There are blue berries. For the past decade, any time my mom, Joy, or her sister, Bonnie, have eaten the superfood, they've had their minds drift to Franco Harris.
Aunt Bonnie told me last week that since he told your mom he ate them every morning for his health, she couldn't think of one without thinking of the other.
According to several national polls, the Steelers have the largest percentage of women fans of any team in the big four sports. My mom flew from Florida to join me on the trip and we met Franco for lunch near the stadium before the game. My mom said that Franco had a memory like a steel trap when he talked about the 1970s Pittsburgh football team. He told her to eat fruit.
Franco said that he had been doing all he could to maintain his brain health since he learned about the long-term effects of concussions. My mother was 62 at the time.
He said joy. You need to eat more fruit.
The news of Franco's death came through text messages from friends. I was shocked, crushed, and confused when I saw the orchestrator of the greatest moment in black and gold history.
When I told my mom that I had seen him, she said that she just saw him. He was goofing around on the social networking site on Friday. He had an event at a museum. He cannot leave today.
I thought it was today. All weeks this week. The 50th anniversary of that indelible catch was two days before the home game against the Las Vegas Raiders and three days before the retirement of his jersey. I thought of his son Dok and his wife Dana and the friends and family who should have been with him.
The timing was striking me for a selfish reason. For the past 17 years, Franco has sent a " Merry Christmas" text to me whenever I have a company-issued cell phone. Those messages led to a lot of questions about life and our families, and commentary about what the Steelers were doing. There would be no texting this year.
The story of how I became friends with a childhood hero is both amazing and boring. I took great care to protect our friendship, but I didn't think it was special. I always thought that many of Franco's friends had similar stories to tell.
I was in Denver in January of 2006 to watch the Broncos play theSteelers. Franco was seen walking by our table by my friend, Rob Tringali, who was photographing the game. He said you wouldn't believe it. Franco Harris is close by you.
I don't remember our entire conversation, but I remember Rob worried that it might be a bad idea to introduce myself to someone I didn't know very well.
Black-and-gold is a precious heirloom that has been passed down through generations. I knew the names Franco and Terry when I was a kid. He could be awful or rude. I'm from Pittsburgh, what should I say? He told me to get lost and give me a boot to the nose like the mall Santa in "A Christmas Story"
I said I was going to do it. Franco's sister and a group of friends were having a birthday party in a private dining room where No. 32 walked back to. I told him that I was in town to cover the game for ESPN and that I was born in Pittsburgh, wrapped in a Terrible Towel, and handed to my mom, who is a big fan of the Steeler's.
Seventeen years later, that conversation started a friendship.
I haven't been able to write about it in a while. Franco meant a lot to the people of Pittsburgh. It has been difficult to say what he meant to me.
I watched him interact with fans and learn a lot. Franco loved football, Penn State and the Pittsburgh Steelers, and he spent every moment trying to give back to them.
He made a nervous fan feel like the most important person in the room, by flipping a conversation. I imagined that he wanted others to feel the same way he did, even if it was just for a short time.
He was the most well-known person in the city. There is a statue of Franco at the airport. There is a statue of George Washington close by. I haven't seen anyone take a selfies with him.
Franco was surprised by how people responded to him. He would say that he just played football. He never downplayed a fan's love for him, instead magnifying it by being nicer and more engaging than they thought. I don't believe that was a conscious decision. He was who he was.
Before the Super Bowl in 2009, one of my editors at The Magazine asked if I would help to produce a piece for E60 on a friend of mine who was dying of cancer. He wanted to see the Superbowl in person. He was given an unforgettable week by a group of friends. I was asked if I could call in some favors for BZ and his wife.
My first call after that assignment was to Franco. Every year at the Super Bowl, he and his teammate at Penn State, Lydell Mitchell, hosted an invitation-only dinner and invited current and former football players and community leaders to the event. The reception was called the "immense reception". I asked him if he would be able to meet them while we were in town. Franco promised to do one better. I will save you a table at my dinner party.
It was a strange night. When we arrived, I watched BZ's face as he recognized his dinner companions, because we didn't tell them where we were going. There is a man named Mel Blount. There is a person named "Rocky Bleier." John is a man. Franco went over. "Bob!" said the man. He said he was glad you joined us. The guys are excited to meet you.
Bob had no idea what hit him. Franco gave him a gift. He introduced them to "the guys" and made Bob the center of attention.
He did the same thing for my mother. I mentioned her in my introduction to her. Franco told him to get out his phone and call Joy. I would like to speak to the biggest fan in the world.
When he found out I was flying her in for the Super Bowl in Dallas, he invited us to the dinner, saved us seats at a table with Mean Joe, and told her how happy he was to finally meet her.
If there is a measure of a person's kindness, it may be how nice they are to your mom.
I cried at every mention of Franco during the Christmas Eve game between the Raiders and the Steelers. I imagined what he would say after the game. When it came to the black and gold, he was a relentless optimist and he would have said something about the team still being in the playoffs and how a February game in Arizona was a possibility.
I found a story about how Terry Bradshaw remembered his teammate and friend after the game. Bradshaw's quote that took my breath away was about three quarters of the way through the story. He said that No. 32 tried to get him to eat more fruit.
I cried after texting the story to my aunt and mother. "Blueberry Christmas ornament" was typed into Amazon. I ordered 3.
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