Stasia Droze Jost had found something.
It was with a 3 a.m. Google search that she stumbled across the exact name she was looking for in Ireland. And of course, UNC football was set to play its season-opener against TCU in Dublin. So the director of the upcoming documentary “More than a Mascot” called her executive producer, Brad Bennett.
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The duo, along with a group of producers that includes Bennett’s wife, Paula, and another UNC alum, Sara March Barber, have spent the past 18 months working on a documentary that has embedded them with the Hogan family, keepers of the oldest traditions in UNC athletics. The Hogans are the caretakers for Rameses XXII, and every former rendition of UNC football’s living mascot: a real-life Dorset Horn ram with its horns painted Carolina blue to rally fans young and old before Tar Heels games.
The documentary, though, is still in need of funding to finish. The initial budget for the documentary was around $125,000 to $150,000. Bennett said last week it remains around $50,000 short, relying mainly on a grassroots effort via crowdfundr as well as a tax deductible option set up by Carolina Alumni through the “Rameses Legacy Fund.” Going to Ireland, which would require more investment, was a tough sell.
“I found Orla Hogan,” Droze Jost began explaining. But Bennett wasn’t initially impressed.
“Okay,” he replied, “we’re not going to Ireland just to shoot a Hogan with no tie to the story.”
But this wasn’t just any Hogan. “She’s a sheep farmer,” Droze Jost told Bennett.
What?
Before heading to Ireland this week, Droze Jost said there was a genealogical crew working to find the connection between the Hogans the “More than a Mascot” crew found and the Hogans that people familiar with UNC know. But even without that physical proof, it was a fortunate find for Droze Jost, who was looking for any connection that would bring the documentary’s research abroad ahead of UNC football’s game against TCU in Dublin on Saturday.
And the person they found, luckily for them, was motivated to make things work, too. Orla Hogan, donning a Carolina blue quarter-zip sweater, did indeed play the role of the UNC-famous Hogans before the Tar Heels’ 15-10 win in Dublin. She led the Dorset Horn ram she now owns, horns painted blue, wearing Rameses’ blanket brought over by an alumni group and all, by a white rope down the road in front of gate P at the Aviva Stadium. The green, white and North Carolina blue patch on her sweater read “Seamus,” the name she had given to what the group is calling “Rameses’ cousin.”
Again, there’s no proof (and it’s incredibly unlikely) that the two rams are in any way related, as Orla Hogan acquired Seamus from a farmer in Northern Ireland. But a lot of Rameses’ story relies on lore passed down for generations.
The tradition is older than Kenan Memorial Stadium, which has housed Tar Heels football games since 1927. Yet according to Basnight and UNC archives, Rameses made its debut in 1924, with head cheerleader Vic Huggins concocted the idea inspired by living mascots at NC State (a wolf) and Yale (a bulldog). As Basnight told the story, UNC football was amid a difficult stretch when Rameses made his debut against Virginia Military Institute. Tied 0-0, Basnight said, the Tar Heels’ then-kicker was called out for a game-winning field goal. He rubbed Rameses’ head and knocked it through.
So, Rameses stuck around. After a few unsuccessful tries to keep the ram living on campus, the Hogan family stepped forward to care for it, and have stayed in that role for generations. There’s no 100-year-old sheet of paper with the tallies to verify it, but Basnight said the family’s best guess is the current mascot is Rameses XXII. Rameses XXII joined the Hogan family in 2020, and between trips to UNC football games, he lives a relaxed, domesticated existence. Now stewarded by Basnight and his cousin Ann Hogan Leonard, whose grandfather Henry Hogan was the first caretaker for Rameses in the 1920s, Hogan descendants have devoted a large part of their family tree to maintaining this one tradition in Chapel Hill.
Brad first heard the story of the Hogans out for drinks with Paula and one of their former bosses, Brad Zabel. He told stories of the ram-nappings that used to take place, with supporters of rival schools trying to swipe Rameses ahead of their matchups with UNC.
“Wow, we really need to make a video about this,” Paula said.
“Yeah,” Brad concluded later, “that could be fun.”
So Brad called Droze Jost, whom he went to school with. She was a director, and her husband, Jim Jost, is a director of photography. They had lived in Hawaii working on projects like Hawaii Five-O, Magnum, P.I. and NCIS: Hawaii, but were transitioning back to the U.S. mainland when that work quieted. Brad knew this and told her: “Hey, I’ve got this idea.”
“And she’s like, ‘Well, let me think about it,’” Brad said about Droze Jost. “… Didn’t think about it very long. Two seconds.”
It quickly became a passion project for all involved. Droze Jost lost her father, a former football player for the Tar Heels from 1955-1958 named Dan Droze, last year and became captivated by the story of a family’s “quiet generosity, and loyalty and dedication to tradition and legacy.” Plus, Droze Jost said, how does tradition stay alive in today’s world?
