Of course, it always starts with an idea, a simple thought that grows into action and substance. Sometimes it's complex, but often enough it's simple. That's where this story begins, on a simple day in 1975.
It's two weeks before the start of the 1975 playoffs. The Pittsburgh Steelers just put the finishing touches on a 10-3-1 regular season and were preparing for a first-round playoff match-up with the 10-4 Baltimore Colts. The management team of WTAE, the Steelers flagship radio station, decided they need a "gimmick" to promote their station, but also help inspire the Pittsburgh fan base in the upcoming playoffs. Initially perplexed to find an idea, vice president and general manager Ted J. Atkins and president of sales Larry Garrett approached radio personality Myron Cope with the the conundrum.
Cope, who had joined the broadcast team five years earlier, had quickly become the voice of the Steelers. Beloved by fans for his distinctive nasally twang, heavy Pittsburgh accent and capricious catch phrases, most notably "Yoi," "Double Yoi" and "Okle Dokle," his radio commentary embodied the spirit of Pittsburgh. Cope had the attention of the Steelers fans and a good indication of what they appreciated. To Atkins and Garrett, it only made sense to ask for his assistance.
Upon first request for help with the "gimmick," Cope refused. He recounts in his book, Double Yoi, he said, "I am not a gimmick guy, never have been a gimmick guy." Cope also thought the Steelers fans -- a group of hard-nosed, no-nonsense, blue-collar workers, much like the team they supported -- would be a bit put-off by a gimmick. But, upon further prodding and debate, including the explanation that this "gimmick" would be a good advantage in his upcoming contract renewal, Cope changed his answer. "I'm a gimmick guy."
As conceptualizing commenced, ideas were tossed around and thrown out, including one where fans wore a black mask with Chuck Noll's motto: "Whatever it takes" printed across it. However, the mask was cumbersome and expensive to produce. But Cope was insistent the gimmick be something lightweight, portable and either already owned by fans or easy and inexpensive to acquire. Somewhere in the brainstorming process, the mention of a towel came up. Cope ran with it, saying it was perfect. Everyone had one, or could easily get one.
For the next two weeks, Cope embarked on a mission to spread the word to fans. His voice booming across TVs and radios told fans "bring a yellow, gold or black towel to the game, will ya? If you don't have one, buy one. If you don't want to buy one, dye one. Any face towel or something like that." Cope coined it the "Terrible Towel," and made sure to tell fans to twirl the towels in support of their Steelers. Knowing the fan base may find the gimmick skeptical, he made sure to also include the other possible uses for the towel, including wiping seats, adding a layer of warmth, or as a hood to cover one's head from the snow or rain.
On Dec. 27, 1975, with game day upon them, Cope and the WTAE staff looked intently from the radio booth to see if fans brought their towels. To their dismay, there were few, if any, towels visible in the stadium. Cope's first reaction was it was just too "gimmicky" for the fans, and the station had indeed failed to implement the idea. Cope, who had been mocked openly in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, would joke years later that some of his friends and contemporaries stopped by the radio booth before the game that day to heckle him for his failure in implementing the gimmick. "You're a loser again, Cope. Ha ha ha," they said. They couldn't have been more wrong.
As the team entered the tunnel to run out on the field, it happened. Towels started to appear. "From nowhere come like 30,000 towels," Cope would later say, "yellow, black, gold towels. Were they sitting on them? Did they have them in there coats? I don't know." The towels would continue to twirl throughout the day, providing a visual perception of support, as the Steelers defeated the Baltimore Colts, 28-10. Cope seized the opportunity to give credit to the Steelers' new 12th man, giving the towels and the fans that twirled them praise. He reminded fans to bring their Terrible Towels to the next game, encouraged more to join in the new movement, and, as always, reminded Steelers friends and foes alike the "Terrible Towel was poised to strike."
The Steelers would go on to win the 1975 Super Bowl, repeating as champions. But this time, they won with a unique backdrop, unseen anywhere else in the sports world. A sea of black, yellow and gold towels that, through positive vicissitude, came to be twirled vigorously, viciously and violently by agents whose vaudevillian purpose is to play both victor and villain to any vermin of' vice looking to violate the vibrancy, virtue and valor of the men they so valiantly and vigilantly applauded.
And that is how the "Terrible Towel" came to be. Quickly growing in popularity, the next year of its existence saw its name printed in large letters across the front. It would be present at every game from that point forward, eventually being twirled and worn by players as well as fans. Its popularity even affected the local economy when local department store managers were left slightly perplexed when all of their black and gold face and hand towels were flying off the shelves without their matching counterparts.
In 1978, Bernard Pollock, the divisional marketing manager of Gimbel's department store had an idea to end his store's black and gold hand towel shortage. He decided the best course of action was to produce the Terrible Towel itself, buying a surplus of hand towels and imprinting them with: "Terrible Towel." He proposed the idea to Cope who agreed to the plan. The first trademarked Terrible Towel would hit the marketplace Dec. 20, 1978, selling for $6.
