Tom Ruscitti: Pittsburgh lost a treasure in Franco Harris

I grew up in Aliquippa, the son of a steelworker and a Steelers fan as long as I can remember. Franco Harris transformed an entire city in nine seconds — the “Immaculate Reception” gave an entire city hope, hope that we could be more than a dirty, smoky mill town … with a simple yet super act on a football field. That is the Franco our city knew and loved. The Franco Harris I knew was an even better human being than he was a football player.

Sometime around the late ’70s, when the Steelers were at the very top of the world, my mother was facing open heart surgery at Allegheny General Hospital. The day before her surgery, as she faced her fears and worried about her five kids, her hospital room phone rang. It was Franco Harris (my mom was his biggest fan, and a relative knew a Steelers trainer), and he spent 15 minutes talking with her and assuring her that she was in good hands. She lit up like a Christmas tree, and that is all she talked about — to the nurses, the doctors … everyone! He did that out of the goodness of his heart; no one really knew except us. And she passed away still telling that story.

I grew up on Cherry Street in Aliquippa. At the bottom of our street a guy named Pete Dokmanavich decided to build a house, mostly by himself. I would go over and visit him often. He taught me a lot about doing things yourself, like digging and pouring a foundation. We just would chat about anything. I met his daughter Dana a few times; she was very nice (and very pretty, as I recall). One day, I saw a man who looked remarkably like Franco Harris walking up the alley from Pete’s house — I never thought much about it until I learned that Franco and Dana were together.

Years later, I was a student at Penn State and had a couple of food service classes with Franco’s brother Petey Harris — I never put it together until I dropped Petey off at Franco’s house one time when we were going on Christmas break. I got to meet Franco and shared my story about him calling my mom — he acted as if he remembered it (I doubt he did), and he was very gracious. Over the years, I would see Franco at trade shows around the country, and I always sought him out to say hello. Every time he acted like he remembered me.

Our city lost a treasure, and my family lost someone who through his kindness and grace made our whole family feel better. His family needs to know that many of us feel Franco was a better human being than he was a football player — and he was a helluva football player!

We are lesser because of this loss — not just as a city who loves their football team but as a city whose direction was changed by one play in a simple game. Godspeed Franco!

Tom Ruscitti lives in Henderson, Nev., where he works in hospitality and retail technology.