Dan Rooney (32 page)

The problem really started in 1978 when Carroll Rosenbloom announced he would take his Rams from the Coliseum to Anaheim, thirty-five miles away. The Coliseum then petitioned the league for a new team. When Rozelle didn't deliver, the Coliseum sued, claiming that certain league rules violated federal antitrust laws, because any franchise move required a unanimous vote of the owners. We voted to amend the rules so that any decision on expansion or movement could be made by just a three-fourths vote. Al Davis abstained from this vote, saying, “I reserve my rights.” Al later claimed to have said, “I reserve my right to move as I see fit,” although none of us remember hearing these last six words.

In January 1980, Davis determined to leave Oakland for Los Angeles and play in the Coliseum. He joined the Coliseum Commission in their suit against the league. We rejected the move twenty-two to zero, with five abstentions. Davis claimed our vote constituted a “business conspiracy” and vowed to fight us. Things were getting ugly—and personal. Davis described Rozelle publicly as a vindictive, power-hungry social climber who spent too much time in court and in Congress, and not enough on being the NFL commissioner.

When he first filed suit, Davis told us in no uncertain terms, “We'll see what happens when this thing gets into punitive damages. You'll see how many guys will back down rather than fight.” I told him, “We're committed to go all the way on this thing. Our constitution, our whole league is at stake.”

Our dispute with Al Davis even extended into the halls of Congress. Davis, Rozelle, and I were all called on to testify regarding antitrust laws and the moving of sports franchises from one city to another. In September 1982, I testified before a congressional
committee: “As one of the twenty-seven club presidents who have been deeply involved in this suit, I can tell you, this committee, that Al Davis' fight is not with the NFL commissioner. It is with league rules to which the Raiders once fully and voluntarily agreed. Mr. Davis' own club has contract commitments to all the other clubs in the NFL, and its partners do not believe that the antitrust laws should be used to permit a successful, well-sponsored team's abandonment of the community where it grew and prospered.” Even Tex Schramm, usually an ally, opposed Davis. Most of us felt disputes needed to be resolved within the structure of the league, not in the courts and Congress.

Thanks to an injunction by the City of Oakland, the Raiders continued to play in the Oakland Coliseum until 1982. When the case first went to trial in 1981, it resulted in a hung jury. Retried in March 1982, Davis won the case, and the Raiders began playing in Los Angeles that season.

True to his word, in 1983 Davis and the Coliseum Commission sued the NFL for damages. A jury awarded the Raiders $11.5 million and the Coliseum $33 million. On appeal, however, the court overturned the award to the Raiders, because the higher franchise value the team had in Los Angeles had not been considered. Before a new trial on damages could be held, the league settled out of court for a much smaller amount.

The precedent set by the Raiders' successful move to Los Angeles opened the door for other teams to move. As chairman of the Expansion Committee I generally opposed franchise movement, especially when it didn't seem to be in the interests of the fans or the league. I never thought I'd see the day the Colts would move from Baltimore. The fans there had been among the most loyal in the league. After all, Baltimore is where Johnny Unitas made history. In 1984 Robert Irsay took the Colts franchise to Indianapolis.

I understood Bill Bidwill's move from St. Louis to Phoenix, because
at the time it seemed fan support for the Cardinals had dwindled. Years later, the Rams left Anaheim and built a strong franchise in St. Louis. But I was disturbed when I learned that Art Modell would move his Browns from Cleveland. Not only were the Browns the natural rival of the Steelers, one of the best rivalries in sports, but their fans were among the most devoted in the NFL. It was a sad day for Cleveland, a sad day for Pittsburgh, and a sad day for the league when the Browns traded in their orange and brown uniforms for Baltimore Ravens purple.

