In January 1987, early in the two years I lived in Colorado and was sports editor of the Greeley Tribune, I was looking for a different sort of column about the Super Bowl.
This was what I found:
***
Exactly how did the Super Bowl get its name?
If you've read the official National Football League handout, there's some mumbo jumbo about Pete Rozelle walking in the desert one day and finding a burning bush. What he stopped to check out the situation, he heard a deep voice.
The Lord? It's possible, but more likely it was Charlton Heston.
"Call it the Super Bowl," the voice reportedly said.
"Yes, boss," Rozelle reportedly replied.
The rest, as the NFL would have us believe it, was history.
Being a dedicated investigative reporter as well as a sportswriter, I decided that this was probably not true. Since I had a little extra time this week, I figured I would look into it.
One phone call put me in touch with Marvin Potsterton, who worked for Rozelle was a public relations assistant in the mid-1960s.
"How did you get this number?" he asked.
I declined to answer. We dedicated investigative reporters never reveal our sources.
"I need to know how the Super Bowl was named."
"Read the league handout," he said. "Pete Rozelle was walking in the desert and ..."
I cut him off. "I don't believe that. Tell me the real story."
Like I said, I'm a tough reporter.
He paused, obviously in awe of my toughness.
"I can't tell you that over the phone," he said. "You'll have to come to New York if you want to know that."
I checked my bank balance. No good.
I bought a couple of lottery tickets. No luck.
Then, approaching desperation, I found an old credit card with the numbers work almost smooth. That'll work, I thought.
I flew to New York and met Potsterton in a sleazy bar on the Upper East Side. There was a banner hanging over the bar that said, "Go Giants. Kill Elway." I decided to get what I needed and get out of town as quickly as possible.
"I don't have the information you want," he said almost before I sat down.
"Great," I thought. I journey into the jaws of the beast and come away empty. "Why did you ask me to come then?"
"Chill out," he said. "I don't have it, but a friend of mine does."
"What's his name?"
Potsterton paused. "Herman Squeezingham. He used to be Pete Rozelle's chauffeur. He went everywhere with him from 1965 to 1972."
"What happened in 1972," I asked.
"He quit and joined a cult. The Church of the Presumptuous Assumption and the Blinding Light."
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| Eugene O'Neill's chair. Really. |
"Are you sure he'll talk to a reporter?"
"Relax. He's cool. He got out of that scene about five years ago. Now he's a born-again Mets fan."
"When can I meet him?"
"Come with me," Potsterton said.
We found a cab quickly. We were even lucky enough to find one of the four New York City cab drivers who wasn't from the Middle East. One cab ride and $42.50 later, we were in Brooklyn. He pulled up next to a very old apartment building.
"This is where he lives," Potsterton said.
We walked up four flights of stairs. Since I had come from Colorado, my ears didn't pop. Potsterton knocked on the door. Three short raps and two long ones.
"Who is it?" Someone inside the apartment asked.
"Come on," Potsterton said. "Let us in. I gave the secret knock."
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| Al Davis |
For the next five minutes, we heard the sound of one lock after another being opened. As the door finally swung open, I saw a gaunt man with a three-day growth of beard.
"Herman Squeezingham, I presume."
"Who did you expect?" he asked. "Yasser Arafat? What do you want?"
"I'm an investigative reporter from Colorado, and I'm trying to find out how the Super Bowl was named. Mr. Potsterton here told me you were the only man alive who knew."
"I ain't giving that information away," he growled.
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| Dick Nixon |
I tried negotiating with him. I offered a five-year subscription to the Greeley Tribune. I added an autographed copy of the first collected book of my columns, should that happy day ever come.
We finally agreed on money.
"Two Benjies," he said.
I checked my wallet. Giving him $200 would mean I would have to take a bus back to the airport and also that I would have to live on Spam and Ritz crackers for two weeks.
Intelligence slugged it out with Dedicated Investigative Reporter in my mind.
Intelligence lost. No great surprise. I've never been invited to the MENSA Super Bowl.
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| J. Edgar Hoover |
"You've got it," I said, handing him $200. "Now tell me how the Super Bowl was named."
He motioned for me to sit down on a chair that looked like Eugene O'Neill had died in it. I did, gingerly.
"It was really simple," he said. "In May of 1968, I drove the commissioner to a secret meeting on Long Island. There were four men present in addition to Mr. Rozelle -- Richard Nixon, J. Edgar Hoover, Al Davis and Soupy Sales."
"Soupy Sales?"
"Who's telling this story, you or me?" he grunted.
I shut up.
"Nobody ever knew why Rozelle did the things he did," Squeezingham continued. "I know his political idols were Nixon and Hoover, and Al Davis was his best friend at the time. As for Soupy, the commissioner had always loved his television show. He said the French may think Jerry Lewis was a comedy genius, but he knew Soupy would eventually rank right up there with the Marx Brothers and Charlie Chaplin."
I nodded, taking notes as quickly as I could.
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| Soupy Sales, unheralded genius or just a goofy guy? |
"Anyway, Rozelle asked them what they thought the new championship game should be called. Remember the first couple were just called the NFL-AFL Championship Game. Well, Nixon and Hoover argued for the American Bowl. Nobody remembered what Al Davis said. He was getting really annoyed because Soupy kept trying to play 'Got your nose' with him.
"Finally they asked Soupy what he thought, and he said 'How about the Soupy Bowl?'"
I groaned. "So that's how ..."
"The commissioner loved it and insisted that was the answer. The public relations people -- Jerry Lewis fans, I think --arranged for a couple of typos, and when it was released to the press it was the Super Bowl. It was as simple as that."
"And the goofy story about the burning bush?"
"Soupy thought that one up too," he said. "He wanted his buddy Pete to look good."
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