How ‘Here Come the Sixers’ became the hit record three Delaware County friends once dreamed of

Randy Childress could hardly see when he walked onto The Spectrum court, the tiny eye holes in his turkey costume blinding his vision. It was near Thanksgiving in the late 1970s and Pat Williams — the Sixers general manager who loved a good promotion — asked Childress if he wanted to make some extra money. Of course, said Childress. So he dressed like a turkey as two women launched t-shirts into the crowd.

Childress couldn’t see much but he could hear just fine. And the crowd was booing the turkey. He then felt water splash through those tiny eye holes.

“I was getting ice thrown at me,” Childress said.

Childress did a variety of jobs for the Sixers while finishing his communications degree at Temple. Sometimes he helped in the ticket office. Sometimes he rubbed elbows with Bobby Clarke. Sometimes he was the turkey. One time, it all paid off.

» READ MORE: What makes Sixers forward P.J. Tucker so special? Let his former teammates and coaches tell you.

Williams, knowing Childress played in a band, brought the college kid into his office and asked him if he and his buddies could make a theme song for the Sixers.

Fresh Aire — a trio of Delaware County guys who remain friends nearly 50 years later — had a record deal in New York, worked with the same producer as the Bee Gees, played gigs throughout the area, and dreamed of a hit record. A jingle for the Sixers wasn’t the break Childress, Terry Rocap, and Joe Sherwood were looking for. But at least they’d get paid.

“I said, ‘Sure, Pat,’” Childress said.

The clock had yet to expire Monday night in the Sixers’ Game 2 win over the Brooklyn Nets when the opening chords of “Here Come The Sixers” — the song Fresh Aire recorded in 1976 — played through the arena. The Sixers play the song in South Philly after every win, sometimes firing it up before the game is officially over.

Originally played at The Spectrum when the Sixers took the court, “Here Come The Sixers” is now a victory anthem as the team chases its first title in 40 years. Fans sing along and even the players have joined in.

On life support for decades, the song was dusted off by the Sixers five years ago when they brought Fresh Aire to a game and told them they wanted to play the song again. The old tune caught a second wind.

“It’s a second life. It’s difficult to understand,” Rocap said.

The song has been covered by everyone from an opera to a pop-punk band to a South Jersey teenager who went viral a few years ago for her piano rendition. It plays at wedding receptions, bars, and on Anthony Gargano’s 97.5 FM sports-talk show where “Play the song” has become a rallying cry.

“Something like ‘Play the song’ just makes you smile,” says Gargano, who yells that phrase at his producer Andrew Salciunas the morning after big wins. “Truthfully, no one is going to remember any kind of brilliant sports things that I’m going to say. Did I make them smile? Did I make them have fun? That’s it. If I can make somebody smile for five minutes by playing the song and freaking out, then I did my job because I brighten somebody’s day.”

Gargano remembers how cool the song sounded as a kid on Sixers’ telecasts on Channel 48. He played it on his record player in his bedroom and imagined he was Dr. J in the pregame layup line as he shot on the net above his door. There was something about that song.

“I have to admit, my weakness is nostalgia,” Gargano said. “I love Philadelphia, the way we grew up, the whole thing. It was just beautiful and I always loved it. I think that song was just innocent. I loved it. I remember watching the games, ‘Oh, this is the best. Clap your hands.’ I knew the whole song.”

It might not have the power of “Fly, Eagles Fly” but “Here Come The Sixers” has found its place nearly 50 years after three buddies from Delco recorded it. Once discarded, the song is now a fabric of the team. In a way, it is the hit record that Fresh Aire was chasing.

“It’s kind of ironic but the most popularity we ever got was the Sixers song,” Childress said.

Fresh Aire had recorded jingles for Dannon Yogurt and J&J Super Pretzels so they had an understanding of how to approach the song, which came with little guidance from the Sixers. They decided against including player names since the song would be outdated once the roster shuffled nor would they sing much about the actual sport.

“It’s almost like a fight song, like a college fight song,” Sherwood said. “The Sixers are mentioned in the song but other than that, you wouldn’t know that it’s a basketball song.”

