[Illustration: THREE VICTORIOUS PRINCETON CAPTAINSHILLEBRAND, COCHRAN, EDWARDS]

FOOTBALL DAYS

MEMORIES OF THE GAME ANDOF THE MEN BEHIND THE BALL

BY

WILLIAM H. EDWARDSPRINCETON 1900

WITH INTRODUCTION BYWALTER CAMPYALE 1880

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANYNEW YORK1916

Copyright, 1916, ByMOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANYNEW YORK

Dedicated to John P. Poe, Jr. Princeton '95

HONORED AND BELOVED BY HOSTS OF FRIENDS, HE REPRESENTED THE HIGHESTIDEALS OF AMERICAN FOOTBALL, NOT ONLY IN LIFE, BUT IN HIS DEATH UPON THEBATTLEFIELD IN FRANCE. 

AS I THINK OF HIM, THE STIRRING LINES OF HENRY NEWBOLDT COME TO ME AS AFITTING EULOGY:

 VITA LAMPADA

 There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night-- Ten to make and the match to win-- A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. 

 And it's not for the sake of a ribboned-coat Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote, "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

 The sand of the desert is sodden red-- Red with the wreck of a square that broke, The gatling jammed and the Colonel dead And the Regiment blind with dust and smoke. 

 The river of death has brimmed its banks, And England's far, and honor a name-- But the voice of a school boy rallies the ranks, "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

 This is the word that year by year While in her place the school is set Every one of the sons must hear, And none that hears it dares forget. 

 Thus they all with a joyful mind-- Bear their life like a torch in flame-- And failing, fling to the host behind, "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

GREETING

I value more highly than any other athletic gift I have ever received, the Princeton football championship banner that hangs on my wall. It wasgiven to me by a friend who sent three boys to Princeton. It is aduplicate of the one that hangs in the trophy room of the gymnasiumthere. 

How often have I gazed longingly at the names of my loyal team-matesinscribed upon it. Many times have I run over in my mind the part thateach one played on the memorable occasion when that banner was won. Memories cluster about that token that are dear and sacred to me. 

I see before me not only the faces of my team, but the faces of men ofother years and other universities who have contributed so much to thegreat game of football. I recall the preparatory school days and thepart that football played in our school and college careers. Again I seethe athletic fields and the dressing rooms. I hear the earnest pleadingof the coaches. 

I see the teams run out upon the field and hear the cheering throng. Thecoin is tossed in the air. The shrill blast of the referee's whistlesignals the game to start. The ball is kicked off, and the contest ison. 

The thousands of spectators watch breathlessly. For the time the wholeworld is forgotten, except for the issue being fought out there beforethem. 

But we are not dressed in football suits nowadays. We are on the sidelines. We have a different part to play. Years have compelled a change. In spirit, however, we are still "in the game. "

It is to share these memories with all true lovers of football and topay a tribute to the heroes of the gridiron who are no longer with usthat I have undertaken this volume. Let us together retrace the days inwhich we lived: days of preparation, days of victory, and days ofdefeat. Let us also look into the faces of some of the football heroesof years ago, and recall the achievements that made them famous. And letus recall, too, the men of the years just past who have so nobly upheldthe traditions of the American game of football, and helped to place iton its present high plane. 

 William H. Edwards. 

[Illustration: MY CORNER

"Fond memory sheds the light of other days around me. "]

PROLOGUE

They say that no man ever made a successful football player who waslacking in any quality of imagination. If this be true, and time andagain has it been proved, then there is no more fitting dedication to abook dealing with the gridiron heroes of the past than to a man likeJohnny Poe. For football is the abandon of body and mind to theobsession of the spirit that knows no obstacle, counts no danger and forthe time being is dull and callous to physical pain or exhaustion. It isa something that makes one see visions as Johnny saw them!

There is no sport in the world that brings out unselfishness as doesthis great gridiron game of ours. Every fall, second and scrub teamsthroughout the country sacrifice themselves only to let others enter thepromised land of victory. It is a strange thing but one almost neverhears any real football player criticise another's making the team, either his own or an All America. Although the player in this sportappreciates the loyal support of the thousands on the stands, every manrealizes that his checks on the Bank of Cheers can never be cashedunless there is a deposit of hard work and practice. Perhaps all this inan indistinct and indefinite way explains why football players, thecountry over, understand each other and that when the game is attackedfor any reason they stand shoulder to shoulder in defence of what theyknow down in the bottom of their hearts has such an influence oncharacter building. And there is no one better fitted to tell the storyof this and of the gridiron heroes than Big Bill Edwards, known not onlyas a player but far and wide as one of the best officials that everhandled the game. "A square deal and no roughing" was his motto, andevery one realized it and accepted every decision unquestioningly. Hisassociation with players in so many angles has given him a particularinsight into the sport and has enabled him to tell this story as no oneelse could. 

And what names to conjure with! The whistle blows and a shadowy hostsprings into action before one's misty eyes--Alex Moffat, the star ofkickers, Hector Cowan, Heffelfinger, Gordon Brown, Ma Newell, TruxtonHare, Glass, Neil Snow and Shevlin, giants of linemen. But I must stopbefore I trespass upon what Bill Edwards will do better. Here's to themall--forty years of heroes!

 Walter Camp. 

[Illustration: WALTER CAMP

Yale's Captain, '78-'79. ]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Hillebrand, Cochran, Edwards _Frontispiece_

My Corner

Walter Camp, Yale's Captain '78-'79

The Old Fifth Avenue Send-Off 1

Old Yale Heroes--Lee McClung's Team 5

We Beat Andover 11

Lafayette's Great Team 24

House in Disorder 30

Hit Your Man Low 32

Repairs 34

The Old Faithfuls 39

Jim Rodgers' Team 45

Cochran Was Game to the End 48

On to New Haven--All Dressed Up and Ready to Go 54

Hillebrand's Last Charge 60

Al Sharpe's Goal 64

Touching the Match to Victory 67

Alex Moffat and His Team 82

Old Penn Heroes 100

Pa Corbin's Team 108

Breakers Ahead--Phil King in the Old Days 125

Lookout, Princeton! 130

Barrett on One of His Famous Dashes; Exeter-AndoverGame, 1915 142

Bill Hollenback Coming at You 147

"The Next Day the Picture Was Gone"--Jim Cooney Making aHole for Dana Kafer 158

Johnny Poe, Football Player and Soldier 181

Northcroft Kicking the Field Goal Anticipated by theNavy and Feared by the Army 200

Cadets and Middies Entering the Field 224

Two Aces--Bill Morley and Harold Weeks 251

Vic Kennard's Kick 255

Sam White's Run 261

King, of Harvard, Making a Run; Mahan Putting Black onHis Head 268

Princeton's 1899 Team 272

"Nothing Got by John DeWitt" 277

John DeWitt About to Pick Up the Ball 280

The Ever Reliable Brickley--A Football Thoroughbred--TackHardwick 284

The Poe Family 296

Just Boys 298

Hobey Baker, Walter Camp, Jr. , Snake Ames, Jr. 303

The Elect 310

How It Hurts to Lose 337

Cornell's Great Team--1915 344

One Scene Never Photographed in Football 349

Harvard, 1915 354

The Greatest Indian of Them All 357

Learning the Charge 363

Billy Bull Advising with Captain Talbot 367

Michigan's Famous 1901 Team 370

Columbia Back in the Game, 1915 381

Close to a Thriller. Erwin of Pennsylvania ScoringAgainst Cornell 386

Crash of Conflict. When Charge Meets Charge 407

Ainsworth, Yale's Terror in an Uphill Game 416

Two to One He Gets Away--Brickley Being Tackled by Wilsonand Avery 422

Snapping the Ball with Lewis. "Two Inseparables"--FrankHinkey and the Ball 428

Marshall Newell 434

McClung, Referee, Shevlin and Hogan 450

CONTENTS

Chap. Page

I. --PREP. SCHOOL DAYS. 1-17

My First Glimpse of a Varsity Team--The Yale Eleven of 1891--LeeMcClung--Vance McCormick--Heffelfinger--Sanford--Impressionsmade upon a Boy--St. John's Military School--Lawrenceville--Makingthe Team--Andover and Hill School Games. 

II. --FRESHMAN YEAR. 18-29

The Freedom of Freshman Year is Attractive--Catching the Spiritof the Place--Searching for Football Material--The CannonRush--Early Training with Jack McMasters--Tie Game with Lafayetteat Easton--Humiliation of being taken out of a Game--CornellGame--Joe Beacham's Fair Admirer in the Bleachers--Bill Church'sThreat Carried Out--Garry Cochran's Victories against Harvardand Yale. 

III. --ELBOW TO ELBOW 30-41

Dressing for Practice--Out upon the Field--Tackling--AfterPractice, Back to the Dressing-room--How a Player FindsHimself--The Training Table--Team Mates--A Surprise for JohnDeWitt's Team. 

IV. --MISTAKES IN THE GAME. 42-53

If We could only Correct Mistakes We All Made--Defeatsmight be Turned into Victory--The Fellow that let Athleticsbe the Big Thing in His College Life--The '97 Defeat--NoRecognition of Old Schoolmates--My Opponent was CharlieChadwick--Jim Rodgers the Yale Captain--The Cochran-DeSaulles Compact--Cochran Injured--His Last Game--Ad Kelly'sGreat Work--Mistakes Caused Sadness--Cornell DefeatingPrinceton at Ithaca in 1899--No Outstretched Hands atPrinceton for our Homecoming. 

V. --MY LAST GAME 54-67

A Desire to Make the Last Game the Best--On to NewHaven--Optimism--The Start of the Game--Bosey Reiter'sTouchdown--Yale Scores on a Block Kick--Al Sharpe's Goalfrom the Field--Score 10 to 6, Yale Leading--Arthur Poe'sGoal from the Field--Princeton Victory--The Joy ofWinning--The Reception at Princeton. 

VI. --HEROES OF THE PAST--EARLY DAYS 68-92

Treasured Memory of Those who have Gone Before--Where arethe Old-time Heroes?--Walter Camp--F. R. Vernon--Camp asa Captain--Chummy Eaton--John Harding--Eugene Baker--FredRemington--Theodore McNair--Alexander Moffat--WyllysTerry--Memories of John C. Bell. 

VII. --GEORGE WOODRUFF'S STORY 93-101

His Entrance to Yale--Making the Team--Recollections of theMen he Played With and Against--The Lamar Run--PennsylvaniaExperiences. 

VIII. --ANECDOTES AND RECOLLECTIONS 102-124

Old-time Signals--Fun with Bert Hansen--Sport Donnelly--BillyRhodes and Gill--Victorious Days at Yale--Corbin's 1888Team--Pa Corbin's Speech when his Team was Banqueted--Mr. AndMrs. Walter Camp, Head Coaches of the Yale Football Team in1888--Cowan the Great--Story of His Football Days--He wasDisqualified by Wyllys Terry--Tribute to Heffelfinger--GoingBack with John Cranston. 

IX. --THE NINETIES AND AFTER 125-163

The Day Sanford Made the Yale Team--Parke Davis--Sanfordand Yost Obstructing the Traffic--Phil King--The OldFlying Wedges--Pop Gailey--Charlie Young--An Evening with JimRodgers--Vance McCormick and Denny O'Neil--Dartmouth and Someof Her Men--Dave Fultz--Christy Mathewson at Bucknell--JackMunn Tells of Buffalo Bill--Booth Tells of his WesternExperiences--Harry Kersburg--Heff Herring at MertonCollege--Carl Flanders--Bill Horr. 

X. --COLLEGE TRADITIONS AND SPIRIT 164-180

College Life in America is Rich in Traditions--The Value ofCollege Spirit--Each College Has its Own Traditions--AlumniParade--School Master and Boy--Victory must never OvershadowHonor--Constructive Criticism of the Alumni--Mass MeetingEnthusiasm--Horse Edwards, Princeton '89--Job E. Hedges. 

XI. --JOHNNY POE'S OWN STORY 181-193

Private W. Faulkner, a Comrade in the Black Watch, Tells ofPoe's Death--Johnny's Last Words--Paul MacWhelan GivesLondon Impressions of Poe's Death--Anecdotes that JohnnyPoe Wrote While in Nevada. 

XII. --ARMY AND NAVY 194-225

Character and Training of West Point and AnnapolisPlayers--Experience of the Visitor Watching the Drillof Battalion--Annapolis Recollections and FootballTraditions at Naval Academy--Old Players--A Trip de Luxeto West Point--West Point Recollections--Harmon Graves--TheWay They Have in the Army--The Army and Navy Game. 

XIII. --HARD LUCK IN THE GAME 226-246

In Football, as it is in Life, We have no Use for aQuitter--Football a Game for the Man who Has Nerve--Manya Small Man has Made a Big Man look Ridiculous--MorrisEly Game Though Handicapped--Val Flood's Recollections--AndySmith--Vonabalde Gammon of Georgia. 

XIV. --BRINGING HOME THE BACON 247-285

Billy Bull's Recollections of Yale Games--The Day ColumbiaBeat Yale--Dressing Room Scene where Doxology WasSung--Account by Richard Harding Davis--Introducing VicKennard of Harvard Fame--Opportunist Extraordinary--HisExperience with Mr. E. H. Coy--Charlie Barrett, ofCornell--Eddie Hart of Princeton--Sam White--Joe Duff--SideLine Thoughts of Doctor W. A. Brooks and Evert JansenWendell--New Haven Wreck--Eddie Mahan talking--His Opinionof Frank Glick--George Chadwick of Yale--Arthur Poe--Storyof his Run and of his Kick--John DeWitt's Story--Tichenor, of Georgia--"Bobbing Up and Down" Story--Charlie Brickley. 

XV. --THE BLOODY ANGLE 286-295

Going Back to the Rough Days--Princeton vs. Harvard Fallof '87 at Jarvis Field--Luther Price's Experiences in theGame--Cowan's Disqualification by Wyllys Terry--TheUmpire--Walter Camp was Referee--Holden Carried Off theField--Bob Church's Valor. 

XVI. --THE FAMILY IN FOOTBALL 296-305

Football Men in Two Distinct Classes--Those who are Madeinto Players by the Coaches and Those who are Born withthe Football Instinct--The Poes, Camps, Winters, Ames, Drapers, Riggs, Youngs, Withingtons, etc. 

XVII. --OUR GOOD OLD TRAINERS 306-336

Our Good Old Trainers--Jack McMasters--"Dear Old JimRobinson"--Mike Murphy the Dean of Trainers--"The OldMike"--A Chat with Pooch Donovan--Keene Fitzpatrick and hisExperiences--Mike Sweeney--Jack Moakley--There is muchHumor in Johnny Mack--Huggins of Brown--Harry Tuthill--DoctorW. M. Conant, Harvard '79, First Doctor in Charge of any team. 

XVIII. --NIGHTMARES 337-348

Frank Morse, of Princeton on the Spirit in Defeat--TomShevlin's Story--Nightmares of W. C. Rhodes--A YaleNightmare--Sam Morse--Jim Hogan--The Cornell Game of1915 is Eddie Mahan's Nightmare--Jack De Saulles' Nightmare. 

XIX. --MEN WHO COACHED 349-382

No coaches in the Old Days--Personality Counts inCoaching--Football is Fickle--Haughton at Harvard at thePsychological Moment--Old Harvard Coaches--Al Sharpe--GlennWarner--The Indians--Billy Bull in the Game--Sanford, theUnique--Making of Chadwick--W. R. Tichenor, Emergency Coachof the South--Auburn Recollections--Listening to Yost--ReggieBrown--Jimmy Knox--Harvard Scouts--Dartmouth Holds a UniquePosition in College Football--Ed Hall, the father of DartmouthFootball--Myron E. Witham, Captain of the Dartmouth Team--WalterMcCornack--Eddie Holt's Coaching--Harry Kersburg's HarvardCoaching Recollections--Making Two Star Players from theFootball Discards--Vic Kennard and Rex Ver Wiebe--John H. Rush--Tad Jones--T. N. Metcalf--Tom Thorp--Bob Folwell--AtPennsylvania. 

XX. --UMPIRE AND REFEREE 383-406

"Why Did He Give That Penalty?"--Emotions of anOfficial--John Bell's Recollections as an Official--Inthe Old Days One Official Handled the Entire Game--Dashiell'sReminiscences--Matthew McClung--Conversation with John L. Sullivan--My Own Personal Experiences--Evarts Wrenn atWork--Dan Hurley--Bill Crowell--Phil Draper's Ideas--WyllysTerry's Official Recollections--Explanation of the CowanDisqualification--Pa Corbin--Joe Pendleton--Refereeingwith Nate Tufts--Okeson. 

XXI. --CRASH OF CONFLICT 407-433

The First Five Minutes of Play--A Good Start usuallymeans a Good Ending--Bracelet in the Game--Lueder andBlondy Wallace--"I've Got You Buffaloed"--Tom Shevlinremarked: "Mike, This Isn't Football--It's War"--BemusPierce: "Now Keep your Eyes Open and Find out who itWas"--"If You Won't be Beat, You Can't be Beat, " saidJohnny Poe--Rinehart Tells how he Tried to Get even withSam Boyle--Barkie Donald and Bemus Pierce--The Yale-HarvardGame at Springfield '94--Result; No Game for Nine Years--FrankHinkey and Wrightington's Broken Collar-bone--Joe Beacham'sParagon--Sandy Hunt--Bill Hollenback. 

XXII. --LEST WE FORGET 434-460

Marshall Newell--Gordon Brown--James J. Hogan--ThomasJ. Shevlin--Francis H. Burr--Neil Snow--BillyBannard--Harry Hooper--Richard Harding Davis--McClung. 

XXIII. --ALOHA 461-464

Hail and Farewell--The Old Game and the NewCompared--Exclusively Collegiate Sport--Isaac H. Bromley, Yale '53, Sums up the Spirit of College Life and Sport!

[Illustration: THE OLD FIFTH AVENUE SEND-OFF]

FOOTBALL DAYS

CHAPTER I

PREP. SCHOOL DAYS

To every man there comes a moment that marks the turning point of hiscareer. For me it was a certain Saturday morning in the autumn of 1891. As I look back upon it, across the years, I feel something of the samethrill that stirred my boyish blood that day and opened a door throughwhich I looked into a new world. 

I had just come to the city, a country boy, from my home in Lisle, N. Y. , to attend the Horace Mann School. As I walked across Madison Square, I glanced toward the old Fifth Avenue Hotel, where my eyes fell upon thescene depicted in the accompanying picture. Almost before I was aware ofit my curiosity led me to mingle with the crowd surging in and out ofthe hotel, and I learned by questioning the bystanders that it was theheadquarters of the Yale team, which that afternoon was to playPrinceton at the Polo Grounds. The players were about to leave the hotelfor the field, and I hurried inside to catch a glimpse of them. 

The air was charged with enthusiasm, and I soon caught theinfection--although it was all new to me then--of the vital power ofcollege spirit which later so completely dominated my life. I recallwith vividness how I lingered and waited for something to happen. Menwere standing in groups, and all eyes were centered upon the heroes ofthe team. Every one was talking football. Some of the names heard thenhave never been forgotten by me. There was the giant Heffelfinger whomevery one seemed anxious to meet. I was told that he was the crack Yaleguard. I looked at him, and, then and there, I joined the heroworshippers. 

I also remember Lee McClung, the Yale captain, who seemed to realize theresponsibilities that rested upon his shoulders. There was an air ofrestraint upon him. In later years he became Treasurer of the UnitedStates and his signature was upon the country's currency. My most vividrecollection of him will be, however, as he stood there that day in thecorridor of the famous old hotel, on the day of a great footballconflict with Princeton. Then Sanford was pointed out to me, the Yalecenter-rush. I recall his eagerness to get out to the "bus" and to be onhis way to the field. When the starting signal was given by the captain, Sanford's huge form was in the front rank of the crowd that poured outupon the sidewalk. 

The whole scene was intensely thrilling to me, and I did not leaveuntil the last player had entered the "bus" and it drove off. Crowds ofYale men and spectators gave the players cheer after cheer as theyrolled away. The flags with which the "bus" was decorated waved in thebreeze, and I watched them with indescribable fascination until theywere out of sight. The noise made by the Yale students I learnedafterwards was college cheering, and college cheers once heard by a boyare never forgotten. 

Many in that throng were going to the game. I could not go, but thescene that I had just witnessed gave me an inspiration. It stirredsomething within me, and down deep in my soul there was born a desire togo to college. 

I made my way directly to the Y. M. C. A. Gymnasium, then at the cornerof Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street. Athletics had for me a greaterattraction than ever before, and from that day I applied myself withincreased enthusiasm to the work of the gymnasium. 

The following autumn I entered St. John's Military Academy at Manlius, N. Y. , a short distance from my old home. I was only seventeen years ofage and weighed 217 pounds. 

Former Adjutant General William Verbeck--then Colonel Verbeck--was HeadMaster. Before I was fairly settled in my room, the Colonel had draftedme as a candidate for the football team. I wanted to try for the team, and was as eager to make it as he evidently was to have me make it. ButI did not have any football togs, and the supply at the school did notcontain any large enough. 

So I had to have some built for me. The day they arrived, much to mydisappointment, I found the trousers were made of white canvas. Theirnewness was appalling and I pictured myself in them with feelings ofdismay. I robbed them of their whiteness that night by mopping up a lotof mud with them behind the gymnasium. When they had dried--bymorning--they looked like a pair of real football trousers. 

George Redington of Yale was our football coach. He was full ofcontagious fire. Redington seemed interested in me and gave me muchindividual coaching. Colonel Verbeck matched him in love of the game. Henot only believed in athletics, but he played at end on the second team, and it was pretty difficult for the boys to get the best of him. Theymade an unusual effort to put the Colonel out of the plays, but, try ashard as they might, he generally came out on top. The result was adecided increase in the spirit of the game. 

We had one of the best preparatory school teams in that locality, butowing to our distance from the larger preparatory schools, we wereforced to play Syracuse, Hobart, Hamilton, Rochester, Colgate, andCazenovia Seminary--all of whom we defeated. We also played against theSyracuse Athletic Association, whose team was composed ofprofessional athletes as well as former college players. Bert Hanson, who had been a great center at Yale, was one of this team. 

[Illustration:

H. Wallis Coxe Cochran Nessler Heffelfinger W. Winter MillsSanford Hartwell Morrison Graves StillmanMcCormick McClung L. T. BlissC. Bliss Hinkey Barbour T. Dyer

OLD YALE HEROES--LEE McCLUNG'S TEAM]

Recalling the men who played on our St. John's team, I am confident thatif all of them had gone to college, most of them would have made theVarsity. In fact, some did. 

It was decided that I should go to Lawrenceville School, en route toPrinceton. It was on the trip from Trenton to Lawrenceville, in the bigstage coach loaded with boys, I got my first dose of homesickness. Theprospect of new surroundings made me yearn for St. John's. 

The "blue hour" of boyhood, however, is a brief one. I was soon engagedin conversation with a little fellow who was sitting beside me and whobegan discussing the ever-popular subject of football. He was veryinquisitive and wanted to know if I had ever played the game, and if Iwas going to try for the team. 

He told me about the great game Lawrenceville played with the PrincetonVarsity the year before, when Lawrenceville scored six points beforePrinceton realized what they were really up against. He fascinated me byhis graphic description. There was a glowing account of the playing ofGarry Cochran, the great captain of the Lawrenceville team, who had justgraduated and gone to Princeton, together with Sport Armstrong, thegiant tackle. 

These men were sure to live in Lawrenceville's history if for nothingelse than the part they had played in that notable game, althoughPrinceton rallied and won 8 to 6. It was not long before I learned thatmy newly-made friend was Billy McGibbon, a member of the Lawrencevillebaseball team. 

"Just wait until you see Charlie de Saulles and Billy Dibble play behindthe line, " he went on; and from that moment I began to be a part of thenew life, the threshold of which I was crossing. Strangely enough thememory of getting settled in my new quarters faded with the eventfulmoment when the call for candidates came, and I went out with the restof the boys to try for the team. 

Competition was keen and many candidates offered themselves. I wasplaced on the scrub team. One of my first attempts for supremacy was inthe early part of the season when I was placed as right guard of thescrub against Perry Wentz, an old star player of the school andabsolutely sure of his position. I recall how on several occasions thefirst team could not gain as much distance through the second as the mendesired, and Wentz, who later on distinguished himself on the Varsity atPrinceton and still later as a crack player on Pennsylvania, seemed tohave trouble in opening up my position. 

Max Rutter, the Lawrenceville captain, with the directness that usuallycharacterizes such officers, called this fact to Wentz's attention. Wentz, who probably felt naturally his pride of football fame, becamequite angry at Rutter's remark that he was being outplayed. He took offhis nose-guard, threw it on the ground and left the field. 

Rutter moved me over to the first team in Wentz's place. That nightthere was a general upset on the team which was settled amicably, however, and the next day Wentz continued playing in his old place. Theposition of guard was given to me on the other side of the line, GeorgeCadwalader being moved out to the position of tackle. This was the sameCadwalader who subsequently went to Yale and made a great name forhimself on the gridiron, in spite of the fact that he remained at NewHaven but one year. 

It was here at Lawrenceville that this great player made his reputationas a goal kicker, a fame that was enhanced during his football days atYale. Max Rutter, the captain of the Lawrenceville team, went toWilliams and played on the Varsity, eventually becoming captain therealso. Ned Moffat, nephew of Princeton's great Alex Moffat, played endrush. 

About this time I began to realize that Billy McGibbon had given me acorrect line on Charlie de Saulles and Billy Dibble. These two playersworked wonderfully well together, and were an effective scoring machinewith the assistance of Doc MacNider and Dave Davis. 

During these days at Lawrenceville Owen Johnson gathered the materialfor those interesting stories in which he used his old schoolmates forthe characters. The thin disguise of Doc Macnooder does not, however, conceal Doc MacNider from his old schoolboy friends. The same is true ofthe slightly changed names of Garry Cochran, Turk Righter, Charlie deSaulles and Billy Dibble. 

Charlie de Saulles, after graduation, went to Yale and continued hiswonderful, spectacular career on the gridiron. We will spend anafternoon with him on the Yale field later. 

Billy Dibble went to Williams and played a marvelous game until he wasinjured, early in his freshman year. It was during those days that I metGarry Cochran, Sport Armstrong and other Princeton coaches for the firsttime. They used to come over to assist in coaching our team. Our regularcoaches at Lawrenceville were Walter B. Street, who had been a famousfootball star years before at Williams, and William J. George, renownedin Princeton's football history as a center-rush. I cannot praise thework of these men too highly. They were thoroughbreds in every sense ofthe word. 

It was one of the old traditions of Lawrenceville football to have agame every year with Pennington Seminary. What man is there whoattended either school who does not recall the spirit of those old-timecontests?

The Hill School was another of our football rivals. The trip toPottstown, Pa. , was an event eagerly looked forward to--so also was theHill School's return game at Lawrenceville. The rivalry between the twoschools was keen. 

Everything possible was done at the Hill School to make our visit apleasant one. The score of 28 to 0, by which Lawrenceville won the gamethat year, made it especially pleasant. 

As I recall that trip, two men stand out in my memory. One was JohnMeigs, the Head Master. The other was Mike Sweeney, the Trainer andAthletic Director. They were the two central figures of Hill Schooltraditions. 

Interest in football was emphasized at that time by the approaching gamewith Andover at Lawrenceville. This was the first time that these twoteams had ever played. Andover was probably more renowned in footballannals than any school Lawrenceville had played up to this time. TheLawrenceville coaches realized that the game would be a strenuous one. After a conference, the two coaches decided that it would be wise to seeAndover play at Andover the week before we were to play them. Accordingly, Mr. George went to Andover, and when he returned, hegathered the team around him in one of the recitation halls anddescribed carefully the offense and defense of our coming opponents. Healso demonstrated with checkers what each man did in every play andplaced emphasis on the work of Eddie Holt, who was acting captain of theAndover team. To represent Holt's giant build he placed one checker ontop of another, saying, as I remember, with great seriousness:

"This topped checker represents Holt. He must be taken care of, and itwill require two Lawrenceville men to stop him on every play. I amcertain of this for Holt was a marvel last Saturday. "

During the week we drilled secretly and most earnestly in anticipationof defeating Andover. The game attracted an unusually large number ofspectators. Lawrenceville made it a gala day for its alumni, and all theold Andover and Lawrenceville boys who could get there witnessed thegame. 