March Barber, Brad, Paula and Droze Jost all have their personal connections to the project, too. March Barber’s grandfather was a tight end for UNC football, and “everybody in my family went to Chapel Hill.” The hopeful time when the documentary would be finished coincides with Brad and Paula’s son’s graduation from UNC, and Brad is already mourning not having as much of a reason to be around Chapel Hill after that.
And for Droze Jost, the project has made her realize more how much she misses her father, who amid a decade-long battle with Alzheimer’s, would have moments of lucidity when discussing the school. When Droze Jost’s son was set to attend UNC, she had bought her father a “Tar Heel grandpa” t-shirt, and told him her son was going to live in the old athlete dorms, Cobb. He replied, with a smile, “floor two.”
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That was what the project’s essence was: family. Droze Jost fantasized, though, about ways they could expand the scope. UNC football was set to play its first game in Dublin. What if they found a Hogan in Ireland? What if they can bring the tradition there, grow it?
So they found Orla.
“As a producer, first of all, you learn never to say ‘no,’” March Barber said. “You’ve got to always say ‘yes,’ and then figure it out.”
Rossa Hogan thought the idea was “mad.”
They were sheep farmers, sure. But in Tuamgraney, the village in the west of Ireland where Rossa, Orla and their four sons reside, the sheep are bred to have no horns. Getting a Dorset Horn ram would be “nearly impossible,” Rossa said.
“(There’s) one or two breeders in Ireland now,” he added. And now Orla wanted to find one on behalf of someone calling from the U.S., which she noted she initially thought was “a scam.” Rossa retold this, though, standing directly outside Aviva Stadium. He rarely diverted his eyes from Orla, who was at this point fully playing the role of the UNC Hogans. Rossa seemed simultaneously overwhelmed and surprised by what was happening — Orla is here, with Seamus, outside of the stadium where UNC football was set to play its season opener.
There was a lot of that to go around this past week.
March Barber, who was managing operations and running the social media accounts for “More than a Mascot” from Chapel Hill during the trip, was actually moved to tears when she was sent the video of Seamus getting his horns painted Blue on Thursday. There were so many steps for the crew to arrive with a Dorset Horn ram to the Aviva Stadium. But Brad said they got a “pivotal gift” to cover the costs of the trip. And in Orla, they found a willing participant in Orla, too.
“I think just the whole thing is just so precious,” Orla said. “… It’s just wonderful, the whole story.”
Orla sourced (on her birthday, no less) and trained Seamus herself. Droze Jost connected her with Basnight and Hogan Leonard over Zoom. They arranged to have an alumni group bring over Rameses’ blanket and Droze Jost said Basnight told Orla: “If Carolina wins, we are going to want Seamus to come back here and be on our farm.” Seamus will be the good luck charm, Basnight joked.
“No, I’ve fallen in love with him,” Orla replied. “I’d like to keep him now.”
Orla said she was nervous about bringing Seamus to Dublin, as that would be his first experience being around so many people. And it wasn’t a perfect setup on the day of. Seamus, Orla and the crew were required to stay on the side of the road off the Aviva Stadium grounds. Seamus wouldn’t be in the arena, nor the pregame tailgate put on by North Carolina. In fact, UNC football had nothing to do with Seamus being there. As far as the crew knew, they weren’t even aware of him.
But as Orla rounded the corner, down the street outside of the stadium, it didn’t take long for people to notice.
“Oh, my God, it’s a sheep!” said a woman in a yellow security vest working the event, placing her hand over her heart as she gathered herself.
“Can you say that again?” Droze Jost shouted toward her, trailing just a few feet behind Seamus and filming the walk-in on her phone. Jost, filming beside them, turned towards the woman, who repeated the line for the documentary camera.
Seamus stopped in the middle of the street, causing the occasional traffic jam as individuals and families flocked over to take photos, just as Basnight has seen people of all ages flock to Rameses for years. On Saturday, Seamus looked just like him.
“He has taken to it like a fish to water, and he’s loved meeting all the people,” Orla said. “I think he got about 5,000 pictures taken yesterday … just to see everybody flock towards him, I don’t know, it was a real emotional experience for me.”
Droze Jost said they think they’ve found a connection, tracing back to Ireland’s County Tipperary. Orla has cousins in Seattle and New York, but not North Carolina. And she said she knew nothing about the Chapel Hill Hogans until Droze Jost reached out. But she’s learning more about the state each day, and is “proud” that she was able to carry out the Rameses tradition more than 3,000 miles from Chapel Hill. Is it a tradition she’d carry on? Sure, Rossa said.
After all, they might be family.
“He has been perfect,” Orla said of Seamus. “It’s like he’s known how to do this for all his life.”
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