Dan Rooney

by Dan Rooney

  He wasn’t happy about being drafted by Pittsburgh. He felt the Steelers were losers and admitted, “When I came into the league, you could have given me a choice of all the professional teams in existence at that time and I would have picked the Pittsburgh Steelers last. It wasn’t a very good football team, it lost a lot of ballgames. I didn’t celebrate the day I got drafted.”

  To make matters worse, the Pittsburgh press wasn’t kind to Greene—“Joe Who?” the Pittsburgh headlines read. As big and mean as he looked, Joe was a sensitive guy. The mean-spirited headlines hurt his pride, and when he finally reported to camp after all the other players, we feared his negative attitude might infect the entire team. But, in fact, it was just the opposite. Joe’s intensity and his desire to win marked him as a leader from the very start.

  At his first practice, Noll called an “Oklahoma Drill,” a scrimmage which pitted one offensive lineman against one defensive lineman. The job for the offense was to open a hole for the running back, while the goal for the defense was to shed the blocker and make the tackle—full speed, full contact. Our veteran linemen—Sam Davis, Ray Mansfield, Bruce Van Dyke—were waiting for him, eager to show the rookie what professional football was all about. But Joe put on a defensive tour de force, a clinic on how the game should be played. He literally threw our offensive linemen aside and clobbered our backs. This one-man wrecking crew shook up our players and made them realize they would have to kick it into high gear if they were to compete with this “rookie.”

  Andy Russell told me he felt this practice was a turning point in the history of the franchise. He said the old vets thought, “Who does this guy think he is?” He and the other veterans were very cynical, just as the media was. How good could he be? Russell and I talked about the Oklahoma Drill and how difficult it is for a defensive player. Andy said, “The offensive guy knows the count, and to make the tackle you have to be strong enough to get rid of that blocker quickly to have any chance at getting a clean shot at the running back. Ray Mansfield was first, and Joe threw him away like he was a paper doll and crushed the back. I was standing there with some other guys, and we just looked at each other. This kid was backing up his mouth. That was the start, and from that day Joe Greene set a tone and an attitude on the practice field and in games that losing is completely unacceptable.”

  If his teammates weren’t playing up to their potential, Greene would get in their faces and tell them so. This was exactly what Noll wanted. He aimed to take Pittsburgh to the Super Bowl, and he dished out some pretty tough talk of his own. At his very first meeting with the players, he announced that many of them weren’t good enough to make the team. Those who did would have to prove themselves. The players soon divided in their opinion of Noll. Some of them were impressed, others were just scared.

  And rightly so. Chuck told me we could make some trades and quick fixes to win a game or two, but to get to the Super Bowl, we needed to start from scratch, to build for the long haul. The veterans—those few worth keeping—would have to relearn the basics of blocking and tackling. What he looked for in a rookie was athleticism: raw talent that he could shape. He’d rather have rookie athletes than experienced players, for the veterans had to unlearn bad habits. He required veterans to learn a proper three-point stance, the placement of their feet and hands—inches mattered—and how to read and exploit an opponent’s look or move.

  Russell, one of the veterans who did make the cut, told me later, “[Chuck] had not hired a linebacker coach that year. So he was not only the head coach, but the linebacker coach. He drove me crazy through the next few weeks because he really believed in technique. He got down to, ‘I want your right foot two inches outside of your opponent’s foot. I want you to reach with your right hand.’ It became very mechanical. For a while, I felt like I was losing my own personal style. I thought I’d done okay . . . He was really into detail. He taught that success is in the details. It’s not about the rah-rah and macho. It doesn’t have anything to do with that stuff. It has a lot to do with details. A lot of those details come from understanding the opponent and anticipating what the opponent will do.”

  Even though he was already a Pro Bowler, Andy agreed that Chuck Noll made him a better player. Chuck had a way of bringing out the best in our players.

