Walking Away
Jerry Markbreit doesn’t know what he’s going to do next.
He does know that when the 1998 NFL football season ends, he’ll walk off the field for the last time. He knows he’ll second-guess his decision for at least another two or three years. He also knows that his legs are worn out, that he can’t get through a game without the pain getting to him.
Jerry Markbreit knows it’s time to retire. He just doesn’t know what that’s going to mean.
“The place where I feel the most comfortable in my life is on a football field, dressed in that zebra outfit,” Markbreit says. “When that ends, that comfortable place will be gone because I don’t feel that comfortable in real life.”
Strange words from a man who has spent the better part of the last 20 years making America feel comfortable as they watched him click on the referee’s microphone and explain penalty after penalty in his fatherly way. It is that quality that helped make Markbreit a minor celebrity and prompted people on the street to stop him as if he were an old friend — even if they sometimes can’t quite remember how they know him.
He built his reputation by being the right referee doing the right things in the right games at the right time. On the field he’s in the spotlight, a leader. He does his job with measured control, ease and confidence. Off the field he’s uncomfortable with his celebrity. You get the feeling he’d be happier if nobody ever did any magazine stories about him.
As retirement nears, you can’t say Markbreit has come full circle because he never went away. Through four Super Bowls and one incredible career, Markbreit never forgot where he came from.
“People ask, ‘When you retire, won’t you miss the celebrity?'” says Markbreit. “I say, ‘I have loved the celebrity while I was officiating, but it didn’t make my life. In many ways it’s very embarrassing to have people constantly saying, ‘What game are you on this week’ and ‘How are the Bears going to do?’ It would be nice to just hear, ‘Hi Jerry. How are you?’ I don’t like to broadcast my accomplishments. I just like to be Jerry Markbreit, Skokie resident, and let my actions speak for themselves.”
The Man Behind the Referee
Spend any amount of time with Markbreit and you begin to get a sense of the man. He’s shy, somewhat guarded. He looks at his watch a lot and you wonder if he’s anxious to be somewhere, or if he’s simply anxious. Dig deeper; force your way beyond the outward veneer and a whole world opens up. It’s a world of contradictions and consistencies. It’s the real world and it’s definitely the world in which Markbreit grounds himself.
His house is a crazy-quilt of paintings and cats, and, for a first-time visitor, trying to take it all in can lead to sensory overload. Markbreit’s wife, Bobbie, painted most of the art that literally covers the walls and her talent is obvious. Jerry doesn’t paint. He will, though, lead you to a small office filled to capacity by a desk and a filing cabinet and little else, except for the dozens of framed photographs covering the walls. If the rest of the house is a reflection of Bobbie, this room, then, is Jerry.
The first thing you notice about the photographs is the singular theme that runs through them. They tell the tale of Markbreit’s officiating life. There are images of Markbreit working games in the NFL, the Big 10 and high school, pictures of the many crews he’s been associated with and the many friends he’s made in the officiating community. One thing you don’t see, though, is any photo of players or coaches. There are no autographs, no game balls, no memorabilia of any kind other than officials and the act of officiating.
“I’m a football official,” he says. “That’s what I am. That’s the best part of me. I think that my personality is what you see in the officiating world. That’s me. But I don’t allow it to come out in my everyday life. It’s allowed to come out on the football field, but when I’m sitting in Sarkis’ Cafe, I sit in the corner and I talk quietly with a few friends. I don’t take over the conversation and I’m not in charge. I’m not blowing whistles or throwing flags. When I come off the field, I’m just ‘Joe Dokes’ again, coming home to throw the garbage out and clean the cat litter. I’m just a quiet guy at home who enjoys sitting and watching a good movie or a good ballgame. I’m not in charge at home.”
So who is? Bobbie Markbreit is as much a complement to her husband as he is to her. It’s hard to imagine either of them with a clear upper hand. “We’re similar in a lot of ways,” he says. “We’re both very emotional. We can both sit in a movie and cry and know that each of us is crying at the same time.” A moment later he contradicts himself. “She’s everything that I’m not,” he says. “She’s extremely sensitive and deep feeling and can walk into a crowd of people who she doesn’t even know and become the center of attention. She calls me anti-social because I can stand in a corner and not talk to anyone and I’m perfectly happy.”
