A Shot for Knute: How two South Bend families carry on Notre Dame game-day tradition
I pulled into Highland Cemetery in South Bend at 5:27 a.m. ET on Sept. 23, the morning of the Ohio State game. I didn’t see any cars following me or ahead, so the little voice in the back of my head told me I was at the wrong spot.
The “wake me up” music playing in my car suddenly switched to “Die Young” by Kesha. which I turned off as fast as I possibly could.
Driving through the dark cemetery in silence, with only my headlights and the Waze navigation to my intended location to guide me, I started to make out a small collection of navy blue, green and gray hoodies, pullovers and quarter-zips.
“This is the right place,” I thought.
I parked and slowly stepped out of my car, still not really able to see the faces I was approaching. Once I got within earshot, I asked the small crowd, “Are you guys the Hickeys and the Walzes?”
“Yep,” a man in a green hoodie said, smiling and shaking my hand. “Joey Hickey. Welcome.”
Hickey, his dad Joe, Joe’s longtime friend Tom Walz and his son, Tommy, lead this exercise every Notre Dame home game day, and they’ve been doing it for about 30 years. Anyone with a connection to either family is welcome, and gradually, about two dozen people showed up Sept. 23.
The people there caught up with each other, but only for a few minutes. The group, however small or large, doesn’t spend much time there. Tom Walz quickly gathered everyone off to the right of the road, where they circled around a small, unassuming tombstone.
“Father Knute K. Rockne,” it read. “1888-1931.”
This was it. Any part of me that was still asleep became wide awake. I was about to see a 30-year-old Notre Dame game-day tradition, spearheaded by multiple generations of two South Bend families, extend one more Saturday.
The tradition: Drive out to Rockne’s grave at 5:30 a.m. and take a shot of Irish whiskey.
One generation to the next
Tom Walz started distributing shot glasses, and before I knew it, everyone had one with a shot of whiskey in it. The exceptions were two kids in attendance, who received soda.
For most games, the Hickeys and Walzes use Jameson. But for the bigger games, they break out the Midleton. This was a Midleton game.
Someone gives a short toast before the shot every week, usually either Joey Hickey or Tommy Walz. It was Walz this time, and he started to talk about his own son, who is 7 years old — still too young to go to the night game. He remembered earlier that week, when he broke that news to him.
“I was thinking to myself, ‘[expletive],’ this reminds me of 1993,” Tommy Walz said, holding his shot glass and maintaining eye contact with the tombstone the entire time. “I wanted to go to the Florida State game, but my dad said it was a night game, so I got to stay at home.”
It used to be Joe Hickey or Tom Walz giving the toast, now it’s their sons. Passing the tradition on to their sons’ generation is a big part of what makes this special to the two of them, who met and became friends 40 years ago.
“That’s very important,” Tom Walz said earlier that week. “I was raised to make it fun for your kids to come home, and that’s what we try to do.”
Both Joey Hickey and Tommy Walz have families now, and they stayed in South Bend after graduation, where they remain to this day. The former is a dentist, while the latter is an attorney.
“It’s just being able to get together with your kid and doing something that you all enjoy,” Joe Hickey said. “[Joey is] the one that takes the truck out 90 percent of the time, and we meet up at the grave at 5:30. … It’s just great to be able to hang out with your kids.”
The younger Hickey and Walz, as Joe Hickey implied, are the leaders these days. In another 30 years, they might pass the torch once more. Joey Hickey’s kids are in middle school now, while Tommy Walz has already taken his son out to the grave, too.
“He just woke up one morning, because he wants to know what it’s all about, for me to do it,” Tommy Walz said. “So, it’s special.”
A Notre Dame tradition reenergized
Tommy Walz continued his toast, reminiscing about the 1993 Florida State game.
“I was pissed off, and as soon as I got home, I felt guilty about it,” Walz said. “Then I started to think to myself, ‘Well, we won that game.’ The funny thing about history is that it has a way of repeating itself.”
