ALLENTOWN (TNS) — When I heard Wednesday that Steelers legend Franco Harris had died, the first memory that flashed through my mind wasn’t of his Immaculate Reception or his Super Bowlvictories.
What made me smile as I reflected and read about Franco’s unexpected death was my one brief meeting with him.
It was in the mid-1990s, I don’t recall exactly when. Harris made a promotional appearance at a cellphone store in suburban Pittsburgh and was signing free autographs.
It was just a few minutes drive from where I lived and fell on my day off. So, I dug out my Super Bowl XIV program and made sure to get there early.
Several hundred others clad in black and gold had the same plan. The line snaked through the tiny shop in a strip mall and was nearly out the door. I took my place and waited for what seemed like forever.
The line just wasn’t moving. We’d shuffle a few inches at a time, then come to a halt.
Several hours passed before I got close enough to see Franco, seated behind a table. Then I realized what was taking so long. Franco was talking with everyone. Not just the standard polite greeting and thank you. He was having conversations, even initiating many of them.
So what was I going to say? My father had attended the magical game where Franco made the Immaculate Reception. Surely he’d heard that story a million times, but it was all I could muster.
You can’t be a football fan and not know what I’m talking about. With the Steelers trailing the hated Oakland Raiders with just seconds remaining in a playoff game, the hustling Harris snagged a deflected pass and streaked into the end zone for the winning score.
That play was voted the greatest in NFL history by nfl.com. Fittingly, he died nearly 50 years to the day after it occurred, Dec. 23, 1972.
The Steelers had planned to celebrate the occasion during Saturday’s Christmas Eve matchup against, who else, the still-hated Raiders. His No. 32 jersey will be retired.
That celebration will be a public mourning instead.
But back to my story. When my turn came to meet him, Franco extended his enormous hand to greet me. He thanked me for being so patient. We chatted for a few moments, he signed my Super Bowl program and I moved on. I don’t recall a word I said to him, but remember thinking he was the patient one and a class act.
He could have rushed people through the line, but he realized how excited Steelers fans were to meet him, and he let them make a memory.
The event predated cellphone cameras, or I’m sure I might still be waiting in line, because everyone would have wanted to have their picture taken with him.
There have to be thousands upon thousands of Pittsburghers with similar stories who recalled them fondly Wednesday.
By all accounts, that’s the kind of guy Franco was. He was a Hall of Fame person as well as a player.
He could have disappeared into history. But he was committed to his community and truly enjoyed being around Steelers fans. That had to have gotten tiring at times, but he embraced it.
Franco was involved in a lot of charities, including one that helps students in the Pittsburgh Public School system with scholarships to attend college. He remained active in Penn State circles, too, giving back to where he went to school.
RIP, Franco. Thanks for the memory.
(Email Morning Call columnist Paul Muschick at paul.muschick@mcall.com.)