 

 

The 1983 season did not go as we had hoped. Although we went into the playoffs with a 10-6 record, our number-one draft pick, Gabe Rivera, was involved in a terrible automobile crash on October 20. I remember that night well. Patricia and I had gone to the Blarney Stone, a Pittsburgh pub, to hear a world-renowned Irish tenor. Just as the performance was to begin, our waiter pulled me aside to answer a telephone in the hallway. A newspaper reporter informed me that just an hour earlier Gabe had been paralyzed from the chest down and was even now clinging to life. We rushed to the emergency room at Allegheny General Hospital. Pat dropped me off and I started making telephone calls to Gabe's family in Texas, doctors, and our coaches. This tragedy changed the course of Gabe's life. At Texas Tech, he had been known as “Señor Sack.” He played only three games in the NFL and had his whole career ahead of him. But after the accident, he never played again and today is confined to a wheelchair. His spirit remains strong, and he's devoted to his wife and two children—and is still an ardent Steelers fan.

We had back-to-back losing seasons in 1985 and 1986. Though 1986 was disappointing, after a 1-6 start we finished strong for a 6-10 season. At the beginning of the season, the Seahawks shut us out, 30-0,
in our opener, but most of the remaining games were much closer. We lost five games by less than a touchdown. The real heartbreaker was our loss to the Cleveland Browns in overtime at home—the first time they had ever beaten us at Three Rivers Stadium. Despite the losses, Chuck Noll never lost the team.

The coaches and scouts were a little frustrated. Art and Chuck Noll had had different opinions on the draft ever since Chuck arrived in Pittsburgh. But Chuck had proven himself to be a great coach—a teacher, a perfectionist, dispassionate and methodical, even scientific in his approach. He had shown what he could do and had built the team with draft picks and won Super Bowls.

After our second Super Bowl, Art and Dick Haley came to my office to discuss the role of coaches and scouts in the preparation and selection of the draft choices. It was the ongoing complaint of scouts, especially the heads of personnel, that the coaches had too much say in this process. My position was, the scouts and the coaches, especially the head coach, should all be involved in the discussions about the players who would be drafted. Chuck Noll had made it very clear when we first hired him that he and the coaches expected to be involved with the draft—we all had to be in it together. I knew from experience this was the right way to do it.

All of the great teams of the 1970s were built through the draft, and those drafts were a collaborative effort between scouts and coaches: Bobby Beathard and Joe Gibbs with the Washington Redskins, George Young and Bill Parcells with the New York Giants, Jim Finks and Mike Ditka with the Chicago Bears, Eddie DeBartolo and Bill Walsh of the San Francisco Forty-Niners, Jerry Jones and Jimmy Johnson of the Dallas Cowboys, Scott Pioli and Bill Belichick of the New England Patriots. It could not be all scouts, or all coaches. I learned that in the Parker era. What's more, Chuck had just won two Super Bowls. He was the main reason for our success. We had to stay together.

Art and I disagreed. He and the scouts always felt they should have more control over the draft. I was very firm and said we had to work together. We got through the 1980 draft, and the next November Art and I discussed it again. This time the discussion was more heated. We tried to settle our differences, but couldn't. I could see the separation between the scouts and coaches would only get worse. We couldn't go another year like this. Art and I went to Dad's office and explained the situation. I insisted to Art and Dad that we must listen to Chuck Noll and keep the coaches involved. “This is the way it has to be,” I said. Dad understood and agreed. He knew I wouldn't budge on this issue.

Art now heads up our real estate division as Steelers vice president. Our relationship is fine and, in the end, everything worked out well.

 

 

The year 1987 remains firmly fixed in my mind. This is the year we lost our daughter Kathleen to lupus. This disease has no cure and primarily affects women in their child-bearing years. Doctors diagnosed Kathleen with the disease shortly after the birth of her daughter Caitlin in 1986. Kathleen was strong of heart, and as a girl always looked out for her younger brothers and sisters. She taught school and made a real difference in the lives of the people she touched. Though the third in birth order of our children, Kathleen blazed the trail back to Ireland. And it was Kathleen who renewed our relationship with our Irish relatives. It seemed almost impossible that this strong, intelligent, caring young woman could be brought down by this debilitating disease. I know she suffered, but she never complained or gave in to self-pity.