Spend some time with Markbreit and you’ll notice he constantly downplays his accomplishments and his considerable position in the officiating world. You start thinking that maybe Markbreit is the only one who doesn’t know that he’s reached the absolute pinnacle of his profession, that Skokie is too small of a pond to hold a heavyweight like Jerry Markbreit. But then you hear him talk about his self-imposed position in the community and you begin to understand why Markbreit holds his hometown so precious.
“People know me because they want to know me,” he says. “I go to this little restaurant every morning and my friend, Sarkis Tashjian, kisses me every morning and I kiss him. And everybody in there knows everybody. It’s just a meeting place for people of all different professions, from bricklayers, to bank presidents, to judges. I love that place because it’s a microcosm of the real world. People aren’t impressed with what you do in there. People like you for you. And that’s the way I like the world to be.”
Jerry Markbreit is a man who can find a universe in a restaurant and be perfectly content to be the faintest star in the sky.
Born to the Role
But the other side of Markbreit, the side he calls the best part of him, travels in a different orbit. He says he gets a certain feeling when he runs out onto the field at gametime. Markbreit is 63 years old now and he doesn’t run like he used to, but he says when he hits that field running, he still feels like Superman bursting out of a phone booth.
Markbreit was born to his role. He began his officiating career after failing as a player at the University of Illinois, where he played on the freshman squad. He signed up to referee the intramural program and figured his life in athletics was over after graduation, but Dame Fate would not allow it. Markbreit’s high school coach, Ellie Hasan, invited his former pupil to attend a local officials association meeting before the 1956 season. Markbreit attended the meetings, studied the rulebook and asked questions. He bought a complete uniform, put it in a duffel bag that he stored in his car and waited for the phone to ring. It never did.
Frustrated, Markbreit gave up. The next summer, Hasan called to find out why Markbreit hadn’t attended the first association meeting. “I didn’t work a single game last year,” Markbreit complained. Hasan shot back, “You didn’t know anything and you would have made a lot of mistakes.”
Properly chastened, Markbreit decided to stick it out and before long was working junior varsity games in the Chicago area, even waiting around in his car after games hoping there might be a vacant spot on the varsity crew.
As Markbreit’s schedule and reputation grew, so did his desire to work bigger games. In 1965 he broke into the Big 10. Two years later, in 1967, he was offered a job in the pros but turned it down to pursue what he really wanted: the referee position. The NFL came calling again in 1976 and this time Markbreit accepted. His earlier decision paid off when, after one season in the pros, Markbreit took over his own crew.
Leading the Crew
“My job as referee has always been to get this group together so that they mutually respect and like each other,” says Markbreit. “When you’re the referee on a crew, you’re truly the leader of that crew. And the men on that crew expect you to be the leader and expect you to field all the problems, anything that comes up during the season or with any of the men on the crew. You’ve got to get involved in order to keep the crew together.”
Markbreit’s leadership goes beyond his own crew. His reputation and longevity in the NFL have afforded him an elder statesman status that only a few others have achieved. Former crewmates and other officiating friends often call him to discuss not only officiating, but also other crucial elements of their lives. They call him seeking advice and wisdom, or simply to have someone listen. His relationships transcend his official capacity and his role tends to become something more akin to brother or father.
But Markbreit characteristically downplays the respect his peers have afforded him. “I’m sure they go to other veteran officials as well. It’s not just me,” he says. “I have a very good relationship with almost all of the men who have worked with me over the years. They call me a lot and we talk about certain things, and it makes me feel good to know they still regard my opinions even though they’re not on my crew anymore.”
For all his humility Markbreit understands better than most his place in the entire NFL scheme. He has a reverence for the officials who were there when he was an up-and-comer, men like Norm Schachter, Red Cashion and his own mentor, the late Tommy Bell. He’s also acutely aware of the officials who will take his place. “I was off last weekend so I turned on my satellite and watched the young referees in our league,” he says. “They’re all young and snappy and sleek, and I see myself 20 years ago. I don’t feel it’s right for me to stay around forever and keep some terrific young official from being a referee in the NFL because my ego won’t allow me to retire.”
