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COLUMBIA Daryl Perry always will wonder what might have happened if he hadn't decided to drop in on his brother, William, that afternoon in early April.
The two men live perhaps 9 miles apart in their hometown of Aiken, S.C. In fact, most of the 10 surviving Perry siblings – a brother, Freddie, and a sister, Vivian, died in recent years – live near one another and their widowed 82-year-old father, Hollie.
It's a close family, emotionally as well as in physical proximity. But its members also believe in giving one another their space. Still, Daryl knew that Perry – aka “The Fridge,” the literally larger-than-life former football player who 25 years ago starred at Clemson and then with the Chicago Bears – had not been feeling well.
In June 2008, Perry was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrome, a chronic inflammation of the peripheral nerves that causes muscle weakness and even paralysis. He was hospitalized for five months, and the condition still sometimes was taking its toll.
Daryl discovered William, 46, lying in bed, dehydrated and weak, and called the paramedics. “I was talking to him, but he seemed so out of it, he wasn't responding,” he said. “He had a dazed look on his face.”
A week later, the world learned The Fridge was in intensive care at Aiken Regional Medical Center. A spokeswoman told ESPN.com that week that Perry's condition was “serious.”
“The doctor (Gerald Gordon) explained the side effects and best case-worst case” scenarios, Daryl Perry said. “He could've died. It depends on his rehab; if he stays on it, he can have a full recovery.”
Nearly three months later, Perry continues to fight back. He was released from the hospital in late May, and is undergoing physical rehabilitation in Charlotte, near where his younger brother (and former NFL standout), Michael Dean Perry, lives
His rehab is scheduled to last three more weeks. “He's getting better each and every day,” Michael Dean said recently. “This thing (Guillain-Barre) has to run its course, and you have to stay on top of it.”
Perry, whose weight during his playing days hovered between 300 and 350 pounds on a 6-foot-2 frame, at one point lost between 100 and 150 pounds, down to an estimated low of 220. But Michael Dean said his brother was up to 275 pounds a week ago; he and their sister Patsy often go through physical therapy with Perry to encourage him.
Michael Dean said his brother still is not able to discuss his illness or recovery, though.
“Call back in a month. Maybe then Perry can get involved” in an interview, he said.
The question now is: How did this happen? How did William Perry, almost more ubiquitous in modern culture after his NFL career than during it – making guest appearances on TV shows, at hot-dog eating contests and wrestling matches, endorsing everything from camouflage hunting and fishing gear to Kentucky Fried Chicken – plunge into such a state?
GBS, an auto-immune disease that causes the body's own defenses to attack nerve cells, disrupting signals from the brain, is only part of the answer. The Web site for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says while 5percent to 6percent of GBS sufferers die, most eventually recover completely or nearly so – with proper treatment.
“He wasn't doing that for a while,” Michael Dean said. “He was feeling pretty good and thought he could do it on his own.
“Most men are private, anyway. So he's not going to reach out because, as a man, that's what you do. You tough it out, athletes especially.”
Hard to believe a man known for his famous gap-toothed grin, a man surrounded by a loving family and an adoring public, apparently could feel so alone.
An Aiken legend
In Aiken, Perry's legend began growing early and hardly ever diminished. Tales of his athletic ability, and his prodigious appetite, still are told in this town, located about 20 miles northwest of Augusta, Ga., known more for raising horses than football studs.
Former Clemson assistant coach Chuck Reedy remembers being told in 1976 of a 6-1, 256-pound high school freshman who ran a then-amazing 4.7-second 40-yard dash and could dunk a basketball from a standing start. The Tigers began recruiting Perry then and never stopped.
He arrived at Clemson in time to anchor the defensive line on the Tigers' 1981 national championship team. Teammate Bill Smith, now living in Columbia, recalled Perry's domination of Nebraska's Outland Trophy-winning center, Dave Rimington, in the Orange Bowl victory.
Perry's star turned supernova in 1985, when the Bears made him the 22nd pick of the NFL draft. Mike Ditka, Chicago's coach, said the selection was a no-brainer.
“He was 310 when we had him and a (heck of a) athlete,” Ditka said. “For 30 yards, he was as quick as most you find, just a really good football player. We didn't have anyone who could block him, so I thought maybe nobody in the NFL could, either.”
Timing, again, was everything. With Perry on defense, the Bears went 15-1 and won Super Bowl XX; en route, Perry was prominently featured in the “Super Bowl Shuffle” video, and his Super Bowl ring (size 25) became the largest in history.