When the Andover team ran out upon the field we were all anxious to seehow big Holt loomed up. He certainly was a giant and towered high abovethe other members of his team. Soon the whistle blew, and the troublewas on. In memory now I can see Billy Dibble circling Andover's end fortwenty-five yards, scoring a touchdown amid tremendous excitement. 

This all transpired during the first minute and a half of play. Emersononce said, "We live by moments, " and the first minute and a half of thatgame must stand out as one of the eventful periods in the life ofevery man who recalls that day of play. No grown-up schoolboy can failto appreciate the scene or miss the wave of boyish enthusiasm thatrolled over the field at this unlooked for beginning of a memorable gamebetween schoolboys. 

[Illustration:

Davis MacNider Dibblede SaullesMoffat Cadwalader Edwards Walton Wentz Geer Rotter

WE BEAT ANDOVER]

This wonderful start of the Lawrenceville team was a goading spur to itsopponents. Johnnie Barnes, an ex-Lawrenceville boy, now quarterback onthe Andover team, seemed fairly inspired as he urged his team on. EddieHolt was called upon time and again. He was making strong advances, aided by French, Hine and Porter. Together they worked out a touchdown. But Lawrenceville rallied and for the rest of the game their teamworkwas masterly. Bat Geer, who was later a Princeton Varsity player, Charlie de Saulles and Billy Dibble, each scored touchdowns, makingthree altogether for their school. 

Thus Lawrenceville, with the score 20 to 6, stepped forth into a new eraand entered the larger football world where she was to remain andincrease her heroic accomplishments in after years. 

It is needless to say that the night following this victory was acrowning one in our preparatory football experiences. Bonfires werelighted, speeches were the order of the hour, and members of the teamwere the guests of honor at a banquet in the Upper House. There was norowdy "revelry by night" to spoil the memory of the occasion. It wasjust one simple, fine and fitting celebration of a wholesome schoolvictory on the field of football. 

LAST YEAR AT LAWRENCEVILLE

It was up to Billy Dibble, the new captain, to bring about anotherchampionship. We were to play Andover a return game there. CaptainDibble was left with but three of last year's team as a foundation tobuild on. Dibble's team made a wonderful record. He was a splendidexample for the team to follow, and his playing, his enthusiasm, andearnest efforts contributed much toward the winning of the Andover, Princeton freshmen and Hill School games. There appeared atLawrenceville a new coach who assisted Street and George. He was noneother than the famous Princeton halfback, Douglas Ward, whose record asan honored man in the classroom as well as on the football field waswell known to all of us, and had stood out among college athletes as awonderful example. He was very modest. I recall that some one once askedhim how he made the only touchdown against Yale in the '93 game. Hisreply was: "Oh, somebody just pushed me over. "

Fresh in my memory is the wonderful trip that we boys made to Andover. We were proud of the fact that the Colonial Express was especiallyordered to stop at Trenton for us, and as we took our seats in thePullman car, we realized that our long looked for expedition had reallybegun. 

We had a great deal of fun on the trip to Boston. Good old GeorgeCadwalader was the center of most of the jokes. His 215 pounds added tothe discomfort of a pair of pointed patent leather shoes, which were fartoo small for him. As soon as he was settled in the train he removedthem and dozed off to sleep. Turk Righter and some of the other funmakers tied the shoe strings together, and hung them out of the windowwhere they blew noisily against the window pane. 

When we arrived in Jersey City it was a treat for us to see our trainput aboard the ferry boat of the N. Y. , N. H. & H. R. R. , and, as wesailed down the bay, up the East River and under the Brooklyn Bridge tothe New Haven docks, it all seemed very big and wonderful. 

When the train stopped at New Haven, we were met by theYale-Lawrenceville men, who wished us the best of luck; some of themmaking the trip with us to Boston. When we arrived in Andover the nextday I had the satisfaction of seeing my brother and cousin, who were atthat time attending Andover Academy. 

The hospitality that was accorded the Andover team, while atLawrenceville the year before, was repaid in royal fashion. We had ampletime to view the grounds and buildings and grow keen in anticipationand interest in the afternoon's contest. 

When the whistle blew, we were there for business. My personal opponentwas a fellow named Hillebrand, who besides being a football player wasAndover's star pitcher. Later on we became the best of friends and sidepartners on the Princeton team, and often spoke of our first meetingwhen we played against each other. Hillebrand was one of the greatestathletes Andover ever turned out. Lawrenceville defeated Andover in oneof the hardest and most exciting of all Prep. School contests, one thatwas uncertain from beginning to end. 

Billy Dibble played the star game of the day and after eight minutes hescored a touchdown. Cadwalader booted the ball over the goal and thescore was 6 to 0. The Lawrenceville backfield, made up of Powell, DaveDavis, Cap Kafer and Dibble, worked wonderfully well. Kafer did someexcellent punting against his remarkable opponent Barker, who seemed tobe as expert as he. 

The efficient work of Hillebrand and of Chadwell, the colored end-rush, stands out pre-eminently. The latter player developed into one of thebest end-rushes that ever played at Williams. Goodwin, Barker andGreenway contributed much to Andover's good play. Jim Greenway is one ofthe famous Greenway boys whose athletic history at Yale is a matter ofrecord. A few minutes later the Andover crowd were aroused by Goodwinmaking the longest run of the game--fifty-five yards, scoring Andover'sfirst touchdown, and making the score 6 to 6. 

There was great speculation as to which team would win the game, butBilly Dibble, aided by the wonderful interference on the part of BabeEddie, who afterward played end on the Yale team, and Emerson, who, hadhe gone to college, would have been a wonder, made a touchdown. GeorgeCadwalader with his sure right foot made the score 12 to 6. Enthusiasmwas at its height. Andover rooters were calling upon their team to tiethe score. A touchdown and goal would mean a tie. The Andover teamseemed to answer their call, for soon Goodwin scored a touchdown, makingthe score 12 to 10, and Butterfield, Andover's right halfback, was putto the test amidst great excitement. The ball went just to the side ofthe goal post, and Lawrenceville had won 12 to 10. Great is the thrillof a victory won on an opponent's field!

That night after dinner, as I was sitting in my brother's room, withsome of his Andover friends, there was a yell from outside, and a loudknock on the door. In walked a big fellow wearing a blue sweater. Through his open coat one could observe the big white letter "A. " Itproved to be none other than Doc Hillebrand. Without one word of commenthe walked over to where I was sitting and said: "Edwards, what was thescore of the game to-day?" I could not get the idea at all. I said:"Why, you ought to know. " He replied: "12 to 10, " and turning on hisheel, left the room. This caused a good deal of amusement, but it wassoon explained that Hillebrand was being initiated into a secret societyand that this was one of the initiation stunts. 

It was a wonderfully happy trip back to Lawrenceville. The spirit ranhigh. It was then that Turk Righter wrote the well known Lawrencevilleverse which we sang again and again:

 Cap kicked, Barker kicked Cap he got the best of it They both kicked together But Cap kicked very hard Bill ran, Dave ran Then Andover lost her grip She also lost her championship Sis, boom ah!

As we were about two miles outside of Lawrenceville, we saw a mass oflight in the roadway, and when we heard the boys yelling at the top oftheir voices, we realized that the school was having a torch-lightprocession and coming to welcome us. Great is that recollection! Theytook the horses off and dragged the stage back to Lawrenceville and inand about the campus. It was not long before the whole school wassinging the song of success that Turk Righter had written. 

A big celebration followed. We did not break training because we hadstill another game to play. When Lawrenceville had beaten the HillSchool 20 to 0, many of us realized that we had played our last game forLawrenceville. George Cadwalader was shortly afterward elected Captainfor the coming year. It was at this time that Lawrenceville wasoverjoyed to learn that Garry Cochran, a sophomore at Princeton, hadbeen elected captain of the Princeton varsity. This recalled formerLawrenceville boys, Pop Warren and Doggie Trenchard, who had played atLawrenceville, gone to Princeton and had become varsity captains there. Snake Ames also prepared at Lawrenceville. 

I might incidentally state that we stayed at Lawrenceville until June toget our diplomas, realizing that there were many able fellows tocontinue the successful traditions of Lawrenceville football, GeorgeMattis, Howard Richards, Jack de Saulles, Cliff Bucknam, John De Witt, Bummie Ritter, Dana Kafer, John Dana, Charlie Dudley, Heff Herring, Charlie Raymond, Biglow, the Waller brothers and others. 

CHAPTER II

FRESHMAN YEAR

I believe that every man who has had the privilege of going to collegewill agree with me that as a freshman lands in a college town, he is avery happy and interested individual. The newness of things and hisfreedom are very attractive. He comes to college fresh from his schoolday experiences ready to conform himself to the traditions and customsof the new school, his college choice. 

The world will never again look quite so big to a boy as it did then. Entering as boys do, in the fall of the year, the uppermost thing inmind, outside of the classroom, is football. Sometimes it is theuppermost thought in the classroom. What kind of a Varsity football teamare we going to have? This is the question heard on all sides. 

Every bit of available football material is eagerly sought by thecoaches. I recall so well my freshman year at Princeton, how GarryCochran, captain of the football team, went about the college withJohnny Poe, looking over the undergraduates and watching the incomingtrains for football possibilities. If a fellow looked as though hemight have good material to work upon, he was asked to report at theVarsity field the next day. 

All athletic interests are focused on the gridiron. The youngundergraduate who has no likelihood of making the team, fills himselfwith facts about the individuals who are trying to win a place. Hestarts out to be a loyal rooter, realizing that next to being a player, the natural thing is to attend practice and cheer the team in theirwork; he becomes interested in the individual progress each candidate ismaking. In this way, the members of the team know that they have thesupport of the college, and this makes them play harder. This builds upcollege spirit. 

Every college has its own freshman and sophomore traditions; one atPrinceton is, that shortly after college opens there must be a rushabout the cannon, between the freshman and sophomore classes. All thosewho have witnessed this sight, know that it is a vital part of Princetonundergraduate life. On that night in my freshman year, great care wastaken by Cochran that none of the incoming football material engaged inthe rush. No chances were taken of injuring a good football prospectamong either freshmen or sophomores. Eddie Holt, Bert Wheeler, ArthurPoe, Doc Hillebrand, Bummie Booth and I were in the front ranks of theclass of 1900, stationed back of Witherspoon Hall ready to make therush upon the sophomores, who were huddled together guarding the cannon. Cochran and his coterie of coachers ran out as we were approaching thecannon and forced us out of the contest. He ordered us to stand on theoutside of the surging crowd. There we were allowed to do a little"close work, " but we were not permitted to get into the heat of thefray. Cochran knew all of us because we were among those who had beencalled to college before the opening to enter preliminary training. Every football player who has had the experience of being summoned aheadof time will understand my feeling. I was very happy when I receivedfrom Cochran, during the summer before I entered Princeton, a letterinviting me to report for football practice two weeks before collegeopened. When I arrived at Princeton on the appointed day, I found thecandidates for the team at the training quarters. 

At that time freshmen were not barred from varsity teams. 

There was a reunion of friends from Lawrenceville and other schools. There was Doc Hillebrand, against whom I had played in the Andover gamethe year before. Eddie Holt loomed up and I recalled him as the bigfellow who played on the Andover team against Lawrenceville two yearsbefore. He had gone from Andover to Harvard and had played on theHarvard team the year before, and had decided to leave Harvard andenter Princeton. 

There were Lew Palmer, Bummie Booth, Arthur Poe, Bert Wheeler, EddieBurke and many others whom I grew to know well later on. 

Trainer Jack McMasters was on the job and put us through some verysevere preliminary training. It was warm in New Jersey early inSeptember, and often in the middle of practice Jack would occasionallyplay the hose on us. It did not take us long to learn that varsityfootball training was much more strenuous than that of the preparatoryschool. The vigorous programme, prepared, especially for me, convincedme that McMasters and the coaches had decided that my 224 pounds weretoo much weight. Jack and I used to meet at the field house fourmornings each week. He would array me in thick woolen things, and topthem off with a couple of sweaters, so that I felt as big as a house. Hewould then take me out for an excursion of eight miles across country, running and walking. Sometimes other candidates kept us company, butonly Jack and I survived. 

On these trips, I would lose anywhere from five to six pounds. I gotaccustomed to this jaunt and its discomforts after a while, but therewas one thing that always aggravated me. While Jack made me suffer, heindulged himself. He would stop at a favorite spring of his, kneel downand take a refreshing drink, right before my very eyes, and then, although my throat was parched, he would bar me even from wetting mytongue. He was decidedly unsociable, but from a training standpoint, hewas entirely "on to his job. "

As both captain and trainer soon found that I was being overworked, Ihad some "let up" of this strenuous system. The extra work in additionto the regular afternoon practice, made my days pretty severe going andwhen night came I was not troubled with insomnia. 

It was during this time that Biffy Lea, one of Princeton's greatesttackles, was slowly but surely making a wonderful tackle out of DocHillebrand. Bert Wheeler was making rapid strides to attain the positionof halfback. They were the only two freshmen who made the team thatyear. I was one of those that failed. 

We were soon in shape for the first try-out of the season; preliminarytraining was over, and the team was ready for its first game. We won theRutgers game 44 to 0 and after we defeated the Navy, we went to playLafayette at Easton. I had as my opponent in the Lafayette game, Rinehart. I shall never forget this game. I was playing left guardalongside of Jarvie Geer, who was a substitute for Bill Church, who hadbeen injured in practice the week before and could not play. Just beforethe first half was over, Lafayette feinted on a kick, and instead ofBray, that star Lafayette fullback, boosting the ball, Barclay shotthrough the line between Geer and myself for thirty yards. There was mydown-fall. Rinehart had taken care of me beautifully, and finally, NetPoe saved the day by making a beautiful tackle of Barclay, who was fastapproaching the Princeton goal line. There was no score made, but thefact that Barclay had made the distance through me, made me feel mightymean. I recall Cochran during the intermission, when he said: "Holt; youtake Edwards' place at left-guard. "

The battle between those giants during the second half was a sight worthseeing and an incident recalled by all those who witnessed the game. 

Neither side scored and it was a hard-fought struggle. 

One day, one play, often ruins a man's chances. I had played as aregular in the first three games of the season. I was being tried outand had been found wanting. I had proved a disappointment, and I knewCochran knew it and I knew the whole college would know it, but I madeup my mind to give the very best I had in me, and hoped to square myselflater and make the team. I knew what it was to be humiliated, taken outof a game, and to realize that I had not stood the test. I began toreason it out--maybe I was carried away with the fact of having playedon the varsity team--maybe I did not give my best. Anyway I learnedmuch that day. It was my first big lesson of failure in football. Thatfailure and its meaning lived with me. 

I have always had great respect for Rinehart, and his great team mates. Walbridge and Barclay were a great team in themselves, backed up by Brayat fullback. It was this same team that, later in the fall, beatPennsylvania, without the services of Captain Walbridge, who had beeninjured. 

It was not long after this that Princeton played Cornell at Princeton. Irecall the day I first saw Joe Beacham, that popular son of Cornell, whoafterwards coached West Point. He is now in the regular army, stationedat Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He was captain of the Cornell team in '96. He had on his team the famous players, Dan Reed, on whom Cornell countsmuch in these years to assist Al Sharpe in the coaching; Tom Fennel, Taussig and Freeborn. With these stars assisting, Cornell could donothing with Princeton's great team and the score 37 to 0 tells thetale. 

I was not playing in this game, but recall the following incident. JoeBeacham was making a flying run through the Princeton team. A verypretty girl covered with furs, wearing the red and white of Cornell, wasenthusiastically yelling at the top of her voice "Go it, Joe! go it, Joe!" much to the delight and admiration of the Princetonundergraduates near her. Since then Joe has told me that it was hissister. Maybe it was, but as Joe was rushing onward, with Dan Reed andTom Fennel interfering wonderfully for him, and urged on by his fondadmirer in the grandstand, his progress was rudely halted by the hugeform of Edwin Crowdis which appeared like a cloud on the horizon andprojected itself before the oncoming scoring machine of Cornell. Whenthey met, great was the crash, for Crowdis spilled the player, ball andall. This was the time, the place, and the girl; and it meant that EdwinCrowdis had made the Princeton Varsity team. 

[Illustration:

Brink Thorne Hubby Bray Bishop Park DavisRowland Jones Walbridge Barclay Ziser Rinehart Herr GatesSpear Best Weidenmeyer Hill Trexler

LAFAYETTE'S GREAT TEAM]

I realized it at the moment, and although I knew that it would probablyput me in the substitute ranks for the rest of the season, I was wildwith joy to see Edwin develop at this particular moment, and perform hisgreat play. His day had come, his was the reward, and Joe Beacham hadbeen laid low. As for the girl, she subsided abruptly, and is said tohave remarked, as Crowdis smashed the Cornell machine: "Well, I neverdid like a fat man anyway!"

One day in a practice game, against the scrub, this year, Garry Cochran, who was standing on the side lines resting from the result of an injury, became so frantic over the poor showing of the varsity, pulled off hissweater and jumped into the game in spite of the trainers' earnestentreaty not to. He tried to instill a new spirit into the game. It wasone of those terrible Monday practice games, of which every footballplayer knows. The varsity could not make any substantial gains againstthe second team, which was unusually strong that year, as most of thevarsity substitutes were playing. How frantic Bill Church was! He wasplaying tackle alongside of Edwin Crowdis, against whom I was playing. My chances of making the Varsity were getting slimmer. Very few practicedays were left before the men would be selected for the final game. Iwas making the last earnest stand. The varsity line men were not openingup the scrub line as easily as they desired, and we were all stopping upthe offensive play of the Varsity. I was going through very low andtackling Crowdis around the legs, trying to carry him back into theplay. Church was very angry at my doing this, and told Crowdis to hitme, if I did it again, but Edwin was a good-natured, clean player; infact, I doubt if he ever rough played any man. Finally, after severalplays, Church said, "If you don't hit him, I will, " and he sure madegood his threat, for on the next play, when I was at the bottom of theheap in the scrimmage, Church handed me one of those stiff "Bill Churchblows, " emphasizing the tribute with his leather thumb protector. Therewas a lively mixup and the scrub and Varsity had an open fight. All wassoon forgotten, but I still "wear an ear, " the lobe of which is aconstant reminder of Bill Church's spirited play. Nothing ever stood inChurch's way; he was a hard player, and a powerful tackle. 

Slowly but surely, Cochran's great team was perfecting itself into amachine. The victory against Harvard at Cambridge was the team's worthyreward for faithful service and attention given to the details of thegame. 

As a reward for service rendered, the second team with the Varsitysubstitutes were taken on the trip, and as we saw the great Princetonteam winning, every man was happy and proud of the joy and knowledge ofgiving something material towards their winning. Sore legs, injuries andmistakes were at such a time forgotten. All that was felt was the keensense of satisfaction that comes to men who have helped in theconstruction. 

Billie Bannard, aided by superb interference of Fred Smith, was able tomake himself the hero of that game by a forty-five yard run. Bill Churchthe great tackle broke through the Harvard line and blocked Brown'skick, and the ever-watchful end-rush, Howard Brokaw, fell on the ballfor a touchdown. Cochran had been injured and removed from the game, buthe was frantic with joy as he walked up and down the Princeton sidelines, urging further touchdowns. 

A happy crowd of Princetonians wended their way back to Princeton to putthe finishing touches on the team before the Yale game. Those of youwho recall that '96 game in New York will remember that 6 to 0 in favorof Yale was the score, at the end of the first five minutes. Jim Rodgershad blocked Johnnie Baird's punt and Bass, the alert end-rush, hadpounced on the ball and was over for a touchdown in a moment. Greatgroans went up from the Princeton grandstand. Could it be that thisgreat acknowledged champion team of Princeton was conceited, over-trained and about to be defeated? Certainly not, for there arosesuch a demonstration of team spirit and play as one seldom sees. On thenext kick-off Johnnie Baird caught the ball, and when he was about to betackled--in fact, was lying on the ground--he passed the ball to FredSmith, that great all-round Princeton athlete, who made the mostspectacular run of the day. Who will ever forget the wonderful lineplunging of Ad Kelly, the brilliant end running of Bill Bannard and thegreat part all the other men of the team contributed towards Princeton'ssuccess, and the score grew and grew by touchdown after touchdown, untilsome one recalled that in this game, the team would say, "Well, we won'tgive any signals; we'll just try a play through Captain Murphy. " Maybethis was the play that put Murphy out of the game. He played againstBill Church, and that was enough exercise for any one man to encounterin one afternoon. As Fred Murphy left the field everyone realized thatit was only his poor physical condition that caused him to give up thegame. Yale men recall, with great pride, how the year before Murphy hadput it all over Bill Church. During that game, however, Church'sphysical condition was not what it should have been, and these two gianttackles never had a chance to play against each other when they wereboth in prime condition. Both these men were All American calibre. 

Johnny Baird, Ad Kelly, Bannard, all made touchdowns and the twosuccessful freshmen who had made the team, Hillebrand and Wheeler, bothregistered touchdowns against Yale. As the Yale team left the field, they felt the sting of defeat, but there were men who were to haverevenge at New Haven the next year against Princeton, among whom wereChadwick, Rodgers and Chamberlain. They were eager enough to get back atus and the next year they surely did. But this was our year for victoryand celebration, and laurels were bestowed upon the victors. GarryCochran and his loyal team-mates were the lions of the day and hour. 

CHAPTER III

ELBOW TO ELBOW

"I wonder where my shoes are?" "Who's got my trousers on?" "I wonder ifthe tailor mended my jersey?" "What has become of my head-gear?" "Iwonder if the cobbler has put new cleats on my shoes?" "Somebody musthave my stockings on--these are too small. " "What has become of my anklebrace--can't seem to find it anywhere? I just laid it down here a minuteago. I think that freshman pinched my sweater. "

All of which is directed to no one in particular, and the Trainer, whosits far off in a corner, blowing up a football for the afternoonpractice, smiles as the players are fishing for their clothes. Just thenthe Captain, who has dressed earlier than the rest, and has had two orthree of the players out on the field for kicking practice, breaks inupon the scene with the remark:

"Don't you fellows all know you're late? You ought to be dressed longbefore this. " Then follows the big scramble and soon everybody is out onthe field. 

The Trainer is busy keeping his eye open for any man who is beinghandled too strenuously in the practice. Quick starts are practiced, individual training is indulged in. Kicking and receiving punts playan important part in the preliminary work. 

[Illustration: HOUSE IN DISORDER]

At Williams one afternoon, Fred Daly, former Yale Captain and coach atWilliams, in trying forward passes instructed his ends to catch them atevery angle and height. One man continually fumbled his attempt, just ashe thought he had it sure. He was a new man to Daly, and the lattercalled out to him:

"What is your name?" Back came the reply, which almost broke up thefootball practice for the day: "_Ketchum_ is my name. "

Falling on the ball is one of the fundamentals in football. It is theground work that every player must learn. Frank Hinkey, that great YaleCaptain and player, was an artist in performing this fundamental. Playing so wonderfully well the end-rush position, his alertness infalling on the ball often meant much distance for Yale. He had wonderfuljudgment in deciding whether to fall on the ball or pick it up. 

One of the most important things in football is knowing how to tackleproperly. Some men take to it naturally and others only learn afterhard, strenuous practice. 

In the old days men were taught to tackle by what is known as "livetackling. " I recall especially that earnest coach, Johnny Poe, whosemain object in football coaching was to see that the men tackled hardand sure. 

Poe, without any padding on at all, would let the men dive into himrunning at full speed, and the men would throw him in a way that seemedas though it would maim him for life. Some of the men weighed a hundredpounds more than he did, but he would get up and, with a smile, say:

"Come on men, hit me harder; knock me out next time. "

After the first two weeks of the season, Johnny Poe was a complete massof black and blue marks; and yet how wonderful and how self sacrificinghe was in his eagerness to make the Princeton players good tacklers. 

But there are few men like Johnny Poe, who are willing to sacrificetheir own bodies for the instruction of others; and the next bestmethod, and one which does not injure the players so much, is tacklingthe "dummy. "

As we look at this picture of Howard Henry of Princeton tackling the"dummy, " we all remember when we were back in the game trying our verybest to put our shoulder into our opponent's knees and "hit him hard, throw him, and hold him. " Henry always got his man. 

But the thrill of the game is not in tackling the dummy. The joy comesin a game, when a man is coming through the line, or making a long run, and you throw yourself at his knees, and get your tackle; then up andready for another. 

I recall an experience I had at Princeton one year. When I went tothe Club House to get my uniform, which I wanted to wear in coaching, Iasked Keene Fitzpatrick, the Trainer, where my suit was. He said:

[Illustration: HIT YOUR MAN LOW]

"It's hanging outside. "

I went outside of the dressing room but could see no suit anywhere. Hecame out wearing a broad smile. 

"No, " he said, "it isn't out here, it's out there hanging in the air. Wemade a dummy out of it. "

And there before me I saw my old uniform stuffed with sawdust. I lookedat myself--in suspense. 

After the men have been given the other preliminary work they are takento the charging board. The one shown here is used at Yale. It teachesthe men quick starting and the use of their hands. It trains them tokeep their eyes on the ball and impresses them with the fact that ifthey start before the ball is put in play, a penalty will follow. A fastcharging line has its great value, and every coach is keen to have theforwards move fast to clear the way. 

Then after the individual coaching is over, the team runs throughsignals, and the practice is on. Before very long the head coachannounces that practice is over, and the trainer yells:

"Everybody in on the jump, " and you soon find yourself back in thedressing room. 

It does not take you long to get your clothes off and ready for thebath. How well some of you will recall that after a hard practice youwere content to sit and rest awhile on the bench in the dressing-room. It may be that, in removing your clothes, you favored an injured knee, looked at a sprained ankle, or helped some fellow off with his jersey. 

What is finer, after a hard day's practice, than to stand beneath a warmshower and gradually let the water grow cold? Everything is lovely untilsome rascal in the bunch throws a cold sponge on you and slaps youacross the back, or turns the cold water on, when you only want hot. 

Then comes the dry-off and the rub-down, which seems to soothe all yourbruises. This picture of Pete Balliet standing on the end of a bench, while Jack McMasters massages an injured knee may recall to many afootball player the day when the trainer was his best friend. From hiswonderful physique it is easy to believe that Balliet must have been thegreat center-rush whom the heroes of years ago tell about. 

Harry Brown, that great Princeton end-rush, is on the other end of thebench, being taken care of by Bill Buss, a jovial old colored attendant, who was for so many years a rubber at Princeton. 

I know men who never enthuse over football, but just play from a senseof college loyalty, and a fear of censure should they not play; who aresorry that they were ever big or showed any football ability. Collegesentiment will not allow a football man to remain idle. 

[Illustration: REPAIRS]

I knew a man in college, who, on his way to the football field, said:

"Oh, how I hate to drag my body down to the Varsity field to-day to haveit battered and bruised!"

One does not always enthuse over the hard drudgery of practice. Thosethat witness only the final games of the year, little realize thegruesome task of preparedness. Every football player will acknowledgethat some day he has had these thoughts himself. 

But suddenly the day comes when this discouraged player sees a light. Perhaps he has developed a hidden power, or it may be that he has brokenthrough and made a clean tackle behind the line; perhaps he has made agood run and received a compliment from the coach. It may be that hisside partner has given him a word of encouragement, which may haveinstilled into him a new spirit, and, as a result, he has turned out tobe a real football player. He then forgets all the bruises and all thehard knocks. 

How true it is that in one play, or in a practice game, or in a contestagainst an opposing college, a player has found himself. Do you playersof football remember the day you made the team, the day your chance cameand you took advantage of it? At such a time a player shows greatpossibilities. He is told by the captain to report at the training housefor the Varsity signals. Who that has experienced the thrill of thatmoment can ever forget it?

He earns his seat at the Varsity table. He is now on the Varsity squad. He goes on, determined to play a better game, and realizes he must holdhis place at the training table by hard, conscientious work. 

One is not unmindful of the traditions that are centered about the boardwhere so many heroes of the past have sat. You have a keen realizationof the fact that you are filling the seat of men who have gone beforeyou, and that you must make good, as they made good. Their spirit lives. 

