The Life That Came After Was the Miracle for Franco Harris

There are athletes who are touched by destiny or maybe they grab destiny in their hands before it falls to the ground unused.

Franco Harris, who died overnight on December 21, was one of those athletes. His passing comes just two days shy of the 50th anniversary of his Immaculate Reception, called by many the greatest play in football history. The catch and run, which lifted Harris’ Pittsburgh Steelers to an unlikely victory, also marked the moment the Pittsburgh Steelers transformed from being loveable, hard-nosed losers that had never won a postseason game to become one of the greatest dynasties in sport and made Pittsburgh “the City of Champions.”

I was only 8 years old when someone whose name I thought was “Frank O’Harris,” galloped into the public consciousness. In reality, Harris was the son of an African American soldier, who brought home Harris’ mom, a young Italian woman, as a war bride from World War II and settled in New Jersey. In this respect Harris, who played first at Penn State and was followed there by his younger brothers, Giuseppe and Pete, and then for the Steelers owned by the very Irish Art Rooney, was even a better metaphor for the diverse city and nation his play captivated. The player, the catch, the moment, and the Steelers’ four Super Bowl Championships are all indelible and a part of Harris’ legacy. But for me, the nearly 50 years of life he lived after the Immaculate Reception are the real story.

Franco lived a life of impact, grace, and dignity after his playing career was done in his adopted home of Pittsburgh and on behalf of his alma mater Penn State, where I got to interact with him a bit. In any room he was in, he lit it up. His size and strength were noticeable- not sure how any defender ever brought him down- but his smile, warmth, and youthfulness, gave this great big bear of a man a gracefulness that was one of a kind.

In fact, one of the first words many people who knew Franco are using to describe him now is “kind.” That Harris who stood 6-3 and weighed north of 230 pounds in his prime and ran over more than a few of the top linebackers of his day, despite his supposed penchant for running out of bounds to avoid unnecessary contact, and could put a cleat in the chest of would be tacklers, would be thought of as kind is an incredible compliment to Harris the man, the family, and the values with which he was raised and the culture he grew up in at Penn State and in Pittsburgh. Sometimes in our desire to demonstrate performative qualities of aggression and success, we forget that kindness can be the greatest demonstration of strength and humility the greatest hallmark of success.

We’ve seen and heard so many tales of great players’ whose lives after football are less than good. The transition can be hard and an athlete often loses not just their job, but also their friends and their identity when they away from the games they love. But Franco’s life after football, at least publicly, was an awfully good one, marked by success, dignity, connectivity, and both kindness and humility that let him wear his fame lightly through all his days.

I’ll recall one story about that humility. Penn State basketball was playing in the NIT Finals and a who’s who of Penn Staters were scrambling for courtside seats and smiling for ESPN’s cameras near the bench in all kinds of fan gear. Much farther away from the throng, Franco and his PSU old backfield mate and Colts All-Pro Lydell Mitchell were in their regular clothes, wearing ball caps perhaps not to be noticed, true Penn State royalty just enjoying each other’s company, cheering on their school.

Harris’ number 32 is to be retired in Pittsburgh on December 24, 50 years plus one day from that moment that thrust immortality upon him. His will only be the second of the Hall of Fame 1970s & 1980s Steelers’ numbers to be retired, following only the great Joe Greene.

Franco’s sudden passing means there will be a real void in the stadium that night. But his school, his community, his city, are all far fuller because of his life every day since that moment of Immaculate Reception. Not sure Harris’ life was immaculate, nobody’s really can be, but when we hail a great athlete for what happens after, it was a life to be held up as an exemplar and that kids buckling a chinstrap for the first time should hear about as long as we play sports.