“We had fun with it,” Ditka said. “He was really quick for 10 yards, so we said, ‘What if we put him in the backfield in front of (All-Pro running back Walter) Payton?'“ Thus was born the Bears' goal-line attack: Perry blocking and, later, carrying the ball, bursting through defenders and thunderously spiking the ball.
“He became a folk hero,” Ditka said. “People loved him, that big smile.”
Madison Avenue found in Perry an all-purpose celebrity hawker. While still with the Bears in 1986, he was immortalized as a 33/4- inch “G.I. Joe” action figure. Though Chicago, frustrated with Perry's weight problems, sent him to the Philadelphia Eagles in mid-1993 – he retired from the World League of American Football's London Monarchs in 1996 – his fame would only grow.
With agent Adam Plotkin of the National Organization of Professional Athletes and Celebrities, Perry embarked on an endorsing, huckstering blitz. He boxed 7-7 NBA player Manute Bol, took part in “Wrestlemania,” and participated in the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest.
Perry also made numerous TV appearances until recently. This month, in a rerun of ABC's “According To Jim,” The Fridge had an episode-opening cameo. Plotkin won't discuss his client's finances, but through a group called TSE Speakers, Perry commanded upwards of $15,000 per appearance.
There were unhappy moments – Perry and his wife, Sherry, were divorced, with her keeping their 18,000-square-foot mansion in Aiken – but he since has remarried and reportedly maintained relationships with his four children.
‘The Fridge Fund'
Perry's illness was common knowledge in his close-knit hometown, at least at first.
“He got better and was doing real good at first, up and walking,” said Charlie Timmerman, an Aiken veterinarian who has known Perry since childhood. It was Timmerman who, at a recent local Clemson booster IPTAY meeting, helped start “The Fridge Fund” (www.fridgefund.homestead.com), to which friends and fans can donate to help allay Perry's growing medical expenses.
Donations have been slow, said Frank Townsend of Aiken's Southern National Bank, which is supervising the fund. “People are just starting to hear about it,” said Townsend, who grew up with Perry and attended Clemson when The Fridge did.
Part of the reason for Perry's relapse, friends said, was that he did not have the money or insurance to pay for treatment.
“When it hit him the second time (in April), William didn't have the money to get it done, so he quit” getting treatment, Timmerman said.
“I saw him this last time while he was in the hospital, and sometimes he didn't recognize people. He thought I was coach (Danny) Ford one day.”
Early in the disease's progress, Perry sometimes needed a wheelchair. “He'd be tired, said his legs hurt (a common symptom of GBS),” Michael Dean Perry said. “He kind of brushed it off, to the point he didn't want to get up and walk or do anything.”
Then Feb.26, Perry attended an autograph show in Rosemont, near Chicago, that drew a number of players and coaches from the 1985 Bears. Among them was Ditka, who said he was stunned at Perry's appearance.
“I noticed how much weight he'd lost, and he really didn't look good,” Ditka said. “He wasn't coherent; he just looked at me and nodded his head.”
Perry's trip to Chicago, though, helped things get better for him. A newspaper story relating his condition was read by Ken Valdiserri, a former Bears executive who is president of Gridiron Greats, an organization dedicated to helping former players with health issues.
Valdiserri contacted Plotkin and soon was in touch with Ditka. When they learned of Perry's hospitalization in Aiken, they tried to get him transferred to Northwestern University's Memorial Hospital. But they ran into a major roadblock: money.
“If we brought him here, it would've cost in excess of $350,000 because of the level of therapy, eight to 12 weeks of constant supervision,” Valdiserri said. “He could get the necessary treatment there, but would we be able to foot the bill?”
That led to a three-way, 90-minute conference call involving Valdiserri, Ditka and James Silwa, chief medical officer at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago. Silwa, in turn, called on a connection at Carolinas Rehabilitation.
“Silwa got him in there at no charge,” said Valdiserri, who noted Perry is registered under an alias. The cost if Perry had to pay for treatment?
“Hundreds of thousands,” Michael Dean said.
Michael Dean Perry watches as his brother does water therapy in a pool, rebuilding his strength and motor skills, “the whole gamut,” Michael Dean said.
“William can walk a little bit now, use his hands – but not to the point where he can do things on his own.”
Three more weeks of rehab to go.