The training table is a great school for team spirit. To have asuccessful team, any coach will tell you, there must be a brotherlyfeeling among the members of the team. The men must chum together on andoff the field. Team work on the field is made much easier if there isteam work off the field. 

I never hear the expression "team mates" used but I recall a certainPrinceton team, the captain of which was endowed with a wonderful powerof leadership. There was nothing the men would not do for him. Every manon the team regarded him as a big brother. Yet there was one man on thesquad who seemed inclined to be alone. He had little to say, and whenhis work was over on the field he always went silently away to his room. He did not mingle with the other players in the club house after dinner, and there did not seem to be much warmth in him. 

Garry Cochran, the captain, took some of us into his confidence, and wemade it our business to draw this fellow out of his shell. It was notlong before we found that he was an entirely different sort of a personfrom what he had seemed to be. 

In a short time, the fellow who was unconsciously retarding goodfellowship among the members of the team was no longer a silent negativeindividual, but was soon urging us on in a get-together spirit. 

It will be impossible to relate all the good times had at a collegetraining table. I think that every football man will agree with me thatwe now have a great deal of sympathy for the trainer, whereas in the olddays we roasted him when it seemed that dinner would never be ready. 

How the hungry mob awaited the signal!

"The flag is down, " as old Jim Robinson would say, and Arthur Poe wouldyell:

"Fellows, the hash is ready. "

Then the hungry crowd would scramble in for the big event of the day. There awaited them all the delicacies of a trainer's menu; the food thatmade touchdowns. If the service was slow, the good-natured trainer wasall at fault, and he too joined in the spirit of their criticism. Ifthe steak was especially tender, they would say it was tough. There wasmuch juggling of the portions distributed. Fred Daly recalls the firstweek that he and Johnnie Kilpatrick were at the Yale training table. Kilcalled for some chocolate, and Johnnie Mack, the trainer, yelled back:

"What do you think this is, anyway, a hospital?"

That started something for awhile in the way of jollying. Daly recallsanother incident, that happened often at Yale one year. It is about BillGoebel, who certainly could put the food away. After disposing of abouttwelve plates of ice cream, which he had begged, borrowed or stolen, hecalled one of the innocent waiters over to him and asked in a gentlevoice: "Say, George, what is the dessert for to-night?"

Then there comes the good-natured "joshing" of the fellow who has made afine play during the practice, or in the game of the day. One or two ofthe fun makers rush around, put their hands on him and hold him tightfor fear he will not be able to contain himself on account of hissuccess of the day. This sort of jollification makes the fellow who hasmade a bad play forget what he might have done, and he too becomesbuoyant amidst the good fellowship about him. 

We all realize what a modest individual the trainer is. If in areminiscent mood to change the subject from football to himself, hetells his "ever-on-to-him" admirers some of his achievements in the olddays there is immediately evidence of preparedness among the players, asthe following salute is given--with fists beating on the table inunison--

[Illustration: THE OLD FAITHFULS]

"One, two, three! _Oh, what a gosh darn lie!_"

But deep in every man's heart, is the keen realization of the trainer'svalue, and his eager effort for their success. His athletic achievementsand his record are well known, and appreciated by all. He is the pulseof the team. 

The scrub team at Princeton during my last year was captained by PopJones, who was a martyr to the game. He was thoroughly reliable, and thespirit he instilled into his team mates helped to make our year asuccessful one. This picture will recall the long roll of silent heroesin the game, whose joy seemed to be in giving; men who worked theirhearts out to see the Varsity improve; men who never got the greatrewards that come to the Varsity players, but received only the thrillof doing something constructive. Their reward is in the victories ofothers, for every man knows that it is a great scrub that makes a greatvarsity. If, as you gaze at this picture of the scrub team, it stirsyour memory of the fellows who used to play against you, and, if, inyour heart you pay them a silent tribute, you will be giving them onlytheir just due. To the uncrowned heroes, who found no fame, the menwhose hearts were strong, but whose ambitions for a place on the Varsitywere never realized, we take off our hats. 

The fiercest knocks that John DeWitt's team ever had at Princeton werein practice against the scrub. It was in this year, on the last day ofpractice, that the undergraduates marched in a body down the field, singing and cheering, led by a band of music. Preliminary practice beingover, the scrub team retired to the Varsity field house, to await thesignal for the exhibition practice to be given on the Varsity fieldbefore the undergraduates. A surprise had been promised. 

While the Varsity team was awaiting the arrival of the scrub team, itwas officially announced that the Yale team would soon arrive upon thefield, and shortly after this, the scrub team appeared with white "Y's"sewed on the front of their jerseys. The scrub players took the Yaleplayers' names, just as they were to play against Princeton on thecoming Saturday. There was much fun and enthusiasm, when the assumedHogan would be asked to gain through Cooney, or Bloomer would make arun, and the make-believe Foster Rockwell would urge the pseudo Yaleteam on to victory. 

John DeWitt had more than one encounter that afternoon with CaptainRafferty of Yale. After the practice ended all the players gatheredaround the dummy, which had been very helpful in tackling practice. This had been saturated with kerosene awaiting the final event of theday. John DeWitt touched it off with a match, and the white "Y" whichilluminated the chest of the dummy was soon enveloped in flames. Acollege tradition had been lived up to again, and when the team returnedvictorious from New Haven that year, John DeWitt and his loyal teammates never forgot those men and the events that helped to make victorypossible. 

CHAPTER IV

MISTAKES IN THE GAME

Many a football player who reads this book will admit that there arisesin all of us a keen desire to go back into the game. It is not so much adesire just to play in the game for the mere sake of playing as toremedy the mistakes we all know we made in the past. 

In our football recollections, the defeats we have experienced stand outthe most vividly. Sometimes they live on as nightmares through theyears. As we review the old days we realize that we did not always giveour best. If we could but go back and correct our faults many a defeatmight be turned into a victory. 

We reflect that if we had trained a little harder, if we had been moresincere in our work, paid better attention to the advice given us by themen who knew, if we had mastered our positions better, it would havebeen a different story on many occasions when defeat was our portion. 

But that is now all behind us. The games are over. The scores willalways stand. Others have taken our places. We have had our day andopportunity. In the words of Longfellow, "The world belongs to those who come the last. "

Our records will remain as we left them on the gridiron. Many a man isrecalled in football circles as the one who lost his temper in the biggames and caused his team to suffer by his being ruled out of the game. Men say, "Why, that is the fellow who muffed a punt at a criticalmoment, " or recall him as the one who "fumbled the ball, " when, if hehad held it, the team would have been saved from defeat. 

You recall the man who gave the signals with poor judgment. Maybe youare thinking of the man who missed a great tackle or allowed a man toget through the line and block a kick. Perhaps a mistaken signal in thegame caused the loss of a first down, maybe defeat--who knows?

Through our recollection of the things we should have done but failed todo for one reason or another, our defeats rise before us more vividlynow than our victories. 

There is only one day to make good and that is the day of the game. Thenext day is too late. 

Then there is the ever-present recollection of the fellow who letathletics be the big thing in his college life. He did not make good inthe classroom. He was unfair to himself. He failed to realize thatathletics was only a part of his college life, that it should have beenan aid to better endeavor in his studies. 

He may have earned his college letter or received a championship goldfootball. And now that he is out in the world he longs for the collegedegree that he has forfeited. 

His regrets are the deeper when he realizes that if he had given hisbest and been square with his college and himself, his presence mighthave meant further victories for his team. This is not confined to anyone college. It is true of all of them and probably always will be true, although it is encouraging to note that there is a higher standard ofscholarship attained on the average by college athletes to-day than adecade or so ago. 

I wish I could impress this lesson indelibly upon the mind of everyyoung football enthusiast--that athletics should go hand in hand withcollege duties. After all it is the same spirit of team work instilledinto him on the football field that should inspire him in the classroom, where his teacher becomes virtually his coach. 

When I was at Princeton, we beat Yale three years out of the four, butthe defeat of 1897 at New Haven stands out most vividly of all in mymemory. And it is not so much what Yale did as what Princeton did not dothat haunts me. 

One day in practice in 1897, Sport Armstrong, conceded to be one of thegreatest guards playing, was severely injured in a scrimmage. It wasfound that his neck and head had become twisted and for days he lay atdeath's door on his bed in the Varsity Club House. After a longserious illness he got well, but never strong enough to play again. Itook his place. 

[Illustration:

Benjamin Brown McBride Cadwalader CorwinHazen Hall Rodgers Chamberlin Chadwick DudleyDe Saulles

JIM RODGERS' TEAM]

Nearly all of the star players of the '96 Princeton championship teamwere in the lineup. It was Cochran's last year and my first year on theVarsity. Our team was heralded as a three-to-one winner. We had beatenDartmouth 30 to 0 and won a great 57 to 0 victory over Lafayette. Yalehad a good, strong team that had not yet found itself. But there wereseveral of us Princeton players who knew from old association in prep. School the calibre of some of the men we were facing. 

Cochran and I have often recalled together that silent reunion with ourold team-mates of Lawrenceville. There in front of us on the Yale teamwere Charlie de Saulles, George Cadwalader and Charlie Dudley. We hadnot seen them since we all left prep. School, they to go to New Havenand we to Princeton. 

When the teams lined up for combat there were no greetings of one oldschoolmate to another. It was not the time nor place for exchange ofamenities. As some one has since remarked, "The town was full ofstrangers. "

The fact that Dudley was wearing one Lawrenceville stocking only urgedus on to play harder. 

My opponent on the Yale team was Charlie Chadwick, Yale's strong man. Foster Sanford tells elsewhere in this book how he prepared him for theHarvard game the week before and for this game with Princeton. Ourcoaches had made, as they thought, a study of Chadwick's temperament andhad instructed me accordingly. I delivered their message in the form ofa straight arm blow. The compliment was returned immediately byChadwick, and the scrap was on. Dashiell, the umpire, was upon us in amoment. I had visions of being ruled out of the game and disgraced. 

"You men are playing like schoolboys and ought to be ruled out of thegame, " Dashiell exclaimed, but he decided to give us another chance. 

Chadwick played like a demon and I realized before the game hadprogressed very far that I had been coached wrong, for instead ofweakening his courage my attack seemed to nerve him. He played a verywide, defensive guard and it was almost impossible to gain through him. 

The play of the Princeton team at the outset was disappointing. JimRodgers, the Yale captain, was driving his men hard and they respondedheartily. Some of them stood out conspicuously by their playing. DeSaulles' open field work was remarkable. I remember well the great runof fifty-five yards which he made. He was a wonderfully clever dodgerand used the stiff arm well. He evaded the Princeton tacklerssuccessfully, until Billy Bannard made a tackle on Princeton's 25-yardline. 

Garry Cochran was one of the Princeton players who failed in his effortto tackle de Saulles, although it was a remarkable attempt with a low, diving tackle. De Saulles hurdled over him and Cochran struck theground, breaking his right shoulder. 

That Cochran was so seriously injured did not become known until afterde Saulles had finished his long run. Then it was seen that Cochran wasbadly hurt. The trainer ran out and took him to the side lines to fix uphis injury. 

Time was being taken out and as we waited for Cochran to return to thegame we discussed the situation and hoped that his injury would notprove serious. Every one of us realized the tremendous handicap we wouldbe under without him. 

The tension showed in the faces of Alex Moffat and Johnny Poe as theysat there on the side line, trying to reach a solution of the problemthat confronted them as coaches. They realized better than the playersthat the tide was against them. 

To conceal the true location of his injury from the Yale players, Cochran had his left shoulder bandaged and entered the scrimmage again, game though handicapped, remaining on the field until the trainerfinally dragged him to the side line. 

This was the last football contest in which Garry Cochran took part. Hewas game to the end. 

At New Haven that fall Frank Butterworth and some of the other coacheshad heard a rumor that when Cochran and de Saulles parted atLawrenceville they had a strange understanding. Both had agreed, so therumor went, that should they ever meet in a Yale-Princeton game, onewould have to leave the game. 

Butterworth told de Saulles what he had heard and cautioned him, reminding him that he wanted him to play a game that would escapecriticism. De Saulles put every ounce of himself into his game, Cochrandid the same. To this day Frank Butterworth and the coaches believe thatwhen de Saulles was making his great run up the field he kept his pledgeto Cochran. 

De Saulles and Cochran laugh at the suggestion that it was other than anaccident, but they have never been able to convince their friends. Thedramatic element in it was too strong for a mere chance affair. 

Princeton's handicap when Cochran had to go out was increased by thewithdrawal because of injuries of Johnny Baird, the quarterback, thatwonderful drop-kicker of previous games. He was out of condition and hadto be carried from the field with a serious injury. 

Dudley, the ex-Lawrencevillian, here began to get in his tellingwork. The Yale stands were wild with enthusiasm as they saw their teamabout to score against the much-heralded Princeton team. We were a threeto one bet. On the next play Dudley went through the Princeton line. Atthe bottom of the heap, hugging the ball and happy in his success, wasCharlie Dudley, Yale hero, Lawrenceville stocking and all. 

[Illustration: COCHRAN WAS GAME TO THE END]

After George Cadwalader had kicked the goal, the score stood 6 to 0. 

One of the greatest problems that confronts a coach is to select theproper men to start in a game. Injuries often handicap a team. Ad Kelly, king of all line-plunging halfbacks, had been injured the week before atPrinceton and for that reason was not in the original lineup that day atNew Haven. He was on the side lines waiting for a chance to go in. Hischance came. 

Kelly was Princeton's only hope. Herbert Reed, known among writers onfootball as "Right Wing, " thus describes this stage of the game:

"With almost certain defeat staring them in the face, the Tigers madeone last desperate rally and in doing so called repeatedly on Kelly, with the result that with this star carrying the ball in nearly everyrush the Princeton eleven carried the ball fifty-five yards up the fieldonly to lose it at last on a fumble to Jim Rodgers. 

"Time and again in the course of this heroic advance, Kelly went intoor slid outside of tackle practically unaided, bowling along more like ahuge ball than a human being. It was one of the greatest exhibitions ofa born runner, of a football genius and much more to be lauded than hiswork the previous year, when he was aided by one of the greatestfootball machines ever sent into a big game. "

But Kelly's brilliant work was unavailing and when the game ended thescore was still 6 to 0. Yale had won an unexpected victory. 

The Yale supporters descended like an avalanche upon the field andcarried off their team. Groups of men paraded about carrying aloft thevictors. There were Captain Jim Rodgers, Charlie Chadwick, GeorgeCadwalader, Gordon Brown, Burr Chamberlain, John Hall, Charlie deSaulles, Dudley, Benjamin, McBride, and Hazen. 

Many were the injuries in this game. It was a hard fought contest. Therewere interesting encounters which were known only to the playersthemselves. As for myself, it may best be said that I spent three weeksin the University of Pennsylvania Hospital with water on the knee. Icertainly had plenty of time to think about the sadness of defeat--theever present thought--"Wait until next year"--was in my mind. GarryCochran used to say in his talks to the team: "We must win thisyear--make it two years straight against Yale. If you lose, Princetonwill be a dreary old place for you. It will be a long, hard winter. Thefrost on the window pane will be an inch thick. " And, in the sadness ofour recollections, his words came back to us and to him. 

These words came back to me again in 1899. 

I had looked forward all the year to our playing Cornell at Ithaca. Itwas just the game we wanted on our schedule to give us the test beforewe met Yale. We surely got a test, and Cornell men to this day will tellyou of their great victory in 1899 over Princeton, 5 to 0. 

There were many friends of mine in Ithaca, which was only thirty milesfrom my old home, and I was naturally happy over the fact that Princetonwas going to play there. But the loyal supporters who had expected aPrinceton victory were as disappointed as I was. Bill Robinson, managerof the Princeton team, reserved seats for about thirty of my closestboyhood friends who came over from Lisle to see the game. The Princetoncheering section was rivalled in enthusiasm by the "Lisle section. " Andthe disappointment of each one of my friends at the outcome of thatmemorable game was as keen as that of any man from Princeton. 

Our team was clearly outplayed. Unfortunately we had changed our signalsthat week and we did not play together. But all the honors wereCornell's, her sure footed George Young in the second half made a goalfrom the field, fixing the score at 5 to 0. 

I remember the wonderful spirit of victory that came over the Cornellteam, the brilliant playing of Starbuck, the Cornell captain, and ofBill Warner, Walbridge, Young and the other men who contributed to theCornell victory. Percy Field swarmed with Cornell students when the gameended, each one of them crazy to reach the members of their team andhelp to carry them victoriously off the field. 

Never will I forget the humiliation of the Princeton team. Trolley carsnever seemed to move as slowly as those cars that carried us that daythrough the streets of Ithaca. Enthusiastic, yelling undergraduatesgrinned at us from the sidewalks as we crawled along to the hotel. Sadness reigned supreme in our company. We were glad to get to ourrooms. 

Instead of leaving Ithaca at 9:30 as we had planned, we hired a specialengine to take our private cars to Owego there to await the express forNew York on the main line. 

My only pleasant recollection of that trip was a brief call I made atthe home of a girl friend of mine, who had attended the game. My arm wasin a sling and sympathy was welcome. 

As our train rolled over the zig-zag road out of Ithaca, we had a sourceof consolation in the fact that we had evaded the send-off which theCornell men had planned in the expectation that we were to leave on thelater train. 

There were no outstretched hands at Princeton for our homecoming. Butevery man on that Princeton team was grimly determined to learn thelesson of the Cornell defeat, to correct faults and leave nothing undonethat would insure victory for Princeton in the coming game with Yale. 

CHAPTER V

MY LAST GAME

Every player knows the anxious anticipation and the nerve strainconnected with the last game of the football season. In my last yearthere were many men on the team who were to say good-bye to theirplaying days. Every player who reads these lines will agree with me thatit was his keenest ambition to make his last game his best game. 

It was in the fall of 1899. There were many of us who had played on avictorious team the year before. Princeton had never beaten Yale twoyears in succession. This was our opportunity. Our slogan during theentire season had been, "On to New Haven. " The dominating idea in themind of everyone was to add another victory over Yale to the one of theyear before. 

The Cornell game with its defeat was forgotten. We had learned ourlesson. We had made a tremendous advance in two weeks. I recall so wellthe days before the Yale game, when we were leaving for New York enroute to New Haven. We met at the Varsity field house. I will neverforget how strange the boys looked in their derby hats and overcoats. Itwas a striking contrast to the regular everyday football costumes andcampus clothes. 

[Illustration: ON TO NEW HAVEN

All Dressed Up and Ready to Go. ]

There were hundreds of undergraduates at the station to cheer us off. Asthe train pulled out the familiar strains of "Old Nassau" floated afterus and we realized that the next time we would see that loyal crowdwould be in the cheering section on the Princeton side at New Haven. 

We went directly to the Murray Hill Hotel, where Princeton had held itsheadquarters for years. After luncheon Walter Christie, the trainer, took us up to Central Park. We walked about for a time and finallyreached the Obelisk. 

Biffy Lee, the head coach, suggested that we run through our signals. All of us doffed our overcoats and hats and, there on the expansivelawn, flanked by Cleopatra's Needle and the Metropolitan Art Museum, weran through our signals. 

We then resumed our walk and returned to the hotel for dinner. Theevening was spent in the hotel parlors, where the team was entertainedand had opportunity for relaxation from the mental strain that wasnecessarily a part of the situation. A general reception took place inthe corridors, players of old days came around to see the team, torevive old memories, and cheer the men of the team on to victory. 

Football writers from the daily papers mingled with the throng, andtheir accounts the following day reflected the optimistic spirit theyencountered. The betting odds were quoted at three to one on Princeton. "Betting odds" is the way some people gauge the outcome of a footballcontest, but I have learned from experience, that big odds are notjustified on either side in a championship game. 

We were up bright and early in the morning and out for a walk beforebreakfast. Our team then took the ten o'clock train for New Haven. Onlythose who have been through the experience can appreciate the difficultyencountered in getting on board a train for New Haven on the day of afootball game. 

We were ushered through a side entrance, however, and were finallylanded in the special cars provided for us. 

On the journey there was a jolly good time. Good fellowship reignedsupreme. That relieved the nervous tension. Arthur Poe and Bosey Reiterwere the leading spirits in the jollification. A happier crowd neverentered New Haven than the Princeton team that day. The cars pulled inon a siding near the station and everybody realized that we were at lastin the town where the coveted prize was. We were after the Yale ball. "On to New Haven" had been our watchword. We were there. 

Following a light lunch in our dining car we soon got our footballclothes, and, in a short time, the palatial Pullman car was transformed. It assumed the appearance of the dressing room at Princeton. Footballtogs hung everywhere. Nose-guards, head-gears, stockings, shin-guards, jerseys, and other gridiron equipment were everywhere. Here and therethe trainer or his assistants were limbering up joints that neededattention. 

Two big buses waited at the car platform. The team piled into them. Wewere off to the field. The trip was made through a welcome of friendlysalutes from Princeton men encountered on the way. Personal friends ofindividual players called to them from the sidewalks. Others shoutedwords of confidence. Old Nassau was out in overwhelming force. 

No team ever received more loyal support. It keyed the players up to thehighest pitch of determination. Their spirits, naturally at a high mark, rose still higher under the warmth of the welcome. Repression was athing of the past. Every player was jubilant and did not attempt toconceal the fact. 

The enthusiasm mounted as we neared the scene of the coming battle. Aswe entered the field the air was rent by a mighty shout of welcome fromthe Princeton hosts. Our hearts palpitated in response to it. There wasnot a man of the team that did not feel himself repaid a thousand-foldfor the season's hard knocks. 

But this soon gave way to sober thought of the work ahead of us. We werethere for business. Falling on the ball, sprinting and limbering up, and running through a few signals, we spent the few minutes before theYale team came through the corner of the field. The scenes of enthusiasmthat had marked our arrival were repeated, the Yale stand being thecenter this time of the maelstrom of cheers. I shall not attempt todescribe our own feelings as we got the first glimpse of our opponentsin the coming fray. Who can describe the sensations of the contestantsin the first moment of a championship game?

But it was not long before the coin had been tossed, and the game wason. Not a man who has played in the line will ever forget how he triedto block his man or get down the field and tackle the man with the ball. I recall most vividly those three strapping Yale center men, Brown, Haleand Olcott, flanked by Stillman and Francis. There was Al Sharpe andMcBride. Fincke was at quarter. 

If there had been any one play during the season that we had had drilledinto us, a play which we had hoped might win the game, it was the longend run. It was Lea's pet play. 

I can recall the herculean work we had performed to perfect this play. It was time well spent. The reward came within seven minutes after thegame began. The end running ability of that great player, Bosey Reitershowed. Every man was doing his part, and the play was made possible. Reiter scored a touchdown along the side of the field. I never saw ahappier man than Bosey. But he was no happier than his ten team-mates. They were leaping in the air with joy. The Princeton stand arose in asolid body and sent an avalanche of cheers across the field. 

What proved to be one of the most important features of the game was thewell-delivered punt by Bert Wheeler, who kicked the ball out toHutchinson. Hutch heeled it in front of the goal and Bert Wheelerboosted the ball straight over the cross bar and Princeton scored anadditional point. At that moment we did not realize that this would bethe decisive factor in the Princeton victory. 

As the Princeton team went back to the middle of the field to take theirplaces for the next kick-off, the Princeton side of the field was aperfect bedlam of enthusiasm. Old grads were hugging each other on theside lines, and every eye was strained for the next move in the game. 

At the same time the Yale stand was cheering its side and urging theBlue players to rally. McBride, the Yale captain, was rousing his menwith the Yale spirit, and they realized what was demanded of them. Theeffect became evident. It showed how Yale could rise to an occasion. Wefelt that the old bull-dog spirit of Yale was after us--as strong asever. 

How wonderfully well McBride, the Yale captain, kicked that day! What apower he was on defence! I saw him do some wonderful work. It was afterone of his long punts, which, with the wind in his favor, went aboutseventy yards, that Princeton caught the ball on the ten-yard line. 

Wheeler dropped back to kick. The Yale line men were on their toes readyto break through and block the kick. The Yale stand was cheering themon. Stillman was the first man through. It seemed as if he wereoff-side. Wheeler delayed his kick, expecting that an off-side penaltywould be given. When he did kick, it was too late, the ball was blockedand McBride fell on it behind the goal line, scoring a touchdown forYale, and making the score 6 to 5 in favor of Princeton. 

Believe me, the Yale spirit was running high. The men were playing likedemons. Here was a team that was considered a defeated team before thegame. Here were eleven men who had risen to the occasion and who wereslowly, but surely, getting the best of the argument. 

Gloom hung heavy over the Princeton stand. Defeat seemed inevitable. Ofeleven players who started in the game on the Princeton side, eight hadbeen incapacitated by injuries of one kind or another. Doc Hillebrand, the ever-reliable, All-American tackle, had been compelled to leave thegame with a broken collar-bone just before McBride made his touchdown. 

I remember well the play in which he was injured and I haveresurrected a photograph that was snapped of the game at the moment thathe was lying on the ground, knocked out. 

[Illustration: HILLEBRAND'S LAST CHARGE]

Bummie Booth, who had stood the strain of the contest wonderfully well, and had played a grand game against Hale, gave way to Horace Bannard, brother of Bill Bannard, the famous Princeton halfback of '98. 

It was no wonder that Princeton was downcast when McBride scored thetouchdown and the goal was about to be kicked. 

Just then I saw a man in football togs come out from the side lineswearing a blue visor cap. He was to kick for the goal. It was an unusualspectacle on a football field. I rushed up to the referee, EdWrightington of Harvard, and called his attention to the man with thecap. I asked if that man was in the game. 

"Why, " he replied with a broad smile, "you ought to know him. He is theman you have been playing against all along, Gordon Brown. He only raninto the side lines to get a cap to shade his eyes. "

I am frank to say that it was one on me, but the chagrin wore off whenBrown missed the goal, which would have tied the final score, and robbedPrinceton of the ultimate victory. 

The tide of battle turned toward Yale. Al Sharpe kicked a goal from thefield, from the forty-five yard line. It was a wonderful achievement. It is true that circumstances later substituted Arthur Poe for him asthe hero of the game, but those who witnessed Sharpe's performance willnever forget it. The laurels that he won by it were snatched from him byPoe only in the last half-minute of play. The score was changed bySharpe's goal from 6 to 5 in our favor to 10 to 6. Yale leading. 

The half was over. The score was 10 to 6 against Princeton. EveryPrinceton player felt that there was still a real opportunity to winout. We were all optimistic. This optimism was increased by the appealsmade to the men in the dressing room by the coaches. It was not longbefore the team was back on the field more determined than ever to carrythe Yale ball back to Princeton. 

The last half of this game is everlastingly impressed upon my memory. Every man that played for Princeton, although eight of them weresubstitutes, played like a veteran. I shall ever treasure the memory ofthe loyal support that those men gave me as captain, and their responseto my appeal to stand together and play not only for Princeton but forthe injured men on the side-lines whose places they had taken. 

The Yale team had also heard some words of football wisdom in theirdressing room. Previous encounters with Princeton had taught them thatthe Tiger could also rally. They came on the field prepared to fightharder than ever. McBride and Brown were exhorting their men to dotheir utmost. 

Princeton was out-rushing Yale but not out-kicking them. Yale knew thatas well as we did. 

It was a Yale fumble that gave us the chance we were waiting for. BillRoper, who had taken Lew Palmer's place at left end, had his eyes open. He fell on the ball. Through his vigilance, Princeton got the chance toscore. Now was our chance. 

Time was passing quickly. We all knew that something extraordinary wouldhave to be done to win the day. It remained for Arthur Poe tocrystallize this idea into action. It seemed an inspiration. 

"We've got to kick, " he said to me, "and I would like to try a goal fromthe field. We haven't got much time. "

Nobody appreciated the situation more than I did. I knew we would haveto take a chance and there was no one I would have selected for the jobquicker than Arthur Poe. How we needed a touchdown or a goal from thefield!

Poe, Pell and myself were the three members of the original team left. How the substitutes rallied with us and gave the perfect defence thatmade Poe's feat possible is a matter of history. As I looked around frommy position to see that the defensive formation was right, I recall howsmall Arthur Poe looked there in the fullback position. Here was a mandoing something we had never rehearsed as a team. But safe and sure thepass went from Horace Bannard and as Biffy Lea remarked after the game, "when Arthur kicked the ball, it seemed to stay up in the air abouttwenty minutes. "

Some people have said that I turned a somersault and landed on my ear, and collapsed. Anyhow, it all came our way at the end, the ball sailedover the cross bar. The score then was 11 to 10, and the Princeton standlet out a roar of triumph that could be heard way down in New Jersey. 

