DashSync

This was not in the script.

Irv Cross and his “The NFL Today” teammates – Brent Musburger, Phyllis George and Jimmy “The Greek” Snyder – were in Miami, covering the 1976 Super Bowl between the Steelers and Cowboys. “The NFL Today” was the premier pregame show on television, a trailblazer – with Cross, one of the first Black men on the air in a regular role on a weekly network (CBS) show, along with the late George, a former Miss America and the first woman to have a regular spot on an NFL broadcast. It quickly became the gold standard. So, with its network also broadcasting the big game that year, CBS pulled out all the stops. The idea for the Super Bowl pregame show was for the group to start at the Biscayne Bay Yacht Club, on a yacht, to do one segment, take a helicopter from there to shoot another segment, and on and on.

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At the same time, the legendary movie producer John Frankenheimer was in town, shooting the iconic film “Black Sunday,” an adaptation of the Thomas Harris novel detailing a plot by the terrorist group Black September to commandeer a blimp and place a bomb on board, then crash the blimp into the crowd at a Super Bowl. The NFL had allowed Frankenheimer to meld the book plot with an adaptation for the film – now, Black September would steal the Goodyear Blimp, and attack the very Super Bowl between Pittsburgh and Dallas that Cross and “The NFL Today” were covering for real.

But just before the pregame show began, with the crew on the yacht, a phone call came in from CBS Sports president Bob Wussler. He wasn’t joking.

“Bob says, ‘Irv, Brett, Phyllis – we just received a bomb threat. There’s a bomb on your yacht,'” Cross, now 80, recalled via phone this week. “And Brent had to go on the air in about 20 seconds, something like that. I said ‘Holy smokes;’ we were standing together. And Phyllis, in the only way she could do it, I guess, the three of us just held hands. And she blurted out, ‘Let’s make this our best one.’ And we out and we did the broadcast and it wound up being a pretty strong show. But you walk away with a certain level of respect for people when you can manage a situation like that as well as she did. We all had a job to do, and we did the best job we could.”

That was Cross’ brand, as a defensive back in the ’60s for the Eagles and Rams, then as a local radio and television anchor in Philadelphia, then during more than two decades at CBS – sustained excellence, preparation and production. His chill demeanor and insightful interviews made quite an impression.

But Cross, who received the Pete Rozelle Radio-Television Award in 2009 from the Pro Football Hall of Fame, the highest honor a journalist can get from the Hall, wasn’t the only Black man on national TV in the early ’70s.

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A very different African American man – ironically, also a Philly guy, though born and raised there, unlike Cross – was doing the same thing, on the same network, with the same anchor – Musburger. But in a different sport.

“There was a signal from the Good Lord above that this was the next step He wanted me to take,” William Randolph “Sonny” Hill is saying on the phone.

“You talk about the pressure. Actually, it wasn’t pressure, as I look back at it – I had a responsibility,” Hill says. “There’s a difference. And my responsibility was to do the best that I could do to project us, at that time, as ‘Negroes’ and ‘Coloreds.’ So that when the other side saw us, they saw us from a different perspective. … If you remember, I was always sharp. My dress was impeccable. At that time, you wore the Afro. My Afro, everything was in place. And my diction and my ability to articulate and enunciate was very good. It got a lot better as time went on. It was all about projecting. Here I am, in a situation where people were going to see us – not me, us – from a different perspective. And that’s why I was able to garner so much respect.”

Hill was only on CBS for five years, 1973-77. But he made his mark, as the network’s NBA Editor for its then-new pro basketball package. Like Cross, Hill was both on set with Musburger as an analyst, as well as going out in the field to do feature stories and pieces.

Now, every studio show and game broadcast on national television has Black former players. But that wasn’t the case when I and other kids were growing up in the ’70s. Hill and Cross provided weekly inspiration for young Black kids like me who didn’t have many role models on national TV to watch that looked like us.

Locally, I was lucky: there were any number of Black reporters and anchors on TV in D.C., including Jim Vance, Maureen Bunyan, J.C. Hayward, Angela Owens, Bruce Johnson, Bob Strickland, Paul Berry and countless others. And Harold Bell and Glenn Harris were on the radio doing sports talk shows. But Cross and Hill weren’t just role models for me; they reached Black kids around the country.

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“Here’s a kid who grows up and loves basketball, and you can go anyplace, any time, and spend CBS’ money,” Hill, now 83, said. “I saw, on average, six basketball games a week, from Monday through Sunday.”

Hill was already a Philly institution, having played at Northeast High before spending his pro years in the Eastern League. He became a local hero after his retirement, forming the Baker League, a summer pro league, in 1960. With Philly’s Earl Monroe leading a slew of NBA players back to town to play in the offseason, the Baker – and its offshoot, the Sonny Hill Community League – became nationally known both for the summer runs of the pro guys and for giving opportunities for both Philly-area high school talent and others that just needed a break a chance to flourish and get recruited by colleges.

Both Cross’ and Hill’s TV origin stories involve good timing, NFL Films, and some good fortune.

