How Peter Skoronski is following his beloved grandfathers footsteps into the NFL

Peter Skoronski wasn’t tall enough to see over a countertop when his father told the head coach at Maine South High School in Park Ridge, Ill., “I’ve got a tackle for you.”

David Inserra, who has won four state championships and 21 conference championships in 22 years at Maine South, could have been excused if he rolled his eyes. He did not, because he knew where Peter came from.

When Peter was in eighth grade, his grandfather attended one of Peter’s football games. After six plays, he turned to Peter’s father and said, “That’s a Big Ten tackle there.”

It was at Peter’s first practice at Maine South — his first practice — when Inserra knew. He was, he thought, looking at a future NFL player.

Not long after, Lovie Smith knew. Peter was a high school sophomore who had played about one half of a season at the varsity level when Smith offered him a full ride to the University of Illinois.

Smith was the first of more than 30 college coaches to make an offer to Peter. He chose Northwestern. On his first day there, coach Pat Fitzgerald saw it. Yes, Fitzgerald noted, this was going to be a high first-round pick in the NFL Draft.

And soon, almost certainly, he will be.

Explaining this merely as destiny would diminish Peter’s thorough commitment to fulfilling it — his dedication and focus, his humility and perspective and his eagerness to embrace a legacy that could have been onerous.

But explaining it any other way than destiny would be ignoring the alignment of the stars in the sky.

To understand, we must go back to a plane ride from Green Bay to Philadelphia more than 62 years ago on Christmas Eve. The Packers were playing the Eagles for the NFL title two days later, and Bob Skoronski planned to spend time with his family on the East Coast after the game. He asked coach Vince Lombardi if he could bring his wife and three children on the chartered flight.

It was a bold ask.

Skoronski was the left tackle charged with protecting the blind side of Bart Starr and a force in one of the most dominant plays in NFL history — the Packers sweep. And he was more — a very pillar of the Lombardi dynasty, one of nine who played on all five of Lombardi’s championship teams. For five seasons, he was the sole captain of the offense — handpicked by Lombardi.

The coach thought so much of Skoronski that he granted his request to allow his family to fly with the team.

As the Packers and the Skoronski family disembarked from the Douglas DC-6 at Philadelphia International Airport on Dec. 24, 1960, a photographer from the Associated Press took a picture that was published in newspapers across the country. Bob is carrying two of his sons Bob Jr., 3 1/2, and Ron, 4 months. Lombardi is helping with the other, Steve, 19 months.

That photo was the initial hint to the world that Bob Skoronski’s football story would not end with Bob Skoronski.

Packers lineman Bob Skoronski, left, and coach Vince Lombardi holding Skoronski’s sons, Bob Jr., left, Ron and Steve. (Associated Press)

It was about 17 years ago when I first had a hunch I would be writing this story one day.

Peter was 4 years old. His father and I volunteered to help with Vacation Bible School at St. Paul of the Cross Catholic Church in Park Ridge and were assigned the roles of “snack ladies,” which we performed to the best of our limited capabilities.

Peter was too young to participate in Bible school, but he tagged along with his dad and older siblings. There was something about his build and demeanor even back then.

His father became my dear friend. His gracious mother later presided over a family catechism class in the basement of St. Paul of the Cross that enhanced both our families. The kids sang and read to us. We reflected on where we were all heading and how we planned to get there.

To Peter, Bob Skoronski was “Dziadzi” — Grandpa in Polish.

Dziadzi’s son Bob Jr. was quite a football player himself. He started every game over four seasons at Yale and was voted All-Ivy League. Bob Jr. is Peter’s father.

As a young boy, Peter didn’t know that tens of thousands stood and roared when Dziadzi walked out of the tunnel at Lambeau Field, or that there is a bronze football with his name and likeness in the Packers Hall of Fame, or that Starr lobbied for him to be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

But theirs was an extraordinary relationship from the start. Peter doted on Dziadzi. Bob Jr. recalls Peter crawling on his grandfather as the big man lay on the couch.

When Peter was little, he and his siblings, Elizabeth and Robbie, spent time with Dziadzi and their grandmother Ruth Ann in Madison, Wis. During the day, Elizabeth and Robbie went to a summer camp, and Peter had Dziadzi all to himself. That usually meant a trip to the bakery for doughnuts, an errand or two, and a stop at a toy store for a DVD, maybe from the “Scooby Doo” collection. Then they watched the movie together.

In Wisconsin, love of the Packers might be rivaled only by love of frozen custard. Dziadzi was closely associated with both. Peter also developed an affinity for the dessert — his sister and brother nicknamed him “Custard” — which further solidified his bond with Dziadzi.

