by Dan Rooney
“Then came the best team that ever played, the seventies Steelers. There are times, though seldom, when everything comes together. When a group of young men become a special team. Where their accomplishments give them a time in history. Not only winning, but being the best, and doing so with unselfish determination to be the best team. Making the goal together. That happened in Pittsburgh. It was a glorious time.
“It began in 1969 when Chuck Noll, a young coach, arrived with the ideals of commitment to be the best and assembled players with similar desires and convinced them that the goal was possible. Not an easy task, but he never deviated and stuck to the basics. They began to believe that they could be the best. We are not here today to celebrate statistics; we are here to celebrate excellence and the accomplishment of people reaching a level, collectively, to be the best they could be, men of character helping each other to reach the heights of human achievement.
“The first player to be assembled was Joe Greene, a man of intense determination to win. I remember the end of Joe’s first year. Not a very successful season. Philadelphia had the lead and had just made a first down with less than two minutes to play. As the Eagles broke the huddle, Joe was so frustrated he picked up the ball and threw it into the stands. Many of you remember that, I’m sure. He does. But I knew right then that things were going to be okay. He went on to dominate opposing lines for a decade, to win games when things were not going okay. One game in Houston, to see if we could make the playoffs, Joe Greene completely crushed his side of the Oilers offensive line. We won a very tough game. Joe Greene, a real Steeler, is a person of integrity, whom I admire as a friend. I am privileged to have Joe present me to the Hall of Fame.
“Later came Jack Lambert, who would not tolerate any less commitment than he had from anyone in the organization. Players, coaches, staff, and, yes, presidents. In 1972, Franco Harris came to the Steelers. Before that time, we never won too often. After he came, we never lost. Franco is a very motivating player in a quiet way. He is probably the most caring individual player I ever met. But there are so many on those teams that brought victory. I could relate heroics on all of them, but time doesn’t permit. Remember Bradshaw, Ham, Russell, Webster, Blunt, Rocky, Swann, Stallworth, Shell, L.C., White, Wagner, all of them. They all belong here, because they all deserve to be enshrined in Canton because they were the best of the best. Other teams at times had considered themselves as enemies of the rest. The Steelers respected everyone they played as a tribute to the game. The league had no better champion because they carried the banner with pride and dignity. They were different, different in play as well as conduct. Love for the game, the league. They were all proud of their differences.
“Then our players of the eighties and nineties who were terrific Steelers and accomplished much success. Woodson, Lloyd, Hinkle, Kirkland, Dawson are just a few led by another special coach, Bill Cowher.
“The players and coaches made the Steelers, and I attribute my presence here today to all of them and to my father, Art Rooney. My father, one of the early men who did everything to make the NFL succeed. It is special to join him here. He gave me the understanding of what the league meant. He gave me the commitment to do everything possible to keep it strong and viable. He with Halas, Marshall, Mara, Lambeau, Bidwill, Bell, Carr were the men who forged the league. I wish my parents were here. Mom ran everything in our family, and she would be very pleased.
“Many of our family are here, especially Patricia, my wife. She is the one who keeps me straight. She was there always. She wouldn’t let me fail. She’s my conscience, counselor, and critic. A thoughtful critic, even when I don’t want a critic. Without her, I sure wouldn’t be in Canton. Our children, Art, Pat, Rita, Dan Duffy, John, Jim, and Joan are here. Our daughter Kathleen, who died, is with God, I believe she is here also. Our grandchildren, my children’s spouses, I should say, and our grandchildren. My brothers, nephews, nieces, the McGinleys are here as are the Steelers’ staff, those not in Dallas for the game tomorrow. I wish you would all stand up, the Steelers players who are here, my family, and everybody. Please stand up.
“I have been very fortunate to have all the support and encouragement. I was in the league with those founders. I knew three commissioners personally. Pete Rozelle was a special friend. We worked on many issues. He was great. He brought the game to modern times. Bert Bell before him was a Steeler who put the television structure in place. And now Paul Tagliabue deals with the complexities of a modern sport. All good people who knew and did what was necessary in their time.
