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Thursday, August 29, 2002

A name on a street. A name on a bridge. A name on a park. That's all they ask. Anything to render everlasting a memory that lapsed for too long.

Six months have passed since Willie Thrower died in his hometown of New Kensington. That's a mere exhale in time compared to a half-century of neglect. See, this fellow from New Ken High School was the first black quarterback to play in the NFL, Chicago Bears, Oct. 18, 1953. It took a generation before the league gave another black quarterback a fair chance to play, the Steelers' Joe Gilliam in 1974. It took decades before the rightful attention was focused on the man known as Willie The Pro, and still some residents of his own hometown weren't convinced of his distinction by the time he died in February at 71.

So now there's a movement to remember Thrower and recognize him in perpetuity. Community leaders formed a committee to study the possibilities. The amazing thing isn't so much that his name likely will be emblazoned on street signs along the Industrial Boulevard that follows the Allegheny River, or on a plaque astride the new Locust Street bridge in the center of town, or on the markers identifying Memorial Park off Stevenson Boulevard.

Rather, the most remarkable part of this movement just might be its proponents.

A self-professed "little, white, Italian" grandfather from Florida, in the midst of a recent hospitalization, launched a letter-writing campaign. His wife, stricken with retinis pigmentosa and legally blind, typed the correspondence.

NAACP President Kweisi Mfume wrote to the New Kensington mayor: "Despite the brevity of his career, Mr. Thrower did penetrate the color barriers of our racist past, paving the way for equal opportunity in professional sports."

Steelers reserve quarterback Tee Martin wrote in support.

Pirates Manager Lloyd McClendon drafted a letter as well.

Even around this borough, folks like Bill Varner Sr. give the idea breath daily. "You know how people are: Out of sight, out of mind," he said. "Right now, we've got the community and the mayor moving in the right direction."

The mayor is Frank Link, who also happens to be the athletic director at Valley High School, the combined school district that still uses the same Memorial Stadium where Thrower played on two WPIAL Class AA champions. He wants his committee to come up with three ideas by September's end and then decide. His borough office still gets telephone calls from people submitting suggestions.

The widow is Mary Thrower, who works in the district as a custodian at Greenwald Elementary. Whenever anyone asks if she'll retire soon, she replies that the work helps to keep her mind off her late husband. She prefers the notions of renaming Industrial Boulevard and the under-construction bridge that locals call The Viaduct. She is especially grateful for a Florida man and his unflagging efforts.

"I'd like to somehow, some day thank him," she said. "He uplifts our spirits. Once a month, sometimes twice a month, we'll get a card from him."

The letter writer is Ralph Buffone, and, yes, he is a cousin of former Bears linebacker Doug Buffone -- who is among the 111 people on the campaign's mailing list. Buffone, 66, was a smallish defensive player on Coach Don Fletcher's New Ken teams by the time Willie The Pro was becoming the Big Ten's first black quarterback. He graduated the same year the Bears' George Halas inserted his backup into a game against San Francisco, only to yank him and re-insert George Blanda after Thrower had marched the team to the 49ers' 5-yard-line.

"When we were kids, everybody looked up to Willie," Buffone said. "Through the years, he never seemed to get the recognition that he should have gotten. It's a shame that basically everybody waited until after he died to do things for him."

Buffone, retired from Builder's Square along central Florida's east coast, took it upon himself in May to do something. It didn't all fall on him, what with a creaky neck that required surgery earlier this month, giving him four screws and two plates in it ("My grandkids call me 'the Bionic Grandfather' ").Therefore, he enlisted his wife, Caroll as his personal typist and, despite her deteriorating tunnel vision, she has helped her husband dispatch 200 snail-mails and e-mails to date.

They sent letters to President Bush, Governor Schweiker, U.S. Sens. Rick Santorum and Arlen Specter, Oprah Winfrey, Ed Bradley, Barbara Walters, Jane Pauley, Bob Costas and Rachel Robinson, widow of the man whom Willie Thrower used to make a comparison: I'm like the Jackie Robinson of football.

They sent letters to five black major-league managers. They sent letters to 19 black NFL quarterbacks; only Martin responded.

"It's funny. I get depressed, then ... I get letters," Buffone said. Mfume has written back twice, and "that was the highlight."

The Pittsburgh Courier telephoned the movement's leader and, among other things, asked him: Are you African-American?

"I said, 'Close -- I'm Italian,' " Buffone recalled of his conversation with reporter Charles Brown. "So he asked me, 'Then why are you doing this?' I said, 'What does race have to do with it?'

"If we can get something, that would be great."

"We want to do the right thing," added Link, the mayor. "Something that's lasting."

Chuck Finder can be reached at cfinder@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1724.