As time went on, stores and manufacturers would go out of business, but the towel would live on, never ceasing to be replicated. Today's current manufacturer is McArthur Towel & Sports Co., of Baraboo, Wisc. Sole control of its distribution lies with the Steelers. The towel has changed its style throughout the years. In 1998, "Myron Cope's Original" appeared at the top and "A Pittsburgh Original" at the bottom or the towel's logo. In 2005, after the Steelers won Super Bowl XL, a commemorative towel was made with "Super Bowl XL Champions," the date, final score and the Super Bowl XL logo imprinted on it.
The symbol of the towel has grown past the confines of its original fabric, spawning a line of paraphernalia in its image. The line, known as "Terrible Stuff," includes license plates, pillows, T-shirts, earrings and beach towels, all of which include the Terrible Towel logo. Steelers fans have incorporated the symbol of the towel into their lives in many ways that reach beyond the football arena. Fans will frequently adorn TVs, radios, family pets and cars with the likeness of the Terrible Towel.
It is also a well-practiced tradition to carry your towel with you when you travel and take pictures with the towel at well-known attractions such as the Vatican, Mount Rushmore, The White House, the South Pole and many others across the globe. The towel has even been used in the maternal wing of some Pittsburgh hospitals to wrap new born babies in, particularly during Super Bowl season.
The Terrible Towel is a story and tradition like few others in sports. A symbol that has stood the test of time and exceeded its initial purpose, garnering worldwide attention and support wherever it goes. And yet, this is only part of the story, part of the life the towel has lived. It has a small secret not known to most, a small secret you should know.
In 1996, Myron Cope disowned the towel, gave it away, leaving the legacy he had built to someone else. He simply walked into the office of Allegheny Valley School's chief executive officer, Regis Champ, with an armful of paperwork, threw it on Champ's desk and said, "Regis, I’m giving you the Terrible Towel." Champ, looking slightly puzzled, responded, "Myron, I have about 10 of them. I’ll take another one, but..." Before he could finish, Cope cut him off. "No, I’m giving you the rights, and you’ll be able to get all the proceeds from the Terrible Towels." And that was it, the towel was no longer Myron's. The towel and its trademark had a new owner, a new life, a new purpose.
The Allegheny Vally School is a series of campuses and group homes across Pennsylvania for people with severe intellectual and developmental disabilities. Cope had been a beneficiary of their services for many years when he decided to transfer the trademark, and part of his legacy, over to the school. You see Myron Cope has a son named Danny, who was diagnosed with severe mental disabilities and autism at the age of 2. As Danny reached his teenage years, it became evident he would need more specialized care that provided an opportunity for growth and a better quality of life within his disability. So, in 1982, the Copes enrolled Danny at the school and pledged their support.
Myron immediately recognized the great work the school did for its many residents over the years and was completely amazed by the progress they had made with his son. When the Copes enrolled Danny at the Allegheny Valley School, they had been told by doctors Danny would need 24-hour supervision and would be limited in what he could do. Certainly maintaining a job was out of the question.
But as the years went on, through the help of the school, Danny made progress, learning how to perform basic life-sustaining functions like shopping, cleaning clothes and other chores. He eventually moved into a supervised group home, where he had the ability to go to sporting events and even work a full-time job. Myron was more than thankful for the school's dedication to his family. As the years went by, Cope decided he wanted to show his eternal gratitude to the school for everything they had given his family and the work they had done with Danny. On that fateful day in 1996, he did just that, literally giving his eternal gratitude to the school, making sure the majority of the proceeds were theirs by giving them the trademark.
Now you know, Steeler Nation, the whole story behind the Terrible Towel, behind the symbol of a nation. Now you know it's more than a hand towel grabbed off a shelf, a few words nonchalantly written across it. It has a life to it. It is the living, breathing embodiment of the people it represents. It breathes as we do, shares the passion and empathy that we do. It's traveled the world with us, gained respect and claimed victory for those who wield it.
This is why it cannot be duplicated, though many have tried. It's not that its physicality can't be recreated, but impostors find its meaning and purpose impervious to replication. Because for Steelers fans, the Terrible Towel is more than just a symbol of a love for a sports team, but a love for family, an inspiration, a hope for better things that come from unseen places. What started as a united showcase to motivate and support players on the the field grew to do the same for hundreds, thousands of young people who didn't think they could help themselves. The Terrible Towel has stretched far beyond the properties its initial creators thought it had, but the reason for its creation lives on, because Myron Cope saw something in the towel that symbolized something more, something that lives beyond thread.
1 comments:
You know how I feel about the Steelers, but this is one of my favorite traditions in sports. When teams rip it off, it's lame. Great article, informative yet not dry at all. And of course, it all had to start against Baltimore.
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