Our host and driver was the team Chaplin and the campus Catholic Priest, Father Robert Schlitt, who was affectionately known to all as Father Bob.
Father Bob seemed to spend the majority of his waking hours at the jock dorm, ever ready to counsel or take confession. There was some speculation by my more cynical Catholic teammates that Father Bob got a rush out of some of the more graphic repentance of the student athletes. We all took great pleasure when seeing him on campus to always shout to ask how the wife and kids were, then watching him turn scarlet red.
This weekend though Father Bob, had invited my roommate, one of those more cynical Catholics and this West Virginia Baptist boy to join him in attending the away game with him. We would be following the Twentieth Century route that followed the Chisholm Trail. We kept the conversation interesting in quizzing the Priest on the prurient history of Jesse Chisholm as we drove toward our Friday night destination Bowie, Texas, named for Jim Bowie of the knife fame.
We would be staying at the home of the sister of Father Bob, which was not to be confused with a Nun/sister but his real sister. She was a gracious hostess and had prepared a Texas dinner for us, my first barbecue beef brisket. I have had a love affair for that cut of meat since, but only if cooked properly Texas style with the pink ring.
She and her husband also were excited to take us to our first Friday Night Lights Texas High School football game, and to see their star football player, a guy by the name of Tim Welch who had been just recently recruited by the University of Oklahoma.
The football field looked more like a college stadium and was packed with rabid fans. I was disappointed to find the nickname of the team was the Fightin' Jackrabbits, The Bowie Jackrabbits? Knives seemed like a more natural and intimidating moniker. My displeasure fell on deaf ears with all eyes focused on the Welch kid who was setup every play alone in the backfield in a shotgun formation and he had the option to do whatever he wanted, He was all he had been advertised and well worth the Cadillac convertible that he had started driving a couple of weeks earlier purely coincidentally near the time he had signed his letter of intent with the Sooners.
The next morning we packed up the Bobmobile and headed further down the trail to the town of Denton, Texas to see the Tulsa Golden Hurricane take the field against the North Texas Mean Green and their star lineman Joe Greene. Charles Edward "Mean Joe" Greene. Greene was the premiere lineman in college football. In the days before anabolic steroids, Green was only 6'4" and 269 pounds. But he was fast and possessed the three most important traits of a defensive football player . He was mobile, agile and hostile. To see Greene was the primary reason for us going to the game. He did not let us down. He looked like a man playing with boys and completely dominated the game. He was the real deal. They beat Tulsa that day 42-16, handing the Hurricane their seventh loss of the season. Thankfully for the Tulsa faithful, in that era there were only 10 games in a season.
Greene went onto be the keystone of the famous Pittsburgh Steelers Steel Curtain and made one of the most famous Super Bowl commercials of all time for the 1980 Super Bowl. The spot was for Coca Cola, called "Hey Kid".
On the first day of November in 1981 the Pittsburgh Steelers played the San Francisco 49ers at Three Rivers Stadium. The 49ers were quarterbacked by the great Joe Montana and had a running back from West Virginia University and Charleston, West Virginia's Stonewall Jackson High School; Walter Easley.
My best friend had not been to a Steeler game, so I invited him to join me for this game. For those that do not recall Three Rivers Stadium was home to both the Steelers and the Pirates. With the dual utilization there were separate press boxes for each sport.
In that one of my radio stations carried the broadcasts of both teams I could get a couple of non working press passes. These passes allowed me to watch Steeler games from the vantage point of the baseball press box and vice versa for the Pirates. Great seats, free food, and all the beer one could consume. You make very little if any money in the radio business so perks like this make it worthwhile.
With a 1:00pm kickoff, my friend and I had agreed to meet at 10:00 am at the Marriott in Greentree ,outside of Pittsburgh, to tailgate prior to the game. We had forgotten that there would be a problem buying cocktails on a Sunday morning. Fortunately or unfortunately my friend at the time was a salesman selling to coal mines and had a requisite case of Bourbon in his trunk that he used as gifts for his customers. It wasn't Bloody Marys but as any alcohol abuser knows, any port in a storm. So we timed the consumption of the entire bottle of Dickel until we could get to the press box and the free Iron City beer at noon. Which seemed like an excellent plan at the time.
As we sat in our padded arm chairs on this bright November Sunday watching a tremendous back and forth game and enjoying our free beer. My friend mentioned that we had a problem in that he had promised his young son that he would bring him an autograph from the Steelers All Pro Receiver Lynn Swann. He pointed out to me that Swann was down on the field and we were some five or six stories above him and this chasm was going to create a serious obstacle in acquiring Swann's signature. Being the host and feeling responsibly irresponsible I assured him that this would not be a problem. The pointed down to my belt where we were wearing those press passes that hang from your belt.
The game ended with San Francisco winning 17-14 on a touchdown score by none other than West Virginia's own, Walt Easley. We then realized that not only would we visit with Lynn Swann, but would go congratulate Walt Easley on his performance and knew how much he would appreciate it coming from a couple of guys from his home State.
We left the press box and headed to the hall to the elevator marked for press only, following my direction we just didn't flinch and acted as we belonged there. We first went into the Visitors dressing room and after giving an approving nod and thumbs up to Joe Montana and a few other 49ers we found Easley at his locker. We introduced ourselves and congratulated him on his outstanding day. He was cordial and appreciative and seemed somewhat surprised by the effort we had made to congratulate him.
That done we went in search of the Steeler's dressing room, once we found it and opened the door I was amazed at the luxury of it there was an unbelievably thick and plush silver carpet and the lockers were all crafted from fine wood. It was remarkably quiet and we were the only non players in there.
The first player I recognized was Joe Greene, who was sitting in front of his locker in a state of undress. I immediately went up to him stuck out my hand, introduced myself, gave him condolence on the loss and shared with him seeing him play in college. I explained to him our purpose in being there in pursuit of Lynn Swann's autograph for my friends son. But I would like one of his , and one for my sons too. He provided me with both exhibiting the same gentle giant character he had in the Coke commercial. While I was doing this my friend had approached Legendary Steeler Quarterback Terry Bradshaw to offer condolence and compliment while asking for assistance in locating Swann.
Bradshaw did not show the same hospitality that Mean Joe had and we found ourselves being rather unceremoniously and literally been shown the door and demanding the return of our passes. As we stepped out into the hall there was a large crowd of sportswriters waiting to get in, at the head of the line was Pittsburgh sportscaster Bill Curry, who I recognized and I told him how much I enjoyed his work. He ask what had happened. After telling him what had happened he told me that there was a 30 minute cooling off rule in the NFL and press was not allowed in the losing teams dressing room for a half hour. He also pointed out a member of the press was never allowed to ask for an autograph.
Who knew? They unfortunately do not teach these things in Journalism School. I am sure George Dickel was more responsible for this faux pas than Journalism School. Fortunately both are history in my life now.
Enjoy the Super Bowl and if you chose to drink, drink responsibly.
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