Dan Rooney (2 page)

When Dan first mentioned to us that friends and colleagues had suggested his story should be told in a biography, we encouraged him to pursue the project, not as a traditional biography but as an autobiography. We thought the story should be told from his point of view. At first he resisted the idea. He is a genuinely humble man and said, “That's just not me.” But we at the History Center, his family, and his friends persisted. His story is important. He has made history.

Over the course of the last two years, we spent thousands of hours interviewing him, traveling with him, and just plain getting to know him. We talked to his family, who shared their experiences and insights as well. In addition we met with players, coaches, colleagues, and friends. We pored over archives, old newspapers, and scrapbooks to fill in missing pieces and confirm Dan's recollections. All in all, his memories are remarkably accurate and vivid, considering they span seventy-five years—years of great change filled with a bewildering array of people and events. We found a man devoted to his family and friends,
a man of abiding faith, and a man of uncompromising dedication to football. Football to him is more than a game. In many ways, it symbolizes the strength and vitality of the people and place he loves—Pittsburgh. You can't really separate Dan Rooney from Pittsburgh any more than you can separate him from football. It's in his blood; it's part of his character. As we worked with the Steelers organization—at the South Side complex, at Heinz Field, on the road—we saw his mark everywhere. The closeness of the organization, from the team and coaches and secretaries to the front office and grounds crew, feels more like a family than a corporation. Steelers center Jeff Hartings said it best: “We honestly love each other. I honestly felt that I would rather lose a game like this with this team than win a Super Bowl with a team I didn't enjoy playing with.”

We found this attitude remarkable, considering this is a five-time Super Bowl championship team with the best record in the NFL over the past twenty years. It's also a very successful business. This didn't just happen. Dan likes to say there are four things that make a winning football team—talent, coaching, closeness, and management. He doesn't talk much about the management part. But make no mistake. From top to bottom, the Pittsburgh Steelers organization reflects Dan Rooney's business acumen, values, integrity, and character. And perhaps most important, it reflects his determination to win. You can see it in the Steelers mission statement: “The mission of the Pittsburgh Steelers Football Club is to represent Pittsburgh in the National Football League, primarily by winning the Championship of Professional Football.”

Consider: Five Super Bowl championships. Six conference titles. And twenty Steelers elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Dan has been named NFL Executive of the Year, Dapper Dan's Sportsman of the Year, and he's been inducted into the Football Hall of Fame.

He leads off the field as well, serving on the boards of the United Way of America, the American Diabetes Association, Senator John
Heinz History Center, and the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. Dan has assisted American Indian nations in education and youth recreation programs. He was the driving force behind the American Ireland Fund, now the world's largest private organization funding constructive change in Ireland.

Tony O'Reilly, former Heinz Company chairman and co-founder of the American Ireland Fund, described Dan Rooney as “a singular man. The level gaze, the humorous yet watchful eyes, the quiet authority that he exudes are products of many tough battles, many triumphs, and some failures.”

This is the man we have come to know.

Andrew E. Masich
David F. Halaas
Senator John Heinz History Center and
Western Pennsylvania Sports Museum,
Pittsburgh, PA

 

 

 

George Halas and the founders of the NFL were there at the Hupmobile dealership in Canton, Ohio, when the league was founded in 1920. Then Tim Mara, Charley Bidwill, George Marshall, Curly Lambeau, Bert Bell, Ole Haugsrud, and of course Art Rooney joined the league and brought organization and entertainment values with them. Besides these pioneer owners, the NFL was blessed with outstanding commissioners who joined the league at times of need, when their unique talents provided leadership.

I urged the league to record and preserve the history of the NFL for posterity. But now we have lost them all—the first generation who knew how it happened and put it all together. The story as I know it hasn't been recorded. This led to my purpose in writing this book—to tell the history of the NFL, the Steelers, and me, as I know it from being there and listening to my father and other men who were there from the beginning—the men who started the league, who worked, scraped, spent their money, and hammered it into reality.

So as the last man standing, the last to know from hearing, witnessing, and experiencing that history, I guess its up to me to tell the story as best I can. Recently the league and sports world lost a key man from the past. He provided the way, the integrity, the motivation, and criticism—a giant of a man—Wellington Mara.

The Steelers of Pittsburgh, the Eagles of Philadelphia, and the Redskins, who began in Boston and then moved to Washington in 1936, all came in 1933. Their entrance was significant because it put the league in premiere cities in the east—the big market cities with not only the most people and resources, but the most knowledgeable
operators who could manage the league and its teams. This story tells or recalls the difficulties the teams and owners faced to keep going, even meeting the payroll. They helped each other, and they guided those who followed later, particularly the commissioners. That first generation did what had to be done—you will see and hear what they did.

About the Steelers. How they were special. How Pittsburgh was the birthplace of professional football. Immigrants from Europe came to Pittsburgh and located along the river valley towns. Their sons became excellent football players with great high school teams. The mills and mines had teams and paid the best players so they could win. It began in Western Pennsylvania and Eastern Ohio. They forged modern football and made rules so everyone played the same game.

They began on a shoestring. John Brown, a Steelers offensive tackle in the 1960s and early 1970s, told me he began to play on cinders and finished on a carpet.