As Peter grew, he became more curious about Dziadzi’s football career. Dziadzi was not one to talk about himself without prompting, but he did his best to answer Peter’s questions. He showed Peter his championship rings. Dziadzi was especially proud of the rings from Super Bowl I and II because he not only won them but he helped design them and sold them to the Packers as a representative for Jostens.

Sometimes Peter wandered into an area of Dziadzi’s basement where photos hung from his playing career. Peter named it “The Dziadzi Hall of Fame.”

Now Peter has a copy of one of those pictures — Dziadzi blocking a Chiefs defender — displayed in his Evanston apartment.

Instead of backing the Bears like almost all his friends, Peter became a Packers fan. His uncles Steve and Ron took him to Lambeau Field almost yearly. Peter was vociferous when watching his team on TV, so much so that his mother, Anne, relegated him to the basement when the Packers played.

For show and tell in fifth grade, Peter brought a photo from the cover of Sports Illustrated — the coin toss at the first Super Bowl, with Dziadzi and Willie Davis shaking hands at midfield with the captains of the Chiefs.

Peter researched Dziadzi and the legendary teams he played on, watching all the videos that showed up on his search engine. He read books about the Lombardi era and dogeared every page that mentioned Dziadzi. In sixth grade, Peter did a book report and speech on “When Pride Still Mattered” and dressed like Lombardi.

On jersey day at school and on Halloween, Peter wore a Packers jersey with Dziadzi’s number, 76. He took the number when he played at Maine South. At Northwestern, 76 wasn’t available, so Peter wore 77.

The people who have been closest to both don’t need the number to see the similarities.

“I watch my son walk from the huddle to the line and get in his stance,” Bob Jr. says. “I see the way he runs, the way he holds his hands, his motions and mannerisms. It’s all reminiscent of my dad.”

Former Packers offensive tackle Bob Skoronski with his grandson Peter Skoronski. (Courtesy of the Skoronski family)

When Peter was in middle school, he played with my son Michael on a soccer team, the Leopards. I was the head coach and Peter’s father was an assistant.

Peter was a heck of a defender. He could use both feet better than most other kids and take care of the left sideline.

Of course he could. He eats and writes with his left hand but bats and throws with his right.

Peter says he was more physical on the soccer field than he should have been. I didn’t think so. To me, his presence and his approach to being on that team made the rest of us better.

Peter, age 6, repeatedly threw a football in the air and caught it, thinking about playing in a league like some of his friends.

His father told him to forget about it. Peter begged. His father wouldn’t budge. Peter sobbed.

“I counted down the days until I could put pads on,” Peter says.

That would be many days, as Peter was not allowed to play until he was 12. And then it was house league only. Even though football had been his family’s lifeblood, Bob Jr. never pushed his son into the sport.

In his second year of football, Peter made a cut on a turf field and felt his knee buckle. It didn’t hurt much, and he wanted to keep playing. His coaches, Chicago firefighters with medical training, wouldn’t let him.

It turned out Peter had torn his ACL and needed surgery. During nine months of rehab, his father pushed him, introducing Peter to skipping rope and lifting weights.

“My dad, you know how he can be,” Peter says. “He was on me about this not happening again. If he had not been, I could have taken a different path. He foresaw my future and pushed me. Thank God he did.”

At the time of his injury, Peter weighed about 185 pounds. When he returned to football a little less than a year later, he weighed 220.

As Peter prepared for his high school debut, he had doubts because of his knee and inexperience. Inserra did not, however, and that gave Peter confidence. By the end of his freshman season, Peter was called up to varsity, and he contributed to a team that won the state championship. He also joined the basketball and track teams.

As a sophomore, Peter became a varsity starter at left tackle and quickly was one of the most dominant players in the state — he had 17 pancake blocks in one game.

Like Dziadzi, Peter was unnaturally strong. His squat, clean and bench press total of 1,190 pounds at Maine South set a school record.

To Inserra, he was the smartest kid on the field — so much so that he never repeated a mistake. Intelligence is in the blood. Gary Knafelc, a teammate of Dziadzi’s, told Packers.com that Bob Skoronski was “probably the smartest guy on our ballclub.”

At Maine South, Peter was a Maine Scholar — meaning his grade-point average was in the top 1 percent of his graduating class. Peter was selected to the constitution team and was a member of the National Honor Society.

Peter always made friends easily, too.

During Peter’s sophomore year of high school, his teammate Jack Gorman and his family took Peter to a Northwestern game at Ryan Field. Peter wasn’t much of a college football fan and didn’t know a lot about Northwestern. In triple overtime, Northwestern beat Michigan State 39-31, and Peter stormed the field with hundreds of fans. From then on, he was a Wildcats fan.

