Missing a brother on this Super Sunday. Watching the game and reflecting on the gains and losses in our relationship
It’s hard to believe the Kansas City Chiefs will play in the Super Bowl again. This year’s Big Game will be their fourth trip to the NFL title game in five seasons, an unimaginable run of greatness.
If quarterback Patrick Mahomes, tight end Travis Kelce and a fierce defense can keep playing at an extremely high level, they might win their third Super Bowl since 2020. It would be their fourth Super Bowl title, including their first one on Jan. 11, 1970.
That’s the game that made me a Chiefs fan. I became a KC fan for one main reason — my big brother Vern (seen above) was cheering for the Minnesota Vikings in that game. The Vikes were a powerhouse, the champs of the mighty NFL, while the Chiefs were the representatives of the fledgling AFL.
It had been formed just a decade earlier, thanks in part to some South Dakotans, and was about to cease to exist, since it had agreed to merge with the NFL under that designation.
It was the Chiefs’ second Super Bowl, since they lost to the legendary Green Bay Packers 35-10 in Super Bowl I in 1967. I didn’t know that in 1970. I just wanted to be for the team that was playing my brother’s favorite team. The Chiefs dominated, winning 23-7, and the Vikings would lose three more Super Bowls in the 1970s.
You know how it is with brothers sometimes. There is an inherent rivalry, a sense of competition in almost everything.
Plus, as a younger brother who looked up to Vern, it was a chance to be at his level. That was something I wanted to achieve for many years.
Because Vernon Lewis Lawrence, the second of seven children and the oldest of the three boys in our family, set a high standard for his younger brother Thomas Henry Lawrence to meet.
Vern was one of the biggest, strongest and fastest kids in his class. I was short, slight and slow. He was confident and outgoing, with more than a touch of arrogance and pride. I was bookish and shy, more comfortable reading and being alone, traits I still have.
Vern — or as we called him, Corker, Corky or Cork — was extremely competitive. I was four and a half years younger and much smaller and less aggressive, so when we played baseball, basketball, football, volleyball or anything else, and God did we play a lot of sports and games, I almost always came out second best.
I can hear him now: “No, Tom, you ALWAYS came in second best.”
Maybe so. I can’t argue with him now. Because Cork died on Oct. 21. He had been diagnosed with neuroendocrine carcinoma, a rare and extremely virulent form of cancer, in late July, and it was ruthless in its war on his body.
Cork hoped to beat it, or at least hold it at bay for a while. But it attacked him mercilessly. By his final days, we were all hoping for peace for him and, frankly, for us.
He was not used to losing a battle, as many people who challenged him found over the years. Cork was a fighter, and we all enjoy a scrap more than we should. You can blame our Irish heritage or a family of seven kids competing for their busy, hard-working parents’ attention — the Lawrences can be a feisty bunch.
That includes with each other. While we are very close and supportive, we have always had our share of disagreements. Cork and I shared a bedroom for 14 years and played sports and games against each other for most of that time, so we were competitive at just about everything.
I was always the little brother, although I ended up slightly taller and, as he would bluntly remind me, much heavier than he was. By the time I was in my late teens, we were more evenly matched, and the games got more interesting.
We spent a fair amount of time together as young men, and Cork was always good about including me in things, knowing my nature was to me more reclusive. That’s something I have reflected on in these last three months.
For too long, I allowed the squabbles and battles of our youth to darken my memories of him. I had overlooked the many times he was there for me, supporting me, spending time with me, making sure I was OK.
That’s something I will regret.
I was always more emotional, more willing to reveal my feelings. Cork was usually silent and stern. But in recent years, he told me he loved me more than a few times, and that both stunned and pleased me.
A few years ago, we were arguing at his home over nothing, really, and I was ready to head back to South Dakota. Looking back, I was more to blame for this dispute but I was determined to leave, and I told Grace to pack up.
She was, as always, perplexed that family members could have such flashes of temper. “Vern,” she said. “Tom loves you very much.”
“I love him,” he immediately replied. “He is my brother.”
I was surprised and chastened, and the anger vanished. He cooked breakfast and we had a good couple days together. I am very glad about that, and for Grace’s cool, wise nature.
In his last two decades, he changed a lot. His four kids and 11 grandchildren were the primary focus of his life. Cork baked hundreds of cookies every December for his clients and his family.
My big, tough brother — making cookies? That was another side of him. But I also remember when he was a young teen, when he made giant pancakes for Grandpa Lawrence and himself when they would spend time together. In his own way, he was always a caregiver, a protector, a strong force for the people he loved.
Cork worked hard to assist his family, and that’s something he was proud of — but he also realized the price he paid.
He told our sister Mary that he wished he had taken more vacations, done more trips, invested time in his family and personal life. But another family trait is working long hours and investing a lot of our energy into our jobs. Cork did that for six decades.
We worked together on the farm, and his strength and seemingly endless supply of energy was a great asset. He played football, basketball, baseball and other sports, and yet still made sure to throw thousands of bales, drive a tractor for hours in the heat of a South Dakota summer and join Dad in the barn for milking.
He settled in the Chicago area with his family, so we didn’t see each other that often in the last 30 years. Cork came home to South Dakota on a regular basis to see family, and I was able to see him most of those times.
I made trips to Chicago in 2004 and 2018, and we had good times, seeing the Cubs and White Sox and enjoying family time together. I went back in late July after his diagnosis, and he was weak, tired and upset.
At times, he raged against the horrible news, but also was determined to try to last as long as possible. We hoped for another year or more, but the prognostication of as little as three months proved all too accurate.
The last couple nights I was there, we were alone at night, watching TV and talking. He leaned on me for some help, and I was glad to have the opportunity to be close to him.
We talked quietly and shared some hours together, like we did as boys. Those are times I will treasure.
Sunday would have been his 70th birthday. The Super Bowl has taken on a special meaning for us this year, since he loved football so much. Cork so wanted his beloved Vikings to finally win a championship, but it turned out that wasn’t in the cards, at least not yet.
They went 0-4 in the title contest in the 1970s, and haven’t been back to the Super Bowl for more than four decades.
I will cheer hard for my Chiefs on Sunday. Another championship would be amazing and like millions of other fans, I am enjoying this tremendous ride. But like all of us in our family, our hearts will be a tad heavy on this unofficial national holiday.
We didn’t expect Cork to be gone so quickly, so soon and so horribly. He was our big brother, the strong and tough guy who people could always rely on.
I did for decades, and I will miss him for the rest of my life. Hell, I might even root for the Vikings to finally win it all someday. It has to happen eventually, doesn’t it?
But not this year. Go Chiefs!
Tom Lawrence has written for several newspapers and websites in South Dakota and other states and contributed to The New York Times, NPR, The Telegraph, The Daily Beast and other media outlets.
