Tony DiPardo: Life, Love, Music and Football

By Tony DiPardo

This heart-warming autiobiography blends the magic of music with the thrill of Kansas City football. For almost half a century, Tony DiPardo was the band director for the Knasas City Chiefs. In this humerous, touching, and lively memoir, fans will re-live all the greatest moments of Chiefs football through the unqiue, smiling eyes of the longest running music act in the NFL.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sports Publishing
• Release date: Feb 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781613215029

Book preview

Chapter One

THE ODD COUPLE

I’m a dreamer.

I dream a lot, and I pray a lot.

It just amazes me that so many of my dreams have come true. And all of my prayers have been answered.

I have been on this earth for 92 years, and I consider myself the luckiest man alive. I have my beautiful wife and partner of 63 years, Doddie, and our wonderful family. God has blessed me with good health so that I can still take a deep breath and blow a CHARGE on my trumpet and help lead the Kansas City Chiefs to another victory. I have been blessed with a lifetime of memories and I want to share them with everyone.

Whether I am on the bandstand at Arrowhead Stadium or having dinner at a local restaurant, Chiefs fans keep coming up and asking me the same question.

DiPardo, how did you become such good friends with Dante Hall?

I just love to answer that question. I love to answer it almost as much as I love Dante. He is one of the most special players I’ve met in the 41 years being associated with the Chiefs. I don’t why, or really how, our friendship got started, but it’s grown and developed over the past few years to the point that I consider him a member of my family.

Dante Hall and his No. 1 fan—me!—before a game at Arrowhead Stadium.

On December 8, 2002, the Chiefs were playing St. Louis. It was a big rivalry game and everyone was talking about how the Rams were the best team in the state. Well, they weren’t the best team in the state on that day. And my good friend Dante Hall played one of the biggest roles in the Chiefs’ 49-10 victory.

I didn’t even know Dante before that game. I’d read about him and watched him play the previous season, but I didn’t know him.

Anyone who has ever been to a Chiefs game, with little doubt, knows that I get very excited when the Chiefs score a touchdown or make a big play. But on this particular cold December afternoon, the old man got so excited that my toes tingled and the tears just ran down my face.

It was because Dante returned a kickoff 86 yards for a score. I was sitting in my director’s chair with a Chiefs blanket over my legs just watching the play when, all of a sudden, Dante broke free, he crossed the end zone and ran right up to me and handed me the ball. I was so shocked! I couldn’t believe it!

Dante was giving the ball to me! I’d seen players spike the ball, slam it like a basketball over the goal post, toss it to some fans or hand it to an official, but never had I personally been on the receiving end of getting a football after a touchdown. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was speechless.

I just stood there and looked up in the stands and all the fans were cheering. Of course they were cheering for Dante. But then, they began cheering for the old man, and I just felt so happy and excited. It was a feeling that started in my heart and then went through my body like a rocket. I showed the ball to my daughter, Patti, and we were hugging, and the guys in the band were giving me high fives and I just couldn’t stop thinking about Dante. Why on earth would someone like Dante Hall even think of an old guy like Tony DiPardo?

I soon found out that Dante Hall knew more about me than I did about him.

I’m a guy who likes to do his research, Hall said, sporting an easygoing smile. "When I got to Kansas City, I wanted to know everything about the community, about the team, about the fans—you name it, I found out about it.

While I was doing that research, I kept reading the name Tony DiPardo. I asked people about him and I found out that he was much more than the Chiefs bandleader. He’d played with Sammy Davis Jr., and he toured all over the country with his big band back in the heyday of big band music during the ’30s and ’40s. He was a guy I wanted to meet, to talk with. And I thought to myself, ‘If I ever get the chance to meet him, we’re going to hang [out] and talk music.’

I had no idea that Dante knew anything about me, let alone my background. As we became friends, we never talked about football. Not once. But we sure talk about music and about life in general.

When I ran that touchdown back against the Rams, I was heading into the end zone and I saw Tony. He was standing in front of the bandstand and his arms were up in the air like he was really celebrating, really happy for me, Hall said. It wasn’t planned. I never thought about it once before the game or during the run, but I just ran over and handed him the ball. I could have given it to a fan, or saved it for myself, but I’ll never forget the smile on his face when I gave it to him. I think he was about the happiest person I ever saw.

The Chiefs Hall of Fame broadcaster, Len Dawson, felt much the same way as he called the play from his radio suite in the Arrowhead Stadium press box.