Three years later, he became Northwestern’s first five-star football recruit. As a freshman, Peter was expected to back up Rashawn Slater at left tackle or maybe play guard. Then Slater opted out.

As the left tackle on a team that won the Big Ten West and the Citrus Bowl, Peter earned the highest grade of any freshman in the Big Ten, according to Pro Football Focus. He started every game of his career and in 2022 was a unanimous All-American.

Last season, Peter was voted a captain. Lombardi wanted Dziadzi to be his captain partly because he didn’t call attention to himself. Peter is the same way. Both were appreciated for their “economy of expression,” as Bob. Jr. puts it.

Peter talked to Fitzgerald and other coaches about the best ways to lead. He concluded that leading by example wasn’t being a complete leader.

“He was a huge catalyst in driving to maintain our culture,” Fitzgerald says. “Every day, you could set your watch on the work ethic and commitment Peter was going to bring. He was willing to get out of his comfort zone and bring people with him. He’s a throwback when it comes to developing relationships and leadership.”

His former coaches will tell you Peter was a coach’s dream — a rule follower who doesn’t buck authority or look for shortcuts.

“He doesn’t have a fault,” Inserra says.

“It’s not one thing with Peter,” Fitzgerald says. “He is the player he is because he’s everything.”

No wonder The Athletic’s Dane Brugler ranks Peter as the fourth-best prospect in the draft. An NFL scout says this about him, “There’s no fail with him. He checks every box and more. He’ll be a team’s best offensive lineman the day he walks in the door and a long-term starter.”

The only question anyone has about him is if his arms — about 33 inches — are long enough to play tackle. Some have projected the 6-foot-4, 318-pounder as a guard.

Whoever selects him is likely to ignore those projections.

Peter is a tackle, like Dziadzi was.

“I’ll play guard, center or punter if I have to,” he says. “But I can play tackle.”

Peter is handling the predraft process with aplomb like he has handled living in his grandfather’s shadow.

“I always felt,” he says, “like this is what I was supposed to do, what I was supposed to be.”

Peter will tell you he won the genetic lottery. Football was in his mother’s blood, too, as Anne’s father, Nate Walton, was a running back and safety at St. Ambrose, and many relatives on both sides of his family played the sport.

But genes don’t have anything to do with the age of a soul — and his is an old one.

Peter doesn’t play video games. Most of his social media posts are about teammates or friends. High school teammates noticed how poised Peter was when opponents talked trash after a play — Peter just turned around and walked back to the huddle, then did his talking by making his next block a little more violent.

Whatever pressure Peter may feel is abated by understanding that he represents the Skoronski name not just by how he plays but by how he lives. His mother has helped him appreciate that.

“She always grounded me and reinforced my identity outside of football,” he says. “It’s about being more than a football player.”

Peter Skoronski’s father sees his father, Packers great Bob Skoronski, when he watches his son on the field for Northwestern. (Brad Mills / USA Today)

Peter went on a recruiting visit to Stanford, and offensive line coach Kevin Carberry, who now is with the Saints, recommended he read an article.

Peter looked at it and recognized the author’s name.

“I know Dan Pompei,” Peter told the coach. “I’m a big fan of his writing.”

Peter told me he was a fan of my coaching as well as my writing, which may make him unique in the universe.

I’m his fan, too.

In journalism school, they talked about striving to be impartial.

As I write about Peter, I cannot recall that lecture.

About the time Peter started playing football, Alzheimer’s disease had begun to take hold of Dziadzi.

But he wanted to help and could still offer simple, remedial advice.

“Keep your head up,” he would say.

“Get off the ball.”

In one game early in his high school career, Peter struggled. His grandmother mentioned it to Dziadzi, and for hours, Dziadzi talked about wanting to help Peter. He went in circles and tried writing things down.

In the fall of 2018, after living long and well enough to leave an imprint that will last for generations, Dziadzi died at 84.

It was Peter’s first real encounter with death, and it hit him hard.

Now, before every game, Peter pauses for a few sacred moments. He says three Hail Marys — one for his mom’s mother, Mary J. Walton, and one for his aunt Mary Clare Walton, both of whom passed away in 2022, and one for Dziadzi.

When Peter was a high school senior, Peter took part in a teen retreat with a group called Crux. Helen Megally, the director of the group, had seen his grief and asked Peter to give a witness testimony to the other participants.

Dziadzi was a spiritual man. Peter wanted to be like him. Peter was like him.

Peter spoke to the other kids about how Dziadzi was an example of living faith, about the unexpected comfort he felt at the wake and funeral, and how he felt closer to God in the months since Dziadzi was gone.

Sharing helped with the goodbye.

But nothing would ever — could ever — separate a grandson from his grandfather.

(Top illustration: John Bradford / The Athletic; Gail Burton / Associated Press)

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