Cross’ break came after he’d been willing to do a good deed for the Eagles, who’d taken him in the seventh round of the 1961 draft out of Northwestern. The Eagles were coming off their first NFL championship, and many of their players, including wide receiver Tommy McDonald and tight end Pete Retzlaff, were in high demand for high-paying speaking engagements in town. Cross told the team’s PR office that if there was a non-profit organization or club in town looking for an Eagle as well, he would speak there for free.

“I hope guys still do that,” Cross said.

After one of his speeches, a man walked up to Cross. He was the program director at a local radio station in Philly, who told Cross he had a great voice, and he should think about going into radio. And the man, Bill Emerson, soon hired Cross at WIBG, where Cross did sports reports during the offseason.

“In the old days, we all worked during the offseason,” Cross said. “I worked for Campbell’s Soup Company in the personnel department. I would get off work around 4 or 5 o’clock in the evening, and I could hop in my car and drive off to the radio station, and be on the air at 5:35 or whatever time it was. We wound up getting pretty good ratings with radio. And KYW television heard the radio show and liked it and said ‘How’d you like to work both radio and television for us?’ I wound up doing the weekend sports anchor spots at KYW. It was amazing how it all fell together. There’s a reason things like that happen; I feel strongly about that, too. … I enjoyed doing it. I like being around sports. We had a chance to do some pretty exciting assignments, worked with some interesting people, and grew as an announcer.”

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Cross was working at KYW and doing preseason games in Washington and Miami when he got on Wussler’s radar. (He was replaced at KYW by another Hall of Fame broadcaster, Dick Stockton.)

“Bob Wussler had just been appointed president,” Cross said. “He’s from Chicago. I’m from the Chicago area (Hammond, Ind.), and he knew of me from Northwestern. Matter of fact, Musburger and I had been at Northwestern together. He was in journalism; I was in education. So we wound up making a pretty good team when they put us together with the network. My feeling was, if I could do a pretty good job of just explaining to people what was going on, how the game works, we would be all right. What I did was, which was pretty much an accident but in the same sense, it was pretty much my way of working, NFL Films is headquartered in Philadelphia. I used to go down there almost every day to look at footage from different teams, see the interviews that were being done by other guys around the country, and pick up even more of the game than before. And Ed Sabol (the founder of NFL Films) spent an awful lot of time with me, just breaking down film, and doing the analytical kind of work. I did that pretty much on my own.”

Cross’ playing days helped put his interview subjects at ease.

“Being out and doing your reports with the athletes gave me a lot more insight,” he said. “I’d spent time with whoever the top player was that week, or whatever the major theme was for that week, and do those stories. And you really get close to the athletes when you do things like that. Normally we’d go out on Monday or Tuesday, be on the west coast for two or three days to put together a feature story before you’d get back. … You’d get with the guy’s family. You’d have a chance to talk about personal issues-many of which I didn’t say much about on the air, because they were personal. And you had a chance to gain a rapport with the athletes. And the guys had a sense of respect with you, too. They’d share some things with you that they thought were important and had an ease doing that. And so, the confidence level grew because of that.”

NFL Films also got Hill’s foot into CBS’ door. He’d given up a $115 per game salary in the Eastern League to get $25 a game working Sixers home games to break into the business.

“The people from NFL Films knew about my Baker League and my Sonny Hill League,” Hill said. “They came in and put a documentary together called ‘Ten Feet in the Air.’ Through that, the people at CBS saw it, and they were looking for somebody to be part of the package they were putting together at CBS for the NBA. And they asked me, would I come up and meet with Bob Wussler? … Obviously, they liked my conversation. It was Sandy Grossman and Chuck Milton. Milton was the producer; Sandy was the director. And what happened is, they liked what I stood for, and they developed a special role for me. I was called the Basketball Editor for CBS, which encompassed a lot of things. … They wanted me to go to basketball games, anytime, anyplace I wanted, on their expense. So I could fly from Philadelphia to Los Angeles, to Seattle. I could catch the train and go to D.C. for the Washington games, or I could go to New York for the New York games.”

Hill not only worked with Musburger on NBA broadcasts, but with the likes of great broadcasters like the late Pat Summerall, Jack Whitaker and Tom Brookshier on occasion, as CBS put him on during NFL games to try and grow its audience for its NBA games.

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“Pat said something very special to me,” Hill said. “He had been doing basketball to that point. He was so enamored with my ability – I still get chills about it – he said ‘Sonny, I wish I was still doing basketball, because we would have been a great team.’ Those three guys took me under their wing. When I got to WIP (the sports talk radio station in Philly), Tom Brookshier was a part of the people that owned WIP, and that’s how I ended up being at WIP for the last 33 years. … I was hired first. Then they hired Oscar Robertson as the analyst. And the last person they hired was Brent Musburger. So that’s how that team came together.”

Hill was told ratings in the south improved with him on the air. CBS’ on-air talent coach told him, “Sonny, you have the ability to charm the camera.” But Hill never lacked confidence from the outset.

