Brian Manzella
Administrator
My Dad passed away when I was 25 years old. Now that I am 48, I know how young 25 is.
Most of the crazy things that have happened in my life, happened after my Dad was gone. I wasn't real close to anyone else in my family that was a male my Dad's age. But for those important years from 25 to 35, I lucked into to two men outside my family to look to for advice and example.
From Don Villavaso I got "advice." Still do. Don was, and is, rarely wrong.
But for "example" I had good fortune of spending a whole lot of time with Peter Finney, Sr.
One wife. Six successful kids. A whole bunch of grandkids, so many I lost count. Liked by everyone, which for a sportswriter, is damn near impossible to do.
Michael Finney and I started hanging around together when he was about 14 years old. He was tiny, but talented, and loved sports as much as I did. I didn't start teaching him golf until he was about 19, but by then he was already basically the little brother I never had. Early on, he started having me over to his house on Hathaway Place, near City Park in New Orleans.
Running the place was his Mom, Deedy, a saint of a lady, who cooked me about 1000 meals over the years. I became close to Mike's siblings, and hung around the house like furniture, masquerading as the un-adopted 4th Finney son at family gatherings, and closed circuit boxing matches with all the sports-writers of note of the New Orleans Times-Picayune newspaper.
Overseeing it all, from a Priestly like perch, was always Mr. Pete. Which is what I called him until I just started calling him Poppa, accent on the "a," not to many years into knowing him, because, it sounded more appropriate than Mister, and that's what Michael called him.
He has always been a predictably wise man, always in amazement over the trouble I could get into, but always a sane voice in the wilderness of goofy people.
He would get mad so rarely, I can almost remember all of the times he did off the top of my head.
He went to school at Saint Louis Cathedral with my Dad and my uncle Pat. Well "Pat" is what the nuns called him. Poppa knew better.
When me and Mike first met, Mike came home an asked his Dad, "Poppa, do you rememeber Basil Manzella from Saint Louis Cathedral?"
"No, by knew Placid."
Indeed.
I remember watching him on "From the Press Box" a show that used to air on the local ABC affiliate the half-hour before Monday night football games. Hosted by the late local legend Buddy Dillaberto, the show often had Mr. Pete on as a guest. Buddy would ask him a question, and Peter would look up and to his left or right and say..."Well..."
My Dad would holler at the screen, "What in the hell is he looking for?"
Not for, Daddy, but through.
Years later I'd learn that that's how folks "look through the files in their brains." Trust me, there was—and is—a lot up there.
Peter Finney has covered almost every Super Bowl, almost every Kentucky Derby since the 60's, 35 or so Masters' in a row, and practically every Saints game since 1967.
A LSU alum (for his Masters degree), he wrote THE definitive history of LSU football, and the first book of note on a guy named Peter Press Maravich, who use to come to Hathway Place and show Michael a thing or tow to do with a round ball.
This year at the Masters, they were honoring the few writers who have covered the last 40 Masters.
With most of the Finney clan in attendance, right before the presentation, Pete Finney told the Masters folks that they had done the math wrong by a few years. They put off giving him the award until the day is correct. Poppa is a stickler for accuracy.
This year the NFL gave Peter Finney a big award at the Hall-of-Fame ceremonies. Poppa joked that he is so old, he covered the Canton Bulldogs.
Not quite.
But he did cover and interview Ben Hogan, Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods. Rocky Marciano, Muhammad Ali, and Mike Tyson. Johnny Unitas, Dan Marino and Drew Brees. Mel Ott, Will Clark, and Ryan Theroit.
His name is gold in the city that he loves, but he never uses his column, the one he is still writing after 60 years, as a bully pulpit.
Unless it was time to rid his city of a bum coach. Whether or not their name was Bum.
He is Old School in all the ways that you'd want to be.
His oldest son Peter Jr., who used to cover the Knicks for the New York Post, is the editor of the local Catholic newspaper. His oldest grandson, Peter III is a Priest.
And his little Italian almost son is very proud of the latest winner of NFL's prestigious McCann Award, which annually honors a member of the Pro Football Writers of America (PFWA) for long and distinguished service to the profession.
There has never a better a writer to aspire to, or a better man to look up to.
Congratulations, Poppa!
For additional reading on this subject, I have attached two other articles on it...
