I was unloading the dishwasher yesterday morning when KDKA broke the news that Franco Harris had died at 72. This, just two days before the 50th anniversary of the “Immaculate Reception” and three days before his #32 jersey would be retired.
I felt really choked up over Franco’s passing. I don’t typically get emotional about celebrity deaths. But something about this news got to me. It took some time for me to realize it had to do, at least in part, with the story of place. Fifty years ago, Franco Harris helped turn around a franchise in a city that was facing hard times.
I try to imagine what it must have been like to live in Pittsburgh, or anywhere in western Pennsylvania, in 1972. A recession was looming. The mills were struggling. But then there was this amazing moment in NFL football – and the many that followed – that added to Pittsburgh’s narrative.
Franco Harris had become part of the story of our place. He contributed to western Pennsylvania’s “place identity,” which is the way that the collective thinks about the place in which they live. A place identity can be mostly positive, mostly negative, or somewhere between. When you had a team winning four Super Bowls in six years (and the Pirates and Pitt football winning in the same era), this had to factor into how we thought about Pittsburgh. When we were losing in a lot of other ways, winning on the field had to count for something.
Full disclaimer: I wasn’t born until 1977, so I missed all this. I probably didn’t know who Franco was until sometime in the mid-late 80s. I still vividly recall seeing the 20th anniversary news coverage of the Immaculate Reception. I was at a family Christmas Eve gathering (Feast of the Seven Fishes! My favorites were fried smelts and empire cookies). I remember telling my dad about what I just saw about the “Immaculate Conception,” and he quickly cleared up that confusion for me. Franco’s impression on the region was evident in 1972, 1992, and today.
In Deciding on Trails, I wrote about the importance of communities sharing their stories. I quoted Umberto Eco, who said, “To survive, you must tell stories.” I imagine that the 20th anniversary must have meant something in 1992, as we were coming out of yet another recession and the ripple effect of the mill closures was still being felt. Having stories to fall back on in the hard times makes all the difference.
I feel quite strongly that we must make room for new and evolving stories. There’s so much more to Pittsburgh’s story than sports and steel. There’s the story of immigrants and barons, of modern day immigrants, decline and renewal, Rachel Carson, Annie Dillard, Fred Rogers, Andy Warhol, Billy Porter, and everyday people working to sustain and lift a region. We have multiple stories, past and present, to put forth. (If you, too, are interested in the importance of getting beyond a single storyline, check out one of my favorite TED Talks, The Danger of a Single Story.)
But there’s no denying that Franco Harris is part of the story of Pittsburgh. If you live in the area and have any doubt of this, stop and consider how many Franco Harris stories you saw in your Facebook feed yesterday. He was part of this place and will continue to be. He and his teammates infused the city with a sense of hope and enthusiasm – with something to feel excited about. They informed Pittsburgh’s sense of place. He made Pittsburgh a better place then and for the decades that followed by continuing to give back to the area. This is a loss to the region.
That’s why I cried. Thank you, Franco.
PS - If you’re interested in place identity in western Pennsylvania, I really love this video put out a few years ago by the Beaver Falls Community Development Corporation. The first two minutes will tell you most of what you need to know about heritage, storytelling, and place identity. I first learned the term “place identity” from their Executive Director, Wendy Whelpley.
And here’s an interesting article, “How to close a steel mill: Lessons from Pittsburgh”, which provides some detail on the decline of the steel industry, the aftermath, and the role of pro sports at the time.
Thanks for sharing. I grew up in Alliance, Ohio in the triangle of steel between Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Youngstown. Football was king and so were the heroes on the field. It’s rewarding to see these cities reinvent themselves while not forgetting their industrial past, ethnic neighborhoods, and sports traditions.
The Beaver Falls video was the BEST! I worked my way through college from 1972-76 in the metalogical lab of B&W Tubular in Alliance. That is my connection with the city where B&W Tubular Products was headquartered.
The community development director spoke to what I believe we as trail advocates should be. That we (the trail, trail organizations, and trail advocates) are catalysts, the enablers, that allow and nurture people to shape and change their communities for the better.
Did I tell you Amy, I was at that game?