Gerald Lowrey, Emory’s athletic director in the early 1980s, insists we start at the beginning. The very beginning — meaning the 1890s. That’s when organized athletics first “percolated on Emory’s original campus in Oxford,” Lowrey says.

Around that time, Emory had a baseball game against the University of Georgia, and it ended in a bench-clearing brawl that would put a pause on all university sporting events. In fact, Emory didn’t revive off-campus competition until after World War II.

When Lowrey began his post as athletic director in 1983, he sought to modernize Emory’s sports programs and build on the momentum of the newly constructed Woodruff Physical Education Center. Part of that effort was the introduction of a mascot.

“We went to a costume shop and asked for an eagle, and they gave us the closest thing they had.”
_{— Former Athletic Director Gerald Lowrey}

There are conflicting reports as to when exactly Swoop first hatched on Emory’s campus. The Athletics website lists his birth year as 1986, and other sources have said 1985. But the first time a student walked onto the basketball court in a bird-like costume was even earlier: There was a suit before there was a name. And that first suit, recalls Lowrey, was procured in fall 1983 or spring 1984.

“We went to a costume shop and asked for an eagle, and they gave us the closest thing they had: What looked like an old bathmat, heavily used, with a chicken head,” he says. It was made of an almost plush material and was beige and light blue in color.

“Seeing it now, it doesn’t look very contemporary,” he jokes.

In the fall of 1984, Lowrey led Emory to invest in a proper custom outfit, and this is the embodiment of the Emory Eagle that would eventually earn the name Swoop — and also the prototype for all iterations since. This one had big, bushy eyebrows and stout shoulders and bore a slight resemblance to Sam Eagle of Muppet fame.

But even this iteration of the mascot didn’t have a proper name. Students commonly referred to him as the Emory Eagle, but nothing was official. To drum up student support for the newly hatched mascot, Lowrey held a naming contest at the October 1984 Eagle Fever basketball game.

The evidence is present in the archives. Combing through past editions of Campus Report — Emory’s old internal news publication — one sees Swoop playing soccer with students in September of that year, referred to in the caption as “Emory Eagle.” When he reappears in a November 1984 photo, he’s the “newly christened” Swoop.

“That’s my favorite version of Swoop,” Lowrey says, almost wistfully. “It’s the first true version, and it was closer to what I was trying to accomplish than that pitiful chicken.”

With its transition from a brittle bird to full-fledged eagle, the university’s athletics mascot at last took flight.

Swoop has changed his feathers a few times over the years, and the handsome costume he wears today reflects one of the most deliberate updates in his history. The latest refresh in fall 2025 wasn’t just about sharpening his features; it was part of a broader effort to ensure the eagle’s look aligned with Emory’s evolving brand and the energy of today’s student body. His eyes are a little keener now, his stance a bit stronger — friendly enough for fans, but fierce enough for competition.

Part of that process also meant standardizing the costume across campuses. For a few decades, Oxford used Swoop’s “sibling,” Screech, as its mascot. Screech’s visage was usually a touch more menacing, says Roderick Stubbs, Oxford athletic director and head basketball coach.

When Screech was still the mascot, Stubbs noticed students performing cheers about “Swoop” during Oxford basketball games. He would look from the sideline and think, “that’s strange, we don’t even have a Swoop here.” Wanting to avoid further confusion — and to reinforce a shared identity — Stubbs led the charge to extend the eagle’s flight pattern to Oxford in 2019.

“It’s important we have the same mascot, because it’s reflective of that ‘One Emory’ idea,” he says. “We love the way Swoop looks now, and that he brings school spirit and community with him everywhere he goes.”

Following his makeover last fall, Swoop now spreads his new wings proudly on both campuses.

Former Oxford Swoop Olu Abitogun 23Ox 25C says he saw the university differently from inside the suit. Sometimes, quite literally. It’s not every day you see a roaring crowd of students upside down through the eyes of an eagle costume, just as you are in the middle of a flip.

Being Swoop, he explains, presented the opportunity for a new form of self-expression.

