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GETTING INTO THE PICTURE
Curry Kirkpatrick
April 21, 1975
Now that women have a voice in sportscasting, TV has a sassy ingenue, a Venus in blue jeans, a Martini Conglomerate, a mother-author and even a first lady
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April 21, 1975

Getting Into The Picture

Now that women have a voice in sportscasting, TV has a sassy ingenue, a Venus in blue jeans, a Martini Conglomerate, a mother-author and even a first lady

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In the NBC clients' section of the press box there were no clients. It was too cold. Only Morris, her husband, Perkins, a stadium policeman and a couple of freeloaders hung on as the wind roared, the temperature dipped and the Super Bowl wound down. Perkins, who was to join her on the postgame show, had long since left for shelter when Morris exited the press box with six minutes left in the game. The press elevator was being held for Commissioner Pete Rozelle, so Morris rushed down the ramps and made a broken field run through the masses in the tunnels, breathlessly hoping to reach her post in time.

By the time she arrived at the gates, both teams had run by to their lockers. Rain was falling once more. The noise was deafening, with the unmistakable sound of maniacs heavy in the air. "Interview me, interview me," a man wearing four overcoats demanded. In the distance the hoarse voice of a drunk could be heard shouting for at least 30 minutes, "Fire DeRogatis! Fire DeRogatis!" And just about everybody was screaming for the Steelers.

Morris chose to talk to a man who had won the Minnesota Viking mascot's horns on a bet, but he didn't say much other than he had won the Minnesota Viking mascot's horns on a bet. By this time Perkins had lost power in his microphone and had carried off one dialogue with Morris using her mike. Then he sauntered around in a pique, probably wondering how he could make the first flight back to the Coast.

Meanwhile Morris, confused by the chaos of directions pouring through her earphones, found two girls, and they came on screeching that L.C. Greenwood was "No. 1." Two Steeler wives persuaded the police to let them over the barricades. Then they kissed the police in appreciation. Morris gravitated toward the wives, but the postgame show was approaching a climax. Johnny Morris lingered on the edge of the shoving throngs, looking for all the world like a man who considered himself fortunate that his wife had not been trampled to death.

It was nearly all over when Jeannie Morris started to walk away and go inside. A man with a camera bellowed, "Hey, Chastain, baby. Turn around. Give me a smile." The Super Bowl's first woman-announcer turned around and laughed in her own sweet way. "Jane should know she's come a long way since Coach Friday," said Jeannie Morris.

And so have they all.

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