  Noll imposed strict discipline on the camp. He would have rules, and they would be obeyed. He enforced curfews—if a player came in late, he got fined. That’s what happened to our star receiver, Roy Jefferson. In 1968 Jefferson was our best offensive player, a receiver who had over a thousand yards and scored eleven touchdowns, a major accomplishment considering that team wasn’t very good and there were only fourteen games on the schedule back then. In 1969 we played a preseason game in Montreal against the New York Giants, and Jefferson missed a curfew. This was Noll’s first season, and when he found out Jefferson had come in late, Chuck called me and asked if I was going to back him when he disciplined one of the best players on the team. I told Chuck, “You know I’m going to back you.”

  So we called Jefferson and had him come to Chuck’s room for a meeting. Chuck told him, “You missed curfew, so we’re sending you home.” Jefferson tried to talk his way out of it, but when that didn’t work, he turned to me and said, “Dan, this is going to make me look like a bad guy.” But I told Roy we had to have discipline on the team—Chuck Noll was in charge, and he had my complete support. Well, there were a couple of other incidents with Roy in 1969, and even though he posted another 1,000-yard receiving season and scored nine more touchdowns and made the Pro Bowl again, we traded him to Baltimore for a fourth-round draft choice. If it seems the Colts pulled one over on us, we used that fourth-round draft pick to get Dwight White, who became part of the Steel Curtain and started at defensive end on four Super Bowl teams.

  The players came to respect Chuck’s authority because they respected his knowledge of the game—and his plan for success. Everyone understood what he expected of them, whether at a practice drill, the classroom, or in the weight room. He instilled in the team a winning attitude and made the players believe in themselves, not through phony pep-talks or red-faced harangues, but through a system of intense preparation, rigorous study, and team closeness. When it all came together, the team would play better than the sum of its parts.

  To the fans Chuck’s first season looked like a disaster. The Steelers went 1-13. In the second game of the season, the Philadelphia Eagles beat us 41-27. In this game, we started to come back in the fourth quarter. On third down and short, maybe two yards to go, we didn’t make it. We went for it on fourth down and again didn’t make it. In a fit of frustration, Joe Greene picked up the ball and threw it into the stands. This got him thrown out of the game, and most people in the league thought he was a smart-aleck. But when I saw him do that, I knew we had a good man. This guy wanted to win and wouldn’t tolerate failure.

  Despite losing the next twelve games, Noll didn’t lose the team. I noticed it, and so did my father. It was an amazing thing to see. The players understood that building the team would take time. They could see progress, even if the fans and sportswriters didn’t.

  Everything depended on the draft. Noll’s practiced eye and insight, coupled with BLESTO intelligence and great scouting from Art, Bill Nunn, and Dick Haley, brought outstanding talent to the Steelers.

  Nunn, the sports editor for the Pittsburgh Courier, one of the country’s largest African-American newspapers, joined the Steelers’ scouting staff full time in 1969 when Noll took over the team. Focusing his attention on black colleges in the South, like Grambling and Prairie View and Florida A&M, he discovered amazing talent. For years he had covered and reported on black college players overlooked by NFL scouts and sportswriters for America’s major newspapers.

  The Steelers had black players going back to the very first season in 1933, but we didn’t systematically scout or recruit them. Like all the other pro teams, we tended to scout the big universities, which at that time were predominantly white,
so we seldom saw black players.

  In 1967 I’d been reading Bill Nunn’s column in the Courier and was especially interested in his annual Black College All-America Team. Why didn’t we know about these guys? A reporter at the Courier, Rick Roberts, used to hang around our offices at the Roosevelt Hotel, so I asked him why Bill Nunn never came around. Roberts went back and told Nunn what I said, and Nunn told him to tell me that I didn’t have to worry about Bill Nunn coming down to the Steelers offices, because he didn’t like the way the Steelers did business. So I called the Courier and asked Bill if he would come talk to me. He hesitated at first, then agreed to meet.

  “How come we never see you down here?” I asked.