FROM THE AMERICAN SPECTATOR and NEW ORLEANS.COM:
A Treasure of a Sportswriter
By Quin Hillyer
I promise after Monday to get off my sports kick, but this takes the cake. New Orleans' Peter Finney will receive one of the highest awards a sportswriter can ever get, this weekend at the Hall of Fame. Never heard of Finney? That's because he is so loyal to his hometown. He coulda been like George Plimpton or at least Rick Reilly or Curry Kirkpatrick, a household name among sports fans, probably for decades. Word is that Sports lllustrated three times tried to hire him, but he TURNED THEM DOWN. He loved New Orleans. He didn't want national fame. He just wanted to cover sports for his hometown readers. This guy has been a professional sportswriter for 65 years (!!!), Shirley Povich-like, and he is still going strong. He is a master craftsman, with a spare and incisive prose, always incredibly fair-minded and even-tempered, never a suck-up but also never a cheap shot artist, not afraid to criticize but always constructive, clearly a rooter for the hometown but never a naked partisan for his team. He is known for writing amazing opinion copy on incredibly tight deadlines, all perfectly "clean," all capturing the absolute essence of whatever event he was covering. And he is a nice, nice man. Shy, but warm. I am one of the many many former Times-Picayune or States-Item sportswriters who revere him, not for any one particular kindness but just for day after day of quiet encouragement while we worked there. The first time I met him, was in college, having guest-hosted a big New Orleans radio sports talk show (it was a promotion to have a guest host once a week for a month), and the radio folks took me to dinner afterwards. I had no idea that Finney would meet us there. He already was a legend -- this was in 1983 -- whom I had red and watched on local TV sports shows since I was old enough to know what sports was. And suddenly there he was, joining us for dinner. And what I remember was that he just joined our table, introduced himself -- and then for the rest of the night treated me like I just naturally belonged there, part of the professional sports-journalist crowd, rather than in any way as an interloper or a punk kid who had to be humored.
I could go on. But you get the picture. Supremely talented sportswriter, nice man, loyal New Orleanian. And one more thing: It was almost certainly due to years of lobbying by Finney, who is one of the Hall of Fame voters, that my favorite linebacker Rickey Jackson finally got elected to the Hall (induction this weekend). Rickey had the numbers -- frankly, in many ways better numbers even than Lawrence Taylor. He just didn't have the national spotlight. But he had Pete Finney on his side, and it was enough.
Finney still writes his columns regularly for the TP. So here's a tribute to a good man, for Pete's sake.
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Written by Brian Allee-Walsh, NOC Saints Beat | Tuesday, 08 June 2010
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NEW ORLEANS – Until Tuesday, it appeared that Aug. 6, 2010, would be just another day in the long, productive life of venerable sports columnist Peter Finney of the Times-Picayune.
Now it promises to be a memorable moment he can share with former New Orleans Saints linebacker Rickey Jackson at the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio.
Finney will be in Canton the night before Jackson's induction on Aug. 7 to receive the McCann Award, which annually honors a member of the Pro Football Writers of America (PFWA) for long and distinguished service to the profession.
I caught up with Finney this morning before he left home to chronicle a mid-day press conference to introduce the new coach of the New Orleans Hornets, Monty Williams.
To Finney, it was just another day, another dollar.
“I’m happier for Ricky than me,’’ said Finney, who replaced the late Buddy Diliberto in December 2005 as a representative of New Orleans on the 44-member Hall of Fame Board of Selectors. “I was happy to be able to vote for Ricky. He deserves to be in Canton.’’
So does Finney.
Actually, the PFWA’s recognition for one of America’s outstanding sports journalists is long, long overdue as apparently are Finney's annual dues, according to membership President Charean Williams. I’m only glad that the 82-year-old Finney, whom his close friends affectionately refer to as “Paw Paw,’’ is alive and well to receive his just reward.
Don’t let his age, lack of high-tech savvy or grandfatherly appearance fool you. The former Jesuit and Loyola wordsmith can still hunt-and-peck circles around most sportswriters half his age and deliver a bare-knuckled knockout punch when the situation calls for him to remove the gloves.
Still writing three to four columns a week, Finney continually ceases to amaze, not only with his insightful musings but with his infectious love of life and family.
The father of six children, 20 grandchildren and three great grandchildren, Finney is midway through his 59th year of marriage to his wife and sweetheart Deedy, a former secretary whom he met at the old States Newspaper.
