A bone over Franco

For all of his life, Franco Harris had told people he was an African-American. The son of a black father and an Italian mother, Harris had darker skin than most whites and lighter skin than most blacks. Back in his home state of New Jersey, that meant he was considered to be black.

Al Vento and Tony Stagno didn’t know any of this, and, frankly, they didn’t really care. When the Steelers drafted Harris, Vento and Stagno and their friends got to thinking. They were so convinced Harris was going to be a star for the Steelers that they decided they wanted to be his fan club, and they’d call themselves “Franco’s Italian Army.”

Vento and Stagno, who owned an East Liberty bakery not far from Harris’ apartment, put out some feelers to see what Harris thought about their idea. Harris told them to go for it. Little did they know, they were about to jump on the ride of their lives.

“Being Italian was part of it,” recalls Al Vento Jr., a teenager then, “but it was more about just being a Steelers fan.”

As the Italian Army’s legend grew, some members of the black community became frustrated. The fact was, Harris was just as black as he was Italian.

“Italians are very proud people,” recalls John Brewer, a historian who focuses on black Pittsburgh. “They’d talk about Franco’s Army, and they’d say, ‘We’re the better genes of Franco Harris. We’re the ones that allow him to excel in sports.’ I remember a resistance by AfricanAmericans who felt that the African-American side of him was in fact the contributing factor to his success.”

Brewer said tensions never became too hot, though. An article in the Post-Gazette on Dec. 5, 1972, confirms that. It tells of an appearance made by Harris that was attended by many Steelers fans, including, of course, the Italian Army.

“Harris has become such a hot item that arguments have resulted in the tracing of his birthright,” the article read. “One black fan at Sunday’s game just happened to mingle into the section containing Franco’s Italian Army. ‘ Franco belongs to the black race,’ the man was saying to the total stranger on his right. The total stranger, an Italian, was also laying claim to Harris.

“After the game, the two left as friends. The black man even saluted his newfound friend with the Italian Army battle cry, ‘See you again, Pisano.’ ”

The article included this quote from Harris: “I don’t think it’s meant to single out any one group,” he said. “I think it’s supported by everyone and it’s just the Steelers fans’ method of showing their support.”

Still, at that time, the black community in Pittsburgh relished any opportunity it had to be proud of one of their own. Many blacks had been displaced from their homes, starting with the building of the Civic Arena in the Hill District and continuing with the riots after the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s death in 1968.

Overall, Harris would be viewed as a healing figure for Pittsburgh. And no matter what race you were, or where you stood on the genetic source of Harris’ immense skills, there was near-universal agreement on one thing: The Steelers had better find a way to beat the Raiders.