  “There have been many times when I felt getting into the press box and different things, that because I was the black newspaper, I wasn’t particularly welcome,” Nunn said. “Plus, I turn out an All-America football team every year, and nobody from the Steelers has ever contacted me. I heard from the Los Angeles Rams about ‘Deacon’ Dan Towler, and I even heard from the New York Giants about Roosevelt Brown. To tell you the truth, nobody from the Steelers ever called me. I don’t think you’ll ever be a winner.”

  “Well, why don’t you join us, scout for us?”

  “I’ve got a job,” he replied.

  “Work for us half time, then,” I said. “Look at the games, take notes on the players, and send us reports—tell us what you think.”

  I think Nunn was surprised I even called him. He may have thought we were deliberately excluding black players, but the truth was we didn’t know them or how good they were.

  I can’t tell you how important Bill Nunn was to our organization. His father, Bill Nunn Sr., was editor-in-chief of the Courier. He sent his son to college at West Virginia State, where he excelled at basketball, so much so that the Harlem Globetrotters wanted him. The NBA wasn’t integrated in the late 1940s, but some NBA teams looked at him as well, thinking he might be the one to break that color barrier. As it turned out, another Pittsburgher, Chuck Cooper of Duquesne, had that honor. Bill decided not to pursue a career in basketball but instead went to work with his father at the Pittsburgh Courier.

  When Bill came to the Steelers, he gave us an edge other teams didn’t have. Joe Gilliam, John Stallworth, Mel Blount, Ernie Holmes, Chuck Hinton, Ben McGee, Donnie Shell, Jack McClairen, Willie McClung, and Frank Lewis—all appeared on Bill’s black All-America team. He had a great eye for talent and scouted the Big 10 schools as well. From the beginning, Nunn was more than a scout. He was a trusted advisor to Noll, Art, and to me, and a confidant to the players. Working in our front office, he became the first African-American executive on any NFL club.

  As we worked together we got to know each other very well. We became friends. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received came from Nunn. He told Joe Gordon, our communications director, “I don’t think Dan sees color. And I don’t say that about a lot of people.” Bill Nunn made a real difference for generations of African-American athletes. He provided opportunities in the NFL, opening doors for black coaches and front office employees. For him to say someone didn’t see color really carried a lot of weight.

  With Nunn, Art, Chuck, and director of player personnel Dick Haley focused on the draft, the Steelers scored big in the years from 1970 to 1972. We had the overall number-one draft pick in 1970. With it we took Terry Bradshaw from Louisiana Tech. Our scouts believed a talent like Bradshaw would come around only once in a decade.

  In round three, we took Mel Blount, a great defensive back from Southern University. Nunn and Noll disagreed whether Blount was a safety or cornerback. Nunn worried the six-foot-four Blount might not be quick enough to cover deep. But poring over game film, Noll correctly predicted Blount could use his size to bump speedy wide receivers at the line, disrupt their patterns, and cover them deep.

  As Noll built the Steelers with the addition of Bradshaw and Blount in 1970, I worked at opening Three Rivers Stadium. The Steelers had never had a home of their own. Most recently, we had played at aging Forbes Field and competed with the University of Pittsburgh Panthers for the use of Pitt Stadium. During the season we practiced in the dilapidated facilities of South Park. Owned by Allegheny County, South Park was better suited for stock shows and county fairs. The “locker room” didn’t have any lockers—just hooks for uniforms and equipment. Most of the showers didn’t work, the players had to run cross-country for lack of a track (during the Buddy Parker and Bill Austin years some of the veterans never ran at all but loafed in the woods, only joining the rookies when they reached the tree line), and the whole place reeked of decay. It was pretty hard to feel like a winner in these conditions.

  Since 1965 both the Pirates and Steelers had worked with city and county officials to build a new stadium with state-of-the-art facilities. I never told the city we’d move the team if we didn’t get a stadium the equal of other NFL teams, but I know the fans and others worried about it. My father and I never considered taking the team out of Pittsburgh. In many ways, we always felt the team belonged to the people of Pittsburgh, and we held it in trust for them.

  But figuring out what the city would contribute and putting together the financing package was a big job. Fortunately, good will prevailed on all sides. We agreed on a North Side site for the new combination football-baseball stadium. In fact, we located it right where old Exposition Park once stood, where professional football began and where my father had played as a youth.