His way of remembering the ages of his children is laughable. Each is linked to something that happened locally in the sporting world.
For instance, their second child, Jane, was born in January 1954. “I remember that because I had to cancel scoring a prep basketball game for the paper because Deedy was going into labor,’’ Finney said. “It cost me $5. That was a lot of money back then for a guy who started out making $20 a week in 1945.’’
Then there’s Finney’s namesake, Peter Jr., who came along in November of 1956. “Around Thanksgiving, I think, because the Tigers were having a bad season that season,’’ Finney said, referring to Paul Dietzel’s second year in Baton Rouge when LSU finished 3-7, 1-5 in the SEC.
Tim came along in March 1959, on Championship Sunday of the Greater New Orleans Open Invitational at City Park. “I think it was won by a guy named Johnson or something. You better check that out,’’ Finney said. (Bill Collins won the event).
And their youngest child, Michael, rolled out in 1967, the first season for the Black and Gold. “Michael was born on the day the Saints picked up some guy on waivers by the name of Ray Poage,’’ Finney said, referring to the fullback/tight end from Texas who lasted through the 1970 season.
Poage obviously lacked the staying power of Finney, who first went to work at the States in June 1945, fresh out of Jesuit at the tender age of 17. For those keeping score at home, Finney is celebrating his 65th anniversary in the New Orleans newspaper business.
“It’s never been a job to me,’’ he said. “I go from sport to sport, season to season, doing what I love doing. Every day is a new day.’’
Asked if he can see the light at the end of the tunnel to his career, he replied: “I’ve seen it for years but the light never gets any closer I guess.’’
I recall a surprise 70th birthday party at Tujague’s Restaurant when Finney told a packed banquet room that he wanted to cover one more Kentucky Derby, one more Final Four, one more Super Bowl before he retired.
That was nearly 13 years ago and he’s still going strong.
Oddly, through all the years, Finney has never mentioned that he would retire once the Saints won a Super Bowl.
Smart man, this Mr. Finney, he must have seen it coming.
The good ones always seem to be a step ahead of everyone else.
Congrats Paw Paw. I think I speak for all of your fans everywhere, keep on keepin’ on.
Please … and thank you!
Most of the crazy things that have happened in my life, happened after my Dad was gone. I wasn't real close to anyone else in my family that was a male my Dad's age. But for those important years from 25 to 35, I lucked into to two men outside my family to look to for advice and example.
From Don Villavaso I got "advice." Still do. Don was, and is, rarely wrong.
But for "example" I had good fortune of spending a whole lot of time with Peter Finney, Sr.
One wife. Six successful kids. A whole bunch of grandkids, so many I lost count. Liked by everyone, which for a sportswriter, is damn near impossible to do.
Michael Finney and I started hanging around together when he was about 14 years old. He was tiny, but talented, and loved sports as much as I did. I didn't start teaching him golf until he was about 19, but by then he was already basically the little brother I never had. Early on, he started having me over to his house on Hathaway Place, near City Park in New Orleans.
Running the place was his Mom, Deedy, a saint of a lady, who cooked me about 1000 meals over the years. I became close to Mike's siblings, and hung around the house like furniture, masquerading as the un-adopted 4th Finney son at family gatherings, and closed circuit boxing matches with all the sports-writers of note of the New Orleans Times-Picayune newspaper.
Overseeing it all, from a Priestly like perch, was always Mr. Pete. Which is what I called him until I just started calling him Poppa, accent on the "a," not to many years into knowing him, because, it sounded more appropriate than Mister, and that's what Michael called him.
He has always been a predictably wise man, always in amazement over the trouble I could get into, but always a sane voice in the wilderness of goofy people.
He would get mad so rarely, I can almost remember all of the times he did off the top of my head.
He went to school at Saint Louis Cathedral with my Dad and my uncle Pat. Well "Pat" is what the nuns called him. Poppa knew better.
When me and Mike first met, Mike came home an asked his Dad, "Poppa, do you rememeber Basil Manzella from Saint Louis Cathedral?"
"No, by knew Placid."
Indeed.
I remember watching him on "From the Press Box" a show that used to air on the local ABC affiliate the half-hour before Monday night football games. Hosted by the late local legend Buddy Dillaberto, the show often had Mr. Pete on as a guest. Buddy would ask him a question, and Peter would look up and to his left or right and say..."Well..."