There were but thirty-six seconds left for play. Yale made a splendidsupreme effort to score further. But it was futile. 

Crowds had left the field before Poe made his great goal kick. They hadaccepted a Yale victory as inevitable. Some say that bets were paid onthe strength of this conviction. The Yale _News_, which went to pressfive minutes before the game ended, got out an edition stating that Yalehad won. They had to change that story. 

During the seconds preceding Poe's kick for a goal I had a queerobsession. It was a serious matter to me then. I can recall it now withamusement. "Big" was a prefix not of my own selection. I had neverappreciated its justification, however, until that moment. 

Horace Bannard was playing center. I had my left hand clasped under theelastic in his trouser leg, ready to form a barrier against the Yaleforwards. Brown, Hale and McBride tried to break through to block thekick. I thought of a million things but most of all I was afraid of ablocked kick. To be frank, I was afraid I would block it--that Poecouldn't clear me, that he would kick the ball into me. 

[Illustration: AL SHARPE'S GOAL]

I crouched as low as I could, and the more I worried the larger I seemedto be and I feared greatly for what might occur behind me. It seemed asif I were swelling up. But finally, as I realized that the ball had goneover me and was on its way to the goal, I breathed a sigh of relief andsaid, "Thank God, it cleared!"

How eager we were to get that ball, the hard-earned prize, which nowrests in the Princeton gymnasium, a companion ball to the one of the1898 victory. Yes, it had all been accomplished, and we were happy. NewHaven looked different to us. It was many years since Princeton had sentYale down to defeat on Yale Field. 

Victory made us forget the sadness of former defeats. It was a joyouscrowd that rode back to the private cars. Varsity players andsubstitutes shared alike in the joy, which was unrestrained. We soon hadour clothes changed, and were on our way to New York for the banquet andcelebration of our victory. 

Arthur Poe was the lion of the hour. No finer fellow ever received morejust tribute. 

It would take a separate volume to describe the incidents of that tripfrom New Haven to New York. Before it had ended we realized if we neverhad realized it before how sweet was victory, and how worth while thestriving that brought it to us. 

Suffice it to say that that Yale football was the most popular"passenger" on the train. Over and over we played the game and a millioncaresses were lavished upon the trophy. 

This may seem an excess of sentiment to some, but those who have playedfootball understand me. Looking back through the retrospect of seventeenyears, I realize that I did not fully understand then the meaning ofthose happy moments. I now appreciate that it was simply the deepsatisfaction that comes from having made good--the sense of realaccomplishment. 

Enthusiastic Princeton men were waiting for us at the Grand CentralStation. They escorted us to the Murray Hill Hotel, and the wonderfulbanquet that awaited us. The spirit of the occasion will be understoodby football players and enthusiasts who have enjoyed similarexperiences. 

The members of the team just sat and listened to speeches by the alumniand coaches. It all seemed too good to be true. When the gathering brokeup, the players became members of different groups, who continued theircelebration in the various ways provided by the hospitality of the greatcity. 

[Illustration: TOUCHING THE MATCH TO VICTORY]

Hillebrand and I ended the night together. When we awoke in themorning, the Yale football was there between our pillows, the bandagedshoulder and collar-bone of Hillebrand nestling close to it. 

Then came the home-going of the team to Princeton, and the huge bonfirethat the whole university turned out to build. Some nearby wood yard waslooking the next day for thirty-six cords of wood that had served as thefoundation for the victorious blaze. It was learned afterward that theowner of the cord-wood had backed the team--so he had no regrets. 

The team was driven up in buses from the station. It was a proudprivilege to light the bonfire. Every man on the team had to make aspeech and then we had a banquet at the Princeton Inn. Later in the yearthe team was banqueted by the alumni organizations around the country. Every man had a peck of souvenirs--gold matchsafes, footballs, and otherthings. Nothing was too good for the victors. Well, well, "To thevictors belong the spoils. " That is the verdict of history. 

CHAPTER VI

HEROES OF THE PAST

THE EARLY DAYS

We treasure the memory of the good men who have gone before. This istrue of the world's history, a nation's history, that of a state, and ofa great university. Most true is it of the memory of men of heroic mold. As schoolboys, our imaginations were fired by the records of thebrilliant achievements of a Perry, a Decatur or a Paul Jones; and, as wegrow older, we look back to those heroes of our boyhood days, and ourhearts beat fast again as we recall their daring deeds and pay themtribute anew for the stout hearts, the splendid fighting stamina, andthe unswerving integrity that made them great men in history. 

In every college and university there is a hall of fame, where theheroes of the past are idolized by the younger generations. Trophies, portraits, old flags and banners hang there. Threadbare though they maybe, they are rich in memories. These are, however, only the materialthings--"the trappings and the suits" of fame--but in the hearts ofuniversity men the memory of the heroes of the past is firmly andreverently enshrined. Their achievements are a distinguished part ofthe university's history--a part of our lives as university men--and weare ever ready now to burn incense in their honor, as we were in the olddays to burn bonfires, in celebration of their deeds. 

It is well now that we recall some of the men who have stood in thefront line of football; in the making and preservation of the greatgame. Many of them have not lived to see the results of their service tothe sport which they deemed to be manly and worth while. It is, however, because they stood there during days, often full of stress and severecriticism of the game, staunch and resistless, that football occupiesits present high plane in the athletic world. 

It may be that some of their names are not now associated with football. Some of them are captains of industry. They are in the forefront ofpublic affairs. Some of them are engaged in the world's work in far-awaylands. But the spirit that these men apply to their life work is thesame spirit that stirred them on the gridiron. Their football traininghas made them better able to fight the battle of life. 

Men who gave signals, are now directing large industries. Players whocarried the ball, are now carrying trade to the ends of the world. Menwho bucked the line, are forging their way sturdily to the front. Menwho were tackles, are still meeting their opponents with the sameintrepid zeal. The men who played at end in those days, are to-dayseeing that nothing gets around them in the business world. The publicis the referee and umpire. It knows their achievements in the greatergame of life. 

It is not my purpose to select an all-star football team from the longlist of heroes past and present. It is not possible to select any oneman whom we can all crown as king. We all have our football idols, ourown heroes, men after whom we have patterned, who were our inspiration. 

We can never line up in actual scrimmage the heroes of the past withthose of more recent years. What a treat if this could be arranged!

There are many men I have idolized in football, not only for theirrecord as players, but for the loyalty and spirit for the game whichthey have inspired. 

Walter Camp

When I asked Walter Camp to write the introduction to this book, I toldhim that as he had written about football players for twenty years itwas up to some one to relate some of _his_ achievements as a footballplayer. We all know Walter Camp as a successful business man and as afootball genius whose strategy has meant much to Yale. His untiringefforts, his contributions to the promotion of the best interests of thegame, stand as a brilliant record in the history of football. To givehim his just due would require a special volume. The football worldknows Walter Camp as a thoroughbred, a man who has played the gamefairly, and sees to it that the game is being played fairly to-day. 

We have read his books, enjoyed his football stories, and kept in touchwith the game through his newspaper articles. He is the loyal, ever-present critic on the side lines and the helpful adviser in everyemergency. He has helped to safeguard the good name of football and keptpace with the game until to-day he is known as the "Father of football. "

Let us go back into football history where, in the recollections ofothers, we shall see Freshman Camp make the team, score touchdowns, kickgoals and captain Yale teams to victory. 

F. R. Vernon, who was a freshman at Yale when Camp was a sophomore, draws a vivid word picture of Camp in his active football days. Vernonplayed on the Yale team with Camp. 

"Walter Camp in his football playing days, " says Vernon, "was builtphysically on field running lines; quick on his legs and with his arms. His action was easy all over and seemed to be in thorough control from awell-balanced head, from which looked a pair of exceptionally keen, piercing, expressive brown eyes. 

"Camp was always alert, and seemed to sense developments before theyoccurred. One of my chief recollections of Camp's play was his greatconfidence with the ball. In his room, on the campus, in the gym', wherever he was, if possible, he would have a football with him. Heseemed to know every inch of its surface, and it seemed almost as if theball knew him. It would stick to his palm, like iron to a magnet. 

"In one of his plays, Camp would run down the side of the field, theball held far out with one arm, while the other arm was performingyeoman service in warding off the oncoming tacklers. Frequently he wouldpass the ball from one hand to the other, while still running, dependingupon which arm he saw he would need for defense. Smilingly andconfidently, Camp would run the gauntlet of opposing players for manyconsecutive gains. I do not recall one instance in which he lost theball through these tactics. 

"It was a pretty game to play and a pretty game to look at. Would thatthe rules could be so worded as to make the football of Camp's time thefootball of to-day!

"Walter Camp's natural ability as a football player was recognized assoon as he entered Yale in 1876. He made the 'varsity at once and playedhalfback. It was in the first Harvard football game at Hamilton Parkthat the Harvard captain, who was a huge man with a full, bushy beard, saw Walter Camp, then a stripling freshman in uniform, and remarked tothe Yale Captain:

"'You don't mean to let that child play; he is too light; he will gethurt. '

"Walter made a mental note of that remark, and during the game theHarvard captain had occasion to remember it also, when in one of theplays Camp tackled him, and the two went to the ground with a heavythud. As the Harvard captain gradually came to, he remarked to one ofhis team mates:

"'Well, that little fellow nearly put me out!'

"Camp's brilliant playing earned him the captaincy of the team in 1878and 1879. He had full command of his men and was extremely popular withthem, but this did not prevent his being a stickler for discipline. 

"In my day on the Yale team with Camp, " Vernon states, "Princeton wasour dire opponent. For a week or so before a Princeton game, we allagreed to stay on the campus and to be in bed every night by eleveno'clock. Johnny Moorhead, who was one of our best runners, decided onenight to go to the theatre, however, and was caught by Captain Camp, whereupon we were all summoned out of bed to Camp's room, shortly beforemidnight. After the roundup we learned the reason for our unexpectedmeeting. There was some discussion in which Camp took very little part. No one expected that Johnny would receive more than a severe reprimandand this feeling was due largely to the fact that we needed him in thegame. Imagine our surprise, therefore, when Camp, who had left us for amoment, returned to the room and handed in his resignation as captain ofthe team. We revolted at this. Johnny, who sized up the situation, rather than have the team lose Camp, decided to quit the team himself. What occurred the next day between Camp and Johnny Moorhead we neverknew, but Johnny played in the game and squared himself. "

Walter Camp's name is coupled with that of Chummy Eaton in footballhistory. "Eaton was on the left end rush line, " says Vernon, "and playeda great game with Camp down the side line. When one was nearly caughtfor a down, the other would receive the ball from him on an over-headthrow and proceed with the run. Camp and Eaton would repeat this play, sending the ball back and forth down the side of the field for greatgains. 

"In one of the big games in the fall of 1879, Eaton had a large musclein one of his legs torn and had to quit playing for that season. " Vernonwas put in Chummy's place. "But I couldn't fill Chummy's shoes, " Vernonacknowledges, "for he and Camp had practiced their beautiful side lineplay all the fall. 

"The next year Chummy's parents wouldn't let him play, but Chummy wasgame--he simply couldn't resist--it was a case of Love Before Duty withhim. He played on the Yale team the next fall, however, but not asEaton, and every one who followed football was wondering who that starplayer 'Adams' was and where he came from. But those on the inside knewit was Chummy. 

"Frederic Remington, " says Vernon, "was a member of our team. We wereclose friends and spent many Sunday afternoons on long walks. I can seehim now with his India ink pencil sketching as we went along, and I mustlaugh now at the nerve I had to joke him about his efforts. 

"Remy was a good football player and one of the best boxers in college. Dear Old Remy is gone, but he left his mark. "

Other men, equally prominent old Yale men tell me, who were on the teamthat year were Hull, Jack Harding, Ben Lamb, Bob Watson, Pete Peters andmany others. 

Walter Camp, as Yale gridiron stories go, was not only captain of histeam, but in reality also its coach. Perhaps he can be called thepioneer coach of Yale football. It is most interesting to listen to oldtime Yale players relate incidents of the days when they played underWalter Camp as their captain: how they came to his room by invitation atnight, sat on the floor with their backs to the wall, with nothing inthe center of the room but a regulation football. There they gottogether, talked things over, made suggestions and comparisons. And itis said of Camp that he would do more listening by far than talking. This was characteristic, for although he knew so much of the game he waswilling to get every point of view and profit by every suggestion. 

In 1880 Camp relinquished the captaincy to R. W. Watson. Yale againdefeated Harvard, Camp kicking a goal from placement. Following thisR. W. Watson ran through the entire Harvard team for a touchdown. 

Harvard men were greatly pained when Walter Camp played again in 1881. He should have graduated in 1880. This game was also won by Yale, thusmaking the fourth victorious Yale team that Camp played on. This recordhas never been equalled. Camp played six years at Yale. 

John Harding was another of the famous old Yale stars who played onWalter Camp's team. 

"It is now more than thirty-five years since my days on the footballgridiron, " writes Harding. "What little elementary training I got infootball, I attribute to the old game of 'theory, ' which for two yearson spring and summer evenings, after supper, we used to play at St. Paul's School in Concord, N. H. , on the athletic grounds near the MiddleSchool. One fellow would be 'it' as we dashed from one side of thegrounds to the other and when one was trapped he joined the 'its, ' untileverybody was caught. I learned there how to dodge, as well as therudiments of the necessary football accomplishment of how to fall downwithout getting hurt. As a result of this experience, with my chum, W. A. Peters, when we got down to Yale in the fall of '76, we offeredourselves as willing victims for the University football team, and withthe result that we both 'made' the freshman team, and had our firstexperience in a match game of football against the Harvard freshman atBoston. I don't remember who won that contest, but I do remember theUniversity eleven, under Eugene Baker's careful training, beatingHarvard that fall at New Haven and my football enthusiasm being fired upto a desire to make the team, if it were possible. 

"Of course, Walter Camp has for many years, and deservedly so, beenregarded as the father of football at Yale, but in my day, and at leastuntil Baker left college, he was only an ordinary mortal and a goodhalfback. Baker was the unquestioned star and I cannot disabuse my mindthat he was the original football man of Yale, and at least entitled tothe title of 'grandfather' of the game there and it was from him that mytuition mainly came. 

"My impression is that Baker was always for the open running and passinggame and that mass playing and flying wedges and the various refinementsof the game that depended largely on 'beef' were of a later day. 

"For four years I played in the rush line with Walter Camp as ahalfback, and for two years, at least, with Hull and Ben Lamb on eitherside of me, all of us somehow understanding each other's game and allbeing ready and willing to help each other out. Whatever ability anddexterity I may have developed seemed to show itself at its best whenplaying with them and to prove that good team work and 'knowing yourman' wins. 

"I got to know Walter Camp's methods and ways of playing, so that, somehow or other, I could judge pretty well where the ball was going todrop when he kicked and could navigate myself about so that I was, moreoften than any one else on our side, near the ball when it dropped tothe ground, and, if perchance, it happened to be muffed by an opposingplayer, which put me 'on side, ' the chances of a touchdown, if I got theball, were excellent, and Hull and Lamb were somehow on hand to back meup and were ready to follow me in any direction. 

"During my last two years of football the 'rushers' were unanimously ofthe opinion that the kicking, dodging and passing open game was the gamewe should strive for and that it was the duty of the halfback and backsto end their runs with a good long punt, wherever possible, and give usa chance to get under the ball when it came down, while the rest of theteam behind the line were in favor of a running mass play game, particularly in wet and slippery weather. 

"I remember once in my senior year our divergence of views on thisquestion, about three weeks before the final game, nearly split ourteam, and that as a result I nearly received the doubtful honor ofbecoming the captain of a defeated Yale team. Camp, fearful of wetweather and possible snow at the Thanksgiving game, and with Channing, Eaton and Fred Remington as the heavy Yale ends and everybody 'big' inthe rush line excepting myself, was trying to develop us with as littlekicking as possible, and was sensitive because of the protests from therush line that there was no kicking. We were all summoned one evening tohis room in Durfee; the situation explained, together with hisunwillingness to assume the responsibility of captain unless his ideaswere followed; his fear of defeat, if they were not followed, hiswillingness to continue on the team as a halfback and to do his best andhis resignation as captain with the suggestion of my taking theresponsibility of the position. Things looked blue for Yale when Walterwalked out of the door, but after some ten minutes' discussion wedecided that the open game was the better, despite Camp's opinion to thecontrary, but that we could not play the open game without Camp ascaptain. Some one was sent out to bring Walter back; matters weresmoothed out; we played the open game and never lost a touchdown duringthe season. But during the four years I was on the Yale varsity wenever lost but one touchdown, from which a goal was kicked and therewere no goals kicked from the field. This goal was lost to Princeton, and I think was in the fall of '78, the year that Princeton won thechampionship. The two men that were more than anybody else responsiblefor the record were Eugene Baker and Walter Camp, but behind it all wasthe old Yale spirit, which seems to show itself better on the footballfield than in any other branch of athletics. "

Theodore M. McNair

On December 19th, 1915, there appeared in the newspapers a notice of thedeath of an old Princeton athlete, in Japan--Theodore M. McNair--who, while unknown to the younger football enthusiasts, was considered afamous player in his day. To those who saw him play the news broughtback many thrills of his adventures upon the football field. Thefollowing is what an old fellow player has to say about his team mate:

"Princeton has lost one of her most remarkable old time athletes in thedeath of Theodore M. McNair of the class of 1879. 

"McNair was a classmate of Woodrow Wilson. After his graduation hebecame a Presbyterian missionary, a professor in a Tokio college and thehead of the Committee that introduced the Christian hymnal into Japan. 

"To old Princeton graduates, however, McNair is known best as a greatfootball player who was halfback on the varsity three years and wasregarded as a phenomenal dodger, runner and kicker. In the three yearsof his varsity experience McNair went down to defeat only once, thefirst game in which he appeared as a regular player. The contest waswith Harvard and was played between seasons--April 28th, 1877--atCambridge. Harvard won the game by 2 touchdowns to 1 for the Tigers. McNair made the touchdown for his team. This match is interesting inthat it marked the first appearance of the canvas jacket on the footballfield. Smock, one of the Princeton halfbacks, designed such a jacket forhimself and thereafter for many seasons football players of the leadingEastern colleges adopted the garment because it made tackling moredifficult under the conditions of those days. McNair was of large frameand fleet of foot. He was especially clever in handling and passing theball, which in those days was more of an art than at present. It was notunusual for the ball to be passed from player to player after ascrimmage until a touchdown or a field goal was made. 

"Walter Camp was one of McNair's Yale adversaries. They had many puntingduels in the big games at St. George's Cricket Grounds, Hoboken, butCamp never had the satisfaction of sending McNair off the field with abeaten team. "

Alexander Moffat

Every football enthusiast who saw Alex Moffat play had the highestrespect for his ability in the game. Alex Moffat was typicallyPrincetonian. His interest in the game was great, and he was alwaysready to give as much time as was needed to the coaching of thePrinceton teams. His hard, efficient work developed remarkable kickers. He loved the game and was a cheerful, encouraging and sympathetic coach. From a man of his day I have learned something about his playing, andtogether we can read of this great all-round athlete. 

Alex Moffat was so small when he was a boy that he was called"Teeny-bits. " He was still small in bone and bulk when he enteredPrinceton. Alex had always been active in sport as a boy. Small as hewas, he played a good game of baseball and tennis and he distinguishedhimself by his kicking in football before he was twelve years of age. The game was then called Association Football, and kicking formed alarge part of it. At an early age, he became proficient in kicking withright or left foot. When he was fifteen he created a sensation over atthe Old Seminary by kicking the black rubber Association football clearover Brown Hall. That was kick enough for a boy of fifteen with an oldblack, rubber football. If anybody doubts it, let him try to do thetrick. 

[Illustration:

Wanamaker Belknap Finney Travers HarlanKennedy Lamar Bird Kimball De CampBaker Alex Moffat Harris

ALEX MOFFAT AND HIS TEAM]

The Varsity team of Princeton in the fall of '79 was captained by BlandBallard of the class of '80. He had a bunch of giants back of him. Therewere fifteen on the team in those days, and among them were such men asDevereaux, Brotherlin, Bryan, Irv. Withington, and the mighty McNair. The scrub team player at that time was pretty nearly any chap that waswilling to take his life in his hands by going down to the field andletting those ruthless giants step on his face and generally muss up hisphysical architecture. 

When Alex announced one day that he was going to take a chance on thescrub team, his friends were inclined to say tenderly and regretfully, "Good night, sweet prince. " But Alex knew he was there with the kick, whether it came on the left or right, and he made up his mind to have ago with the canvas-backed Titans of the Varsity team. One fond friendwatching Alex go out on the field drew a sort of consolation from theobservation that "perhaps Alex was so small the Varsity men wouldn'tnotice him. " But Alex soon showed them that he was there. He got in apunt that made Bland Ballard gasp. The big captain looked first at theball, way up in the air, then looked at Alex and he seemed to say as theScotsman said when he compared the small hen and the huge egg, "I hae medoots. It canna be. "

After that the Varsity men took notice of Alex. When the ball waspassed back to him next the regulars got through the scrub line so fastthat Alex had to try for a run. Bland Ballard caught him up in his arms, and finding him so light and small, spared himself the trouble ofthrowing him down. Ballard simply sank down on the ground with Alex inhis arms and began rolling over and over with him towards the scrubgoal. Alex cried "Down! Down!" in a shrill, treble voice that brought anexclamation from the side line. "It's a shame to do it. Bland Ballard isrobbing the cradle. "

Such was Alex Moffat in the fall of '79, still something of the"Teeny-bits" that he was in early boyhood. In two years Alex's name wason the lips of every gridiron man in the country, and in his senioryear, as captain, he performed an exploit in goal kicking that has neverbeen equalled. 

In the game with Harvard in the fall of '83, he kicked five goals, fourbeing drop kicks and one from a touchdown. His drop kicks were all ofthem long and two of them were made with the left foot. Alex grew instature and in stamina and when he was captain he was regarded as one ofthe most brilliant fullbacks that the game had ever known. He never wasa heavy man, but he was swift and slippery in running, a deadly tackler, and a kicker that had not his equal in his time. 

Alex remained prominent in football activity until his death in 1914. He served in many capacities, as member of committees, as coach, asreferee and as umpire. He was a man of happy and sunny nature who mademany friends. He loved life and made life joyous for those who were withhim. He was idolized at Princeton and his memory is treasured there now. 

Wyllys Terry

One of the greatest halfbacks that ever played for Yale is Wyllys Terry, and it is most interesting to hear this player of many years ago tell ofsome of his experiences. Terry says:

"It has been asked of me who were the great players of my time. I canonly say, judging from their work, that they were all great, but if Iwere compelled to particularize, I should mention the names of Tompkins, Peters, Hull, Beck, Twombly, Richards; in fact, I would have to mentioneach team year by year. To them I attribute the success of Yale'sfootball in my time, and for many years after that to the unfailing zealand devotion of Walter Camp. 

"There were no trainers, coaches, or rubbers at that time. The period ofpractice was almost continuous for forty-five minutes. It was the ideain those days that by practice of this kind, staying power and abilitywould be brought out. The principal points that were impressed upon theplayers were for the rushers to tackle low and follow their man. 

"This was to them practically a golden text. The fact that a man wasinjured, unless it was a broken bone, or the customary badly sprainedankle, did not relieve a man from playing every day. 

"It was the spirit, though possibly a crude one, that only those menwere wanted on the team who could go through the battering of the gamefrom start to finish. 

"The discipline of the team was rigorous; men were forced to do as theywere told. If a man did not think he was in any condition to play hereported to the captain. These reports were very infrequent though, forI know in my own case, the first time I reported, I was so lame I couldhardly put one foot before the other, but was told to take a footballand run around the track, which was a half mile long and encircled thefootball field. On my return I was told to get back in my position andplay. As a result, there were very few players who reported injuries tothe captain. 

"This, when you figure the manner in which teams are coached to-day, mayappear brutal and a waste of good material, but as a matter of fact, itwas not. It made the teams what they were in those days--strong, hardand fast. 

"As to actual results under this policy, I can only say that, during myperiod in college, we never lost a game. 

"Training to-day is quite different. I think more men are injurednowadays than in my time under our severe training. I think further thatthis softer training is carried to an extreme, and that the footballplayer of to-day has too much attention paid to his injury, and what hehas to say, and the trainer, doctors and attendants are mostlyresponsible for having the players incapacitated by their attention. 

"The spirit of Yale in my day, a spirit which was inculcated in ourminds in playing games, was never to let a member of the opposing teamthink he could beat you. If you experienced a shock or were injured andit was still possible to get back to your position either in the line orbackfield--get there at once. If you felt that your injury was so severethat you could not get back, report to your captain immediately andabide by his decision, which was either to leave the field or go to yourposition. 

"It may be said by some of the players to-day that the punts in thosedays were more easily caught than those of to-day. There is nothing to aremark like that. The spiral kick was developed in the fall of '82, andI know that both Richards and myself knew the fellow who developed it. From my experience in the Princeton game I can testify that Alex Moffatwas a past master at it. 

"One rather amusing thing I remember hearing years ago while standingwith an old football player watching a Princeton game. The ball wasthrown forward by the quarterback, which was a foul. The halfback, whowas playing well out, dashed in and caught the ball on the run, evadedthe opposing end, pushed the half back aside and ran half the length ofthe field, scoring a touchdown. The applause was tremendous. But theUmpire, who had seen the foul, called the ball back. A fair spectatorwho was standing in front of me, asked my friend why the ball was calledback. My friend remarked: 'The Princeton player has just received anencore, that's all. '

"While the game was hard and rough in the early days, yet I considerthat the discipline and the training which the men went through were ofgreat assistance to them, physically, morally and intellectually, inafter years. Some of the pleasantest friendships that I hold to-day weremade in connection with my football days, among the graduates of my ownand other colleges. 

"When fond parents ask the advisability of letting their sons playfootball, I always tell them of an incident at the Penn-Harvard game atPhiladelphia, one year, which I witnessed from the top of a coach. Ayoung girl was asked the question:

"'If you were a mother and had a son, would you allow him to playfootball?'

"The young lady thought for a moment and then answered in this spirited, if somewhat devious, fashion:

"'If I were a son and had a mother, _you bet I'd play!_'"

Memories of John C. Bell

In my association with football, among the many friendships I formed, Iprize none more highly than that of John C. Bell, whose activity inPennsylvania football has been kept alive long since his playing day. Let us go back and talk the game over with him. 

"I played football in my prep. School days, " he says, "and on the'Varsity teams of the University of Pennsylvania in the years'82-'83-'84. After graduation, following a sort of nominating massmeeting of the students, I was elected to the football committee of theUniversity, about 1886, and served as chairman of that committee until1901; retiring that season when George Woodruff, after a term of tenyears, terminated his relationship as coach of our team. 

"I also served, as you know, as a representative of the University onthe Football Rules Committee from about 1886 until the time I wasappointed Attorney General in 1911. 

"More pleasant associations and relationships I have never had thanthose with my fellow-members of that Committee in the late '80's and the'90's, including Camp of Yale; Billy Brooks, Bert Waters, Bob Wrenn andPercy Haughton of Harvard; Paul Dashiell of Annapolis; Tracy Harris, Alex Moffat and John Fine of Princeton; and Professor Dennis ofCornell. Later the Committee, as you know, was enlarged by the admissionof representatives from the West; and among them were Alonzo Stagg, ofChicago University, and Harry Williams of Minnesota. Finer fellows Ihave never known; they were one and all Nature's noblemen. 

"Some of them, alas! like Alex Moffat, have gone to the Great Beyond. Representing rival universities, between whose student bodies and someof whose alumni, partisan feeling ran high in the '90's, nothing, however, save good fellowship and good cheer ever existed between Alexand me. 