Now you have to remember that I’ve known Tony for more than 40 years, Dawson said, "and I could see how thrilled he was from way up in the press box. While I was broadcasting the game, I wondered why Dante would give Tony the ball. Like everyone else in the stadium, I wondered if they were good friends. I mean, talk about an odd couple—a 20-something kid from Texas and a 91-year-old Italian who is a Kansas City icon.

After the game, I went down on the field to do my report, and as I walked in the 50-yard line tunnel to the field, Tony was walking up from the field and he was holding that football like it was a newborn baby. I went up to him and said, ‘Tony, I just talked to Dante and he wants that football back.’ I was just joking—but the look of horror on Tony’s face kind of scared me. I thought, ‘Oh, my God, I’ve caused Tony DiPardo to have a heart attack.’ I told him I was just kidding, and you could see the relief just wash over his entire body. He smiled and showed me the ball and told me that he was going to ask Dante to autograph it.

I didn’t get the ball signed that day. I knew that Dante was going to be busy talking to all the reporters and I needed to get to another job that night. Christmas parties are big at that time of year. So when I got home later that night, I put it on a shelf in my office. But I knew that I had to meet him soon and ask him why on earth he would do such a wonderful thing.

After the next home game, I went up to the locker room and asked one of the guards if he could get Dante Hall for me. A minute later the security guard came back out and said that Dante was getting treatment. He had been hit really hard that game. So I reluctantly asked the security guard if he would take the ball back in to Dante and ask him to sign it for me. A couple of more minutes passed when all of the sudden the locker room door opened, and there was Dante Hall. I was so surprised and delighted. Standing there in nothing more than a towel because he was getting treatment . . . he wanted to personally meet me and sign the ball in person.

Wow!

He invited me into the locker room and he had me sit in his chair. Imagine that, me sitting in his chair in front of his locker. He told me about his love of music and how he appreciated everything I had done in the music business and we just hit it off.

I didn’t come to Kansas City looking for a 91-year-old friend, Hall said, shaking his head and laughing. But I have one with Tony. I don’t care if he’s 91 or 191. He’s my friend and he’s one of the most special people in my life. When I saw how excited he was after I gave him that ball, I made a vow to myself that every time I scored a touchdown, he was going to get the ball. I told him he was going to have to build a trophy case in his house for all the balls.

And that’s exactly what I have done. And I don’t just have the balls Dante has given me, I’ve had them designed with photos of Dante, the score of the game, the date—they’re made up just beautiful and then Dante signs them for me. The first thing I do whenever a guest comes over to our house is bring them down to my office and show them all my footballs. I still have to pinch myself to think that a player like Dante Hall—a Pro Bowl player with thousands of fans—would think about the old man and give him the touchdown balls.

It’s like I said, I dream a lot. But I could never have dreamed about someone like Dante doing something this special for me. Now I say a little prayer for Dante—not about him scoring a touchdown—but about him playing strong and avoiding any injuries. I pray for all the special people in my life. I want all of them to be safe and happy and as full of love as I am.

When I think about the past 92 years, I just thank God for all the good things that have happened to me. Not many people know this, but I have looked death in the eye and said, It’s not my time to go. It happened back in 1995 when I was driving down Highway 40 in Independence, no more than five miles from my home.

I was thinking about where my lovely wife Doddie and I were going to eat dinner that night. We love to eat out. So while I was driving my van thinking about where we were going to eat that night, the driver in front of me slammed on the brakes. I swerved to the right to avoid hitting them and another car hit me in the side. A blinding light went off in my head; I covered my face and yelled, OH GOD ...

The next thing I knew I found myself on the floor on the passenger side of my van. I couldn’t really feel my arms or my legs and I wondered if this was it. I later found out that my car rolled five times and one of the officers told me that I would have been dead if I had been wearing my seat belt because the steering wheel and dashboard were crushed all the way to the back of the driver’s seat. I usually wear my seat belt, but I didn’t that day. I guess my guardian angel was really looking out for the old man that day.

As I was all curled up like a ball on the floorboard, I began wondering if I was ever going to be able to walk again, and a spray of hot sparks suddenly filled the entire van. It was the Jaws of Life, the equipment they use to cut a person out of an automobile after a serious accident. The rescue units couldn’t get the doors open, so they had to cut me out of the car. I don’t know what was worse, worrying about my injuries or shielding my eyes from those sparks. What seemed liked an eternity actually took about a half hour and soon, those wonderful police officers and firemen were getting me out of the car. One of them recognized me and said, DiPardo, you are one lucky man. I don’t know how anyone could survive something like this.