The three friends all sang, Sherwood played guitar, Rocap played the piano, and Childress played the bass. Frank McDonnell and Sherwood’s brother, Richard — who both played with the Fresh Aire guys in an earlier band called Wellington Arrangement — were recruited to round out the track.

McDonnell played the drums and Richard Sherwood played the Hohner Clavinet — the instrument Stevie Wonder popularized — that starts it off. They wanted the song to have the pace of someone dribbling up the court.

“Boom, boom, you’re dribbling the basketball,” Joe Sherwood said. “There’s a little timing between the ball leaving your hand and hitting the court.”

Rocap wrote the music on the guitar and came up with the “1-2-3-4-5 Sixers” before they worked together on the rest of the song. Fresh Aire, Rocap said, usually sounded like Crosby, Stills, and Nash. But this was different.

“We had a lot of fun with it and got into a little bit more of an R&B groove then we normally did,” Sherwood said. “Three white guys in the suburbs don’t write too many R&B tunes. But we wanted to get into that groove, a little bit more beat-oriented thing. We wanted to keep it upbeat.”

They finished the song in a week, recorded it on a four-track recorder at Childress’ apartment, and brought it to the Spectrum. Williams called the team employees into the empty arena and played the song over the PA system. It was approved. Fresh Aire recorded a master at The Sound Room in Upper Darby, had it pressed on vinyl, and it played for a few seasons as Dr. J warmed up.

“We got paid and that was basically the end of it,” Rocap said.

Fresh Aire produced songs for other teams but none of them seemed to stick. Their song for the Atlanta Flames — “Fire up Atlanta, fire up Atlanta Flames” — sounded good until the hockey team moved to Calgary. They made a tune for the Flyers — “Fly Philadelphia Flyers” — but it was retired after one season. The team blamed it for bad luck in their playoff loss.

They kept chasing that hit record in New York, where they recorded under the watch of legendary producer Arif Mardin at Atlantic Records. But none of their songs cracked the charts.

“Looking back at it, we were one of the many who battled in the almost,” said Childress, who went to Interboro High before Temple. “The almost famous. We had the opportunity to hang at Atlantic Records and meet a lot of people. It was fun stuff. It’s that whole chemistry of the music business that it either goes your way or things just don’t line up correctly. We had our chances and had our material, it just never connected.”

Fresh Aire had fun — “When you’re in your 20s and you’re playing guitar in a group for a living, yeah, that’s definitely fun. You can fill in the blanks,” Sherwood said — but disbanded after 10 years. It was time to move on.

“The band never made enough money to survive,” said Rocap, who went to Springfield High and Combs College of Music.

Rocap started a window cleaning business, Childress designed exhibits for trade shows, and Sherwood launched a recruiting business. They’re now in their 70s but the three friends — “We’re like brothers,” Childress said — never left music. Rocap played in bands after Fresh Aire, Childress found a way to sneak music into his trade shows, and Sherwood starts each morning with his guitar in his hands.

“My brain is still in music,” said Sherwood, who went to Monsignor Bonner and what is now known as West Chester University.

Childress stood at mid-court in his turkey costume as the women tossed T-shirts into the crowd, not wanting to move without their assistance after they helped him find his way there. He feared he would trip, lose his turkey head, and inform the ice-throwing fans who was in the costume. So he stayed still and listened to the boos.

Finally off the court, Childress bagged up the costume and was leaving the Spectrum when he spotted a security guard he knew from one of the clubs Fresh Aire played. He wanted to know what was in the bag. Just trash, Childress said.

“You believe that jerk in the turkey outfit,” the guard said to Childress. “I said, ‘Yeah, was he a fool or what?’”

Nearly 50 years later, that fool has a hit that rocks the arena. And the fans who booed the turkey are singing along to the tune of three friends from Delaware County. Fresh Aire has a hit.

“It’s an iconic song and it’s more like an anthem,” Rocap said. “I like that fact. I wish we were making a million dollars off it but at some point in your life, you have to make a choice. I like the notoriety; I like the fact that they play it, and if we start pressing for money, it’s not going to work. They’ll just stop playing the song.”