Celebrating Peyton Manning: He isn't what you think; he's better

This column was originally published Jan. 9, 2016.

DENVER – Everybody knows what Peyton Manning does for the community. We know it in Indianapolis, where since 1999 he did so much for the children's hospital at St. Vincent that in 2007 they renamed the place after him. They know it in New Orleans where he grew up and in Tennessee where he attended college, and they are seeing it now in Denver where he plays for the Broncos.

But nobody knows what Peyton Manning does for the community. Not all of it. Not close.

Because that's the way Manning wants it.

So here's what I did: I came to Denver with the goal of exposing Manning for what he is. He has secrets and I wanted to tell them, and I found some. Did I find them all? No way. He has more, but those aren't skeletons in his closet so much as they're bouquets of roses hidden in there, out of view, small but selfless gestures that Manning does because they are the right thing to do. These are the gestures that shine brightest.

If only they are brought into the open.

So this is me, dragging Peyton Manning into the open. The best thing about Peyton Manning is the best thing about this story: He won't like this story being told.

* * *

At St. Vincent Hospital, people were uncertain. Not scared, not even nervous that Peyton Manning would abandon the Peyton Manning Children's Hospital at St. Vincent, but they were uncertain.

It was the spring of 2012, and Manning wasn't playing for the Colts anymore. He was 1,000 miles away with the Denver Broncos. What about the hospital? What about the kids?

"There was that question," says St. Vincent CEO Jonathan Nalli. "How do we do this?"

Here's how:

With phone calls.

This is one of those stories nobody knows, but know this: Peyton Manning, a future Hall of Famer recovering from career-threatening neck surgery, spent some of that down time in Denver on the phone with kids at the St. Vincent hospital. And he still does.

To this day Manning calls patients at the hospital, not to talk but to listen. He asks about their diagnosis. How are they coming along? What can be done to make their stay better? And he does it only after the parents have been contacted first, making sure it's OK if Peyton Manning calls their kid.

"Nobody has ever said no," Nalli says. "The whole thing is incredibly magical – he gets so impassioned. When Peyton and I talk, you can tell he has such a deep, deep interest in this. He's asking me, 'How are we going to take better care of the kids?' He has kept that connection from Denver. There was never even a gap."

* * *

It's happening in Denver, too.

Stuff we know about already, like the Thanksgiving meals that Manning – through his PeyBack Foundation – provides every year for low-income families. He does that in Indianapolis as well, and the thing is, it grows every year. Last year the PeyBack Foundation provided 800 meals, each meal feeding up to 10 people. This year? It provided 2,000 combined meals in Denver and Indianapolis, feeding up to 20,000 people in both cities. Next year? We'll see, but from year to year Peyton doesn't do less.

That's what we know about Manning's community impact in Denver, along with some other items that are public knowledge. His work for Make-A-Wish, inviting kids to Denver for several days, just like he did at Indianapolis when he was playing for the Colts. The surprise visit in April 2013 to Gateway High School, which had a recent graduate, A.J. Boik, among those killed in 2012 Aurora theater shooting. A visit to an elementary school. His foundation writing checks for more than $1 million in 2014, those checks being divvied among mostly children's groups in Denver, Indianapolis, New Orleans and Tennessee. (In 2013, the checks totaled $581,000. Like I said, from year to year Peyton doesn't do less.)

So how about something we don't know? I went to one of Manning's best friends on the Broncos, tight end Jacob Tamme – his teammate in Indianapolis, too – and asked about the community work. I know what Peyon does, I tell Tamme. Tell me what I don't know.

Tamme breaks into a smile.

"Yeah, I could tell you some stuff," Tamme says, then pauses and stops smiling. "You know what? No. I'm not going to tell you. That's not why he does it, and it doesn't seem right for me to say anything. I'll just let it stay the way it is."

Fair enough. And you know what? It's hard keeping it secret, anyway. Media, social media – everyone's a reporter, and everyone's a blabbermouth. Good news spreads, and people have been spreading the good news of Peyton Manning.

Take his response to the Aurora movie shooting. What he did in the aftermath is known – Manning called victims in their hospital rooms, giving pep talks to strangers – but what he did before those phone calls isn't known. So let me tell you:

"He called (us) that day," says Cindy Kellogg, Broncos vice president of Community Development. "He said, 'What can I do?'"

That's the Manning you know, but don't know. Not until someone blabs it. When he called those shooting victims in the hospital? You're not supposed to know that, either. But we know because a spokeswoman from the Medical Center of Aurora told the Associated Press about those calls. It was a ray of light on such a dark day. She shared it.

How about this: The story of Peyton Manning inviting U.S.Army Sgt. Ryan Patterson, whose wife Kristen is a native of Brookville, Ind., to the Broncos' regular-season finale at Cincinnati. That story has all kinds of cool elements, starting with the fact that Kristen Patterson wrote Manning at the Broncos to ask the favor, but didn't include a way for Manning to get back to her. Manning asked the Broncos to find her, and three months later they did – at North Pole, Alaska, where Ryan Patterson is stationed at Fort Wainwright.

That story went viral after it was posted here at the Indy Star. So how did our paper find out? Because the reporter, Star freelancer Corey Elliot, went to college with one of Ryan Patterson's buddies. Elliott saw a Facebook post by Kristen Patterson that mentioned being in Cincinnati for the game, and meeting Manning eventually. Elliott called the Pattersons and wrote the story. Another story you're not supposed to know.

And here's a part of that story you don't know. When Manning met the Pattersons, he apologized for taking so long to get back to them.

"I got a little behind on my letters," Manning told them.

His letters. He reads them all. Bet you didn't know.

* * *

Back in Indianapolis, PeyBack Foundation executive director Elizabeth Ellis gets frustrated by Manning's privacy. In a good way, of course, but still. It's frustrating.

"I'm very proud of what we do, but he likes to just do it," she says. "And not, you know, get a lot of press about it."

Publicity is the lifeblood of fundraising, and Manning agrees to the occasional press release. But by and large?

"He doesn't want you to know," Ellis tells me.

He doesn't even want her to know. They are in constant contact, email the preferred choice of communication for Manning, and they talk weekly – "if not daily," she says – but in 2007 when St. Vincent renamed the children's hospital in Manning's name, the executive director of his foundation had no idea.

"He never told me!" she says. "He just said, 'There's a press conference you might want to attend.' Listen, this guy is on top of it. He knows exactly what's going on with the foundation. He knows exactly what we're doing, and he's very fluent in the grants. He looks at the recommendations, he studies the lists, and he decides where the money goes. And he writes a lot of notes. He writes children at the Peyton Manning Children's Hospital.

"He probably wouldn't want me to say that."

Too late.

Here's another story Peyton doesn't want us to know. It was the summer of 2012, and the 11-year-old stepson of musician Usher was in a coma after a jet ski accident. The boy, Kile Glover, was dying. Kile's younger brother was struggling so much that a representative of the family reached out to the Broncos and told them that the small boy's favorite player was Peyton Manning. The Broncos told Manning.

Manning called the kid.

These are the things people don't know, things Peyton Manning doesn't want you to know. Things I found out. So a few days later I went back to Jacob Tamme and told him what I'd learned. About the phone calls to the kids in Indianapolis, to the Aurora shooting victims. About the letters he reads. The letters he writes. The phone call to Usher's step–

"Wait," Tamme says. "You know about that?"

I do.

"People aren't supposed to know," he says.

Yes, I tell Tamme. Yes they are.

Please find Star columnist Gregg Doyel on Twitter at @GreggDoyelStar or atwww.facebook.com/gregg.doyel

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