Remember what I said about prayer?

I was rushed to the hospital and my Doddie was there for me. On my way to the hospital I prayed, Dear Lord, please look over me. And he did—just like he has my entire life. We found out that I had four broken ribs and a punctured lung. Then the bruises began to show up. My entire body was bruised from my neck down to my toes—but not a scratch. When I covered my face and yelled, OH, GOD, He definitely took control of the wheel.

The Chiefs played the San Diego Chargers at Arrowhead that next Monday night—October 9, 1995—and I missed the game. It was the only game I’ve missed in 41 years. Can you believe that? I wanted to go, but my doctor wouldn’t let me out of the hospital. However, my daughter had my red trumpet sitting out on the bandstand that night. Word had gotten around to the ABC announcers what had happened to me. Lynn Swan interviewed my Patti on the air about the accident and my missing my first game. Even though the old man wasn’t blowing his horn, the Chiefs won the game in overtime when Tamarick Vanover returned a kickoff for the winning score. I got so excited watching it on TV in my hospital room that I started to cheer, but my ribs hurt so bad I had to stop. I was lying back in my hospital bed when I got a phone call from Patti. It was one of the most wonderful calls I ever received. Daddy, the Chiefs just gave you the winning game ball over the Chargers, she said. Tamarick, the whole football team, [team president] Carl Peterson and [coach] Marty Schottenheimer voted to give you that ball and Carl came out of the locker room, found me and presented the ball to me for you on behalf of the entire Chiefs organization.

It was the first game ball I ever received and it is down in my trophy case right next to all the balls I received from Dante.

But just between you and me, it’s a lot nicer to have a player hand you a ball on the field than to get one while you’re in a hospital recuperating from a horrible automobile accident.

Chiefs president Carl Peterson presents Patti with my first game bail, October 1995. The Chiefs honored me after an automobile accident forced me to miss my first game.

Now, every time I walk into my office, I look at those footballs and think about all the special things that have happened to me while associated with the Kansas City Chiefs.

Not bad for a poor, little Italian boy from St. Louis.

Chapter Two

A POOR LITTLE

ITALIAN BOY FROM

ST. LOUIS

I wasn’t born with a trumpet in one hand and a book of music in the other.

Oh, no, far from it. I guess you might say my first musical instrument was a small bell that my mother placed around my neck so she could keep track of me as I played around the yard in St. Louis. Our family’s first home was in a rural area. We had some land where my mother and father raised a lot of fruits and vegetables that we ate for our meals. I would wander off and my mom would have to stop doing her chores and try to find me. It was much easier for her to find me when she could hear the clanging of the bell.

In 1884, in a small village near Naples, Italy, Vincent DiPardo and Anna Marie Philipone were born a few months apart and only a couple of streets away. In 1905, their paths had crossed enough times that they, not their families, decided to be married. My beautiful sister, Carmela, was born in 1907. I wish I knew more about my family and their lives in Italy, but we didn’t keep many records back then and we never really talked about what their life was like until everyone was settled in America. I look back on the sacrifices of my parents and just can’t believe everything they must have gone through to give their children a chance to live and succeed in the United States of America.

In 1908, my dad was the first member of the DiPardo family to leave his homeland and set sail across the Atlantic in search of opportunities that lay waiting in America. After being at sea for weeks, he finally landed at Ellis Island in New York with two dreams. First, he wanted to find a job and establish himself. Second, he wanted to make enough money to send for his wife and infant daughter.

I’m not really sure when my dad moved from New York to St. Louis, although I have heard from relatives that many immigrants believed the Midwest was the real land of opportunity. My dad didn’t have a particular skill or craft, so I think he believed his chances were greater to make a better life for himself and his family in the Midwest. I look back on that and thank the good Lord he made that decision.

Dad began working as a laborer in the clay mines right outside of St. Louis. He tirelessly worked morning, noon and night in the mines—digging, scraping, moving, lifting, shoveling. Working and saving his money so he could someday be reunited with his wife and daughter.

Finally, after a few years of heavy labor in the mines, my dad was able to send enough money back to Italy so he could bring my mom and sister to America.