The history of the Rockne grave tradition starts with a friend of the Hickeys named Rufus (Joe Hickey was unsure Rufus would want his last name printed). Rufus would go out to the grave from time to time and, as Joe Hickey put it, “shoot the [expletive] with Rock.”
The Hickeys have a connection to Rockne, so Joe was immediately interested. Rockne lived next door to his grandparents, and Rockne was his dad’s godfather.
“We started going out there on Saturday mornings with him,” Hickey said. “Someone would give a toast. You would never ask for a Notre Dame win, but you would toast Rock and some of the things Notre Dame-wise.”
Those things would often be good luck, or the health of the players. But like Hickey said, the one rule is to never ask for a Notre Dame win.
“I’m not sure why that is, but that’s always the way it’s been,” Joe Hickey said, laughing. “It’s kind of an unwritten rule. But there’s a ‘Go Irish’ at the end.”
In addition to drinking Irish whiskey themselves, the group makes sure to leave “a shot for Knute,” they call it. It’s exactly what it sounds like: they pour a glass of whiskey and leave it on the tombstone. They also leave a victory cigar with two matches, in case one blows out.
“I do remember a couple years ago, [Walz] brought Midleton out for the first time and he left the shot for Rockne’s grave, and one of the guys that was there for the first time said, ‘Man, I can’t leave Midleton for a dead guy,’” Hickey said. “He went back and drank the shot, and we lost. So, we always make sure that there’s a shot there.”
The ritual started about 30 years ago, but around 15 years later, maybe less, Joe Hickey decided it might be time to try something new with his Saturday mornings. Shortly before that was set to happen, though, he took Tom Walz with him. Walz, Hickey said, thought it was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.
Walz’s involvement reenergized the tradition.
“We decided to do this ritual at Rockne’s grave as a way to celebrate Notre Dame home games, and also, we’ve attracted all of our kids together and friends together so that we can be together,” Tom Walz said.
Modern problems require modern solutions
The game didn’t end the way Tommy Walz or anyone at Rockne’s grave that morning wanted it to. But the ending of Tommy Walz’s minute-long toast was still special.
“This is our time,” Walz said, still locked in on the tombstone. “There’s not a better chance for us to make a statement, put us back on the map and make this season kick into high gear right now. So keep the guys safe, keep them healthy, help them play together and let’s kick the [expletive] out of this [expletive] team. Cheers. Go Irish.”
Everyone downed their shots, talked for a couple more minutes and dispersed. The whole thing, from my arrival to getting back in my car, took about 10 minutes.
Breakfast at Jeannie’s House Diner on Mishawaka Avenue follows the shot of whiskey, and then it’s back to the tailgate truck for the opening of the Notre Dame Stadium parking lots.
The Irish used to let fans park as early as they wanted, allowing the Walzes and Hickeys to reserve their usual spot, but recently, rules changed. Lots open at 8 a.m. now, so they had to adjust.
The Hickeys will leave their house at 5 a.m. and drive straight to Eddy Street, where they’re usually one of the first 10 cars there. One person stays with the truck while the rest head to the cemetery.
“It’s gotten routine,” Joey Hickey said. “It’s a lot easier to get up for a tailgate than getting kids ready to go to work. I usually like to get out there and just stake out our spot as best we can.”
“There’s a certain significance to having your tailgate at the same place every game, because people congregate there,” Tom Walz said.
The tailgate is where the more traditional game-day fun begins. But it wouldn’t feel right without the trip to the grave every morning. It’s a rare game-day experience — not a somber one, but certainly not rowdy, being respectful of the cemetery.
It’s a spiritual experience, as Tommy Walz described it. And one that’s uniquely Notre Dame. Even visiting fans, who have participated in the past, can see it.
“I think a lot of people who have any sort of allegiance to college football in general understand, ‘Hey, this is Knute Rockne,’” Tommy Walz said. “Who doesn’t know who that is? If they don’t, they certainly do afterwards.”
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