  I worked with the designers to develop the architectural program for Three Rivers Stadium. In its final design, it looked like a big layer cake, perfectly round. The seating capacity of 50,000 was much greater than Forbes Field (35,000) and about equal to Pitt Stadium (55,000), with three tiers of grandstands. Three Rivers’ synthetic grass (Tartan Turf), giant electronic scoreboard, and elegant indoor restaurant (the Allegheny Club) contrasted starkly with the muddy in-field, manual scoreboard, and hotdog vendors and peanut gallery at Forbes Field.

  With Three Rivers Stadium we finally had a facility we could be proud of. The stadium had to work for both baseball and football, so there were many compromises. All in all, I think we did a pretty good job. One day, before opening, I took my father on a tour. He wanted to see the location of our boxes, so I took him to the second tier. Our box overlooked the 50-yard line, perfect to watch a football game.

  He complained, “This is a terrible place!”

  I said, “Why? It’s the best place to be.”

  “No,” he answered, “I can’t see the baseball. You put me behind home plate!”

  As I said, Dad always was a baseball man.

  We opened the stadium for football on September 20, 1970, with the help of 45,538 cheering Steelers fans. Our jubilation was dampened somewhat by the 19-7 loss to the Houston Oilers. The Steelers broke their sixteen-game losing streak with a 23-10 win over the Buffalo Bills on October 11—our first victory in the new stadium. Later that season, on November 2, we played our first regular season Monday Night Football game at Three Rivers Stadium, beating the Cincinnati Bengals, 21-10. ABC televised the game with Howard Cosell, Don Meredith, and Keith Jackson calling the action.

  The new facility could be accessed by bus, car, and boat. The large parking lots—thirty-five acres—surrounding the stadium proved ideal for tailgating parties, which quickly became a Steelers tradition. At first, we used whatever promotions we could to help fill seats; give-aways and fireworks always boosted attendance. I felt good when the ticket office reported our first sellout crowd, 50,353, for our game against the New York Jets on November 8, 1970. The standing-room-only crowd went wild when we beat Namath and company, 21- 17.

  The 1971 draft proved to be one of our best. With it we acquired the nucleus of the Super Bowl championship teams that would soon follow.

  Receiver Frank Lewis of Grambling came in the first round.

  Penn State linebacker Jack Ham in the second.

  In the fourth round we tapped East Texas State def
ensive end Dwight White and offensive guard Gerry “Moon” Mullins of Southern Cal.

  Round five brought Larry Brown, a tight end from the University of Kansas.

  Craig Hanneman, a guard from Oregon State, was our sixth-round pick.

  Ernie Holmes, a defensive tackle from Texas Southern, came in the eighth round.

  We nabbed safeties Mike Wagner, from Western Illinois, in the eleventh round and Glen Edwards, from Florida A&M, as a free agent.

  We fought Cleveland for the lead of the AFC Central Division for most of the 1971 season. Toward the end of the year we were both tied with 5-5 records. Then our lack of experience caught up with us, and we lost three of our last four games. It was a disappointing end to the season, but we had been in the run for a championship for the first time in many years.

  We felt 1972 would be our year. Our number-one draft pick, Franco Harris, the outstanding Penn State running back, filled a key position and made an impact on the team almost immediately. Some say my brother Art and Chuck disagreed over who our number-one pick should be. Noll always energized these conversations and debates by throwing in a name that would create controversy and force everyone to take a stand. He did this with running back Robert Newhouse, who had been scouted by Bill Nunn and was a guy Nunn thought fit our style better. But I can tell you that we all ultimately agreed on Franco. There was never any question he’d be our number-one pick. And Franco won Nunn over the first time he put on a Steelers uniform. “The thing that impressed me about Franco,” said Nunn, “was that coming out of Penn State, he wasn’t the number-one back, but he showed a willingness to work. That first day at practice, he ran everything to the goal line, and he had those quick feet.”