"I am genuinely glad that I played the game with my team-mates;witnessed for many years nearly all the big games of the easterncolleges; mingled season after season with the players and theenthusiastic alumni of the competing universities in attendance at theannual matches; sat and deliberated each recurring year, as I have said, with those fine fellows who made and amended the rules, and in this wayhelped to develop the game, the manliest of all our sports; and that Ihave thus breathed, recreated and been invigorated in a footballatmosphere every autumn for more than a third of a century. Growingolder every year, one still remains young--as young in heart and spiritas when he donned the moleskins, and caught and kicked and carried theball himself. And all these football experiences make one a happier, stronger and more loyal man. 

"I remember in my prep. School days playing upon a team made up largelyof high school boys. One game stands out in my recollection. It wasagainst the Freshmen team of the University of Pennsylvania, captainedby Johnny Thayer who went down with the _Titanic_. 

"Arriving after the game had started, I came out to the side-lines andcalled to the captain asking whether I was to play. He glowered at meand made no answer. A few minutes later our 'second captain' called tome to come into the game, saying that Smith was only to play until Iarrived. Quick as a flash I stepped into the field of play, and almostinstantly Thayer kicked the ball over the rush line and it came boundingdown right into my arm. Off I went like a flash through the line, pastthe backs and fullbacks, only to be over-taken within a few yards of thegoal. The teams lined up, and thereupon Thayer, with his eagle eyelooking us over, called out to our captain 'how many fellows are youplaying anyway?' Instantly our captain ordered Smith off the fieldsaying 'you were only to play until Bell came, ' and poor Smith leftwithout any audible murmur. This is what might be called one of theaccidents of the game. 

"Perhaps the most memorable game in which I played was against Harvardin 1884 when Pennsylvania won upon Forbes Field by the score of 4 to 0. It was our first victory over the Crimson, not to be repeated againuntil the memorable game of 1894, which triumph was again repeated, after still another decade, in our great victory of 1904. This lastvictory came after five years of continuing defeats, and I remember thatwe were all jubilant when we heard the news from Cambridge. I recallthat Dr. J. William White, C. S. Packard and I were playing golf at theCountry Club and when some one brought out the score to us we droppedour clubs, clasped hands and executed an Indian dance, shouting "Rah!rah! rah! Pennsylvania!" Why, old staid philosopher, should the leadingsurgeon of the city, the president of its oldest and largest trustcompany, and the district attorney of Philadelphia, thus jump for joyand become boys once more?

"Recurring to the game of 1884 I can hear the cheers of the Universitystill ringing in my ears when we returned from Harvard. A few weekslater our team went up to Princeton to see the Harvard-Princeton matchand I recall, as though it were yesterday, Alex Moffat kicking fivegoals against Appleton's team, three of them with the right and two withthe left foot. No other player I ever knew or heard of was soambipedextrous (if I may use the word) as Alex Moffat. I rememberwalking in from the field with Harvard's captain, and he said to me'Moffat is a phenomenon. ' Truly he was. "

CHAPTER VII

HEROES OF THE PAST--GEORGE WOODRUFF'S STORY

Enthusiastic George Woodruff tells of his football experiences in thefollowing words:

"I went to Yale a green farmer boy who had never heard of the collegegame of football until I arrived at New Haven to take my examinations inthe fall of '85. Incidentally I made the team permanently the second dayI was on the field, having scored against the varsity from the middle ofthe field in three successive runs; whereas the varsity was not able toscore against the scrub. I was used perhaps more times than any otherman in running with the ball up to a very severe injury to my knee inthe fall of '87, just a week and a day before the Princeton game, fromwhich time, until I left college (although I played in all of thechampionship games) I was not able to run with the ball, actually beingon the field only two days after my injury in '87 until the end of the'88 season, outside of the days on which I played the games. I tried notto play in the fall of '88 because of the condition of my knee andbecause I was Captain of the Crew, but Pa Corbin insisted that I mustplay in the championship games or he would not row: and of course Iacceded to his wishes thereby secretly gratifying my own. 

"And now about the men with whom I played: Kid Wallace played end theentire four years. Wallace was a great amusement and comfort to hisfellow-players on account of his general desire to put on the appearanceof a 'tough' of the worst description; whereas he was at heart a veryfine and gallant gentleman. 

"Pudge Heffelfinger played the other guard from me in my last year andwhen he first appeared on the Yale field he was a ridiculous example ofa raw-boned Westerner, being 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighing onlyabout 178 pounds. During the season, however, the exercise and good foodat the training table caused Heffelfinger to gain 25 pounds of solidbone, sinew and muscle. The green days of his first year in 1888 wereremembered against him in an affectionate way by the use of Yale forseveral years of 'Pa' Corbin's oft reiterated expression brought forthby Pudge's greenness, which would cause 'Pa' to exclaim: 'Darn you, Heffelfinger!' with great emphasis on the 'Darn. '

"Billy Graves played on the team during most of these years, he beingthe most graceful football runner I have ever seen, unless it wereStevenson of Pennsylvania. 

"Lee McClung was a harder worker in his running than most of the mennamed above, but tremendously effective. He is accredited with being thefirst man who intentionally started as though to make an end run andthen turned diagonally back through the line, in order to open up thefield through which he then ran with incredible speed and determination. This was one of the first premeditated plays of a trick nature whichultimately led to my invention of the delayed pass which works upon thesame principle only with incalculably greater ease and effect. 

"The game with Princeton in the Fall of 1885 clings to my memory beyondany other game I ever played in, because it was the first realchampionship game of my career, and I had not as yet fully developedinto an actual player. The loss of this game to Princeton in the lastsix minutes of playing because of the Lamar run--Yale had Princeton 5 to0--has been a nightmare to most of the Yale players ever since. Iattribute the fact that Yale only had five points to two hard-luckfacts. 

"Through my own intensity at the beginning of the game I over-ran HarryBeecher on my first signal, causing the signal giver to think that I wasrattled so that, although I afterward ran with the ball some 25 or 30times with consistent gains of from 2 to 5 yards under the almostimpossible conditions known as the 'punt rush, ' the signal for myregular play was not given again in spite of the fact that my groundgaining had been one of the steadiest features of the Yale playthroughout the year, and because Watkinson was allowed to try five timesin succession for goals from the field, close up, only one of which hemade; whereas Billy Bull could probably have made at least three out ofthe five; but of course Bull's ability was not so well-known then. Thedirect cause of the Lamar run was due to the fact that all the fastrunners and good tacklers of the Yale line were down the field under akick, so close to Toler, the other halfback from Lamar, that when Tolermuffed the ball so egregiously that it bounded over our heads some 15yards, Lamar who had not come across the field to back Toler up, hadbeen able to get the ball on the bound and on the dead run, thus havingin front of him all the Princeton team except Toler; whereas the Yaleteam was depleted by the fact that Wallace, Corwin, Gill (who had comeon as a substitute) myself and even Harry Beecher from quarterback, hadrun down the field to within a few yards of Toler before he muffed theball. We all turned and watched Lamar run, being so petrified that notone of us took a step, and, although the scene is photographed on mymemory, I cannot see one of all the Yale players making a tackle atLamar. Hodge, the Princeton quarterback, kicked the goal, thus makingthe score 6 to 5 and winning the game. The outburst from the Princetoncontingent at the end of the game was one of the most heartfelt andspontaneous I have ever heard or seen. I understand that practically allof Lamar's uniform was torn into pieces and handed out to the variousPrinceton girls and their escorts who had come to New Haven to see thegame. 

"The Yale-Princeton game in the fall of 1886 was a remarkable as well asa disagreeable one. We played at Princeton when the field at that timecombined the elements of stickiness and slipperiness to an unbelievableextent. It rained heavily throughout the game and the proverbial 'hog onice' could not have slipped and slathered around worse than all theplayers on both sides. There was a long controversy about who should actas referee (in those days we had only one official) and after a delay ofabout an hour from the time the game should have begun, Harris, aPrinceton man, was allowed to do the officiating. Bob Corwin, who wasend-rush, only second to Wallace in his ability, was captain of theteam. 

"Yale made one touchdown which seemed to be perfectly fair but which wasdisallowed; and later, in the second half, Watkinson for Yale kicked theball so that it rolled across the goal line, whereupon a crowd, whichwas standing around the ropes (in those days there was practically nograndstand) crowded onto the field where Savage, the Princeton fullbackhad fallen on the ball. The general report is that Kid Wallace heldSavage while Corwin pulled the slippery ball away from him, and thatwhen Harris, the referee, was able to dig his way through the crowd hefound Corwin on the ball, and in view of the great fuss that had beenmade about his previous decision, was not able to credit Savage'sstatement that he (Savage) had said 'down' long before the Yale ends hadbeen able to pull the ball away from him. The result was that thetouchdown was allowed. Thereupon the crowd all came onto the field andwe were not able to clear it for some 10 or 15 minutes, so that therewas not time enough to finish the full 45 minutes of the second-half ofthe game before dark. This led to some bitter discussion between Yaleand Princeton as to whether the game had been played. This discussionwas settled by the intercollegiate committee in declaring that Yale hadwon the game, 4 to 0, but that no championship should be awarded. It isinteresting to note, however, that all the gold footballs worn by theYale players of this game are marked 'Champions, 1886. '

"A word about the Princeton men who were playing during my four years atcollege. 

"Irvine was a fine steady player and his success at Mercersburg is inkeeping with the promise shown in his football days. 

"Hector Cowan played against me three years at guard and he fullydeserved the great reputation he had at that time in every particularof the game, including running with the ball. 

"George was one of the very best center rushes I have ever seen andprobably would have made a great player elsewhere along the line if hehad been relieved from the obscuring effect of playing center at thetime a center had no particular opportunity to show his ability. 

"Snake Ames for some reason was never able to do anything against theYale team during the time I was playing, but his work in some latergames that I saw and in which I officiated, convinced me that he wasworthy of his nickname, because there are only a few men who are able towind their way through an entire field of opponents with as muchcelerity and effect as Ames would display time after time. 

"In the fall of '86 Yale beat Harvard 29 to 4, with great ease, and ifit had not been for injuries to Yale players, could probably have madeit 50 or 60 to 0. Most of the Yale players came out of the game withvery disgraceful marks of the roughness of the Harvard men. I had abadly broken nose from an intentional blow. George Carter had a cutrequiring eight stitches above his eye. The tackle next to me had a facewhich was pounded black and blue all over. To the credit of the Harvardmen I will say that they came to the box at the theater that nightoccupied by the Yale team and apologized for what they had done, statingthat they had been coached to play in that way and that they wouldnever again allow anybody to coach who would try to have the Harvardplayers use intentionally unfair roughness. 

"When I entered Pennsylvania I found a more or less happy-go-luckybrilliant man, Arthur Knipe, who was not considered fully worthy ofbeing on even the Pennsylvania teams of those days, namely: teams thatwere being beaten 60 or 70 to 0 by Yale, Harvard and Princeton. Isucceeded in arousing the interest of Knipe, and although in my mind henever, during his active membership of the Pennsylvania team, came up to75 per cent. Of his true playing value, he was, even so, undoubtedly thepeer of any man that ever played football. Knipe was brilliant butcareless, and was at once the joy and despair of any coach who took aninterest in his men. He captained the 1894 Pennsylvania team with whichI sprung the 'guards back' and 'short end defense. '

"Jack Minds I remember seeing, in 1893, standing around on the field asa member of the second or third scrub teams. I suppose he would not havebeen invited to preliminary training except for his own courage andpertinacity which caused him to demand to be taken. With no thought thathe could possibly make the team I gradually found myself using him in1894, until he was a fixture at tackle, although he dodged the scalesthroughout the entire fall in order that I might not know that heonly weighed 162 pounds. 

[Illustration:

Wharton Bull WoodruffRosengarten Osgood Brooke Knipe GelbertMinds Williams Wagonhurst

OLD PENN HEROES]

"I will not enlarge upon the ability of men like George Brooke, WylieWoodruff, Buck Wharton, Joe McCracken, John Outland and others, butanybody speaking of Pennsylvania players during the late '90's cannotpass by Truxton Hare, who stands forth as a Chevalier Bayard among theranks of college football players. Hare entered Pennsylvania in '97 fromSt. Paul without any thought that he was likely to be even a mediocreplayer. He weighed only about 178 pounds at the time and was immature. Although his wonderfully symmetrical build, in which he looked like amagnified Billy Graves, kept him from looking as large as Heffelfingerat his greatest development at Yale, Hare was certainly ten poundsheavier in fine condition than Heffelfinger was before the latter leftYale. "

CHAPTER VIII

ANECDOTES AND RECOLLECTIONS

In the latter eighties the signal from the quarterback to the center forputting the ball in play was a pressure of the fingers and thumb on thehips of the center. In the '89 championship game between Yale andPrinceton, Yale had been steadily advancing the ball and it looked as ifthey had started out for a march up the field for a touchdown. In thosedays signals were not rattled off with the speed that they are givennow, and the quarterback often took some time to consider his next play, during which time he might stand in any position back of the line. 

Playing right guard on the Princeton team was J. R. Thomas, morefamiliarly known as Long Tommy. He was six feet six or seven inches talland built more longitudinally than otherwise. It occurred to Janeway, who was playing left guard, that Long Tommy's great length and reachmight be used to great advantage when occasion offered. 

He, therefore, took occasion to say to Thomas during a lull in the game, "If you get a chance, reach over when Wurtenburg--the Yalequarter--isn't looking, and pinch the Yale center so that he will putthe ball in play when the backs are not expecting it. " The Yale center, by the way, was Bert Hanson. Yale continued to advance the ball on twoor three successive plays and finally had a third down with two yards togain. At this critical moment the looked-for opportunity arrived. Wurtenburg called a consultation of the other backs to decide on thenext play. While the consultation was going on Long Tommy reached overand gently nipped Hanson where he was expecting the signal. Hansonimmediately put the ball in play and as a result Janeway broke throughand fell on the ball for a ten yards gain and first down for Princeton. 

To say that the Yale team were frantic with surprise and rage would beputting it mildly. Poor Hanson came in for some pretty rough flagging. He swore by all that was good and holy that he had received the signalto put the ball in play, which was true. But Wurtenburg insisted that hehad not given the signal. There was no time for wrangling at that momentas the referee ordered the game to proceed. 

Yale did not learn how that ball came to be put in play until some timeafter the game, which was the last of the season, when Long Tommyhappening to meet up with Hanson and several other Yale players in a NewYork restaurant, told with great glee how he gave the signal thatstopped Yale's triumphant advance. 

 * * * * *

Numerals and combinations of numbers were not used as signals until1889. Prior to that, phrases, catch-words and gestures were the onlymodes of indicating the plays to be used. For instance, the signal forHector Cowan of Princeton to run with the ball was an entreaty by thecaptain, who in those days usually gave the signals, addressed to theteam, to gain an uneven number of yards. Therefore the expression, "Let's gain three, five or seven yards, " would indicate to the team thatCowan was to take the ball, and an effort was made to open up the linefor him at the point at which he usually bucked it. 

Irvine, the other tackle, ran with the ball when an even number of yardswas called for. 

For a kick the signal was any phrase which asked a question, as forinstance, "How many yards to gain?"

One of the signals used by Corbin, captain of Yale, to indicate acertain play, was the removal of his cap. They wore caps in those days. A variation of this play was indicated if in addition to removing hiscap he expectorated emphatically. 

Hodge, the Princeton quarterback, noticing the cap signals, determinedthat he would handicap the captain's strategy by stealing his cap. Hecalled the team back and very earnestly impressed upon them theadvantage that would accrue if any of them could surreptitiously getpossession of Captain Corbin's head-covering. Corbin, however, kept suchgood watch on his property that no one was able to purloin it. 

Sport Donnelly, who played left end on Princeton's '89 team, was perhapsone of the roughest players that ever went into a game, and at the sametime one of the best ends that ever went down the field under a kick. 

Donnelly was one of the few men that could play his game up to the topnotch and at the same time keep his opponent harassed to the point offrenzy by a continual line of conversation in a sarcastic vein whichinvariably got the opposing player rattled. 

He would say or do something to the man opposite him which would goadthat individual to fury and then when retaliation was about to come inthe shape of a blow, he would yell "Mr. Umpire, " and in many instancesthe player would be ruled off the field. 

Donnelly's line of conversation in a Yale game, addressed to BillyRhodes who played opposite him, would be somewhat as follows:

"Ah, Mr. Rhodes, I see Mr. Gill is about to run with the ball. "

Just then Gill would come tearing around from his position at tackle andDonnelly would remark:

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Rhodes, for a moment, I've got to tackle Mr. Gill. "

He would then sidestep in such a manner as to elude Rhodes'smanoeuvres to prevent him breaking through, and stop Gill for a loss. 

Hector Cowan, who was captain of the Princeton '88 team was anotherrough player. In those days the men in the heat of playing would indulgein exclamations hardly fit for a drawing room. In fact most of the timethe words used would have been more in place among a lot of pirates. 

Cowan was no exception to the rule so far as giving vent to his feelingswas concerned, but he invariably used one phrase to do so. He was afellow of sterling character and was studying for the ministry. Not eventhe excitement of the moment could make him forget himself to the extentof the other players, and where their language would have to berepresented in print by a lot of dashes, Cowan's could be printed in theblackest face type without offending anyone. 

It was amusing to see this big fellow, worked up to the point ofexplosion, wave his arms and exclaim:

"Oh, sugar!"

It would bring a roar of mock protest from the other players, andthreats to report him for his rough talk. While the men made joke ofHector's talk they had a thorough respect for his sterling principles. 

VICTORIOUS DAYS AT YALE

During the early days of football Yale's record was an enviable one. Theschedules included, Yale, Harvard, Princeton, University ofPennsylvania, Rutgers, Columbia, Stevens Institute of Technology, Dartmouth, Amherst, and University of Michigan. 

It is interesting to note that since the formation of the FootballAssociation, in 1879 to 1889, Yale had been awarded the championshipflag five times, Princeton one, Harvard none. Yale had won 95 out of 98games, having lost three to Princeton, one to Harvard and one toColumbia. Since 1878 Yale had lost but one game and that by one point. This was the Tilly Lamar game, which Princeton won. In points Yale hadscored, since points began to be counted, 3001 to her opponents' 56; ingoals 530 to 19 and in touchdowns 219 to 9, which is truly a uniquerecord. 

It was during this period that Pa Corbin, a country boy, entered Yaleand in his senior year became captain of the famous '88 team. Thisbrilliant eleven had a wonderfully successful season and Yale men nowbegan to take stock and really appreciate the remarkable record that washers upon the field of football. 

In commemoration of these victories, Yale men gathered from far andnear, crowding Delmonico's banquet hall to the limit to pay tribute toYale athletic successes. 

"And it came to pass, when the people heard the sound of the trumpet, and the people shouted with a great shout . . . They took the city. "

In a room beautifully decorated with Yale banners and trophies fourhundred Elis sat down to enjoy the Bulldog Feast, and there honored andcheered to the echo the great football traditions of Yale and the menwho made her famous by so vast a margin. 

Chauncey M. Depew in his address that evening stated that for the onlytime in one hundred and eighty-eight years the alumni of Yale met solelyto celebrate her athletic triumphs. 

Pa Corbin, captain of the victorious '88 football team, responded, asfollows:

"Again we have met the enemy and he is ours. In fact we have beensuccessful so many times there is something of a sameness about it. Itis a good deal like what the old man said about leading a good life. Itis monotonous, but satisfactory. There are perhaps a few special reasonswhy we won the championship this year, but the general principles arethe same, which have always made us win. First, by following out certaintraditions, which are handed down to us year by year from former teamcaptains and coaches; the necessity of advancing each year beyond thepoint attained the year before; the mastering of the play of ouropponents and planning our game to meet it. Second, by the hard, conscientious work, such as only a Yale team knows how to do. Third, by going on to the field with that high courage and determination whichhas always been characteristic of the Yale eleven, something like thespirit of the ancient Greeks who went into battle with the decision toreturn with their shields or on them. Sometimes they have been animatedwith the spirit which knows no defeat, like the little drummer boy, whowas ordered by Napoleon in a crisis in the battle to beat a retreat. Theboy did not move. 'Boy, beat a retreat. ' He did not stir, but at a thirdcommand, he straightened up and said: 'Sire, I know not how, but I canbeat a charge that will wake the dead. ' He did so and the troops movedforward and were victorious. It is this same spirit which in many caseshas seemed to animate our men. 

[Illustration:

Rhodes Woodruff Heffelfinger Gill WallaceStagg McClung Captain Corbin BullWurtenberg Graves

PA CORBIN'S TEAM]

"But our victory is due in a great measure this year to a man who knowsmore about football than any man in this country, who gave much of hisvaluable time in continually advising and in actual coaching on thefield. I refer to Walter Camp, and as long as his spirit hovers over theYale campus and our traditions for football playing are religiouslyfollowed out there is no reason why Yale should not remain, as shealways has been, at the head of American football. "

Those were Corbin's recollections the year of that great victory. Timehas not dimmed them, nor has his memory faded. Rather the opposite. From what follows you will note that a woman now enters the camp of theEli coaching staff, mention of whom was not made in Corbin's speech of'88. 

Pa Corbin prides himself in the fact that twenty-five years afterward hebrought his old team mates together and gave them a dinner. The menucard tells of the traditional coaching system of Corbin's great team of'88 and beneath the picture of Mr. And Mrs. Walter Camp appears inheadlines:

"HEAD COACHES OF THE YALE FOOTBALL TEAM OF 1888"

"The head-coaches of the Yale team, " says Corbin, "were really Mr. AndMrs. Walter Camp. They had been married in the summer of 1888 and werestaying with relatives in New Haven. Mr. Camp had just begun hisconnection with a New Haven concern which occupied most of his time. Mrs. Camp was present at Yale Field every day at the football practiceand made careful note of the plays, the players and anything that shouldbe observed in connection with the style of play and the individualweakness or strength. She gave her observations in detail to her husbandat supper every night and when I arrived Mr. Camp would be thoroughlyfamiliar with that day's practice and would be ready for suggestions asto plays and players to be put in operation the next day. 

"This method was pursued during the entire season and was practicallythe only systematic coaching that the team received. Of course therewere several old players like Tompkins '84, Terry '85 and Knapp '82, whocame to the field frequently. 

"At that time it was customary for me to snap the ball back to thequarter with my foot. By standing the ball on end and exercising acertain pressure on the same it was possible to have it bound into thequarterback's hands. It was necessary, therefore, for me to attend tothis detail as well as to block my opponent and make holes through theline for the backs. 

"While the rules of the game at that time provided for an Umpire as wellas a Referee, the fact that there was no neutral zone and players werein close contact with each other on the line of scrimmage gaveopportunity for more roughness than is customary at the present time. Neither were the officials so strict about their rulings. 

"Prior to this time it had been customary to give word signals for thedifferent plays, these being certain words which were used in varioussentences relating to football and the progress of the game. As center, I was so tall that a system of sign signals was devised which I usedentirely in the Princeton game, and the opponents, from the talk, whichcontinued as usual, supposed that word signals were being used and wereentirely ignorant of the sign signals during the progress of the game. The pulling of the visor of my cap was a kick signal. Everything that Idid with my left hand in touching different parts of my uniform on theleft side from collar to shoe lace meant a signal for a play atdifferent points on the left side of the line. Similar signals with myright hand meant similar plays on the right side of the line. The systemworked perfectly and there was no case of missed signal. The next yearthe use of numbers for signals began, and has continued until thepresent date. 

"The work of the Yale team during the season was very much retarded byinjuries to their best players. The papers were so filled with theseaccounts that the general opinion of the public was that the team wouldbe in poor physical condition to meet Princeton. As luck would have it, however, the invalids reached a convalescing stage in time to enter theWesleyan game on the Saturday before the one to be played with Princetonin fairly good condition. 

"Head Coach Camp and I attended the Princeton-Harvard game at Princetonon that day. Upon our return to New York we received a telegram fromMrs. Camp to the effect that the score made by Yale against Wesleyan was105 to nothing. One of the graduate coaches was much impressed with theopportunity to turn a few pennies and he requested that the informationbe kept quiet until he could see a few Princeton men. The result wasthat he negotiated the small end of several stakes at long odds againstYale. When the news of the Wesleyan score was made public the nextmorning, the opinion of the public changed somewhat as to the merit ofthe team. It nevertheless went into the Princeton game as not being thefavorite and in the opinion of disinterested persons it was expectedthat Princeton would win handsomely. "

Cowan the great has this to say:

"I happened to be down on the grounds to watch the practice just a fewdays before the Yale game. They did not have enough scrub to make a gooddefense. Jim Robinson happened to see me there and asked me to play. Hehad asked me before, and I had always refused, but this time for somereason I accepted and he took me to the Club house. 

"I got into my clothes. The shoes were about three sizes too small. Thatday I played guard opposite Tracy Harris. I played well enough so thatthey wanted me to come down the next day, as they said they wanted goodpractice. The next day I was put against Captain Bird, who had been outof town the first day I played. He had the reputation of being not atall delicate in the way he handled the scrub men who played against him, so that they had learned to keep away from him. 

"As I had not played before, I did not know enough to be afraid of him, so when the ball was put in play I simply charged forward at thequarterback and was able to spoil a good many of his plays. I heardafterward that Bird asked Jim Robinson who that damn freshman was thatplayed against him. The next year I was put in Bird's place at leftguard, as he had graduated and fought all comers for the place. I wasnever put on the scrub again. 

"My condition when in Princeton was the best. Having been raised in thecountry, I knew what hard work was and in the five years that I playedfootball I never left the field on account of injury either in practiceor in games with other teams. 

"It is a great thing to play the game of football as hard as you can. Inever deliberately went to do a man up. If he played a rough game, Isimply played him the harder. I never struck a man with my fist in thegame. I do not remember ever losing my temper. Perhaps I did not havetemper enough. 

"When we speak of a football man's nerve I would say that any man whostopped to think of himself is not worthy of the game, but there is oneman who seemed to me had a little more nerve than the average. I thinkthat he played for two years on our scrub, and the reason that he waskept there so long was on account of his size. He only weighed about 138pounds, but for all the time he played on the scrub he played halfbackand no one ever saw him hesitate to make every inch that he could, eventhough he knew he had to suffer for it. 

"In the fall of '88, I think, Yup Cook played right tackle on theVarsity. He was very strong in his shoulders and arms and had the gripof a blacksmith. Channing, this nervy little 138-pounder, played lefthalfback on the scrub. When he went into the line, Cook would take himby the shoulders and slam him into the ground. Our playing field at thetime was very dry and the ground was like a rock. I used to feel verysorry for the little fellow. On his elbows and hips and knees he had rawsores as big as silver dollars; yet he never hesitated to make theattempt, and he never called 'down' to save himself from punishment. Thenext year he made the team. Everybody admired him. 

"Football men must never forget Tilly Lamar, who played halfback. Ithink he was one of the greatest halfbacks and one who would have made arecord in any age of football. I have seen him go through a line withnearly every man on the opposing team holding him. He would break loosefrom one after the other. 

"Lamar was a short, chunky fellow and ran close to the ground with hisback level, and about the only place one could get hold of him was hisshoulders. He would always turn toward the tackler instead of away, andit had the effect of throwing him over his head. The only way that theYale men could stop him at all was to dive clear under and get him bythe legs. 

"You have always heard a lot about Snake Ames. Snake was a veryspectacular player, but one very hard to stop, especially in an openfield. He was very fast and during the last year of his playing hedeveloped a duck and would go clear under the man trying to tackle him. This he did by putting one hand flat on the ground, so that his bodywould just miss the ground; even the good tacklers that Yale always hadwere not able to stop him. 

"One of Princeton's old reliables was our center, George, '89. He maynot have got much out of the plaudits from the grandstand, but those ofus who knew what he was doing appreciated his work. We always felt safeas to our center. He was steady and brilliant. 

"It was during this time that Yale developed a wedge play on center. There were no restrictions as to how the line would be formed, and Yalewould put all their guards and tackles and ends back, forming a big Vwith the man with the ball in the center. 

"Yale had been able to knock the opposing center out of the way tillthey struck George. How well I remember this giant, who was able to holdthe whole wedge until he could knock the sides in and pile them up in abunch. Yale soon gave him up and tried to gain elsewhere. 