“There are a few men who are members of the Hall who gave me much. Their contribution to the NFL has been substantial. Wellington Mara, the integrity of the league. Tex Schramm, how to get things done for the good of the league—use Robert’s Rules when they help, wing it when they don’t—Tex, we miss you. Lamar Hunt’s concern for the game.
“And thanks to all our friends and owners. Jerry Richardson is here. Pat Bowlen is here. Players who came here this morning. And I thank God for so many things that He has given me and our family. But as has been said, this is a special time to be here. The new century. The return to Canton. All the important men of the game are here, and I thank you especially for making football the greatest sport in history.
“Now I ask you to be watchful, see that the game remains the best. Strong, viable, flexible for the present day. No one can be more interested than youth, you have much to guide you. Your own commitment, how you played the game. The people in the league, players, coaches, owners, staff, and fans. Commissioner Tagliabue provides the leadership for football as America’s number-one sport. Gene Upshaw, a Hall of Famer, is committed to the game and wants it to be the best. The television networks, our family, our players, you have my commitment to do whatever it takes. The National Football League, the game is your legacy. Protect it. Don’t let anyone tarnish it. God bless you.”
Less than a year after my induction, we imploded Three Rivers Stadium. A lot of history went up in smoke that day. I was the last man out of the stadium. It was a kind of walk down memory lane as I strolled through the deserted locker rooms, corridors, and offices. I walked out to the seats on the 50-yard line, and remembered a story my father had told me.
On Saint Patrick’s Day in 1936—I was only four years old at the time—the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers flooded, inundating much of the North Side, including old Exposition Park, where Three Rivers Stadium now stood. My father and some of his buddies found a boat and rowed it across the outfield, the water more than six feet deep. Somehow, while they were horsing around, the boat tipped over and they all splashed into the water. Dressed in light clothes, the other guys easily swam to the bleachers near third base, but my father had on a heavy wool coat and boots which, when soaked with water, weighed him down and nearly pulled him to the bottom. He told me this was the nearest he ever came to death. Had he not been such a strong swimmer he would have drowned right there on the third-base line—just about where I was standing. Imagine how history would have changed. My life would certainly have been different, and the Steelers might never have been.
All of Pittsburgh, it seemed, turned out for the implosion of Three Rivers Stadium. For thirty-one seasons, from 1970 through 2000, it had been our home. Our move to Three Rivers coincided with the beginning of the Steelers dynasty. It was the home of the Terrible Towel, which spawned the Terrible Fan, the Terrible Car, the Terrible Cat, and so many other Steelers traditions. And who can forget the wonderful tailgate parties in the parking lots surrounding the stadium. Diehard fans, in all kinds of weather—sunshine, rain, sleet, snow—they were there, dressed in their black and gold, and painted for war. Fueled on pirogues, kielbasa, nachos, and beer, they fired up our team and tormented the opposition with their deafening cheers, which echoed off Three Rivers’ hard concrete surfaces.
“Here we go, Steelers, here we go!
Here we go, Steelers, here we go!”
Even in the worst of seasons, those fans neve
r gave up. And when we were winning, they were a vital part of it. Steelers fans are the best fans in the world.
So the fans were there on February 11, 2001, for one last glimpse of Three Rivers Stadium. They watched from the rooftops and windows of Pittsburgh’s downtown skyscrapers. Patricia and I decided to stay home. Though our house was only three blocks from the stadium, we watched the implosion on television.
It was both a sad and happy day for me. My son Art and I had worked for years to get state, county, and city support for a new stadium—a football only stadium that would keep us competitive with other teams in the league. Most of the credit goes to Art, who spent countless hours working with the governor, state legislators, and city and county officials to make the financing work. Through his efforts, not only did the Steelers get a new stadium but the Pirates were able to build PNC Park, widely recognized as one of the best baseball parks in the country. The complex negotiations ensured Philadelphia would get new stadiums as well.