My Dad would holler at the screen, "What in the hell is he looking for?"
Not for, Daddy, but through.
Years later I'd learn that that's how folks "look through the files in their brains." Trust me, there was—and is—a lot up there.
Peter Finney has covered almost every Super Bowl, almost every Kentucky Derby since the 60's, 35 or so Masters' in a row, and practically every Saints game since 1967.
A LSU alum (for his Masters degree), he wrote THE definitive history of LSU football, and the first book of note on a guy named Peter Press Maravich, who use to come to Hathway Place and show Michael a thing or tow to do with a round ball.
This year at the Masters, they were honoring the few writers who have covered the last 40 Masters.
With most of the Finney clan in attendance, right before the presentation, Pete Finney told the Masters folks that they had done the math wrong by a few years. They put off giving him the award until the day is correct. Poppa is a stickler for accuracy.
This year the NFL gave Peter Finney a big award at the Hall-of-Fame ceremonies. Poppa joked that he is so old, he covered the Canton Bulldogs.
Not quite.
But he did cover and interview Ben Hogan, Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods. Rocky Marciano, Muhammad Ali, and Mike Tyson. Johnny Unitas, Dan Marino and Drew Brees. Mel Ott, Will Clark, and Ryan Theroit.
His name is gold in the city that he loves, but he never uses his column, the one he is still writing after 60 years, as a bully pulpit.
Unless it was time to rid his city of a bum coach. Whether or not their name was Bum.
He is Old School in all the ways that you'd want to be.
His oldest son Peter Jr., who used to cover the Knicks for the New York Post, is the editor of the local Catholic newspaper. His oldest grandson, Peter III is a Priest.
And his little Italian almost son is very proud of the latest winner of NFL's prestigious McCann Award, which annually honors a member of the Pro Football Writers of America (PFWA) for long and distinguished service to the profession.
There has never a better a writer to aspire to, or a better man to look up to.
Congratulations, Poppa!
For additional reading on this subject, I have attached two other articles on it...
FROM THE AMERICAN SPECTATOR and NEW ORLEANS.COM:
A Treasure of a Sportswriter
By Quin Hillyer
I promise after Monday to get off my sports kick, but this takes the cake. New Orleans' Peter Finney will receive one of the highest awards a sportswriter can ever get, this weekend at the Hall of Fame. Never heard of Finney? That's because he is so loyal to his hometown. He coulda been like George Plimpton or at least Rick Reilly or Curry Kirkpatrick, a household name among sports fans, probably for decades. Word is that Sports lllustrated three times tried to hire him, but he TURNED THEM DOWN. He loved New Orleans. He didn't want national fame. He just wanted to cover sports for his hometown readers. This guy has been a professional sportswriter for 65 years (!!!), Shirley Povich-like, and he is still going strong. He is a master craftsman, with a spare and incisive prose, always incredibly fair-minded and even-tempered, never a suck-up but also never a cheap shot artist, not afraid to criticize but always constructive, clearly a rooter for the hometown but never a naked partisan for his team. He is known for writing amazing opinion copy on incredibly tight deadlines, all perfectly "clean," all capturing the absolute essence of whatever event he was covering. And he is a nice, nice man. Shy, but warm. I am one of the many many former Times-Picayune or States-Item sportswriters who revere him, not for any one particular kindness but just for day after day of quiet encouragement while we worked there. The first time I met him, was in college, having guest-hosted a big New Orleans radio sports talk show (it was a promotion to have a guest host once a week for a month), and the radio folks took me to dinner afterwards. I had no idea that Finney would meet us there. He already was a legend -- this was in 1983 -- whom I had red and watched on local TV sports shows since I was old enough to know what sports was. And suddenly there he was, joining us for dinner. And what I remember was that he just joined our table, introduced himself -- and then for the rest of the night treated me like I just naturally belonged there, part of the professional sports-journalist crowd, rather than in any way as an interloper or a punk kid who had to be humored.
I could go on. But you get the picture. Supremely talented sportswriter, nice man, loyal New Orleanian. And one more thing: It was almost certainly due to years of lobbying by Finney, who is one of the Hall of Fame voters, that my favorite linebacker Rickey Jackson finally got elected to the Hall (induction this weekend). Rickey had the numbers -- frankly, in many ways better numbers even than Lawrence Taylor. He just didn't have the national spotlight. But he had Pete Finney on his side, and it was enough.