“There was no one, prior to me, who projected himself the way I did,” he said. “There were people doing it at the time. But I don’t think they came across in mainstream America, which is where we needed to get to. And also, with the unique relationships I had throughout the league, I would walk into a locker room, and Brent Musburger would walk in the locker room with me, and everybody’s all over me, and they’d say ‘Who’s that with you?’ And I’d say, ‘That’s my man; this is Brent Musburger.’ …

“To me, it just flows. The same thing that we’re doing now is the way it was then. The only difference then was, these were my guys. So if I’m interviewing Bob Lanier, or I’m interviewing Spencer Haywood, I’m interviewing Billy Cunningham, whoever it is, Bill Bradley – come on, man. These are my guys. They’re giving me things that they’re not going to give anybody else. In most cases, (it’s) questions and answers. With me, it was conversation. And that comes across strong. … my reputation had already preceded me. These guys, they knew who I was. The Baker League was formed in 1960. And I grew up playing with Wilt Chamberlain, and I played in the Eastern Basketball League for 10 years. So my background, even though white folks didn’t know, basketball-wise, my basketball background was there. When we did interviews, the chemistry was so strong. They’re going to give me the A Game. They’re going to give somebody else the B and the C.”

Cross did the NFL Today, CBS Sportsbreaks and other work for the network throughout the ’70s and ’80s.

“I don’t refer to myself as a pioneer in television, but others have,” Cross wrote in his book, “Bearing the Cross,” with longtime sportswriter Clifton Brown. “A ton of ex-athletes, black athletes, are working for networks these days. But in 1975, when ‘The NFL Today’ was launched, the sports TV landscape looked much different, much whiter. I never focused on that, but I was keenly aware that if I failed, it might be a long time before another black person got a similar opportunity. Every time I see James Brown or Greg Gumbel or Tom Jackson on national television, I take pride, knowing that in some way, large or small, I helped create an avenue for them. Many people helped me. God was always with me. For that, I am forever grateful.”

And he stayed true to himself when he was first hired by CBS, when the network literally tried to change him.

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“When I joined the network, they hadn’t really made up their mind what role I would play, although I would be the analyst on the broadcast,” Cross said. “At the time, they had a couple of shows that were pretty popular (on television) with Black guys playing the lead role, the zoot suit type guys. Anyway, they called me up to go to New York to work with an advertising agency, to see if they could project some kind of image for me. Some woman took me to a store on the west side of town, and picked out an outfit. It was a leisure suit, a light blue leisure suit with dark blue stitches around the collar, a blue and white silk flowered shirt, with a gold chain suspended down the middle of my chest, and a hat. I put that on, and took it off, and gave it back to them and said I’ll have to get back with you later.

“When Bob did call back I told him, ‘I don’t dress that way. I always wear a coat and tie. If you want somebody to take that kind of role, you have to get somebody else.’ And a couple of days later he called back and said ‘Well, why don’t you come on the air and do what you want to do, and that should be fine.’ As it turned out, the network had committed itself to do the show with Brent, Phyllis and myself. I didn’t know that at the time. If I had waited another two or three days, I would have never been on the air.”

Cross left CBS in 1991, and became athletic director at Idaho State and Macalester College in Minnesota before retiring for good. Diagnosed with mild dementia from his NFL days, Cross has already said he’ll donate his brain after death to Northeastern University in Boston to test for CTE. He lives just outside of Minneapolis with his wife and family.

“We liked each other,” Cross said of his colleagues. “We liked doing what we were doing. The Greek had his own segment that worked out pretty well. Brent was really good. He was on top of everything. Phyllis was more competitive than you might think. I mean, she was Miss America, beauty queen and all that kind of stuff. But, I tell you, she worked hard and she wanted to do the best job she possibly could. I had a bit of a special assignment with her. When we first met, we met down in Texas, at her house. Her mother wanted to meet people from the crew. She asked me to make sure to take care of Phyllis, and not have those football players (talk to her). I told her I’d be happy to do that.”

CBS moved on from Hill in ’77 – Hill believes Musburger was not a fan– but that was just one stop on the road, which still runs down Broad Street. He has been on WIP since 1987, and still hosts a Sunday show there, “The Living Room.”

He’s been an ambassador in a variety of jobs for the 76ers for years; through the team’s ownership and management changes, Hill has always persevered. To walk with him into a locker room is to bridge the years between NBA generations; Hill is still well-known and respected by players who weren’t born when he was on TV and have no idea he was a player. His legacy is secure. And so is his pension with the local Teamsters, where he became the first black business agent in the local’s history in 1967.

“The Good Lord used me in the manner we’re talking about right now,” Hill says. “And then He took it away. “He gave it to me, and He took it away. If I’d stayed there (at CBS), I could have ended up resigning from my job with the Teamsters 169. Which would not have been good, because at the Teamsters 169, I had already set it up that I’d retire at the age of 55. And I retired at the age of 55. So it wasn’t all bad.”

(Top Photo of Irv Cross in 1985: George Rose/Getty Images)

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