Think about the heartbeat of a dynasty. It’s rarely the flashy touchdown dance; it’s the relentless, unyielding thud of an offensive lineman, snap after snap, game after game, season after grinding season. For 14 years in Dallas, that heartbeat belonged to Tom Rafferty, a man whose 203 GP and club-record 167 straight starts weren’t just numbers – they were a testament to quiet, indispensable excellence. He arrived as a 4th-round pick from Penn State in ’76, tasted Super Bowl XII glory by ’77 starting at RG, and morphed into the anchor at center for nearly a decade.
He blocked for legends from Roger Staubach to Troy Aikman, sprung Tony Dorsett’s iconic 99-yard TD, and was the glue in the famed ‘Four Irishmen and a Scott’ O-line. Yet, ask Rafferty about pride? It lands squarely on that durability. “I pretty much played every game… I was pretty durable,” he reflects with characteristic understatement.
From Gridiron to grassroots: Building a life of purpose, partnership, and quiet strength
Life after the whistle, settled with his wife Donna in Keller, TX, saw Tom trade the playbook for playbooks of a different kind – earning an MBA and building a successful career in equipment sales for BSN Sports. “It’s just fun,” he said of connecting with coaches. “I get to interact… stay involved… It’s been very beneficial to have played for the Cowboys.”
The rhythm was good: work, family – their kids, Michael and Rachel – and tending to their 2 ¾-acre spread. Tom, ever the lineman, might have playfully grumbled about the yard work, a running bit Donna surely enjoyed.. they shared a life that began with their vows back on June 20, 1976. Together, they built a home full of memories.
Through every high and low, Donna stood by his side. But now, with Tom gone at 70, she’s left holding the weight of that loss, along with their children, facing a world without the man who meant everything to them.
Then, in April 2008, the play call changed drastically. Tom was diagnosed with transverse myelitis, a rare neurological disorder striking seemingly out of nowhere. Doctors believe it wasn’t football-related, but likely viral or autoimmune.
Overnight, the man who once stonewalled NFL nose tackles found himself relearning the most fundamental movement: walking. Hospital stays, rehab centers in Dallas, ramps installed at the Keller home, a wheelchair, a walker – it was a brutal new formation. Yet, the Rafferty family, led by Donna’s unwavering strength, dug in.
If Tom’s career was defined by resilience, his fight against transverse myelitis became its defining chapter. “He is absolutely working his butt off,” Donna stated, her voice a blend of admiration and fierce love. “Honestly, I think it’s part of the offensive lineman mentality. He’s never been angry. A little frustrated sometimes, but not angry. This is what linemen do. They work extremely hard, and they don’t get praised a lot. They don’t do it for the limelight, they do it because that’s what they do. That’s what Tom is like. He’s not perfect, but he’s very strong. He’s been amazing.”
Tom Rafferty’s final drive in the Face of life’s toughest opponent
We used to watch him: conquering ramps, meticulously navigating the kitchen island with his walker (“a good barometer of strength”), even reclaiming his riding mower – though with a wry admission. “The worst part of all this,” he jokes, “is that I had Donna sold on how hard all the yard work was… Now she loves getting up on the mower… I’m busted.”
He tackled physical therapy and gym sessions like a daily game plan, celebrating small victories like mastering the step into his pool. His trademark humor, honed over years of locker room pranks (even involving dog kibble and a hungry Roger Staubach), remains his shield. When asked if his athlete’s mindset helps, he nodded decisively: “Yeah, it probably comes over. You just have to surrender or beat it. I just want to beat it.”
It’s the same quiet ferocity that once lined up for a kickoff in the ’78 NFC Championship, spotted a sideline reporter who’d picked against Dallas, and delivered a blistering, unforgettable critique mid-play. Now that he’s gone, that fire is echoed in all our souls, fueled by Donna’s steadfast presence and the family foundation they’ve built with Michael and Rachel.
Like Jed Bartlet rallying his staff in ‘The West Wing’, the Raffertys face the overwhelming with a simple, powerful resolve: “What’s next?” Tom attended a major coaching convention in San Antonio soon after getting hand controls for his car, a gesture to thank colleagues who donated vacation time.
The story of Tom and Donna Rafferty isn’t just about football glory it’s about the enduring power of partnership forged in the trenches of life, about the offensive lineman’s ethos – showing up, doing the hard, unseen work, protecting your own – translating seamlessly from the turf of Texas Stadium to the challenges of a Keller living room.
A testament to love as the ultimate blitz pick-up, and a reminder that true strength isn’t just measured in pancake blocks, but in the quiet, determined steps taken every single day, walker or not. Theirs is a huddle built to last.
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