We also concluded a precedent-setting partnership with the University of Pittsburgh. The Panthers desperately needed new sports facilities. In discussions with university president Mark Nordenberg and athletic director Steve Pederson, we determined to share facilities both at our new Heinz Field and at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center Southside Complex. Although the details took a lot of time and hard negotiating—the NCAA wanted to ensure an appropriate separation between professional and collegiate sports—we finally formed a partnership that would benefit the community, the university, and the Steelers.
While Art worked out the business details, I worked on an architectural program that would satisfy the needs of the team. I had learned a thing or two in the years since we had played in places like Forbes Field and Pitt Stadium and training facilities at Latrobe and South Park and Hershey. We paid special attention to the grass, the locker rooms, training rooms, press and television boxes, fan seating, and food concessions. It’s a state-of-the-art facility in every way.
Heinz Field is part of Pittsburgh’s grand entrance as visitors exit the Fort Pitt Tunnel. What makes the stadium special is the fact that fans can enjoy the city’s skyline without leaving their seats. It is fan-friendly, has excellent sight-lines, and features unique amenities, such as the Coca-Cola Great Hall that serves as a tribute to Steelers history. Players always have told me they prefer grass to artificial turf, and so that’s what we have at Heinz Field. Even with ten Steelers games, seven Pitt games, and five high school playoff games, the field still plays well—even if it doesn’t always look pretty come winter. Brian Opacic, the stadium operations coordinator, does an excellent job in maintaining Heinz Field.
We played our first game at Heinz Field on October 7, 2001, against the Cincinnati Bengals. Everyone—the players, the fans, the media—loved the new facility from the start. It looks out on the Allegheny River and Pittsburgh’s beautiful skyline. Whenever our team crosses the opponent’s 20-yard line—known in football as the red zone—gigantic Heinz ketchup bottles tip over and do a slow pour.
The Coca-Cola Great Hall is a tribute to Steelers history and allows our fans of all ages to learn about our tradition. The jumbotron features player profiles, short-subject films, and instant replays—all a far cry from the days of Mossy Murphy’s marching bands, motor scooter, and gold-sequined baton-twirlers of the 1950s and 1960s.
Those early days seem now like a distant dream. The NFL was still in its infancy when the Steelers joined the league; with the help of guys like Walt Kiesling and Buddy Parker and Bobby Layne and Bill Dudley our team grew right along with it. The 1950s and 1960s were also the days of the great Johnny Unitas.
On September 11, 2002, I got the call that John Unitas had died. The news upset me. We were almost the same age—he was just a little younger. I attended his funeral mass at the Cathedral Mary Our Queen in Baltimore. More than two thousand people filled the pews. The front seats were reserved for family and his many teammates and NFL friends. Everyone was there, from Commissioner Tagliabue to Ravens coach Brian Billick and players Ray Lewis, Peter Boulware, and Michael McCrary. Outside the cathedral a small plane circled overhead with a banner reading in huge red letters “Unitas We Stand.” Inside, the wail of bagpipes filled the church. His coffin was covered with white lilies and roses, and beside it stood an easel with a painting of Johnny walking into the sunset in his blue number 19 Colts jersey. His six sons acted as pallbearers, and Cardinal William Keeler, the archbishop of Baltimore, eulogized him, recalling Johnny’s glory days at Memorial Stadium. He said, “Johnny Unitas displayed in his NFL career native physical gifts and football intelligence honed by hard, dedicated practice; courage in the face of pain and adversity; grace under pressure; commitment to teammates; unassuming, inspiring leadership . . . these were virtues he carried over to his family, asking his children to give their best, even as he asked it of his teammates.”
Commissioner Tagliabue pointed out the truth, “He was mythic . . . he symbolizes football, and more importantly, he symbolizes leadership.”
David Modell, Ravens owner Art Modell’s son, said, “Johnny U was the father of modern football, so all of us, including my father, who enjoyed participating, owe that to Johnny.”
His son Joe remembered his father’s reputation as a straight-talking man, including his traditional pregame challenge to his teammates: “Talk is cheap. Let’s go play.”