On August 29, 1987, we were holding a press conference at the top of the U.S. Steel Building in downtown Pittsburgh to announce the signing of Rod Woodson, our first draft pick. Looking out the
window I could see Mercy Hospital in the distance, where Kathleen spent her last hours. Patricia and I were at her side when she died, as were her brothers and sisters. She was only thirty-one years old.

I can't question God's plan. Kathleen's life meant something and she had fulfilled her life's work in the short time she was with us. Kathleen walked without fear and defended others who could not stand up for themselves. She was a devoted Catholic and did God's work. Had she lived, she would have been a major force in our family.

Two years after Kathleen's death, our entire family returned to Ireland to honor her. The people of Cloontia and Patricia's relatives had restored an old church as a community center. A beautiful stone wall stretched from the church to a nearby creek. And near the wall, Tommy Regan and our Irish family members had planted a beech tree in Kathleen's memory. The dedication was an emotional experience for me and our entire family. I return to this lovely and hallowed place whenever I'm in Ireland and think of Kathleen. She will forever remain young and full of life in my memory.

 

 

It had been five years since the last collective bargaining contract had been signed with the NFLPA. This time we expected a players' strike. Tex Schramm and Hugh Culverhouse pushed hard for the teams to recruit replacement players in the event the strike occurred. We had found in 1982 many veteran players would have crossed the line if there had been a viable alternative to the strike.

I attended a meeting in Philadelphia with the CEC and the player representatives just before the start of the 1987 season. Hugh Culverhouse of Tampa Bay chaired the meeting. He along with Tex Schramm had made their views known. I knew we were in for a long tough battle—they wanted to beat down the players, not make a deal with them.
Tex made it clear he would not yield to the players' demands—in his words, they were the “cattle” and the owners were the “ranchers.”

At one point during the meeting, Gene Upshaw, now director of the NFLPA, looked over to me and turned his palms upward as if to say, “What's going on here?” I just shrugged and shook my head to let him know this was a tough situation and these guys weren't going to back down. I wanted to negotiate this thing in good faith, but Schramm and Culverhouse were adamant. They were ready to lock the players out and go on with the season using retired pros, collegiate has-beens, and NFL wannabes.

We had prepared for the strike, just as the other teams had, and had identified some replacements just in case. When the walkout occurred we scrambled to sign anyone we could get. The Teamsters supported the players and we worried that our replacements would be harassed if they practiced in Pittsburgh. So we moved to Johnstown, sixty miles southeast. Here we were welcomed by the community. Jim Boston, our chief negotiator, set up an office at the Holiday Inn, while our scouts scoured the countryside for talent.

The strike lasted twenty-one days, and only one game was canceled. I met with our players outside the stadium to answer their questions, reassure them, and let them know the progress of our negotiations from a management point of view. Many of our veteran players worried they'd get out of shape during the layoff. Steelers player representative Tunch Ilkin asked me if he and some of the other guys could get into the practice field next to Three Rivers Stadium to work out. This was really the only place the players could practice. I told him where he could find the key to the practice field. He got it and when the strike ended, our players returned in pretty good shape.

The strike ended with nothing resolved, especially the issue of player free agency. The NFLPA now took this battle to the courts. Schramm and Culverhouse had won a tactical victory by breaking the
strike with replacement players, but I worried that the image of the league had been tarnished, and now we were tied up in court.

At the same time, an adversarial relationship had developed between management and the players. The strike had disaffected many football fans around the country. In Pittsburgh, our fans supported the Steelers. We gave them the opportunity to turn in their tickets for refunds, but of the sixty thousand tickets sold, only five thousand were exchanged. We quickly resold these and actually suffered no loss in attendance. This was not the case in other cities, where some games were played before crowds of as few as fifteen thousand.

The players agreed to come back without a CBA in place, but the issues at the heart of the strike remained and would need to be settled once and for all. Rozelle always maintained the commissioner should not actively participate in player-management negotiations. Rather, he thought he should be an impartial observer. I agreed with him but thought he should play some role for the good of the league. By the time of his retirement in 1989, Pete had come to realize it would be better for the commissioner to shape labor agreements than have the courts do it.