On Oct. 27, 1995, on Lerner’s private jet on the tarmac at BWI Airport, Glendening and Moag met with the Modells, Lerner and Bailey to seal the deal.
Despite the best intentions on both sides – and some binding language in the contracts – the desire to keep the Modells’ intentions to move to Baltimore private was unsuccessful as word leaked quickly. A press conference was called in parking lot D of the Camden Yards complex to announce Art Modell’s intentions to move the Cleveland Browns to Baltimore.
I asked the first question to Art Modell.
“When the team comes to Baltimore, will you call the team the Baltimore Browns?” I asked.
“Yes,” Modell said. “They will be the Baltimore Browns.”
Modell, in the aftermath of the unbelievably messy media circus created by the move, had already decided to give the name and colors back to Cleveland long before he had ever arrived in that parking lot. The NFL wouldn’t allow him to make that announcement. He had to hold the Browns name for leverage down the line. It was solid advice from Park Avenue because he would eventually need it.
In the ensuing mess that followed the Nov. 6 announcement (the Cleveland and national media, Browns fans around the world and the crafty use of the Internet created a firestorm) came the realization that he would need league approval. And it almost didn’t happen.
There was a tremendous movement afoot to keep the Browns in Cleveland and grant Modell an expansion franchise in Baltimore that wouldn’t begin play until 1999.
It took the league, Cleveland politicians and the Maryland government more than three months to clear the way for the Modells to set up shop in Baltimore and begin doing business. Even in clearing the way for the new stadium in Baltimore, there were many opponents of using state money to fund the facility. “Brains not Browns” signs and pins (some wanted the money spent on schools and education instead of football) were scattered throughout Baltimore by those who didn’t understand the economic and civic impact of the NFL.
My friends and I certainly understood the impact of having a team in town. We just couldn’t follow a solid lead when we had one.
As much as WBAL’s Mark Viviano is credited with breaking the story of the Browns moving to Baltimore, I was the first one who stumbled upon the story. Or more, accurately, it was my best pal Kevin Eck, who worked as a copy editor at The Baltimore Sun.
In late October 1995, while covering the World Series in Cleveland, I brought Eck along to have a traveling and peanut-eating companion.
In anticipation of Game Four, held on Wednesday, Oct. 25, 1995, I left for the ballpark early to do my radio show. Eck stayed behind, said he was going to drop by the then-new Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and meet me at the ballpark closer to game time.
When he arrived that evening, he spun a wild story to me during the early innings of the game.
He arrived at the Hall around 4 p.m. only to be told it was closed due to a private party for the World Series. Not knowing how far Jacobs Field was, he hailed a cab to the ballpark. In that six-block ride, the cabbie engaged him in conversation.
“Where are you from?” said the hack.
“Baltimore,” Eck replied.
“Hey, you guys have a football team!” the cabbie said.
Eck, startled, said, “Yeah, we have the CFL now. The Colts left a long time ago.”
“No, not the CFL,” the cabbie continued. “You’re getting the Browns.”
Eck said the cabbie turned to him and got a wicked look in his eye.
“You may think I’m outta my mind right now and that I’m just some stupid cab driver,” he said. “But the Browns are moving to Baltimore and Art Modell has already signed the deal. My neighbor is on the Browns’ Board of Trustees and the deal is already signed. I know, I know. Right now you think I’m crazy, but you’ll see. The Browns are coming to Baltimore. Just remember where you heard it.”
For a $2.85 fare, Eck got a million-dollar news lead and a ride to Jacobs Field.
Later that night, while at a club in Cleveland’s suburbs, my best pal and I laughed like hell over a beer about the Browns coming to Baltimore and what a silly notion it was. And, under our breath, we also joked about the possibility that the cabbie was really in the know.
I came back from Cleveland and told the story on the air that Friday. I told it as a joke.
Two weeks later, the joke was on Eck and I for not following the lead of a crazed cabbie in Cleveland.
One thing became very clear to anyone associated with the team from Day One of the Ravens nee Browns landing in Baltimore: Art had transferred the lion’s share of responsibility and the duty of running the football team over to his son, David.
David, who was 34 at the time of the move, quickly ingratiated himself with Baltimore, learning its history, its nuances, its quirks, its insecurities and its people. It was the younger Modell’s thoughts that landed the team name, team colors, logo, stadium design, marketing campaign, game day functions and radio deal. Virtually every decision from the front office to the football field – good and bad – went through David’s hands.
It would be impossible to profile the success of the team in Baltimore and the championship team without recognizing that the Lombardi Trophy presented in Tampa was largely due to the decision-making of David Modell.
It was Art’s name on the door – and certainly the 35 years of groundwork laid in Cleveland is significant – but David had the keys to the kingdom and has most certainly been the day-to-day caretaker of the franchise since it arrived in Baltimore.
Let’s also set the record straight out of the gate. David Modell is not a very well liked or respected personality within the framework of the NFL hierarchy. He has rankled feathers and stared down the hypocrisy of the league’s inner workings. Anyone who knows or has worked with David will tell you that he is a very eccentric and unorthodox figure. To see him chewing cigars in half and cursing on the sideline during the last two minutes of any given game over the past five seasons would not qualify him as a choir boy at the league meetings each year.
That said, for any Ravens fan, he is a sight to behold on game day.
No one in the world – not even me – loves the Baltimore Ravens more than David Modell.
It’s not financially based. It’s not family based. It’s not even logical, the things I’ve seen him do. He has an indefinable and inexplicable passion for the team and the game.
That passion he has displayed, the unbelievably long hours he has invested and the good judgment he has shown during his tenure in Baltimore should qualify him for more respect than he is universally given. So he will get it here.
Of course, being the son of the owner – and an adopted one at that – opens him up for criticism that is unwarranted. As one insider said to me following the Super Bowl evening when a child-like David Modell was gripping onto the Lombardi Trophy with stinginess usually reserved for the kindergarten playground, “He’s the son of the owner. There was no need for him to get involved. He could have done nothing and taken all the credit. Instead, he’s done just about everything and will get none of the credit.”
Want some examples?
Let’s start with the hiring of Brian Billick, no small step for a World Championship organization.
Following the release of Ted Marchibroda from the organization in December 1998, Modell spent the following month detailing every nuance of the qualifications the next head coach of the Baltimore Ravens would need. There was an entire flow chart, detailed and meticulous to a fault (found below), which I was privy to see and question prior to the hiring.
The profile and requirements were being put together even as Art Modell was leaning toward hiring former UCLA coach Terry Donahue.
Donahue was all but in the NFL two years earlier, accepting and then turning down Jerry Jones for the Dallas Cowboys head coaching position that eventually went to Chan Gailey. Modell received a call from long-time NFL man Don Klosterman – a former coach of the Rams and Colts – saying, “This is the guy for you, Art. He wants into the NFL.” Modell’s respect for Klosterman and his football savvy was unquestioned. Modell had known and trusted Klosterman for years.
