Who wants to read about potholes, falling bridges, bankrupt transit, E-ZPass problems and out-of-date traffic signals on Super Bowl Sunday?
Online Chart:
Pittsburgh road closings by 9 p.m. today
Just as I thought.
Nobody.
The Bus running today is not on the Port Authority's schedule. The road to Detroit is not PennDOT's problem.
So bear with me as I return to my roots as a sports writer, a past that has occasionally prompted editors to take me off the transportation beat to help with special sports coverages, hang around public heroes and freeload on company time.
NFL Draft Day, 1972.
The Pittsburgh Steelers selected future star fullback Franco Harris of Penn State in times when TV camera crews were not waiting in living rooms.
A Penn State alum, I was visiting in State College that weekend when a Pittsburgh Press editor called my hotel room. It was early on a Saturday night and he sounded desperate; nobody from sports could reach Franco for reaction to the pick, something they wanted badly for the Sunday editions.
"His number is unlisted," my editor said. "Can you find out where he lives and go knock on the door?"
OK. Grudgingly.
Instead of hunting for Franco's apartment, I went to see a friend, Jack Sapia, a Charleroi native and the well-known owner of a popular and somewhat avant-garde town bar, the My-Oh-My. Of course he knew Franco, a bit avant-garde himself at the time. If anyone had his unlisted number, Jack would.
I called Franco and conducted a short but first Pittsburgh interview with the future Hall of Famer. He was cordial but reserved. I had to pry answers out of him.
After the old Press got its story, I got a beer at the "My."
Art Rooney Sr.'s Big Day.
The 71-year-old "Chief" missed it, the biggest and most famous play in Steelers history -- the Dec. 23, 1972 "Immaculate Reception," a Terry Bradshaw pass that bounced off an Oakland defender and into the outstretched hands of rookie Franco Harris. Franco made the shoestring catch and raced 42 yards for the game-winning score with five seconds left in the game.
At the 22-second mark and with what appeared to be a hopeless chance to score, a gloomy-looking Mr. Rooney walked past where I stood and out the back door of the Three Rivers Stadium press box with a handful of cronies, the ritual cigar clenched between his teeth.
If anyone else noticed Mr. Rooney's exit, they were preoccupied with the unbelievable ending to a game that advanced the Steelers to the AFC championship.
After watching the play unfold on a TV monitor and stretching my neck to see an official signal a touchdown, I hurried out to look for Mr. Rooney, just starting to stride anxiously back from the elevator toward the press box.
"What happened? What happened?" he yelled above the roar of the crowd.
"I think you won, Mr. Rooney," I recall saying, or words to that effect. "Franco Harris scored. I'm not sure how."
Mr. Rooney stepped into an elevator that just arrived at the third level. He headed to the locker room. He looked a bit stunned. I don't know if he believed me.
I raced Downtown to The Press office, aware I had my "color story" for the day and a good one at that.
The headline on my Page A-1 article in Sunday's editions read: "Rooney Walks Out on Miracle Play."
Art Rooney Sr.'s Sad Day.
It was Sunday, Nov. 28, 1982, when his wife, Kathleen, 78, died at Allegheny General Hospital shortly after suffering a heart attack at the Rooneys' North Side home.
Three days later, I helped cover the funeral service at St. Peter Church, a stone's throw or two from where the family lived. Mrs. Rooney was a quiet, private person, the antithesis of her gregarious husband.
Longtime political writer Sherley Uhl and I covered for The Press. News anchor Bill Burns and his reporter-daughter, Patti Burns, covered for KDKA-TV.
We joined forces, knowing that working together we would be able to identify the scores of people who came to pay respects -- Steelers coaches and players who arrived by charter bus; elected officials who arrived in black luxury cars; and Rooney neighbors who walked. Mr. Rooney, somewhat frail in addition to being distraught, was assisted into church.
It was an emotional day. We were discreet and respectful. Journalism was not the circus then that it will be today in Detroit.
Heinz Field Opening Day.
The Steelers whipped the Detroit Lions, 20-7, in a pre-season afternoon game, the first to be played in the new 65,000-seat, $300 million venue.
I was there as part of the "local news" reporting team supposed to check out North Shore traffic, interview fans, see how things were going, etc.
Post-Gazette Staff Writer Tom Barnes did almost all of the work and he wrote the Page 1 story, "Here We Go, Heinz Field."
I never did thank him. I mostly loafed, starting around 11 o'clock at the breakfast buffet in the press box lunch room.
As I carried my tray to a table, I passed Steelers owner Dan Rooney, eating alone. "Sit here," he insisted. "What do you think?"
He thanked me for an article I wrote about how to get to the stadium by car, bus, boat and foot in a PG special section previewing Heinz Field. I told him my tale of the "Immaculate Reception."
Moral of today's column.
The PG sent 18 writers, editors and photographers to Detroit to cover today's game. But not me.
This'll learn 'em.
Believe it! Riders can view the Web site for Seattle, Wash.-based Sound Transit in seven languages -- English, Chinese, Korean, Russian, Spanish, Vietnamese and Tagalog (a major language of the Philippines). Allegheny County Port Authority's Web site is in English only.
Elsewhere. Two weeks ago, Sound Transit started boring mile-long twin tunnels that will become part of a 14-mile light-rail line linking its downtown to SeaTac Airport. The Port Authority opened bids Wednesday for twin tunnels to extend its light-rail line to the North Shore.
Plate du jour. When California went to personalized license plates in July 1977, former Squirrel Hill resident Howard Singer acquired STEELER. He has kept it ever since; his heart is in Pittsburgh.
First Published: February 5, 2006, 5:00 a.m.