"I must tell you about one more of Princeton's football players. Not somuch for his playing, but for his head work. During the years that I wascaptain, in the fall of '88 the rules were changed so that one wasallowed to block an opponent only by the body. In other words, notallowed to use hands or arms in blocking. It was Sam Hodge, who playedend and worked out what is known to-day as boxing the tackle. You canunderstand what effect it would have on a man who was not used to it. The end would knock the opposing tackle and send him clear out of theplay and the half would keep the end out. "

I once asked Cowan to tell something about his experiences and men heplayed against. 

"The Yale game was the great game in my days, " he said. "Harvard did nothave the football instinct as well developed as Yale, and it is of theYale players that I have more in mind. One man I will always remember isGill, who played left tackle for Yale and was captain during his senioryear. I remember him because we had a good deal to do with each other. When I ran with the ball I had to get around him if I made any advance, and I must say that I found it no easy thing to do, as he was a suretackler. And when he ran with the ball I had the good pleasure ofcutting his runs short. 

"Another man whom I consider one of the greatest punters of the past isBull of Yale. I have stopped a good many punts and drop kicks in myplay, but I do not remember stopping a single kick of his, and it wasnot because I did not try. He kicked with his left foot, and with hisback partially towards the line would kick a very high ball, and whenyou jumped into him--on the principle, that if you cannot get the ball, get the man--you had the sensation of striking something hard. "

After Cowan had stopped playing and graduated he acted as an official ina good many of the big games. He states as follows:

"You ask about my own experiences as an official, and for experiencewith other officials. I always got along pretty well as a referee. Therewas very little kicking on my decisions. But I was good for nothing asan umpire. I could not keep my eyes off the ball, so did not see thefouls as much as I should. You boys have probably heard how I was ruledoff the field in a Harvard-Princeton game in '88. I remember Terry ofYale who refereed that game, above all others. There was a rule at thattime that intentional tackling below the knees was a foul and thepenalty was disqualification. Our game had just started. We had only twoor three plays, Harvard having the ball. I broke through the line andtackled the man as soon as he had the ball. I had him around the legsabout the knees, but in his efforts to get away, my hands slipped down. But at the moment remembering the rule I let him go, and for this I wasdisqualified. I might say that we lost the game, for we did not have anyone to take my place. I had always been in my place and no one everthought that I would not be there. My being disqualified was probablythe reason for the Princeton defeat. 

"I do not think that Terry intended to be unfair. The game had juststarted, and he was trying to be strict, and without stopping to thinkwhether it was intentional or not. He saw the rule being broken andacted on the impulse of the moment. I have since heard that Terry feltvery bad about it afterwards. I never felt right towards him until I hada chance to get even with him, and it came in this way. The CrescentClub of Brooklyn played the Cleveland Athletic Club at Cleveland. Georgeand myself were invited to play with the Cleveland club, and on theCrescent team were Alex Moffat and Terry. Terry played left halfback, and right here was where I got in my work. When Terry ran with the ballI generally had a chance to help him meet the earth. I had one chance inparticular. Terry got the ball and got around our end, and on a long endrun I took after him, caught him from the side, threw him over my headout of bounds. As we were both running at the top of our speed he hitthe ground with considerable force. I felt better towards him after thisgame. "

In such vivid phrases as these a great hero of the past tells of thingswell worth recording. 

 * * * * *

Football competition is very strong. There is the keenest sort ofrivalry among college teams. There is very little love on the part ofthe men who play against each other on the day of the contest, but afterthe game is all over, and these men meet in after years, very strongfriendships are often formed. Sometimes these opponents never meetagain, but down deep in their hearts they have a most wholesome regardfor each other, and so in my recollections of the old heroes, it will bemost interesting to hear in their own words, something about their ownachievements and experiences in the games they played thirty years ago. Hector Cowan, who captained the '88 team at Princeton, played threeyears against George Woodruff of Yale. It has been twenty-eight yearssince that wonderful battle took place between these two men. It isstill talked about by people who saw the game, and now let us read whatthese two contestants say about each other. 

"Of the three years that I played guard I met George Woodruff as myopponent, " says Cowan, "and I always felt that he was the strongest manI had to meet and one who was always on the square. He played the gamefor what it was worth, and he showed later that he could teach it toothers by the way he taught the Penn' team. "

Says George Woodruff, delving into the old days: "Hector Cowan playedagainst me three years at guard, and he fully deserves the reputation hehad at that time in every particular of the game, including running withthe ball. I doubt whether any other Princeton man was ever more able tomake ground whenever he tried, although Cowan was not in any particulara showy player. For some reason or other, Cowan seems to have had areputation for rough play, which shows how untrue traditions can behanded down. I never played against or with a finer and steadier player, or one more free from the remotest desire to play roughly for the sakeof roughness itself. "

When Heffelfinger's last game had been played there appeared in anewspaper of November 26th, 1888, a farewell to Heffelfinger. 

 Good-by Heff! the boys will miss you, And the old men, too, and the girls; You tossed the other side about as if they were ten-pins; You took Little Bliss under your wing and he ran with the ball like a pilot boat by the _Teutonic_. You used eyes, ears, shoulders, legs, arms and head and took it all in. You're the best football rusher America, or the world, has shown; And best of all you never slugged, lost your temper or did anything mean; Oh come thou mighty one, go not away, The team thou must not fail: Stay where thou art, please, Heffelfinger, stay, And still be true to Yale-- Linger, yet linger, Heffelfinger, a truly civil engineer. His trust would ne'er surrender; unstrap thy trunks, Excuse this scalding tear. Still be Yale's best defender! Linger, oh, linger, Heffelfinger. Princeton and Harvard, there is cause to fear Will dance joy's double shuffle when of thy Western flight they come to hear. Stay and their tempers ruffle. Linger, oh, linger, Heffelfinger. 

John Cranston

"My inspiration for the game came when my country cousin returned fromExeter and told me he believed I had the making of a football player, "says John Cranston, who was Harvard's famous old center and formercoach. "At once I pestered him with all kinds of questions about therequirements, and believed that some day I would do something. I shallalways remember my first day on the field at Exeter. Lacking thewherewithal to buy the regulation suit, I appeared in the none toostrong blue shirt and overalls used on the farm. I remember too that itwas not long before Harding said: 'Take that young countryman to thegymnasium before he is injured for life; he doesn't know which way torun when he gets the ball; he doesn't know the game; and he looks toothick headed to play the game anyway. '

"As boys on neighboring farms of Western New York, three of us, whowere later to play on different college teams, hunted skunks and rabbitstogether. Had we been on the same team we would have been side by side. Cook was a great tackle at Princeton; Reed one of the best guardsCornell ever had; and I, owing to some good team mates, played as centeron the first Harvard eleven to defeat Yale. It is said that Cook in hisfirst game at Exeter grabbed the ball and started for his own goal for atouchdown, and that Reed after playing the long afternoon in the gamewhich Cornell won, asked the Referee which side was victorious. 

"I well remember that at Exeter we were planning how to celebrate ourvictory over Andover, even to the most minute detail. We knew who was toring the academy and church bells of the town, and where we were to havethe bonfire at night. We were deprived of that pleasure on account ofthe great playing and better spirit of the Andover team. A few of ourExeter men then and there made a silent compact that Exeter would feel alittle better after another contest with Andover. The following threeyears we defeated Andover by large scores. 

"Any one who has played the game can recall some amusing situations. Irecall the first year at Harvard when we were playing against theAndover team that suddenly the whole Andover School gave the Yale cheer. Dud Dean, who was behind me, fired up and said it was the freshestthing he had ever heard. At Springfield I remember one Yale-Harvard gamestarted with ten men of my own school, Exeter, in the game. In anotherYale game we were told to look ugly and defiant as we lined up to faceYale, but I was forced to laugh long and hard when I found myself facingFrankie Barbour, the little Yale quarter, who lived with me in the samedormitory at Exeter for three years. "

[Illustration: BREAKERS AHEAD

Phil King in the Old Days. ]

CHAPTER IX

THE NINETIES AND AFTER

Men of to-day who never had an opportunity of seeing Foster Sanford playwill be interested in some anecdotes of his playing days and to read inanother chapter of this book some of his coaching experiences. 

"As a boy, " said Sandy, "I lived in New Haven. I chalked the lines onthe football field for the game in which Tilly Lamar made his famous runfor Princeton. I played on the college team two years before I enteredYale. I learned a lot of football playing against Billy Rhodes, thatgreat Yale tackle. 

"I'll tell you about the day I made the Yale team in my freshman year. Pa Corbin took me in hand. I think he wanted to see if I had lots ofnerve. He told me to report at nine o'clock for practice. He put methrough a hard, grueling work-out, showing me how to snap the ball; howto charge and body check. All this took place in a driving rain, and hekept me out until one o'clock, when he said:

"'You can change your jersey now; that is, put on a dry one. '

"I went over to the training table then to see if I couldn't get somedinner. Believe me, I was hungry. But every one had finished his mealand all I could pick up was the things that were left. Here I ran into afellow named Brennen, who said:

"'They're trying to do you up. This is the day they are deciding whetheryou will be center rush or not. '

"I then went out to Yale Field and joined the rest of the players, andthe stunts they put me through that afternoon I will never forget. But Iremembered what Brennen had told me, and it made me play all the harder. To tell the truth, after practice, I realized that I was so sore I couldhardly put one foot ahead of the other. To make matters worse, thecoaches told me to run in to town, a distance of two miles, while _they_drove off in a bus. I didn't catch the bus until they were on ParkStreet, but I pegged along just the same and beat them in to the gate. Billy Rhodes and Pa Corbin took care of me and rubbed me down. It seemsas though they rubbed every bit of skin off of me. I was like fire. 

"That's the day I made the Yale team. 

"I was twenty years old, six feet tall, and weighed about 200 pounds. "

When I asked Sandy who gave him the hardest game of his life, he repliedpromptly:

"Wharton, of Pennsylvania. He got through me. "

Parke Davis' enthusiasm for football is known the country over. Fromhis experience as a player, as a coach and writer, he has become anauthority. Let us read some of his recollections. 

"Years ago there was a high spirited young player at Princeton servinghis novitiate upon the scrub. One day an emergency transferred him forthe first time in his career to the Varsity. The game was against asmall college. This sudden promotion was possible through his fortunateknowledge of the varsity signals. Upon the first play a fumble occurred. Our hero seized the ball. A long service upon the scrub had ingrainedhim to regard the Princeton Varsity men always as opponents. In theexcitement of the play he became confused, when lo! he leaped intoflight toward the wrong goal. Dashing around Princeton's left end hereversed his field and crossed over to the right. Phil King, Princeton'squarterback, was so amazed at the performance that he was too spellboundto tackle his comrade. Down the backfield the player sped towards hisown goal. Shep Homans, his fullback, took in the impending catastropheat a glance and dashed forward, laid the halfback low with a sharptackle, thereby preventing a safety. The game was unimportant, thePrinceton's score was large, so the unfortunate player, although thebutt of many a jest, soon survived all jokes and jibes and became intime a famous player. "

"The first Princeton-Yale game in 1873 being played under the oldAssociation rules was waged with a round ball. In the first scrimmage aterrific report sounded across the field. When the contending playershad been separated the poor football was found upon the field aflattened sheet of rubber. Two toes had struck it simultaneously or someone's huge chest had crushed it and the ball had exploded. 

"Whenever men are discussing the frantic enthusiasm of some fellows ofthe game I always recall the following episode as a standard ofmeasurement. The Rules Committee met one night at the Martinique in NewYork for their annual winter session. Just as the members were goingupstairs to convene, I had the pleasure of introducing George FosterSanford to Fielding H. Yost. The introduction was made in the middle ofthe lobby directly in the way of the traffic passing in and out of themain door. The Rules Committee had gone into its regular session; thehour was eight o'clock in the evening. When they came down at midnightthese two great football heroes were standing in the very spot wherethey were introduced four hours before and they were talking as they hadbeen every minute throughout the four hours about football. Members ofthe Committee joked with the two enthusiasts and then retired. When theycame down stairs the next morning at eight o'clock they found the twofanatics seated upon a bench nearby still talking football, and thatafternoon when the Committee had finished its labors and had adjourned_sine die_ they left Sanford and Yost still in the lobby, still on thebench, hungry and sleepy and still talking football. "

This anecdote will be a good one for Parke Davis' friends to read, forhow he ever stayed out of that talk-fest is a mystery--maybe he did. 

Now that Yost and Sanford have retired we will let Parke continue. 

"A few years ago everybody except Dartmouth men laughed at the footballwhich, bounding along the ground at Princeton suddenly jumped over thecross bar and gave to Princeton a goal from the field which carried withit the victory. But did you ever hear that in the preceding season, in agame between two Southern Pennsylvania colleges, a ball went awry from adrop kick, striking in the chest a policeman who had strayed upon thefield? The ball rebounded and cleanly caromed between the goal post fora goal from the field. Years ago Lafayette and Pennsylvania StateCollege were waging a close game at Easton. Suddenly, and without beingnoticed, Morton F. Jones, Lafayette's famous center-rush in those days, left the field of play to change his head gear. The ball was snapped inplay and a fleet Penn State halfback broke through Lafayette's line, and, armed with the ball, dodged the second barriers and threatened by adashing sprint to score in the extreme corner of the field. As hereached the 10-yard line, to the amazement of all, Jones dashed out ofthe side line crowd upon the field between the 10-yard line and hisgoal, thereby intercepting the State halfback, tackling him so sharplythat the latter dropped the ball. Jones picked it up and ran it back 40yards. There was no rule at that time which prevented the play, and soPenn-State ultimately was defeated. Jones not only was a hero, but hisexploit long remained a mystery to many who endeavored to figure out howhe could have been 25 yards ahead of the ball and between the runner andhis own goal line. "

A story is told of the wonderful dodging ability of Phil King, Princeton'93. He was known throughout the football world as one of the shiftiestrunners of his day. Through his efficient work, King had fairly won thegame against Yale in '93. The next year the Yale men made up their mindsthat the only way to defeat Princeton was to take care of King, and theywere ever on the alert to watch him whenever he got the ball. The wholeYale team was looking for King throughout this game. 

On the kick-off Phil got the ball, and all the Yale forwards began toshout, "Here he comes, here he comes, " and then as he was cleverlydodging and evading the Yale players, one of the backs, who was waitingto tackle him low, was heard to say, "There he goes. "

Those of the old-timers who study the picture of the flying wedge on theopposite page will get a glimpse of Phil King about to set in motionone of the most devilishly ingenious maneuvers in the history of thegame. With all the formidable power behind him, the old reliables ofwhat the modern analytical coaches are pleased to term the farce plays. Balliet, Beef Wheeler, Biffy Lea, Gus Holly, Frank Morse, DoggyTrenchard, Douglas Ward, Knox Taylor, Harry Brown, Jerry McCauley, andJim Blake; King, nevertheless, stood out in lonely eminence, ready totouch the ball down, await the thunder of the joining lines ofinterference and pick up the tremendous pace, either at the apex of thecrashing V or cunningly concealed and swept along to meet the terrificimpact with the waiting line of Blue. Great was the crash thereof, andit was a safe wager that King with the ball would not go unscathed. 

[Illustration: LOOK OUT, PRINCETON!]

This kind of football brought to light the old-time indomitable courageof which the stalwarts of those days love to talk at every gridironreunion. 

But for the moment let us give Yale the ball and stand the giantPrinceton team upon defense. Let us watch George Adee get the ball fromPhil Stillman and with his wonderful football genius develop a smashingplay enveloped in a locked line of blue, grim with the menace of OrvilleHickok, Jim McCrea, Anse Beard, Fred Murphy, Frank Hinkey and JackGreenway. 

Onward these mighty Yale forwards ground their way through thePrinceton defense, making a breach through which the mighty Butterworth, Bronc Armstrong and Brink Thorne might bring victory to Yale. 

This was truly a day when giants clashed. 

As you look at these pictures do the players of to-day wonder any longerthat the heroes of the olden time are still loyal to the game of theirfirst love?

If you ever happen to go to China, I am sure one of the first Americansyou will hear about would be Pop Gailey, once a king of football centersand now a leader in Y. M. C. A. Work in China. 

Lafayette first brought Pop Gailey forth in '93 and '94, and he was thechampion All-American center of the Princeton team in '96. He had awonderful influence over the men on the team. He was an example wellworth following. His manly spirit was an inspiration to those about him. After one of the games a newspaper said:

"Old Gailey stands firm as the Eternal Calvinistic Faith, which heintends to preach when his football scrimmages are over. "

To Charlie Young, the present professor of physical instruction of theCornell University gymnasium, I cannot pay tribute high enough for thefine football spirit and the high regard with which we held him while hewas at the Princeton Seminary. He certainly loved to play football andhe used to come out and play on the scrub team against the Princetonvarsity. He was not eligible to play on the Princeton team, as he hadplayed his allotted time at Cornell. 

The excellent practice he gave the Princeton team--yes, more thanpractice: it was oftentimes victory for him as well as the scrub. Hemade Poe and Palmer ever alert and did much to make them the stars theywere, as Charlie's long suit was running back punts. His head work wasalways in evidence. He was a great field general; one of his mostexcellent qualities was that of punting. His was an ideal example formen to follow. Princeton men were the better for having played with andagainst a high type man like Charlie Young. 

AN EVENING WITH JIM RODGERS

Jim Rodgers gave all there was in him to Yale athletics. Not a singleyear has passed since he played his last game of football but has seenhim back at the Yale field, coaching and giving the benefit of hisexperience. 

Jim Rodgers was captain of the '97 team at New Haven, and the traditionsthat can be written about a winning captain are many. No greaterpleasure can be afforded any man who loves to hear an old footballplayer relate experiences than to listen, while Rodgers tells of his ownplaying days, and of some of the men in his experience. 

It was once my pleasure to spend an evening with Jim in his home;really a football home. Mrs. Rodgers knows much of football and as Jimenthusiastically and with wonderfully keen recollection tells of the oldgames, a twelve-year-old boy listens, as only a boy can to his father, his great hero, and as Jim puts his hand on the boy's shoulders he tellshim the ideal of his dreams is to have him make the Yale team some day, and an enthusiastic daughter who sits near hopes so too. His scrap booksand athletic pictures go to make a rare collection. 

Many of us would like to have seen Jim Rodgers begin his football careerat Andover when he was sixteen years old. It was there that his 180pounds of bone and muscle stood for much. It was at Andover that BillOdlin, that great Dartmouth man, coached so many wonderful prep. Schoolstars, who later became more famous at the colleges to which they went. 

Rodgers went to Yale with a big rep. He had been captain of the Andoverteam. In the fall of '92 Andover beat Brown 24 to 0. Jim Rodgers wasvery conspicuous on the field, not only on account of his good playingand muscular appearance, but because his blond hair, which he wore verylong as a protection, was very noticeable. 

From this Yale player, whose friends are legion, let us read someexperiences and catch his spirit:

"I was never a star player, but I was a reliable. In my freshman year Idid not make the team, owing to the fact that I had bad knees and bettercandidates were available. This was the one year in Yale football, perhaps in all football, when the team that played the year before cameback to college with not a man missing. Frank Hinkey had been captainthe year before and then came through as senior captain. There was not asenior on Frank Hinkey's team. The first team, therefore, all came back. 

"Al Jerrems and Louis Hinkey were the only additions to the old team. 

"Perhaps the keenest disappointment that ever came to me in football wasthe fact that I could not play in that famous Yale-Harvard game myfreshman year. However, I came so very near it that Billy Rhodes andHeffelfinger came around to where I was sitting on the side lines, afterFred Murphy had been taken out of the game. They started to limber me upby running me up and down the side line, but Hinkey, the captain, cameover to the side line and yelled for Chadwick, who went into the game. Ihad worked myself up into a highly nervous condition anticipating goingin, but now I realized my knees would not allow it. The disappointmentthat day, though, was very severe. To show you what a hold these oldgames had on me, many years after this game Hinkey and I were talkingabout this particular game, when he said to me: 'You never knew howclose you came to getting into that Springfield game, Jim. ' Then I toldhim of my experience, but he told me he had it in his mind to put me inat halfback, and ever since then, when I think of it, cold chills run upand down my spine. It absolutely scared me stiff to think how I mighthave lost that game, even though I never actually participated in it. 

"The Yale football management, however, on account of my work during theseason decided to give me my Y, gold football and banner. The banner wasa blue flag with the names of the team and the position they played andthe score, 12 to 6. It was a case where I came so near winning it thatthey gave it to me. "

Jim Rodgers played three years against Garry Cochran and this greatPrinceton captain stands out in his recollections of Yale-Princetongames. He goes on to say:

"If it had not been for Garry Cochran, I might be rated as one of thebig tackles of the football world to-day. I used to dream of him threeweeks before the Princeton game; how I was going to stand him off, andlet me tell you if you got in between Doc Hillebrand and Garry Cochranyou were a sucker. Those games were a nightmare to me. Cochran used tofall on my foot, box me in and hold me there, and keep me out of theplay. "

Jim Rodgers is very modest in this statement. The very reason that heis regarded as a truly wonderful tackle is on account of the great gamehe played against Cochran. How wonderfully reliable he was footballhistory well records. He was always to be depended upon. 

"In the fall of 1897 when I was captain of the Yale team, " Rodgerscontinues, "perhaps the most spectacular Yale victory was pulled off, when Princeton, with the exception of perhaps two men, and virtually thesame team that had beaten Yale the year before, came on the field andthrough overconfidence or lack of training did not show up to their bestform. We were out for blood that day. I said to Johnny Baird, Princetonquarterback: 'Princeton is great to-day. We have played ten minutes andyou haven't scored. ' Johnny, with a look of determination upon his face, said, 'You fellows can play ten times ten minutes and you'll neverscore, ' but the Princeton football hangs in the Yale trophy room. 

"I have always claimed that Charlie de Saulles put the Yale '97 team onthe map. Charlie de Saulles, with his three wonderful runs, whichaveraged not less than 60 yards each, really brought about the victory. 

"Frank Butterworth as head coach will always have my highest regard; hedid more than any one alive could have done to pull off an apparentlyimpossible victory. "

"One great feature of this game was Ad Kelly's series of individualgains, aided by Hillebrand and Edwards, through Rodgers and Chadwick. Kelly took the ball for 40 consecutive yards up the field in gains offrom one to three yards each, when fortunately for Yale, a fumble gavethem the ball. When the fumble occurred, I happened at the time to breakthrough very fast. There lay the ball on the ground, and nobody butmyself near it. The great chance was there to pick it up and perhaps, even with my slow speed, gain 20 to 30 yards for Yale. No such thought, however, entered my head. I wanted that ball and curled up around it andhugged it as a tortoise would close in its shell. My recollection is nowthat I sat there for about five minutes before anybody deigned to fallon me. At all events, I had the ball. 

"Gordon Brown played as a freshman on my team. He had a football facethat I liked. He weighed 185 pounds and was 6 feet 4 inches tall. Gordonwent up against Bouvé in the Harvard game, and the critics stated thatBouvé was the best guard in the country that year. I said to Gordon, 'Play this fellow the game of his life, and when you get him, let meknow and I'll send some plays through you. ' After about sixty minutes ofplay Gordon came to me and said, 'Jim, I've got him, ' and he had him allright, for we were then successful in gaining through that part of theHarvard line. Gordon Brown was a very earnest player. He would allownothing to stop him. He got his ears pretty well bruised up and theybothered him a great deal. In fact, he did have to lay off two or threedays. He came to me and said, 'Do you think this injury will keep me outof the big game?' 'Well, I'll see if the trainer cannot make a head-gearfor you. ' 'Well, I'll tell you this, Jim, ' said Gordon, 'I'll have 'emcut off before I'll stay out of the game. ' This amused me, and I said, 'Gordon, you have nothing of beauty to lose. You will keep your ears andyou will play in the big games. '

"Gordon Brown's team, under Malcolm McBride as head coach, was a wonder. This eleven, to our minds, was the best ever turned out by YaleUniversity. They defeated Princeton 29 to 5, and the powerful Harvardteam 28 to 0. Their one weakness was that they had no long punter, but, as they expressed it to me afterward, they had no need of one. At onetime during the game with Harvard they took the ball on their own10-yard line and, instead of kicking, marched it up the field, and in avery few rushes scored a touchdown. Harvard men afterwards told me thatafter seeing a few minutes of the game they forgot the strain ofHarvard's defeat in their admiration of Yale's playing. This team showedthe highest co-ordination between the Yale coaching staff, the college, and the players, and they set a high-water mark for all future teams toaim at, which was all due to Gordon Brown's genius for organization andleadership. "

It has been my experience in talking of football stars with some of theold-timers that Frank Hinkey heads the list. I cannot let Frank Hinkeyremain silent this time. He says:

"I think it was in the Fall of '95 that Skim Brown, who played thetackle position, was captain of the scrubs team at New Haven. Brown wasa very energetic scrub captain. He was continuously urging on his men tobetter work. As you recall, the cry, 'Tackle low and run low, ' wascontinuously called after the teams in those days. Brown's particularpet phrase in urging his men was, 'Run low. ' So that he, whenever thehalfback received the ball, would immediately start to holler, 'Runlow, ' and would keep this up until the ball was dead. He got so in thehabit of using this call when on the offense that one day when thequarterback called upon him to run with the ball from the tackleposition even before he got the ball he started to cry, 'Run low, ' whilecarrying the ball himself, and continued to cry out, 'Run low, ' evenafter he had gained ground for about fifteen yards and until the ballwas dead. 

"It was in the Fall of '92 when Vance McCormick was captain of the Yaleteam, and Diney O'Neal was trying for the guard position. As you know, the linemen are very apt to know only the signals on offense which callfor an opening at their particular position. And even then a great manyof them never know the signals. Now Diney was bright enough, but likemost linemen did not know the signals. It happened one day thatMcCormick, at the quarterback position, called several plays during theafternoon that required O'Neal to make an opening. O'Neal invariablyfailed because he didn't know the signals. McCormick, suspecting this, finally gave O'Neal a good calling down. The calling down fell flat inits effects on O'Neal as his reply to McCormick was, 'To Hell with yourmystic signs and symbols--give me the ball!'"

"The real founder of football at Dartmouth was Bill Odlin, " writes EdHall. "Odlin learned his football at Andover, and came to Dartmouth withthe class of '90 and it was while he was in college that football reallystarted. He was practically the only coach. He was a remarkablekicker--certainly one of the best, if not the best. In the Fall of '89Odlin was captain of the team and playing fullback. Harvard and Yaleplayed at Springfield and on the morning of the Harvard-Yale gameDartmouth and Williams played on the same field. It was in this game inthe Fall of '89 that he made his most remarkable kick in which the windwas a very important element. In the second half Odlin was standingpractically on his own ten yard line. The ball was passed back to him tobe kicked and he punted. The kick itself was a remarkable kick andperfect in every way, but when the wind caught it it became a wonder andit went along like a balloon. The wind was really blowing a gale and theball landed away beyond the Williams' quarterback and the first bouncecarried it several yards beyond their goal line. Of course any such kickas this would have been absolutely impossible except for the extremevelocity and pressure of the wind, but it was easily the longest kick Iever saw. 

"Three times during Odlin's football playing he kicked goals from the 65yard line and while at Andover he kicked a placed kick from a mark inthe exact center of the field, scoring a goal. "

When Brown men discuss football their recollections go back to the daysof Hopkins and Millard, of Robinson, McCarthy, Fultz, Everett Colby andGammons, Fred Murphy, Frank Smith, the giant guard; that greatspectacular player, Richardson, and other men mentioned elsewhere inthis book. 

In a recent talk with that sterling fellow, Dave Fultz, he told mesomething about his football career. It was, in part, as follows:--

"I played at Brown in '94, '95, '96 and '97, captaining the team in mylast year. Gammons and I played in the backfield together. He wasunquestionably a great runner with the ball; one of the hardest men tohurt, I think, I ever saw. I have often seen him get jolts, go down, andnaturally one would think go out entirely, but when I would go up tohim, he would jump up as though he had not felt it. I think EverettColby was as good a man interfering for the runner as I have seen. Heplayed quarterback and captained the Brown team in '96. I don't thinkthere was ever a better quarterback than Wyllys D. Richardson, Rich, aswe used to call him. "

[Illustration: BARRETT ON ONE OF HIS FAMOUS DASHES]

[Illustration: EXETER-ANDOVER GAME, 1915]

Dave Fultz is very modest and when he discusses his football experienceshe sidetracks one and talks of his fellow college players. Now that Ihave pinned him down, he goes on to say:

"The day before we played the Indians one year my knee hurt me so muchthat I had to go to the doctor. He put some sort of ointment on it. Twodays before this game I could hardly move my leg; the doctor threatenedme with water on the knee; he told me to go to bed and stay there, but Itold him we had a game in New York and I had to go. He said, 'All right, if you want water on the knee. ' I said, 'I've got to go if I am at allable. ' Anyway, I went on down to New York with the team and played inthe game. All I needed was to get warmed up good and I went along ingreat shape. "

Those who remember reading the accounts of that game will recall thatDave Fultz made some miraculous runs that day and was a team in himself. 

