Franco Harris Was More Than One Play
By: Jason Gay (WSJ)
S E E D E D C O N T E N T
He was a bigger Steeler than one impossible play.
Franco Harris—the Pittsburgh Steelers Hall of Famer who died at 72, his family announced early Wednesday—will forever be remembered for his starring role in the Immaculate Reception, an indelible sequence in NFL football history and the ascension of the black and gold '70s Steel Curtain dynasty.
In a melancholy turn, that play is due to celebrate its 50th anniversary this week. The Steelers planned to commemorate it at a Dec. 24 game in Pittsburgh versus the Raiders—the losers of that 1972 playoff contest. Harris’s No. 32 was to be retired, only one of three Steeler numbers to be given that permanent honor.
But Harris’s legacy is deeper than that single moment, no matter how crazy it was. If you saw him run, you know. If you saw Harris with the football—bursting around the corner on that Three Rivers carpet, gaining steam, tucking his shoulder into a cornerback—there’s about a 99% chance you pretended to be him in a touch football game at some point.
I’m Franco!
Franco up the middle!
Franco for the touchdown!
In how many backyard games were these words said? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Harris was one of a small collection of NFL stars to reach mononym status—no last name was necessary.
He was Franco . That’s all.
He was one of one, synonymous with a hard-nosed era and city. Harris’s career paralleled the rise of the modern NFL, as the Steelers became a signature franchise of the swaggering Monday Night Football era, their rivalry with the Cowboys becoming must-see television for a sport not close to the billion-dollar juggernaut it is today.
Harris wound up winning four Super Bowls as part of the Chuck Noll-coached team, alongside a starry roster that included Hall of Famers like Terry Bradshaw, Lynn Swann and “Mean” Joe Greene. Pittsburgh’s combination of talent and toughness was a perfect match for the stentorian agitprop of NFL Films; those cinematic slow-motion highlights and John Facenda narrations burnish their image to this day.
Harris’s timing was impeccable. Born in New Jersey, schooled at Penn State in the Nittany Lions heyday of Joe Paterno, Harris was a tough, skillful fullback whom the Steelers drafted with the 13th pick of the first round in 1972. Harris would win the AFC Rookie of the Year that season, and then, two seasons later in the 1974 campaign, won the first of his Super Bowl rings as the Steelers defeated the Vikings in New Orleans.
(I remember feeling that Coca-Cola kid was the luckiest fan on the planet. Who didn’t?)
Harris was the low-key Pittsburgh workhorse, routinely rushing for more than 1,000 yards in a season. At 6-foot-2, 230 pounds, he was larger than many of today’s backfield runners, but he was evasive.
“For me it was my quickness, my cutting ability and my vision,” he said. “That made my career.”
The Immaculate Reception occurred in Harris’s first season, in a divisional playoff game with John Madden’s Oakland Raiders. Yes, I know: There are still some Raiders fans out there who will see this part and need to go for a walk around the block. Madden is said to have never gotten over it.
The play itself began as a last-second, desperate pass from Bradshaw to halfback John Fuqua, who was immediately met by Raiders enforcer Jack Tatum. The deflected pass flew backward toward Harris, who snatched it before it hit the ground and ran it triumphantly into the end zone for the playoff victory.
It’s one of the most-watched highlights in sports history, but controversy persists. Over the years, Raiders die-hards have speculated that the ball may have hit Fuqua alone and not Tatum, which would have made Harris’s catch illegal at the time. (In 1972 an offensive player could only deflect a pass to himself.) There was also wonderment if the deflection grazed the turf before Harris grabbed it. A game referee, Fred Swearingen, called upstairs to seek replay confirmation, but this rendezvous was long before the official TV forensics now customary in disputed NFL plays.
It has stayed on the books, a glorious slice of a franchise’s proud history. Not long ago, the Immaculate Reception was named the greatest play in league history.
Now it turns 50. Sadly, now without the man who made it happen, Franco .
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Has it been that long?
The older you get, the quicker it goes. The Steelers were a powerhouse team, and Franco provided a lot of that power.
You can't mention Franco w/o Rocky.
Those two were an unforgettable tandem. Doubt we will ever see their like on the playing field at the same time again with today's 1 back alignments and running back by committee approach. Also with FB no longer being a full time position.
I grew up in Pittsburgh. The Steelers fanbase there is die hard. I've met Franco twice and both times he was the most gentle, soft spoken, courteous and friendliest person I've met. Unlike many of the NFL players today, he never made it about him. It was always about everybody else.
This is a blow to the "Steelers Nation".
Rest In Peace Franco. You and your contributions will not be forgotten.
I wish I would have been able to meet Franco. He is one of the few Steelers from the 70's I never got a chance to meet in person.