Saturday, January 19, 2008
By David Fink, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
This article first appeared in September 2000
Ernie Holmes and Chuck Noll
This year marks the 25th anniversary of a major event in my life. No, I'm not talking about an anniversary or any other family milestone. I'm talking about the only time in my 36-year career in the newspaper business that I was attacked in a physical manner.
It was a September morn in 1975, and I was covering the Steelers for the Post-Gazette. As far as I could tell, it was a routine day until ...
The memory is clear in many ways; so much so that the event could have happened yesterday. I had arrived at Three Rivers Stadium a few minutes earlier and was talking with Steelers quarterbacks Terry Bradshaw and Terry Hanratty at a front corner of their locker room. It was a lively, three-way conversation before Ernie "Fats" Holmes chose to interrupt it.
Holmes was a loose cannon, whose somewhat checkered background included shooting and wounding a pilot of a hovering helicopter in Ohio. He once had his head shaved so that the only hair remaining was shaped like an arrow. I had the distinct impression that Fats not only intimidated opponents with his vicious head slaps and considerable strength but also put some of his teammates on edge with his unpredictability and temper.
About 10 days earlier, in advance of an exhibition game between the Steelers and Cowboys in Dallas, I had asked the starting defensive linemen about playing against the Cowboys' new and much-publicized offensive formation, the shotgun. Today, the shotgun is an integral part of almost every offense, but, back then, it was part aberration, part gimmick.
But rushing a quarterback who started the play so far away did not figure to be a pleasant task on a late-summer Dallas night when temperatures figured to be in the upper 90s if not triple digits.
Joe Greene, L.C. Greenwood and Dwight White, the other defensive linemen in The Steel Curtain, offered some insights on that as did Holmes, who also said he thought the shotgun formation was like a "schoolyard offense." I had used that quote quite prominently in a story and never thought about it again until that morning.
All of a sudden, my feet were no longer on firm ground. I was suspended in midair by two huge hands, one attached to each of my arms just above the elbows. And before I had any clue how I had gotten into such a precarious position, why I was hanging there or who my tormentor was, I was gently turned around so that I was face to face with Holmes.
Holmes stood about 6 feet 3 and probably weighed about 270 to 275. Most of his frame was molded in steel. Me? I stand closer to 5-9 than 5-10, and my weight at the moment of impact was about 160.
"Was I scared?" some players asked. Not initially because there was no time to be scared. But a few nasty thoughts raced through my mind:
Was there drool around Fats' lips? How was I going to get down? Was I about to be body-slammed by one of the Super Bowl champions' strongest players? Was my insurance paid up? And how was my obituary going to read? No, I'm kidding about the last one. I think. I was at Fats' mercy for more than a minute, likely closer to 90 seconds.
He never raised his voice, never hurt me in any way, used no profanity. He repeatedly insisted that I should not have used the quote. Notice that he never said he was misquoted.
Finally, he lowered me to the ground. Gently. I silently checked for scratches, bruises and missing body parts. There were none. Meanwhile, the hush in the locker room, so palpable a few seconds earlier, quickly gave way to laughter and loud conversation.
I quickly resumed my business, interviewing several players, each of whom wanted to see if he could emulate Fats' feat. Several tried but none could do it for 90 seconds, and only Bradshaw, whose strength always was underestimated, managed to do it for a minute.
Since no bodily harm was done, we had a few good laughs about it and, until now, I have never written about it.
I never had any more run-ins with Holmes. He always was cooperative, usually quotable. Neither of us ever brought up the incident.
Later, a few players assured me they would have rushed to my defense if it had appeared to them that I was in serious danger. My reply to them: "Thanks, but how many of you would it have taken to pull Fats off me if the situation had turned ugly?"
I never got an answer.
David Fink can be reached at dfink@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1464.
First published on January 19, 2008 at 12:00 am
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