Fred Murphy, who was captain of the '98 team at Brown and played endrush, says:

"I think Dave Fultz played under more difficulties than any man thatever played the game. I have seen him play with a heavy knee brace. Hehad his shoulder dislocated several times and I have seen him going intothe game with his arm strapped down to his side, so he could just usehis forearm. He played a number of games that way. That happened when hewas captain. He was absolutely conscientious, fearless and a goodleader. "

In 1904, Fred Murphy coached at Exeter. Fred says:

"This was probably the best team that Exeter had had up to that time. The team was captained by Tommy Thompson, who afterwards played atCornell. Eddie Hart at that time stripped at about 195 pounds. This wasthe famous team on which Donald MacKenzie MacFadyen played and latermade the Princeton varsity. Tad Jones was quarterback the first year hecame to school. In those days they took to football intuitively withoutmuch coaching. You never had to tell Tad Jones a thing more than once. He would think things out for himself. He showed great powers ofleadership and good football sense. Howard Jones and Harry Vaughn playedon this team. "

"Charlie McCarthy of Brown will long be remembered for his great puntingability, " says Fred Murphy. "He had a great many pet theories. McCarthyis one of the best football men in the Brown list. " In a letter which Ihave received from Charlie McCarthy, as a result of a wonderful victoryover Minnesota one year, McCarthy writes:

"The students of the University gave me a beautiful gold watch engravedon the inside--'To our Friend Mac from the students of the University ofWisconsin. '" This shows how highly McCarthy is held at this University. 

McCarthy continues, "I go out every fall and kick around with the boysstill and I hope to do so the rest of my life if I get a chance. I thinkthe greatest football player I ever saw was Frank Hinkey. Speaking of myown ability as a player, I haven't much to say. I was not much of afootball player but I got by some way. I neither had the physique, northe ability, but tried to do my best. I am glad to say no one evercalled me a quitter. I am proud to say that Brown University gave me abeautiful silver cup at the end of my four years for the best work infootball, although the said cup belongs by rights to ten other men onthe team. "

As one visits the dressing room of the New York Giants and sees theattendant work upon the wonderful physique of Christy Mathewson, onecannot help but realize what a potent factor he must have been onBucknell's team. When Christy played he was 6 feet tall and weighed 168pounds stripped. He prepared at Keystone Academy, playing in the line. In 1898, when he went to Bucknell, he was immediately put at fullbackand played there three years. 

Fred Crolius says of him: "Of all the long distance punters with hardkicks to handle, Percy Haughton and Christy Mathewson stand out in hismemory. Mathewson had the leg power to turn his spiral over. That is, instead of dropping where ordinary spirals always drop, an additionalturn seemed to carry the ball over the head of the back who was waitingfor the ball, often carrying some fifteen or twenty yards beyond. "

Football has no more ardent admirer than Christy Mathewson. It will beinteresting to hear what he has to say of his experience in the game offootball. 

"I liked to play football, " says Mathewson. "I was a better footballplayer than a baseball player in those days. I was considered a goodpunter. I was not much as a line bucker. The captain of the team alwaysgave me a football to take with me in the summer. I occasionally had anopportunity to practice kicking after I was through with my baseballwork. 

"At Taunton, Mass. , my first summer, I ran across a fellow who wasplaying third base on the team for which I was pitching. MacAndrews washis name. He was a Dartmouth man. He showed me how to kick. He showed mehow to drop a spiral. I liked to drop-kick and used to practice itquite a little. "

[Illustration:

Means Langford Hollenback Douglass Gaston Marks AllerdiceMiller Manier Schultz Draper

BILL HOLLENBACK COMING AT YOU]

"I remember how tough it was for me when Bucknell played Annapolis theyear before when the Navy team had a man who could kick such wonderfulspirals. They were terribly hard to handle, and I was determined toprofit by his example. So I just hung on for dear life, punting spiralsall summer. Later I used to watch George Brooke punt a good deal when hewas coaching. "

"At that time drop kickers were not so numerous. I had some recollectionof a fellow named O'Day, who had a great reputation as a drop-kicker, asdid Hudson of Carlisle. In 1898 we were to play Pennsylvania. Our teamserved as a preliminary game for Pennsylvania. They often beat us bylarge scores. Since then we have had teams which made a 6 to 5 score. But they had good teams in my time. We never scored on Penn, as Irecall. 

"Our coach said one day, at the training table, 'I'll give a raincoat tothe fellow who scores on Penn to-day. ' The manager walked in andoverheard his remark and added, 'Yes, and I'll give a pair of shoes tothe man who makes the second score against Penn. ' That put some 'pep'into us. Anyway, we were on Penn's 35-yard line and I kicked a fieldgoal. After this we rushed the ball and got up to Penn's 40-yard line, and from there I scored again, thereby winning the shoes and theraincoat. 

"I went up to Columbia one day to see them practice. It was in the dayswhen Foster Sanford was their coach. He saw me standing on the sidelines; came over to where I was; looked me over once or twice andfinally said:

"'Why aren't you trying for the team? I think you'd make a footballplayer if you came out. '

"I said I guessed I would not be eligible. 

"'Why?' asked Sandy. 

"'Well, " I said, 'because I'm a professional. ' Then some fellows aroundme grinned and told Sanford who I was. 

"I love to think of the good old football days and some of the spiritthat entered collegiate contests. Once in a while, in baseball, I feelthe thrill of that spirit. It was only recently that I experienced thatget-together spirit, where a team full of life with everybody workingtogether wrought great results. That same old thrill came to me duringone of the Giants' trips in the West in which they won seventeenstraight victories. 

"There is much good fellowship in football. I played against teams whosecheer leaders would give you a rousing cheer as you made a good play;then again you would meet the fellow who, when you were down in thescrimmage, or after you had kicked the ball, would try to put you downand out. 

"One of the pleasantest recollections I have of playing was myexperience against the two great academy teams, West Point andAnnapolis. 

"Never shall I forget one year when Bucknell played West Point. At anexciting moment in the game, Bucknell players made it possible for me tobe in a position to kick the goal from the field from a difficult angle. After the score had been made the West Point team stood there stupefied, and when the crowd got the idea that a goal had been kicked from apeculiar angle, they gave us a rousing cheer. Such is the proper spiritof American football; to see some sunshine in your opponent's play. 

"Cheering helps so much to build up one's enthusiasm. "

Al Sharpe was one of the greatest all-around athletes that ever wore theblue of Yale. He, too, recalls the Yale-Princeton game of 1899 at NewHaven, but the memory comes to him as a nightmare. 

"When I think about the 11 to 10 game at New Haven, which Princetonwon, " said Sharpe the last time I saw him, "I remember that after I hadkicked a goal from the field and the score was 10 to 6, Skim Brownrushed up to me, and nearly took me off my feet with one of his friendlyslaps across my back. Well do I remember the joy of that great Yaleplayer at this stage of the game. Later, when Poe made his kick and Isaw that the ball was going over the bar, I remember that the thing Iwished most was that I could have been up in the line where I might havehad a chance to block the kick. 

"My recollections of making the Yale team centered chiefly around threefacts, none of which I was allowed to forget. First, that I was not anygood, second that I couldn't tackle, and third that I ran like anice-wagon. Since then I have seen so many really good players upon mydifferent squads that I must admit the truth of the above statement, although at the time I am frank to say I took exception to it. Such isthe optimism of youth. "

Jack Munn, a former Princeton halfback, tells the following story:

"My brother, Edward Munn, was the manager of the Princeton team in 1893. In the spring of that year there was a conference with Yalerepresentatives to decide where the game was to be played the followingfall. Berkeley Oval, Brooklyn, Manhattan Field, and the respectivefields of the two colleges all came under discussion, and I believe thatsome of the newspapers must have taken it up. One afternoon in theMurray Hill Hotel, when representatives of Yale and Princeton werediscussing the various possibilities, a bellboy knocked at the door andhanded my brother an elaborately engraved card on which, among variousdecorations, the name of Colonel Cody was to be distinguished. BuffaloBill was invited to come up, and it seems that, reading or hearing ofthe discussion about the field for the game, he came to make a formaloffer of the use of his tent. After setting forth the desirability ofstaging the game under the auspices of his Wild West Show, he broughthis offer to a close with his trump card. 

"'For, gentlemen, ' said he, 'besides all the other advantages which Ihave mentioned, there is this further attraction--my tent is well andsufficiently lighted so that you can not only hold a matinee, but youcan give an evening performance as well. '

"And those were the days of the flying wedge and two forty-five minutehalves with only ten minutes intermission!"

Walter C. Booth

Walter C. Booth, a former Princeton center rush, was one of the selectcoterie of Eastern football men that wended its way westward to carrythe eastern system into institutions that had had no opportunity tobuild up the game, yet were hungry for real football. Booth's trip was asuccessful one. 

"In the autumn of 1900, after graduating from college, I arrived atLincoln, Nebraska, in the dual rôle of law student and football coach ofthe State University, " says Booth. "This was my first trip west ofPittsburgh and I viewed my new duties with some apprehension. All doubtsand fears were soon put at rest by the hearty encouragement and supportthat I received and retained in my Nebraska football relations. 

"Most of the Faculty were behind football, and H. Benjamin Andrews, atthat time head of the University, was a staunch supporter of the game. Doctor Roscoe Pound, later dean of Harvard Law School, was the father ofNebraska football. He had as intimate an acquaintance with the rule bookas any official I have ever known. His advice on knotty problems wasalways valuable. James I. Wyer, afterward State Librarian of New York, was our first financial director, and it was largely by reason of hisunflagging zeal that football survived. 

"Football spirit ran high in the Missouri Valley and there were manyhard fought contests among the teams of Iowa, Missouri, Kansas andNebraska. Those who saw these games or played in them will never forgetthem. 

"Many amusing things happened in that section as well as in the East. The Haskell Indians were a picturesque team. They represented theGovernment School at Lawrence, Kansas--an institution similar to that ofCarlisle. In fact, many of the same players played on both teams atdifferent times. We always found them a hard nut to crack, and Redwater, Archiquette, Hauser and other Indian stars made their names well knownon our field. 

"John Outland, the noted Pennsylvania player, had charge of the Indianswhen I knew them. He was a great player and a fine type of man, whosucceeded in imparting some of his own personality to his pupils. Heonce showed me a dark faced Indian in Lawrence who must have been atleast six feet four inches tall and of superb physique. He was a fullblooded Cheyenne and went by the name of Bob Tail Billy. Outland triedhard to break him in at guard, but as no one understood Bob Tail'sdialect, and he understood no one else, he never learned the signals, and proved unavailable. 

"We traveled far to play in those days; west to Boulder, Colorado, handicapped by an altitude of 5000 feet, south to Kansas City and northas far as St. Paul and Minneapolis. We were generally about 500 milesfrom our base. We were not able to take many deadheads. "

Harry Kersburg is one of the most enthusiastic Harvard football playersI have ever met. He played guard on Harvard in 1904, '05 and '06 and isoften asked back to Cambridge to coach the center men. From his playingdays let us read what he prizes in his recollections:

"My college career began at Lehigh, with the idea of eventually going toHarvard. As a football enthusiast, I came under the observation ofDoctor Newton, who was coaching Lehigh at that time. Doc taught me thefirst football I ever knew. In one of the games against Union CollegeDoc asked me before the game whether if he put me in I would deliver thegoods. I said I would try and do my best. He said, 'That won't do. Idon't want any man on my team who says, "I'll try. " A man has got to say"I'll do it. " From that time on I never said, 'I'll try, ' but alwayssaid 'I'll do it. '

"I shall never forget the day I played against John DeWitt. I did notknow much about the finer points of football then. I weighed about 165pounds with my football clothes on, was five feet nine inches tall andsixteen years old. I shall always remember seeing that great big hawk ofa man opposite me. I did not have cold feet. I knew I had to go in andgive the best account of myself I could. It was like going up against astone wall. John DeWitt certainly could use his hands, with the resultthat I resembled paper pulp when I came out of that game. DeWitt dideverything to me but kill me. After I got my growth, weight andstrength, plus my experience, I always had a desire to play againstDeWitt to see if he could the same thing again. 

"In a Harvard-Yale game one year I remember an incident that took placebetween Carr, Shevlin and myself, " says Harry. 

"Tom Shevlin usually stood near the goal line when Yale received thekick-off. As a matter of fact he caught the ball most of the time. Thenight before the Yale game in 1905, Bill Carr and myself were discussingwhat might come up the following day. Inasmuch as we always lined upside by side on the kick off, we made a wager that if Harvard kicked offwe would each be the first to tackle Shevlin. 

"The next day Harvard won the toss and chose to kick off, and as we hadhoped, Shevlin caught the ball. Carr and I raced down the field, eachintent on being the first to tackle him. I crashed into Shevlin andspilled him, upsetting myself at the same time. When I picked myself upand looked around, Carr had Shevlin pinned securely to the ground. Afterthe game we told Shevlin of our wager and he said that under thecircumstances all bets were off as both had won. "

Former U. S. Attorney-General William H. Lewis, who is one of theleading representatives of the colored race, needs no introduction tothe football world, says Kersburg. 'Bill, ' or 'Lew, ' as he is familiarlyknown to all Harvard men, laid the foundation for the present system ofline play at Cambridge. He was actively engaged in coaching until 1907when he was obliged to give it up due to pressure of business. 

"In 1905 'Hooks' Burr and I played the guard positions. 'Lew' seemed tocenter his attention on us as we always received more 'calls' after eachgame than the other linemen for doing this, that, or the other thingwrong. In the Brown game of this year Hooks played against a coloredman who was exceptionally good and who, Hooks admitted afterward, 'putit all over' him. The Monday following this game we received our usual'call. ' After telling me what a rotten game I had played he turned onBurr and remarked. 'What the devil was the matter with you on Saturday, Hooks? That guard on the Brown team "smeared" you. ' Burr replied, 'Idon't know what was the matter with me. I used my hands on that nigger'shead and body all through the game but it didn't seem to do any good. 'Several of us who were listening felt a bit embarrassed that Hooks hadunwittingly made this remark. The tension was relieved, however, whenLew drawled out, 'Why the devil didn't you kick him in the shins?' Aburst of laughter greeted this sally. "

Donald Grant Herring, better known to football men in and out ofPrinceton as Heff, is one of the few American players of internationalexperience. After a period of splendid play for the Tigers he went toEngland with a Rhodes Scholarship. At Merton College he continued hisathletic career, and it was not long before he became a member of one ofthe most famous Rugby fifteens ever turned out by Oxford. 

Heff has always said that he enjoyed the English game, but whether thebrand he played was American or English, his opponent usually gotlittle enjoyment out of a hard afternoon with this fine Princetonathlete. 

"In the late summer of 1903, I was on a train coming east from Montana, "Heff tells me, "after a summer spent in the Rockies. A companionrecognized among the passengers Doc Hillebrand, who was coming East fromhis ranch to coach the Princeton team. This companion who was still aLawrenceville schoolboy, had the nerve to brace Hillebrand and tell himin my presence that I was going to enter Princeton that fall and that Iwas a star football player. You can imagine what Doc thought, and how Ifelt. However, Doc was kind enough to tell me to report for practice andto recognize me when I appeared on the field several weeks later. I soondrifted over to the freshman field and I want to admit here what causedme to do so. It was nothing more nor less than the size of Jim Cooney'slegs. Jim was a classmate of mine whom I first saw on the football fieldwhen he and another tackle candidate were engaged in that delicatepastime known to linemen as breaking through. I realized at once that, if Jim and I were ever put up against one another, I would stand aboutas much chance of shoving him back as I would if I tried to push a steamroller. So I went over to the freshman field, where Howard Henry wascoaching at the time. He was sending ends down the field and I rememberbeing thrilled, after beating a certain bunch of them, at hearing himsay: 'You in the brown jersey, come over here in the first squad. '

"DeWitt's team beat Cornell 44-0. For years there hung on the walls ofthe Osborn Club at Princeton a splendid action picture of Dana Kafermaking one of the touchdowns in that game. It was a mass on tackle play, and Jim Cooney was getting his Cornell opponent out of the way for Kaferto go over the line. The picture gave Jim dead away. He had a firm gripof the Cornell man's jersey and arm. Ten years or more afterward, agroup, including Cooney, was sitting in the Osborn Club. In a spirit offun one man said, 'Jim, we know now how you got your reputation as atackle. We can see it right up there on the wall. ' The next day thepicture was gone. 

"After I was graduated from Princeton in 1907 I went to Merton College, Oxford. There are twenty-two different colleges in Oxford and eighteenin Cambridge. Each one has its own teams and crews and plays a regularschedule. From the best of these college teams the university teams aredrawn. Each college team has a captain and a secretary, who acts asmanager. At the beginning of the college year (early October) thecaptain and secretary of each team go around among the freshmen of thecollege and try to get as many of them as possible to play theirparticular sport; mine Rugby football. After a few days the captainposts on the college bulletin board, which is always placed at thePorter's Lodge, a notice that a squash will be held on the collegefield. A squash is what we would call practice. 

[Illustration: "THE NEXT DAY THE PICTURE WAS GONE"

Jim Cooney Making a Hole for Dana Kafer. ]

"Sometimes for a few days before the game an Old Blue may come down toOxford and give a little coaching to the team. Here often the captaindoes all the coaching. The Cambridge match is for blood, and, whilefriendly enough, is likely to be much more savage than any other. In thematch I played in, which Oxford won 35-3, the record score in the wholeseries, which started in 1872, we had three men severely injured. In thefirst three minutes of the game one of our star backs was carried offthe field with a broken shoulder, while our captain was kicked in thehead and did not come out of his daze until about seven o'clock thatevening. He played throughout the game, however. Our secretary was offthe field with a knee cap out of place for more than half the game. Agame of Rugby, by the way, consists of two 45-minute halves, with athree minute intermission. There are no substitutes, and if a man isinjured, his team plays one man short. We beat Cambridge that year withthirteen men the greater part of the game, twelve for some time againsttheir full team of fifteen. Their only try (touchdown in plain American)was scored when we had twelve men on the field. We were champions ofEngland that year, and did not lose a match through the fall season, though we tied one game with the great Harlequins Club of London, whomwe afterward beat in the return game. Of the fine fellows who made upthat great Oxford team, six are dead, five of them 'somewhere inFrance. '"

Carl Flanders was a big factor in the Yale rush line. Foster Sanfordconsiders him one of the greatest offensive centers that ever played. Hewas six feet three and one-fourth inches tall and weighed 202 pounds. 

In 1906 Flanders coached the Indian team at Carlisle. Let us see some ofthe interesting things that characterize the Indian players, throughFlanders' experience. 

The nicknames with which the Indians labelled each other were mostlythose of animals or a weapon of defense. Mount Pleasant and Libby alwayscalled each other Knife. Bill Gardner was crowned Chicken Legs, Charles, one of the halfbacks, and a regular little tiger, was called Bird Legs. Other names fastened to the different players were Whale Bone, ShoeString, Tommyhawk and Wolf. 

The Indians always played cleanly as long as their opponents played thatway. Dillon, an old Sioux Indian, and one of the fastest guards I eversaw, was a good example of this. If anybody started rough play, Dillonwould say:

"Stop that, boys!" and the chap who was guilty always stopped. But ifan opponent continually played dirty football, Dillon would say grimly:"I'll get you!" On the next play or two, you'd never know how, the roughplayer would be taken out. Dillon had "got" his man. 

"Wallace Denny and Bemus Pierce got up a code of signals, using anIndian word which designated a single play. Among the Indian words whichdesignated these signals were Water-bucket, Watehnee, Coocoohee. I nevercould find out what it all meant, and following the Indian team by thiscode of signals was a task which was too much for me. "

Bill Horr, renowned in Colgate and Syracuse, writes: "Colgate Universityand Colgate Academy are under the same administration, and the footballteams were practicing when I entered school. I went out for the team andafter the second practice I was put into the scrimmage. I was greatlyimpressed with the game and continued for the afternoon practice, andplayed at tackle in the first game of the season. In four years ofwinning football I became acquainted with such wonderful athletes asRiley Castleman and Walter Runge of the Colgate Varsity team. 

"In the fall of 1905 I entered Syracuse University and played righttackle on the varsity team for four years and was captain of thevictorious 1908 team. In the four years I never missed a scrimmage or agame. 

"I think that one of the hardest games I ever played in was the gameagainst Princeton in 1908, when they had such stars as Siegling, MacFadyen, Eddie Dillon and Tibbott. The game ended in a scoreless tiewith the ball see-sawing back and forth on the 40-yard line. I had beenaccustomed to carry the ball, and had been successful in executing aforward pass of fifty-five yards in the Yale game the week before, placing the ball on the 1-yard line, only to lose it on a fumble. 

"I had the reputation of being a good-natured player, and indirectlyheard it rumored many times by coaches and football players that theywould like to see me fighting mad on the football field. The fewSyracuse rooters who journeyed to Easton the day we played Lafayette hadthat opportunity. Dowd was the captain of the Lafayette team. Next to mewas Barry, a first-class football player, who stripped in theneighborhood of 200 pounds. Just before the beginning of the second halfI was in a crouching position ready to start, when some one dealt me astinging blow on the ear. I was dazed for the time being. I turned toBarry and asked him who did it. He pointed to Dowd. From that instant Iwas determined to seek revenge. I was ignorant of the true culprit untilabout a year afterward, when Anderson, who played center, and was a goodfriend of mine, told me about it. It seemed that just before we went onthe field for the second half Buck O'Neil, who was coaching the Syracuseteam, told Barry to hit me and make me mad. "

CHAPTER X

COLLEGE TRADITIONS AND SPIRIT

College life in America is rich in traditions. Customs are handed downclass by class and year by year until finally they acquire the force oflaw. Each college and university has a community life and a character ofits own. 

The spirit of each institution abides within its walls. It cannot beinvaded by an outsider, or ever completely understood by one who has notgrown up in it. The atmosphere of a college community is conservative. It is the outcome of generations of student custom and thought, whichhave resolved themselves into distinct grooves. 

It requires a thorough understanding of the customs of college men, their antics and pranks, to appreciate the fact that the performers aresimply boys, carrying on the traditions of those gone before. Gray-haired graduates who know by experience what is embodied in collegespirit, join feelingly in the old customs of their college days, and inobserving the new customs which have grown out of the old. 

These traditional customs, some of them humorous, and others deeplymoving in their sentiment, are among the first things that impress thefreshman. He does not comprehend the meaning of them at once, nor doeshe realize that they are the product of generations of students, but hesoon learns that there is something more powerful in college life thanthe brick and mortar of beautiful buildings, or high passing marks inthe classroom. When he comes to know the value and the underlying spiritof the traditions of his college, he treasures them among the enduringmemories of his life. 

The business man who never enjoyed the advantage of going to college, ispuzzled as he witnesses the demonstration of undergraduate life, and hefails to catch the meaning; he does not understand; it has played nopart in his own experience; college customs seem absurd to him, and hefails to appreciate that in these traditions our American college spiritfinds expression. 

As an outsider views the result of a football victory, he sees perhapsonly the bitter look of defeat on the losers' faces, and is at a loss tounderstand the loyal spirit of thousands of graduates and undergraduateswho stand and cheer their team after defeat. Such a sight, undoubtedly, impresses him; but he turns his attention to the triumphant march of thevictorious sympathizers around the field and watches the winners beingborne aloft by hero worshipers; while hats by the thousands are beingtossed over the cross bar of the goal post that carried the winningplay. 

The snake dance of thousands of exulting students enlivens thescene--the spirit of glorious victory breaks loose. 

After the Harvard victory in 1908, in the midst of the excitement, aHarvard graduate got up from his seat, climbed over the fence, put hisderby hat and bull-dog pipe on the grass, walked solemnly out a fewpaces, turned two complete handsprings, walked back, put on his hat, picked up his pipe, climbed solemnly over the fence again and took hisplace in the crowd. He was very businesslike about it and didn't say aword. He had to get it out of his system--that was all. Nobody laughedat him. 

One sees gray-haired men stand and cheer, sing and enthuse over theirAlma Mater's team. For the moment the rest of the world is forgotten. Tears come with defeat to those on the grandstand, as well as to theplayers, and likewise happy smiles and joyous greetings come whenvictory crowns the day. 

In the midst of a crisis in the game, men and women, old and young, break over the bounds of conventionality, get acquainted with their seatmates and share the general excitement. The thrill of victory possessesthem and the old grads embrace each other after a winning touchdown. 

There may be certain streets in a college town upon which a freshman isnever seen. It may be that a freshman has to wear a certain kind of cap;his trousers must not be rolled up at the bottom. And if you should seea freshman standing on a balcony at night, singing some foolish song, with a crowd of sophomores standing below, you smile as you realize thatyou are witnessing the performance of some college custom. 

And if you see a young man dressed in an absurd fantastic costume, goingabout the streets of a city, or a quiet college town, it may mean aninitiation into a certain society or club, and you will note that hedoes his part with a quiet, earnest look upon his face, realizing thathe is carrying on a tradition which has endured for years. 

You hear the seniors singing on the campus, while the whole collegelistens. It is their hour. At games you see the cheer leaders take theirplaces in front of the grandstand, and as they bend and doublethemselves into all sorts of shapes, they bring out the cheers which goto make college spirit strong. 

If you were at Yale, on what is known as "Tap Day, " you would view inwonderment the solemnity and seriousness of the occasion. An election toa senior society is Yale's highest honor. As you sit on the old Yalefence you realize what it means to Yale men. In the secret life of thecampus men yearn most for this honor and the traditional gathering ofseniors under the oak tree for receiving elections is a college customthat has all the binding force of a most rigid law. 

ALUMNI PARADES

Then come the alumni parades at Commencement. The old timers head theprocession; those who came first, are first in line, and so on down tothe youngest and most recent graduate. 

There are many interesting things in the parade, which bring outspecific class peculiarities. In one college you may see gray-haired menwalking behind an immense Sacred Bird, as it is called. This Bird--thecreation of an ingenious mind--is the size of an ostrich and has all thesemblance of life, with many lifelike tricks and habits. 

Men dress in all sorts of costumes. This is a day in which each classhas some peculiar part, and all are united in the one big thought thatit is a cherished college custom. 

You may see some man with the letter of his college on his sweater, another may have his class numerals, another may wear a gold football. These are not ordinary things to be purchased at sporting goods stores;they are a reward of merit. The college custom has made it so, and if insome college town the traditions of the university are such that a man, as he passes the Ma Newell gateway at Cambridge raises his hat in honorof this great Harvard hero, it is a tradition backed up by a wonderfulspirit of love towards one who has gone. And then on Commencement Daywhen the seniors plant their class ivy--that is a token to remain behindthem and flourish long after they are out in the wide, wide world. 

College tradition makes it possible for a poor boy to get an education. The poor fellow may wait on the table, where sit many rich men's sons, but they may be all chums with him; they are on the same footing; thecampus of one is the campus of the other, and all you can say is "It isjust the way of things--just the way it must be. " More power to the manwho works his way through college. 

It may be, as fellow college man, you are now recalling some custom thatis carried out on a college street, in a dormitory, in a fraternityhouse, perhaps, or a club; perhaps in some boarding house, where you hadyour first introduction to a college custom; maybe in the cheapestrooming house in town you got your first impression of a bold, badsophomore. You probably could have given him a good trouncing had hebeen alone, and yet you were prepared to take smilingly the hazingimposed upon you. 

Maybe some of you fondly recall a cannon stuck in the ground behind ahistorical building where once George Washington had his headquarters. Around about this traditional monument cluster rich memories as youreview the many college ceremonies enacted there. 

