to the stadium. Sandy Irvin came over, and after she was done loving on Tré, she said, “Dot, can I tell you something?” I looked up at her, wondering if she could see my bruise. Fear gripped me. Can she tell? Can she see it? I felt the lowest I had ever been.

  “Dot, you are a beautiful person,” Sandy said. “You are just so beautiful!” I wanted to burst into tears. It was as if God had sent her to me to remind me that he loved me.

  Every time I summoned the courage to leave Nate or go to the authorities, it seemed like he got into trouble with the law. I told myself I needed to stay and see him through whatever crisis he was in — and then I would go. Each time I stuck with him, he would be grateful, and things would get better for a little while.

  I still felt responsible for Nate’s spiritual condition — that it was my assignment to see him through to salvation. After a beating, I would think, This is the last thing I’ll have to go through, and then it will be good. If it means Nate will come to know the Lord, this will all be worth it. I rationalized that I was keeping the worst of it hidden from Tré, and so I was the only one paying a price. When things started to heat up, I would send Tré to play in his room, or I’d start a movie for him. I never wanted him to be frightened. I knew Nate would never ever hurt Tré. I just wished he felt the same about me.