Pittsburgh grew, and football was its passion. Every young man who could play, did play. They learned the game as boys. They became the most knowledgeable fans in the National Football League.

Steelers football is special. Here's a letter I received following the Steelers-Chargers game in 1995:

 

The Steelers stood together in the steel mills ready to fight World War II. They played together those weekends. After working a full shift, they practiced. They all wanted to win.

The league continued to grow. In 1960 Lamar Hunt put together the AFL. In 1966 the two leagues merged, forming a unified National Football League. In 1970 the merged league played as one. The Steelers, the Browns, the Bengals, and the Ravens joined in a division in the AFC North. You will read how this happened.

I respect all the owners and the people on the thirty-two teams. They are all friends who want the league to thrive. Jerry Richardson always says, “Protect the shield,” the NFL logo. The commissioners
have been vital. The players are special. They are the game. They make it. Fans love them—at least in Pittsburgh they do.

I will tell about growing up with my brothers, sometimes our arguments, but mostly our love.

Our mother was a wonderful lady. Our father was the “Chief.” He directed us. He gave his advice. He sure didn't spoil me.

I'll give you some thoughts on my family. My wife, Patricia, our nine children and sixteen grandchildren. My nieces and nephews, my grandparents, uncles and aunts. It's a lot, but they were fun to be with.

In the end, I'll try to sum it up—give a view of the future NFL. Roger Goodell will probably be the last commissioner I will know. He will provide the leadership to carry on. I hope I can help him. With God's blessing, maybe.

IMMACULATE RECEPTION

DECEMBER 23, 1972, dawned cold and gray, but today no one seemed to care about the weather. It had been a long time coming, the kind of day I dreamed about all my life—the first NFL postseason game to be played in Pittsburgh since 1947.

Before the kickoff, thousands of fans gathered downtown under the banners of their heroes—Dobre Shunka (Good Ham) for linebacker Jack Ham, Gerela's Gorillas for kicker Roy Gerela, and Franco's Italian Army for rookie running back Franco Harris. Other fans—those who couldn't get tickets, and there were only 50,350 who did—packed themselves in cars and buses in search of televisions outside the seventy-five-mile blackout radius. They crammed into motel rooms in East Liverpool, Ohio, and Meadville, Pennsylvania, or chartered buses and drove to Erie and jammed local American Legion and VFW halls. Anywhere with a television set. In some places, people
were selling seats in their own living rooms to frantic Steelers fans desperate to see us in the playoffs.

Now, as the big game against the Oakland Raiders began, the built-up emotion and excitement spilled out of Three Rivers Stadium with a volume and intensity that could be heard all the way across the Allegheny River into downtown.

 

Inside the stadium the noise was deafening. The concrete deck heaved so violently with every stomp of the crowd, I worried the structure might give way. For most of the game it seemed we were going to win. It had been a fierce defensive struggle; first downs were difficult to come by and both teams punted a lot. Daryle Lamonica had started as quarterback for the Raiders, but we intercepted him twice and beat him up so badly they took him out and replaced him with their young backup, Ken Stabler. Gerela's two field goals had given us a 6-0 lead when late in the fourth quarter Stabler dropped back to pass, couldn't find a receiver, and so slipped outside and ran 30 yards for a touchdown. With the extra point, the Raiders had a one-point lead.

Now the packed stands were hushed. The scoreboard told everything: Raiders 7, Steelers 6, fourth-and-10 . . . 22 seconds on the clock. It looked like we didn't have a chance. What a shame—the best season we ever had, and our first playoff game. I really wanted to beat Al Davis's Raiders.

As Terry Bradshaw and the Steelers offense broke huddle, I knew this was the last play. But when our players lined up on our 40-yard line, they didn't look like a beaten team. Bradshaw still had his swagger, still seemed as confident and fearless as ever. Turning his head from side to side, he begins the count, then takes the snap. Bradshaw's
back, out of the pocket, running to his right. He ducks one pursuer, his eyes downfield, looking for a receiver. He shakes loose from the rush, then fires at Frenchy Fuqua cutting across the middle. The ball, Frenchy, and Raiders safety Jack Tatum arrive at the same place at precisely the same time. I hear the collision even from where I'm sitting—four levels up, just above the press box. That's it . . . the game's over . . . but wait! There's Franco Harris with the ball—where did he come from?—running for all he's worth along the near sideline toward the end zone—Go Franco!—stiff-arming the Raiders' Jimmy Warren, somehow staying in bounds, then in for a touchdown. Unbelievable! The crowd goes crazy—is it really a touchdown? Fans swarm the field, mobbing Franco and Bradshaw. I know there's going to be controversy, so I run down the stairs into the press box where the reporters sit stunned, looking at each other in disbelief.

Everybody is talking, yelling, trying to piece together in their minds what their eyes just saw. They're saying the ball ricocheted off Tatum's pads, shot back 10 yards where Franco made a shoestring catch. Where's the Chief? Seconds before the snap, I remember seeing him head for the elevator so he could be in the locker room to console the players when they came off the field. He missed the whole thing! The most incredible play I ever saw.