Finney still writes his columns regularly for the TP. So here's a tribute to a good man, for Pete's sake.
<table style="width: 650px;" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1"><tbody style="text-align: left;"><tr style="text-align: left;"><td style="text-align: left;" width="479">
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Written by Brian Allee-Walsh, NOC Saints Beat | Tuesday, 08 June 2010
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Now it promises to be a memorable moment he can share with former New Orleans Saints linebacker Rickey Jackson at the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio.
Finney will be in Canton the night before Jackson's induction on Aug. 7 to receive the McCann Award, which annually honors a member of the Pro Football Writers of America (PFWA) for long and distinguished service to the profession.
I caught up with Finney this morning before he left home to chronicle a mid-day press conference to introduce the new coach of the New Orleans Hornets, Monty Williams.
To Finney, it was just another day, another dollar.
“I’m happier for Ricky than me,’’ said Finney, who replaced the late Buddy Diliberto in December 2005 as a representative of New Orleans on the 44-member Hall of Fame Board of Selectors. “I was happy to be able to vote for Ricky. He deserves to be in Canton.’’
So does Finney.
Actually, the PFWA’s recognition for one of America’s outstanding sports journalists is long, long overdue as apparently are Finney's annual dues, according to membership President Charean Williams. I’m only glad that the 82-year-old Finney, whom his close friends affectionately refer to as “Paw Paw,’’ is alive and well to receive his just reward.
Don’t let his age, lack of high-tech savvy or grandfatherly appearance fool you. The former Jesuit and Loyola wordsmith can still hunt-and-peck circles around most sportswriters half his age and deliver a bare-knuckled knockout punch when the situation calls for him to remove the gloves.
Still writing three to four columns a week, Finney continually ceases to amaze, not only with his insightful musings but with his infectious love of life and family.
The father of six children, 20 grandchildren and three great grandchildren, Finney is midway through his 59th year of marriage to his wife and sweetheart Deedy, a former secretary whom he met at the old States Newspaper.
His way of remembering the ages of his children is laughable. Each is linked to something that happened locally in the sporting world.
For instance, their second child, Jane, was born in January 1954. “I remember that because I had to cancel scoring a prep basketball game for the paper because Deedy was going into labor,’’ Finney said. “It cost me $5. That was a lot of money back then for a guy who started out making $20 a week in 1945.’’
Then there’s Finney’s namesake, Peter Jr., who came along in November of 1956. “Around Thanksgiving, I think, because the Tigers were having a bad season that season,’’ Finney said, referring to Paul Dietzel’s second year in Baton Rouge when LSU finished 3-7, 1-5 in the SEC.
Tim came along in March 1959, on Championship Sunday of the Greater New Orleans Open Invitational at City Park. “I think it was won by a guy named Johnson or something. You better check that out,’’ Finney said. (Bill Collins won the event).
And their youngest child, Michael, rolled out in 1967, the first season for the Black and Gold. “Michael was born on the day the Saints picked up some guy on waivers by the name of Ray Poage,’’ Finney said, referring to the fullback/tight end from Texas who lasted through the 1970 season.
Poage obviously lacked the staying power of Finney, who first went to work at the States in June 1945, fresh out of Jesuit at the tender age of 17. For those keeping score at home, Finney is celebrating his 65th anniversary in the New Orleans newspaper business.
“It’s never been a job to me,’’ he said. “I go from sport to sport, season to season, doing what I love doing. Every day is a new day.’’
Asked if he can see the light at the end of the tunnel to his career, he replied: “I’ve seen it for years but the light never gets any closer I guess.’’
I recall a surprise 70th birthday party at Tujague’s Restaurant when Finney told a packed banquet room that he wanted to cover one more Kentucky Derby, one more Final Four, one more Super Bowl before he retired.
That was nearly 13 years ago and he’s still going strong.
Oddly, through all the years, Finney has never mentioned that he would retire once the Saints won a Super Bowl.
Smart man, this Mr. Finney, he must have seen it coming.
The good ones always seem to be a step ahead of everyone else.
Congrats Paw Paw. I think I speak for all of your fans everywhere, keep on keepin’ on.
Please … and thank you!