Back in Italy and in neighboring countries, Europe was on the verge of war. My dad was so worried about their safety that he wanted desperately to get his wife and daughter out of Europe and with him on American soil.

Somehow, some way, my mother and little sister were able to escape the invasion and they came to the United States. They made the same journey on a ship, arrived in New York and went through immigration. They took a train and headed to St. Louis. After what must have seemed like an eternity, they were finally reunited with my dad on Thanksgiving Day in 1911. What a wonderful and joyous Thanksgiving that must have been for my family. My mom and dad hadn’t seen each other for nearly three years and my sister Carmela (we called her Lee) didn’t really know who her daddy was. But when they were reunited, they immediately became one happy family.

My parents, Anna Marie and Vincent DiPardo, reunited in St. Louis.

The DiPardo family became bigger on August 15, 1912 when I was born. Much later in life, I would jokingly tell my folks they sure didn’t waste much time in adding me to the family.

We lived on a farm—not a big farm, maybe a couple of acres—that my mom converted into a wonderful garden. She would spend so much time out in the yard, chasing me and my sister and raising most of the food that she would store in a pantry. We didn’t have any electricity or inside plumbing. We heated our home and ate all our meals around a cook stove heated by coal. When we had to use the bathroom, we went outside to a little outhouse. My family was very poor. But we really didn’t know we were poor at the time. We certainly didn’t feel deprived of anything. That was just how families lived back then. And what we didn’t have in money was made up for in love. We didn’t know anyone who had inside plumbing or electricity.

To help pay the bills, my mom and dad took in boarders at our farmhouse. Mom would cook their meals and clean their clothes in return for money to pay the rent.

Anna Marie was an amazing woman, Doddie, my wife, adds to the conversation, on her mother-in-law’s behalf. While out picking tomatoes she went into labor. She goes into the house, has her healthy, happy, dark-haired baby boy, Anthony, and in no time at all she goes right back out to work in the garden. Anyone who has had a baby knows this: That is no easy task, to put it mildly. But she was a strong woman in so many ways. She was all of five foot, maybe 120 pounds—little, but very mighty. I know that is a true DiPardo trait. I think when Tony was born it was a source of comfort and some security for his mom. Here she was in a brand-new country, on a farm, the logistics and lifestyles so different from what she had left behind in Italy. She didn’t speak any English and his dad was away so much of the time working in the clay mines. It had to be rough for her. Tony has such a great love for his mom and dad because his folks were always there for their children filling their house with love and hugs.

The next member of the DiPardo family was brother Al, who was born two years after I was. Soon after that, sister Josephine was born, and then baby sister Mary was the fifth and final child to be born into our family. With five kids and two of us needing to be in school, it was necessary for my mom and dad to move from the rural area into the city. Brandon Avenue in St. Louis was our new neighborhood. We had five kids in a three-room flat. You can imagine what the sleeping arrangements were like. We had a kitchen, my mom and dad had a bedroom and the five kids shared a room. We had two beds. My brother Al and I shared a bed and my three sisters took turns sleeping double in the other bed while one had to sleep on the wooden floor. They would switch off each night taking turns to curl up in a blanket and try to sleep on the cold, hard floor.

Just like the farmhouse, our new home didn’t have an indoor bathroom or plumbing and we still used coal for heat and to cook. But this time we had electricity! However, to use it would cost money, so Mom and Dad wouldn’t use it very often. To this day, I turn the lights off when I leave a room. It’s a habit I got from way back then.

My mom was a good cook. We ate a lot of pasta and vegetables. She grew another fruit and vegetable garden at this house . . . although it wasn’t as big as the one we had at the farmhouse. But we were never hungry or cold.

Let me say that again: We were never hungry or cold in our home. My folks made sure all of us kids were well taken care of. Dad had a lot of love for us kids. We were happy. He always had hugs and kisses for us.

In 1919, The Great War was over and my dad was working two jobs to support his family. He was still a laborer in the clay mines right outside of the city, and then he began lighting the street lamps in our new neighborhood. He would get up very early in the morning to douse the light then go to work in the clay mines. After a full day of hard labor he would come home, have dinner and then go out and light the street lamps each night.

I think I was six or seven when I began helping my dad light those gas lanterns on the street. He’d come home from working the mines, Mom would have supper for all of us and then I’d go with him on his route, which was two blocks from our house to light the lights. The first time I went with him, I remember thinking how high