Howard Wertz mentored Markbreit in the Big 10. “He taught me how to speak, he taught me how to address players and he taught me how to signal,” remembers Markbreit. “He did all those things, and then he told me, ‘The only thing you can give back to officiating is what I’m doing for you. Never forget it. You can take from officiating throughout your whole career and never give anything back and nobody will know the difference. But if you give back by helping other people the way I’m helping you, you’ll get much more pleasure out of what you’re doing, because you’ll see people in later years doing those same things.'”
Markbreit doesn’t simply recite that lesson, he lives it. Every year young officials come to him for advice or to have him look at one of their game tapes and Markbreit does everything he can to help. “There’s a young referee who was going to come to one of the clinics that I was at. He had a dilemma and didn’t know what to do,” says Markbreit. “He had a chance to work a spring game at one of the universities in the Atlantic Coast Conference or come to the clinic. I advised him to work the spring game because the conference people would get a chance to see him. As a result, he was taken into the conference and got a schedule. He wrote me a letter saying he was so happy I had contacted him and given that advice. He sent me one of his tapes that I looked at and now we correspond.” That story is typical of Markbreit, who estimates he advises 10 such officials a year.
A Pen Pal Named Charlie
Few people are aware that Markbreit has another pen pal he’s been communicating with for the past 11 years. In January 1987, after Markbreit worked Super Bowl XXI, he received a letter addressed to him in care of the NFL. It was from a boy named Charlie Stacey asking for a photograph and saying that Markbreit was his favorite referee. Markbreit was flattered. He wrote a letter back to Charlie and sent along some memorabilia from the Super Bowl.
Shortly after Markbreit sent the letter he received a call from Charlie’s father. “He told me that Charlie had cerebral palsy and that he spent most of his time in a wheelchair,” said Markbreit. “He told me Charlie was 11 years old, he loved pro football and that he had a jersey with my number on it. Every time he would see me officiate, he would put that jersey on. From that moment on, we became pen pals.”
Today, Charlie is 23 years old and although he is unable to write directly to Markbreit himself, his mother sends Markbreit updates on Charlie a few times per year and a Nieman Marcus chiffon pie every Christmas. Markbreit still writes Charlie a letter every week during the football season and once a month in the offseason. “I write about interesting tidbits that he wouldn’t see on television, mistakes that I feel I’ve made and little snafus that I wouldn’t discuss with anyone else.”
Markbreit even confided to Charlie his decision to retire before he announced it to the rest of the world. “I told him my reasons for retiring and I’m sure he understands,” says Markbreit. “It won’t end our relationship because I’ll continue to communicate with him regardless of what I’m doing, whether I’m connected to football or not.”
Going Home for Good
Does that mean Markbreit might stay involved with the game somehow? “I hope to do something,” he says. “I hope that I will be asked to do something with the NFL when I retire.”
Last year, long before he announced his retirement, Markbreit was elected to a new three-year term as executive director of the Professional Football Referees Association (PFRA), the NFL officials’ organization he has served since 1992. He says he will serve out his term despite his departure from the field.
Little slivers of doubt seem to cross his face every time he mentions leaving the field, but they pass quickly. “It’s going to be tough to give it up,” he says. “But everything ends. I just don’t want people to say, ‘Jerry Markbreit used to be a good official but he stayed around too long.'”
And now, with just a handful of games left, Markbreit can see the results of a career well spent as he prepares in these final weeks for life off the field.
“I was watching a couple of our guys earlier this year making certain signals and they were my signals,” he says with a touch of uncharacteristic pride. “They may not know they’re my signals, but I was the one who came up with those signals. It made me feel good.”
Jerry Markbreit still doesn’t know what he’s going to do next. There’s his PFRA work, his mornings at Sarkis’ Cafe and his little home in Skokie with Bobbie. “I’m going to work these games and I’m going to retire,” he says. “And I’m going to walk away with a big smile on my face.” After almost a half-century of football seasons, the small-town boy who made good is going home for good.
