Sunday, June 26, 2005
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
It will be a sad day when later this year one displaced 'Burgher turns on his NFL Live broadcast on his computer and won't hear the famous (infamous?) voice signifying the beginning of the Stiller season. I'm old enough to remember his Post-Gazette writings. He will be sorely missed. As much as Bob Prince, I imagine. Damn, these are the instances when I wish we could stop Father Time.
Dave Shaffer, Fort Lauderdale, Fla.
Since 1970, color analysis on Pirates radio broadcasts has come from the likes of Nellie King, Jim Rooker, Steve Blass, Bob Walk and John Wehner.
In 35 years on ABC, insights emanated from 12 apostles of the church of Monday Night Football -- Howard Cosell, Dandy Don Meredith (twice), Alex Karras, Fred "The Hammer" Williamson, Fran Tarkenton, O.J. Simpson, Joe Namath, Dan Dierdorf. Boomer Esiason, Dan Fouts, Dennis Miller and John Madden.
But there was only one Myron Cope.
Cope retired last week from his peerless reign as the screechy-voiced sidekick on Steelers radio broadcasts. Quit is too harsh a word for a 76-year-old self-made character afflicted with various health ailments who accepted a friend's blunt assessment that he was longer up to his own copacetic standards.
"I'm reminded of when Bob Prince was fired in 1975. Willie Stargell said it was like the U.S. Steel Building falling down," said Curt Smith, author of the book Voices of Summer about masterful baseball broadcasters. "That's how I regard Myron Cope. He was the embodiment of the Steelers. Like Bob Prince, he is impossible to replace.
"The remarkable thing is that baseball is much more suited for radio while football is a TV medium. For him to last so long as an analyst and an icon is an enormous tribute to Myron," Smith added.
Indeed. In all years and in all the markets of the media-savvy NFL, only one voice surpasses Cope in longevity. Van Miller did play-by-play for the Buffalo Bills for 37 years, but Miller's service wasn't continuous because his station lost the broadcast rights for a time in the 1970s.
No one has had a run of 35 consecutive years calling pro football on radio, according to the NFL Hall of Fame. And, with longevity as the yardstick of achievement in any endeavor, no NFL color analyst matches Cope's tour de force.
I can remember when I was a kid listening to Myron. I could not stand that voice. How could the team hire this screeching, howling fanatic? But in the ripeness of time, I began to realize what Bill Cowher knows -- that Myron is Pittsburgh -- gritty, hard-working and determined to rise to the top of whatever challenge presents itself. I hope there is some way Steelers fans can post our thanks to him for helping to create so many lasting memories.
James FarrellyHanover, Pa.
Back in the day, learning as a sports writer and sports editor of the University of Pittsburgh's newspaper, he was Myron Kopelman. But in 1951, the year he got his sheepskin at Pitt, an editor at an Erie newspaper changed his byline to Cope as a condition of employment.
He later worked at the Post-Gazette, but he clashed with the sports editor at the time, the late Al Abrams, over the philosophy of coverage. Cope had decided to venture into the dog-eat-dog world of freelance writing, stopping by Abrams' desk on his final day on the job.
"Kid, you'll starve," Abrams told him. "You'll be back in six months."
He never came back.
Not only was he able to sell his pieces to The Saturday Evening Post, he was paid on a par with George Plimpton by Sports Illustrated. He was awarded the E.P. Dutton Prize for best magazine sports writing in the nation for his True Magazine profile of Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay.
After he had done commentaries for two years for WTAE, fate tapped him on the shoulder in 1970. The Steelers had moved from KDKA to WTAE radio the year they moved into Three Rivers Stadium. The Irish-Catholic family that founded and still guides the Steelers took a chance on an elf-like character who jabbered in Yiddish with a Pittsburgh accent.
"I didn't know anything about broadcasting," said Cope, whose passion for football and the Steelers was such that he would sneak into games at old Forbes Field when he was a lad. "Some people think it was for the money. It wasn't. I got into by accident. I figured I'd give it a shot."
He brought yoi to the world, but not without trying the patience of play-by-play man Jack Fleming. Although he and Fleming became mutual admirers, Cope conceded he was raw and untrained.
"I was a real trial for Jack," Cope chuckled.
"We were doing a game in Philadelphia and Frenchy Fuqua was running 80 yards for a touchdown. Now an audience can't hear two guys talk into a microphone at the same time. Jack was calling the play, and I'm on my feet yelling, 'Frenchman, quit looking behind you!' Oh my God, was [Jack] mad," Cope said. "Fleming would get so angry at times, he would turn beet red. At the first commercial break, he would leave the booth and go out in the hall to cool off."
Steve Sabol of NFL Films loved to use Cope's comments in his highlight reels. One was a Super Bowl classic in which Cope compared an acrobatic catch by Lynn Swann to the moves of a Russian ballet dancer.
"He looked like Nijinsky!" Cope cackled.
"Who's Nijinsky?" Fleming wondered.
I was one of the ones who turned down the sound on the TV to hear Myron on the radio. If his voice held up, I would have loved to see him continue. Myron gave us the enthusiasm and the "wackiness." It made every game a party atmosphere. That's what people tuned in to hear. That's what we'll miss the most.