And play he did. He was the man with the “golden arm,” setting twenty-two NFL passing records, including the seemingly unbreakable record of forty-seven consecutive games with a touchdown pass. He was named MVP three times and was selected for the Pro Bowl ten times. Johnny won three NFL championships, including the overtime victory against the New York Giants in 1958.
As I listened to the testimonials, I thought of the John Unitas I knew—the high school quarterback from St. Justin in his black high-topped shoes and his patented jump pass. I remembered the Unitas who Coach Kiesling didn’t give a chance to throw at our summer training camp—he threw instead to my brothers on the sidelines.
I recalled the dispirited Unitas who came before the league’s Management Council (CEC), asking for financial assistance when his playing days were long over. Though he was the best quarterback to ever play the game, he played at a time when big salaries were not the norm. He took care of his ailing mother’s hospital bills and always paid what he owed. Now he was in debt and needed help. The league had established a Dire Need Fund for retired players, but Johnny didn’t qualify under the existing rules. Sitting there in the pew at his funeral I felt we should have done more for him, a man who had done so much to bring the NFL to national prominence. I’ll be the first to admit the league could have done more to help Johnny. He deserved better. His funeral marked the end of an era.
The Steelers were less successful in 1998 and 1999. But Bill Cowher didn’t lose the team. We now had a good management team in place as well. We hired North Catholic alum Kevin Colbert as director of football operations. Cowher never lost my confidence, and he began to turn the team around. We went 9-7 in 2000 and 13-3 in 2001, the year we went to the AFC championship. We lost to the Patriots, who then went on to win Super Bowl XXXVI that year.
In 2002 we won another division championship, the sixteenth in franchise history. But one of the highlights for me was the return of Terry Bradshaw for a Pittsburgh reunion. Terry had left in 1983 and hadn’t been back for a Steelers game in nearly twenty years. Fan and press criticism at the end of his career had hurt him, and he couldn’t forget the boos he heard when he’d leave a game injured. Now he was back in Pittsburgh, and we had a good talk—Terry and I had a lot of catching up to do. He attended our game against the Colts and appeared at halftime with his two daughters, Rachel and Erin, before sixty-four thousand wildly cheering fans who welcomed him home. We showed a video tribute on the jumbotron. The crowd went wild with the replay of the Immaculate Reception. The scoreboard read, “Welcome Home Terry.” I turned to him and pointed out the obvious,
“They love you here.”
Terry spoke into an echoing microphone: “That sounds good. That’s all right. Keep going. I want to thank the Rooney family. It’s been nineteen years since I’ve been on this playing field. I want to thank their dad, who was my father away from home. I want to thank Dan Rooney, who signed me on the Three Rivers Stadium field . . . I want to tell all of you that there’s no place like home. I think it’s important tonight that I let all of you know, you all need your family, you all need your football family, you all need your Steelers family. Though I’ve probably been an enigma to you, believe me, I have missed you very much. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s good to be home.” By the end of the speech, those who weren’t cheering were crying—some of us were doing both.
The year 2003 marked the bicentennial of Lewis and Clark’s epic journey of discovery. Captain Meriwether Lewis left Pittsburgh on August 31, 1803, in search of a northwest passage and to explore the Louisiana Territory, an unknown land recently acquired from Napoleon. To commemorate the anniversary, my son Art thought it would be a good idea to focus our family vacation on the Lewis and Clark Expedition. We had always tried to theme our family trips, and now the Rooney family had grown large enough to more than match Lewis and Clark’s thirty-three-man Corps of Discovery.
I called the Senator John Heinz History Center here in Pittsburgh for advice on our route and historical background. History Center president Andy Masich and Library and Archives director David Halaas turned out to be experts on the subjects of Lewis and Clark, western history, and American Indians. They really helped us concentrate our energies when they “commissioned” us as the “Rooney Family Corps of Rediscovery.” Basing our charter on the document President Thomas Jefferson gave to Captain Lewis, they instructed us to retrace Lewis and Clark’s journey west and bring back to Pittsburgh evidence of our discoveries—photographs, water samples, botanical specimens, and artifacts.