“I’m not the most extroverted person,” Abitogun says, “so to be able to be myself, unbridled, underneath the suit and not worry about how I was being perceived, it was freeing. It gave me the chance to try to be a little more spontaneous.”

Unburdened, he didn’t just do flips, but cartwheels, dances, spins and splits, too. He joined cheerleaders in their routines, always to the delight of the crowd, and he enjoyed going up into the stands and interacting with students and families, taking selfies and high-fiving after big plays.

Suddenly, life inside the suit was affecting life outside of it.

“Being Swoop made me feel a lot closer to the community,” Abitogun says. “It gave me the confidence to be authentic with myself even outside the suit.”

Abitogun played Swoop from 2022-23 at Oxford and graduated from Emory in 2025 with a degree in neuroscience and behavioral biology. He now works at a clinical research firm in his hometown of Kansas City. Lowrey notes that Swoops of yesteryear have reached soaring heights in any number of professions. You might encounter a former Swoop at your next doctor’s appointment, or perhaps in a court of law.

Students decide to become Swoop for any number of reasons. The current Swoop says she heard, in casual conversation with someone from the athletics department, that a fan had been installed on the inside of the costume.

That suddenly got her thinking: What’s it like on the other side of the feathers? What’s it like to be the brains of the bird?

She expressed her interest in the position to Bryant, who conducts interviews for the position on the Atlanta campus. She was thrilled to get the job, but when she stepped inside, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“The fan doesn’t really work that well,” she explains.

But that didn’t seem to faze her. In the costume at this year’s Songfest, she got into a dance battle with the emcee, and the crowd cheered with every winged move.

On the same stage, she tried to start a playful rivalry with Dooley, the skeletal Lord of Misrule. When Dooley arrived, the whole crowd cheered, and Swoop moped to the corner and pouted for show — never fear, they made up in the end. This dynamic is not exactly Emory canon, but there is a precedent for the competition.

Lowrey recalls that the year after Swoop was introduced, he noticed some students were feeling protective over Dooley. His avian counterpart seemed to be stealing the spotlight. To stoke the fire, Lowrey arranged for a free throw contest at halftime of a 1985 basketball game. Only the contest was fixed — Swoop agreed to lose ahead of time to give Dooley the easy win, Lowrey says.

Our eagle always been a magnanimous bird.

For just about anyone who has worn the Swoop costume, the first word that comes to mind is “hot.” But heat is a burden all mascots must bear, Duncan Jolly says — there is no way around it, fan or no fan.

Bryant adds that the suit was designed for someone on the taller side, approaching 6 feet, but that there is no height requirement. The current Swoop is, in fact, on the shorter side and says she needs to adjust her movements to make up for the difference.

Such adjustments are common practice for playing mascots, Duncan Jolly explains. She trains her students to inhabit the suit fully because the movements do need to be more exaggerated, regardless of height. She instructs them to take longer strides, hold their heads up and walk with a posture of confidence. She is even hoping to formalize the training into a “Camp Swoop” in the coming years.

By tradition, students who play Swoop can only reveal their identities once they have completed their final event in costume. For many, that reveal takes place at Commencement, where they often wear the suit’s heavy, taloned feet for their walk across the stage, at last breaking their Swoop cone of silence. And the current Swoop plans to do just that when she graduates next year.

But until then, then she’s going to soak up the joy she spreads on Emory’s campus. Her favorite part of being in the costume is all the smiling faces that approach her. Families crowd around Swoop for pictures. Little siblings come up and ask for a hug. And fellow students celebrate alongside him after every big play on the court or field.

“As Swoop, I can do a little dance at a person who is walking with their head down, and they’ll always look up and laugh. It means a lot to bring that positivity to others.”
_{— Current Emory Student Who Portrays the Mascot}

“People seem so genuinely happy to see me when I’m in the costume,” she says.  “It’s easy to be caught up with school and walk around campus not looking at each other. But as Swoop, I can do a little dance at a person who is walking with their head down, and they’ll always look up and laugh. It means a lot to bring that positivity to others.”

That may be Swoop’s true superpower. Not flight. Not even the cheers. Through the mesh eyes of the costume, she sees that sometimes the smallest gestures have the biggest impact.