Mike Zoric, Peters Township
The Immaculate Reception is the most incredible play in pro football history, a last-second prayer that ricocheted into the hands of Franco Harris as the Steelers notched their first playoff win Dec. 23, 1972. But there was no instant analysis from Cope.
"I had this stupid practice of leaving the booth with two minutes to play because I had to do the locker room show. I figured they wouldn't miss me in the last two minutes," Cope said sheepishly.
Flying solo, Fleming made a classic call as all Steelerdom shed the frustrations of 40 years of losing. Cope was on the field, as caught up in the delirium as any fan.
"If you look at some of the films, you'll see a little guy in a trench coat from behind with a bald spot, and that's me," Cope said. "He was running straight at me, and I'm screaming, 'Go, Franco, go!' "
On the 30th anniversary of that catch, Franco Harris invited Cope to dinner at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse and presented him an autographed photo. It was inscribed: "Myron: Believe In Miracles."
We don't give a (darn) if he's 120 years old and mutters 'hmm-hah' just one time during a game. We must have Cope! We must! We love Myron like we love our own grandfather. Myron is not a broadcaster. He's not a reporter or a mere recognizable voice. He is an icon. WE WANT COPE! WE WANT COPE!
Jimmy Pore, Granbury, Texas
Cope's timing could not have been more perfect. His career in broadcast began at a time when the Steelers became the greatest team of all time. This was no mere coat-tail effect, however. Cope, then as now, had something to say,
Still, the word icon makes the man fidget.
"That had a religious meaning at one time," Cope said.
Well, he was a man of the cloth. Terry cloth, that is. He turned a cupboard-common cut of fabric into the galvanizing symbol of a city's ardor for its football team -- the Terrible Towel.
He made a few shekels from the idea. But, in 1996, Cope contributed his ownership of the trademarks on his creation to Allegheny Valley School, an institution for the profoundly mentally and physically disabled. Since then, royalties from sales of the ubiquitous towel have brought nearly $1 million to Allegheny Valley School.
But his life's work included more than a towel connection.
On the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the Hearst Corp., the parent company of WTAE, Cope was selected in 1987 as one of 54 figures who represent the achievements of all their co-workers over the past century. Honorees included William Randolph Hearst Jr., Mark Twain, Jack London, Frederick Remington, Walter Winchell, Sidney Sheldon and Myron Cope.
Cope was the first member of the broadcast media named to the board of directors of the selection committee for the NFL Hall of Fame.
Last year, the Senator John Heinz Pittsburgh Regional History Center gave him the 2004 History Maker Award in association with the Smithsonian Institution.
He will be honored by the Steelers Oct. 31, a Monday that coincides with Halloween, a feast made for iconic imagery.
There's a dark cloud on this pretty summer day in Maryland. I can't believe Myron is calling it quits. It just shows the quality of the man -- when he can't do it the way he feels it should be done, he moves on. Please pass on how much I'll miss the man and how much respect I have for what he's done. The games cannot possibly be the same without him. I hope every time he sees people waving the towel, especially at away games, he realizes the impact he made. I hope to make the Halloween shindig if at all possible. My wife can handle the trick-or-treating.
Tim Gaydosh, Mount Airy, Md.
He was a throwback to the pre-Watergate days when those covering a beat weren't as constricted by arm's-length objectivity. Unapologetically, Cope was friends with many of the players and coaches.
But he never was told what to say or what not to say.
At his farewell news conference, he kidded Dan Rooney about a debate they had over dinner once in Cleveland. Cope was appalled that the Steelers, along with their NFL brethren, forced season-ticket holders to pay regular-season prices for preseason games. It was a policy Cope called "lousy."
The two men argued for two hours, neither side budging. But it was Rooney who picked up the tab that night. And it was Rooney who bid farewell to Cope via a conference call from Ireland by telling Cope he was part of the team.
"The thing I'm most proud of is my credibility," Cope said. "I've always guarded it. I want people to believe that when I say something, I know what I'm talking about and that's what I believe. I never played devil's advocate on my talk show in the almost 22 years I had it. I was on the alert all the time. Are you credible, Cope?"
His decision to let go after 35 years was not lost on Curt Smith. Before he became an author on broadcasters, Smith was a student at Allegheny College in Meadville.
"So many broadcasters and athletes don't know how to leave. It shows the authenticity on Myron's part," Smith said. "He'll be remembered for what he was, not for what he became."
When the football season rolls around, Cope likely will be a familiar face at Heinz Field. Or he'll be like the rest of us -- parked in front of the TV.
"I'm going to watch the games or be at the games," he said. "I'm as interested as I've ever been."
Except there won't be anyone to hear his signature signoff: This has been Myron Cope on sports.
I grew up in Washington, Pa., and basically began my adult life in 1971 when I entered CMU's school of engineering. Hard as the grind was, we have had the Steelers to watch on Sundays in the fall. Early on, we at the Alpha Tau Omega Fraternity caught onto the Myron train. Now living in "hated" Browns territory for 30 years, I will have to enter a football season without Myron. He'll be sadly missed by legions of fans. No shoes can be filled here, just like no one ever truly filled those of Bob Prince. To steal a line: Myron, thanks for the memories.
Martin A. Francis, Cortland, Ohio
(Robert Dvorchak can be reached at bdvorchak@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1959.)
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