Some of you, owing allegiance to a New England Alma Mater, may recallwith smiles and perhaps mischievous satisfaction, the chequered careerof the sculptured Sabrina in her various appearances and disappearancessince the day, now long gone by, when in pedestaled repose she gracedthe college flower gardens. The Sabrina tradition is one of the goldenlegacies of Amherst life. 

In the formation of college spirit and traditions I am not unmindful ofthe tremendous moulding power of the college president or the popularcollege professors. This is strikingly illustrated in the expression ofan old college man, who said in this connection:

"I don't remember a thing Professor ---- said, but I remember him. "

When the graduate of a college has sons of his own, he realizes morefully than at any other time the great influence of personality uponyouth. He understands better the problems that are faced by boys, andthe great task and responsibility of the faculty. 

I know that there are many football men who at different times in theircareer have not always praised the work of the college professors, butnow that the games are over they probably look back affectionately tothe men who made them toe the mark, and by such earnestness helped themthrough their college career. 

It is undoubtedly true that the head masters and teachers in ourpreparatory schools and colleges generally appreciate the importance ofdeveloping the whole man, mental, moral and physical. 

SCHOOLMASTER AND BOY

Indeed it is a wonderful privilege to work shoulder to shoulder with theboys in our preparatory schools as well as in our colleges. At a recentdinner I heard Doctor S. J. McPherson, of the Lawrenceville School, place before an alumni gathering a sentiment, which I believe is thesentiment of every worthy schoolmaster in our land. 

"Schoolmasters have attractive work and they can find no end of fun init. I admit that in a boarding school they should be willing to spendthemselves, eight days in the week and twenty-five hours a day. But noman goes far that keeps watching the clock. There may be good reasonsfor long vacations, but I regard the summer vacation as usually a borefor at least half the length of it. 

"To be worth his salt, a schoolmaster must, of course, havescholarship--the more the better. But that alone will never make him aquickening teacher. He must be 'apt to teach, ' and must lose himself inhis task if he is to transfuse his blood into the veins of boys. Aboveall, he must be a real man and not a manikin, and he must enjoy hisboys--love them, without being quite conscious of the love, or at leastwithout harping on it. 

"The ideal schoolmaster needs five special and spiritual senses: commonsense, the sense of justice, the sense of honor, the sense of youth andthe sense of humor. These five gifts are very useful in every worthyoccupation. 

"Gentlemen, none of us schoolmasters has reached the ideal; however, wereach after it. Nevertheless, we neither need, nor desire your pity. Wedo not feel unimportant. Personally, I would not exchange jobs with therichest or greatest among you. I like my own job. It really looks to me, bigger and finer. I should rather have the right mold and put the rightstamp on a wholesome boy than to do any other thing. It counts more forthe world and is more nearly immortal. It is worth any man's life. "

Another factor in the formation and development of college traditionsand college spirit is the influence of the men who shape the athleticpolicy. 

When one of the graduates returns to direct the athletic affairs of hisAlma Mater, or those of another college he naturally becomes a potentinfluence in the life of the students. Great is his opportunity forcharacter making. The men all look up to him and the spirit of heroworship is present everywhere. Such athletic directors are chosenlargely because of their success on the athletic field. And when one cancombine athletic directorship with scholastic knowledge, the combinationis doubly effective. 

By association they know the real spirit and patriotic sentiment of thecollege men. They appreciate the fact that success in athletics, likesuccess in life, depends not merely upon training the head, but upontraining the will. Huxley said that:

"The true object of all education, was to develop ability to do thething that ought to be done when it ought to be done, whether one feltlike doing it or not. "

Prompt obedience to rules and regulations develop character and theathletic director becomes, therefore, one of the most important ofcollege instructors. A boy may be a welcher in his classroom work, butwhen he gets out on the athletic field and meets the eye of a man who isbound to get the most out of every player for the sake of his ownreputation, as well as the reputation of the school or college, that boyfinds himself in a new school. It is the school of discipline thatresembles more nearly than anything else the competitive struggle in thebusiness life of the outside world that he is soon to enter. 

Another exceedingly valuable trait that athletic life develops in astudent is the spirit of honorable victory. The player is taught to win, to be sure, but he is also taught that victory must never overshadowhonor. 

 Who misses or who wins the prize, Go lose, or conquer, as you can But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, Pray God, a gentleman. 

This tradition and atmosphere cannot be retained in institutions merelyby the efforts of the students. The co-operation of the alumni isnecessary. On this account it is unfortunate that the point of view oftoo many college men regarding their Alma Mater is limited to the yearsof their own school and college days. 

Our universities especially are beginning to learn that this has been agreat mistake and that the continued interest and loyalty of the alumniare absolutely essential to insure progress and maintain the highstandard of an institution. There is, in other words, a real sense inwhich the college belongs to the alumni. The faculty is engaged for aspecific purpose and their great work is made much more profitable bythe hearty co-operation of the old and young graduates who keep in closetouch with the happenings and the spirit of their different alma maters. 

One of the best assets in any seat of learning is the constructivecriticism of the alumni. Broad minded faculties invite intelligentcriticism from the graduate body, and they usually get it. 

But after all, the real power of enthusiasm behind college traditionsabides in the student body itself. How is this college patriotismaroused? What are its manifestations? What is it that awakens the desirefor victory with honor, which is the real background of the greatfootball demonstration that tens of thousands of Americans witness eachyear?

As I think back in this connection upon my own college experiences, theathletic mass meeting stands out in my memory and records the momentwhen all that was best and strongest in my fighting spirit and manhoodcame out to meet the demand of the athletic leaders. It was at that timethat the thrill and power of college spirit took mighty possession ofme. It might have been the inspiring words of an old college leaderaddressing us, or perhaps it was the story of some incident that broughtout the deep significance of the coming game. Indeed I have oftenthought that the spirit of loyalty and sacrifice aroused in the breastof the young man in a college mass meeting springs from the same noblesource as the highest patriotism. 

MASS MEETING ENTHUSIASM

How well do I recall the mass meeting held by the undergraduates inAlexander Hall Thursday night before the Yale game in 1898! The team andsubstitutes sat in the front row of seats. There was singing andcheering that aroused every man in the room to the highest pitch ofenthusiasm. All eyes were focused on the cheer leader as he rehearsedthe cheers and songs for the game, and as the speakers entered behindhim on the platform, they received a royal welcome. There was JohnnyPoe, Alex Moffat, some of the professors, including Jack Hibben, sincepresident of Princeton, in addition to the coaches. 

I can almost hear again their words, as they addressed the gathering. 

"Fellows, we are here to-night to get ready to defeat Yale on Saturday. You men all know how hard the coaches have worked this year to get theteam ready for the last big game. Captain Hillebrand and his men knowthat the college is with the team to a man. We are not here to-night tomake college spirit, but we are here to demonstrate it. 

"Those of you who saw last year's team go down to defeat at New Haven, realize that the Princeton team this year has got to square that defeat. Garry Cochran and the other men who graduated are not here to play. Theburden rests on the shoulders of the men in front of me, this year'steam, and we know what they're going to do. 

"It is going to take the hardest kind of work to beat Yale on our owngrounds. We must play them off their feet the first five minutes. Iwonder if you men who are in Princeton to-day truly realize the greattradition of this dear college. Thousands and thousands of young menhave walked across the same campus you travel. The Princeton of yearsgone by, is your Princeton to-day, so let us ever hold a high regard forthose whose places we now occupy. 

"Already from far off points, Princeton men are starting back to see theYale game--back to their Alma Mater. They're coming back to see the oldrooms they used to live in, and it is up to us to make their visit amemorable one. You can do that by beating Yale. "

George K. Edwards

Many of you men have perhaps heard of the great love for Princeton shownin the story of the last days of Horse Edwards, Princeton '89. He willnever return to Princeton again. He used to live in East College, longsince torn down. Some years after he left college, he was told that hehad but a few short months to live. He decided to live them out atPrinceton. 

One Friday afternoon in the summer of 1897, Horse Edwards arrived inPrinceton from Colorado. He was very weak from his illness. He couldbarely raise his hand to wave to the host of old friends who greeted himas he drove from the station to East College, where his old room hadbeen arranged as in his college days for his return. 

There he was visited by many friends of the old days, who had come backfor Commencement. Old memories were revived. That night he attended hisclub dinner, and the following day was wheeled out to the field to seethe baseball game, Princeton beat Yale 16 to 8, and his cup of happinesswas overflowing. On the following Monday Horse Edwards died. He told hisclose friends that as long as he had to go, he was happy that he hadbeen granted his last wish--to die there at Princeton. And his memory isa treasured college tradition. 

Job E. Hedges

Among the men who are always welcome at Princeton mass meetings anddinners, is Job E. Hedges. I remember what he said at a mass meeting atPrinceton in 1896. He was then secretary to Mayor Strong, in New York, in which city the game with Yale took place that year. 

The scene was in the old gymnasium. Every inch of space was occupied. Onthe front seats sat the team and substitutes. Around them and in thesmall gallery were the students in mass. Before the team were prominentalumni, trustees and some members of the faculty. Earnest appeal hadbeen made by the various speakers tending to arouse the team to a highpoint of enthusiasm and courage, and the interest of their alma materand of the alumni had been earnestly pictured. Mr. Hedges was called onas he frequently is at Princeton gatherings and as the usual field hadbeen fairly covered, his opportunities were limited, without repetitionof what had been said. He addressed the team and substitutes in typicalPrinceton fashion and concluded, so far as a record is made of it, somewhat as follows:

"There is a feeling in the public mind that football games breeddissipation and are naturally followed by unseemly conduct. We all knowthat much of the excitement following football games in New York is duelargely not to college men but others, who take the game as an excuseand the time as an opportunity to indulge in more or less boisterousconduct, with freedom from interference usually accorded at that time. Iwish it thoroughly understood that in no way as a Princeton man do Icountenance dissipation, intemperance, boisterous or unseemly conduct. It may be a comfort for you men to know, however, that I am personallyacquainted with every police magistrate in the City of New York. While Ido not claim to have any influence with them, nor would I try toexercise it improperly, nevertheless if the team wins and any man shouldunintentionally and weakly yield to the strain consequent upon such avictory, I can be found that night at my residence. Any delinquent willhave my sympathetic and best efforts in his behalf. If, however, theteam loses, and any one goes over the line of propriety, he will havefrom me neither sympathy nor assistance and I shall be absent from thecity. "

It is related that on the night following the victory, several daringspirits decorated themselves with cards hung from their necks bearingthis legend, "Don't arrest me, I am a friend of Job Hedges. " With thesethey marched up and down Broadway and, though laboring under somewhatstrange conditions, were not molested. A full account of thisexpeditionary force appeared in the daily papers the next morning and itis related that there was a brisk conversation between Mr. Hedges andthe mayor, when the former arrived at the City Hall, which took on, notan orange and black hue, but rather a lurid flame, of which Mayor Strongwas supposed to be but was not the victim. 

The net result of the scene, however, was that the team won, there was amoderate celebration and no Princeton man was arrested. 

[Illustration: JOHNNY POE, FOOTBALL PLAYER AND SOLDIER]

CHAPTER XI

JOHNNY POE'S OWN STORY

Johnny Poe was a member of the Black Watch, that famous Scotch Regimentwhose battles had followed the English flag. On the graves of the BlackWatch heroes the sun never sets. Johnny Poe's death came on September25th, 1915, in the Battle of Loos. Nelson Poe has given me the followinginformation regarding Johnny's death. It comes direct from Private W. Faulkner, a comrade who was in the charge when Johnny fell. 

In the morning during the attack we went out on a party carrying bombs. Poe and myself were in this party. We had gone about half way across anopen field when Poe was hit in the stomach. He was then five yards infront of me and I saw him fall. As he fell he said, 'Never mind me. Goahead with our boxes. ' On our return for more bombs we found him lyingdead. Shortly after he was buried at a place between the British andGerman lines. I have seen his grave which is about a hundred yards tothe left of 'Lone Tree' on the left of Loos. 'Lone Tree' is the onlylandmark near. The grave is marked with his name and regiment. 

Just what Johnny Poe's heroic finish on the battle field meant to ushere at home is the common knowledge of all football men and indeed ofall sportsmen. There is ample evidence, moreover, that it attracted theattention of the four corners of the earth. Life in London or Paris wasnot all roses to the Americans compelled to remain there at the heightof the war. 

Paul Mac Whelan, a Yale man and football writer, had occasion to be inLondon shortly after the news of Poe's death in battle was receivedthere. Talking with Whelan after his return he impressed upon me theplace that Poe had made for himself in the hearts of at least one of thefighting countries. 

"You know, " said he, "that at about that time Americans were not verypopular. There seemed to be a feeling everywhere that we should havebeen on the firing line. This feeling developed the fashion of politejeering to a point that made life abroad uncomfortable until Johnny Poefell fighting in the ranks of the Black Watch on the plains of Flanders. In the dull monotony of the casualty list his name at first slipped bywith scant mention. It was the publication in the United States of thestory of his fighting career which stimulated newspaper interest notmerely in England, but throughout the British Empire. To Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Africa--into the farthest corners of theearth--went the tale of the death of a great American fighter. 

"I met one man, a lawyer, on his way to do some peace work, and he toldme that he thought Poe had no right to be in the ranks of a foreignarmy. Probably most of the pacifists would have returned the sameverdict regardless of Poe's love for the cause of the Allies. Yet amongthe thousands of Americans in Europe in the month following Poe's death, there was complete unity of opinion that the old Princeton football starhad done more for his country than all the pacifists put together. 

"'A toast to the memory of Poe, ' said one of the group of Americans inthe Savoy, that famous gathering place of Yankees in London. 'His deathhas made living a lot easier for his countrymen who have to be in Franceand England during the war. '"

"There is not an army on the continent in which Americans have not died, but no death in action, not even that of Victor Chapman the famousAmerican aviator in France, gave such timely proof of American valor asthat of Poe. In London for a month after his death there was talk amongAmericans and in the university clubs about raising funds for somepermanent memorial in London to Poe. There are many memorials toEnglishmen in America and it would seem that there is a place and a realreason for erecting a memorial in London to a fighting American who gavehis life for a cause to England. "

I have always treasured, in my football collection, some anecdoteswhich Johnny Poe wrote several years ago while in Nevada. In fact, fromreading his stories, after his death, I got the inspiration thatprompted me to write this book. 

"The following stories were picked up by me, " says Johnny, "through thecourse of college years, and after. Some of the incidents I haveactually witnessed, of others my brothers have told me, when we talkedover Princeton victories and defeats with the reasons for both, andstill others I have heard from the lips of Princeton men as they grewreminiscent sitting around the cozy fireplace in the Trophy room at theVarsity Club House, with the old footballs, the scores of many a hardfought Princeton victory emblazoned upon them, and the banners with thenames of the members of the winning teams thereon inscribed looking downfrom their places on the walls and ceilings. "

How the undergraduates long to have their names enrolled on thevictorious banner, knowing that they will be looked up to by futurecollege generations of the sons of Old Nassau!

These old banners have much the same effect upon Princeton teams as didthe name of Horatius upon the young Romans'!

 And still his name sounds strong unto the men of Rome, As a trumpet blast which calls to them to charge the Volsian home; And wives still pray to Juno for boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well In the brave days of old. 

Well do they know that Mother Princeton is not chary of her praise, whenshe knows that they have planted her banner on the loftiest tower of herenemies' stronghold. 

The evenings spent in the Trophy room, the Grill Room of the PrincetonInn and in the hallways around a cheerful fire of the numerous Princetonclubs make me think of nights in the Mess room of crack Britishregiments, so graphically described by Kipling. 

The general public cannot understand the seriousness with which collegeathletes take the loss of an important game. There is a Princetonfootball Captain who was so broken up over a defeat by Yale that, monthsafter on the cattle range of New Mexico, as he lay out at night on hiscow-boy bed and thought himself unobserved, he fell to sobbing as if hisheart would break. 

A football victory to many men is as dearly longed for as any goal ofambition in life. How else would they strive so fiercely, one side totake the ball over, the other to prevent them doing so!

Very few of the public hear the exhortation and cursing as the ballslowly but irresistibly is rushed to the goal of the opponent. 

"Billy, if you do that again I'll cut your heart out!"

"Yale, if you ever held, hold now!"

How the calls to victory come back!

As Hughes says in Tom Brown's School Days, a scrimmage in front of thegoal posts, or the Consulship of Plancus, is no child's play. 

My earliest Princeton football hero was Alex Moffat '84. My brotherJohnson was in his class and played on the same team, and would oftentalk of him to my brothers and to me. He used to give us a sort of

 "Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, etc. "

Though my brother is a small man, I thought all other Princeton playersmust be 9 cubits and a half, or as a reporter once said of Symmes '92, center rush in Princeton team of '90 and '91, "An animated whale, broadas the moral law and heavy as the hand of fate. " I consider Alex Moffatthe greatest goal kicker college football has produced. One football inthe Princeton Trophy room has on it, "Princeton 26, Harvard 7. " In thatgame Moffat kicked five goals from the field, three with his right andtwo with his left foot, besides the goals from the touchdowns. 

A Harvard guard made the remark after the third goal, "We came here toplay football, not to play against phenomenal kicking. "

Princeton men cannot help feeling that Moffat should have been allowed agoal against Yale in his Post-graduate year of '84, which was calledbefore the full halves had been played and decided a draw, Yale beingahead, 6 to 4. Princeton claimed it but the Referee said he didn't seeit, which caused Moffat to exclaim--something. 

An amusing story is told in connection with this decision. Quite anumber of years after Jim Robinson who was trainer of the Princeton teamin '84, went down to the dock to see his brother off for Europe. Lookingup he beheld on the deck above, the man who had refereed the '84 game, and whom he had not seen since, "Smith, " he said, "I have a brother onthis boat, but I hope she sinks. "

Tilly Lamar's name is highly honored at Princeton, not only because hewon the '85 game against Yale by a run of about 90 yards, but because hedied trying to save a girl from drowning. Only a few months later, inthe summer of '91, Fred Brokaw '92, was drowned at Elberon while tryingto save two girls from the ocean. Both Lamar and Brokaw's pictures adornthe walls of the Varsity Club House. 

The first game I ever saw the Princeton Team play was with Harvard in'88, which the former won 18 to 6. I was in my brother's ('91) roomabout three hours and a half before the game, and Jere Black andChanning, the halfbacks, were there. As Channing left he remarked, "Something will have happened before I get back to this room again, "referring to the game, which doubtless made him a bit nervous. 

I believe he was no more nervous ten years after, when in the RoughRiders he waited for word to advance up that bullet swept hill beforeSantiago. 

'81 was the year so many Divinity students played on the Varsity: HectorCowan the great tackle, Dick Hodge the strategist, Sam Hodge, Bob Speer, and I think Irvine; men all, who as McCready Sykes said, "Feared God andno one else. " Hector Cowan is considered one of the best tackles thatever wore the Orange and Black jersey. While rough, he was never a dirtyplayer. 

In a game with Wesleyan, his opponent cried out angrily, "Keep yourhands for pounding on your Bible, don't be sticking them in my face. "One day in a game against the Scrub, Cowan had passed everyone exceptthe fullback and was bearing down on him like a tornado, when within afew feet of the fullback the latter jumped aside and said politely, "Pass on, sir, pass on. " Cowan played on two winning teams, '85 and '89. 

In '89 the eligibility rules at the college were not as strict as now, so as Princeton needed a tackle, Walter Cash who had played onPennsylvania the year before, was sent for and came all the way fromWyoming. He came so hurriedly that his wardrobe consisted of two6-shooters and a monte deck of cards, on account of which he was dubbed"Monte" Cash. Cash was not fond of attending lectures, and once thefaculty had him up before them and told him what a disgrace it would beif he were dropped out of College. "It may be in the East, but we don'tthink much of a little thing like that out West, " was his reply. Cashwas in the Rough Riders and was wounded at San Juan. 

Sport Donnelly was a great end that year. Heffelfinger the great Yaleguard who is probably the best that ever played, said of Donnelly, thathe was the only player he had ever seen who could slug and keep his eyeon the ball at the same time. The following story is often told of howDonnelly got Rhodes of Yale ruled off in '89. Rhodes had hit Channing ofPrinceton in the eye, so that Donnelly was laying for him, and whenRhodes came through the line, Donnelly grabbed up two handsful ofmud--it was a very muddy field--and rubbed them in his face andhollered, "Mr. Umpire, " so that when Rhodes, in a burst of righteousindignation, hit him, the Umpire saw it and promptly ruled Rhodes fromthe field. 

Snake Ames and House Janeway played that year, and as the latter wasbig--210 pounds stripped--and good natured, Ames thought that if hecould only get Janeway angry he would play even better than usual, so, with Machiavellian craft, he said to him before the Harvard game, "House, the man you are going to play against to-morrow insulted yourgirl. I heard him do it, so you want to murder him. " "All right, " saidHouse, ominously, and as Princeton won, 41 to 15, Janeway must certainlyhave helped a heap. 

George played center for Princeton four years, and for three years "Pa"Corbin and George played against each other, and, as cow-boys would say, "sure did chew each other's mane. " I don't mean slugged. 

My brother Edgar '91 was a great admirer of George. In '88 Edgar wasplaying in the scrub, and George broke through and was about to make atackle when the former knocked one of his arms down as it wasoutstretched to catch it. George missed the tackle but said nothing. Asecond time almost identically the same thing occurred. This time heremarked grimly, "Good trick that, Poe. " But when the same thinghappened a third time on the same afternoon, he exclaimed, "Poe, if youweren't so small, I'd hit you. "

In '89 Thomas '90, substitute guard, was highly indignant at the waysome Boston newspaper described him. "The Princeton men were giants, onein particular was picturesque in his grotesqueness. He was 6 feet 5 and, when he ran, his arms and legs moved up and down like the piston rods ofan engine. "

In '90 Buck Irvine '88 brought an unknown team to Princeton, Franklinand Marshall, which he coached, and they scored 16 points against theTigers. And though the latter won, 33 to 16, still that was the largestscore ever made against Princeton up to that time. They did it, too, byrushing, which was all the more to their credit. 

Victor Harding, Harvard, and Yup Cook, Princeton '89, had played onAndover and Exeter, respectively, and had trouble then, so four yearslater when they met, one on Princeton and the other on Harvard, they hadmore trouble. Both were ruled off for rough work. Cook picked Harding upoff the ground and slammed him down and then walked off the field. In afew minutes Harding, after trying to trip Ames, also was ruled off. Thatwas the net result of the old Andover-Exeter feud. 

In '91 Princeton was playing Rutgers. Those were the days of the old "V"trick in starting a game. When the Orange and Black guards and centerstore up the Rutgers' V it was found that the Captain of the latter teamhad broken his leg in the crush. He showed great nerve, for whilesitting on the ground waiting for a stretcher, he remarked in anonchalant way, "Give me a cigarette. I could die for Old Rutgers, " histone being "Me first and then Nathan Hale. " One version quite prevalentaround Princeton has it that a Tiger player rushed up and exclaimed, "Die then. " This is not true as I played in that game and know whereof Ispeak. 

Fifteen years after that had happened, I met Phil Brett who hadcaptained the Rutgers Team that day, and he told me that his life hadbeen a burden to him at times, and like Job, he felt like cursing Godand dying, because often upon coming into a café or even a hoteldining-room some half drunken acquaintance would yell out, "Hello, Phil, old man, could you die for dear Old Rutgers?"

Several years ago while in the Kentucky Militia in connection with oneof those feud cases, I was asked by a private if I were related to EdgarAllan Poe, "De mug what used to write poetry, " and when I replied, "Yes, he was my grandmother's first cousin, " he, evidently thinking I was tooboastful, remarked, "Well, man, you've got a swell chance. "

So, knowing that the football season is near I think I have a "swellchance" to tell some of the old football stories handed down atPrinceton from college generation to generation. If I have hurt any oldPrinceton players' feelings, I do humbly ask pardon and assure them thatit is unintentional; for as the Indians would put it, my heart is warmtoward them, and, when I die, place my hands upon my chest and put theirhands between my hands. 

With apologies to Kipling in his poem when he speaks of the parting ofthe Colonial troops with the Regulars:

 "There isn't much we haven't shared For to make the Elis run. The same old hurts, the same old breaks, The same old rain and sun. The same old chance which knocked us out Or winked and let us through. The same old joy, the same old sorrow, Good-bye, good luck to you. "

CHAPTER XII

ARMY AND NAVY

 When the Navy meets the Army, When the friend becomes the foe, When the sailor and the soldier Seek each other to o'erthrow; When old vet'rans, gray and grizzled, Elbow, struggle, push, and shove, That they may cheer on to vict'ry Each the service of his love; When the maiden, fair and dainty, Lets her dignity depart, And, all breathless, does her utmost For the team that's next her heart; When you see these strange things happen, Then we pray you to recall That the Army and Navy Stand firm friends beneath it all. 

There is a distinctive flavor about an Army-Navy football game which, irrespective of the quality of the contending elevens and of theirrelative standing among the high-class teams in any given season, ratesthese contests annually as among the "big games" of the year. Tacticallyand strategically football bears a close relation to war. That is avital reason why it should be studied and applied in our two governmentschools. 

On the part of the public there is general appreciation of the spiritwhich these two academies have brought into the great autumn sport, aspirit which combines with football per se the color, the martial pomp, the _elan_ of the military. The merger is a happy one, because footballin its essence is a stern, grim game, a game that calls forself-sacrifice, for mental alertness and for endurance; all these areelements, among others, which we commonly associate with the soldier'scalling. 

If West Point and Annapolis players are not young men, who, aftergraduation, will go out into the world in various civil professions orother pursuits relating to commerce and industry, they are men, on thecontrary, who are being trained to uphold the honor of our flag at homeor abroad, as fate may decree--fighting men whose lives are to bedevoted to the National weal. It would be strange, therefore, if gamesin which those thus set apart participate, were not marked by a qualitypeculiarly their own. To far-flung warships the scores are sent on thewings of the wireless and there is elation or depression in many aremote wardroom in accordance with the aspect of the news. In lonelyarmy posts wherever the flag flies word of the annual struggle isflashed alike to colonel and the budding second lieutenant still withdown on lip, by them passed to the top sergeant and so on to the bottomof the line. 

Every football player who has had the good fortune to visit West Pointor Annapolis, there to engage in a gridiron contest, has had anexperience that he will always cherish. Every team, as a rule, looksforward to out of town trips, but when an eleven is to play the Army orthe Navy, not a little of the pleasure lies in anticipation. 

Mayhap the visitor even now is recalling the officer who met him at thestation, and his hospitable welcome; the thrill that resulted from atour, under such pleasant auspices, of the buildings and the naturalsurroundings of the two great academies. There was the historic campus, where so many great Army and Navy men spent their preparatory days. Aninspiration unique in the experience of the visitor was to be found inthe drill of the battalion as they marched past, led by the famousacademy bands. 

There arose in the heart of the stranger perhaps, the thought that hewas not giving to his country as much as these young men. Such is thecontagion of the spirit of the two institutions. There is always thethrill of the military whether the cadets and midshipmen pass to theurge of martial music in their purely military duties, or in equallyperfect order to the ordinary functions of life, such as the dailymeals, which in the colleges are so informal and in the mess hall are soprecise. Joining their orderly ranks in this big dining-room one comesupon a scene never to be forgotten. 

In the process of developing college teams, an eleven gets a real testat either of these academies; you get what you go after; they are out tobeat you; their spirit is an indomitable one; your cherished idea thatyou cannot be beaten never occurs to them until the final whistle isblown. Your men will realize after the game that a bruised leg or a lamejoint will recall hard tackling of a player like Mustin of the Navy, orArnold of West Point, souvenirs of the dash they put into their play. Maybe there comes to your mind a recollection of the Navy's fastoffense; their snappy play; the military precision with which their workis done. Possibly you dream of the wriggling open field running of SnakeIzard, or the bulwark defense of Nichols; or in your West Pointexperiences you are reminded of the tussle you had in suppressing thebrilliant Kromer, that clever little quarterback and field general, orthe task of stopping the forging King, the Army's old captain andfullback. 

Not less vivid are the memories of the spontaneous if measured cheeringbehind these men--a whole-hearted support that was at once thebackground and the incentive to their work. The "Siren Cheer" of theNavy and the "Long Corps Yell" of the Army still ringing in the ears ofthe college invader were proof of the drive behind the team. 

I have always counted it a privilege that I was invited to coach atAnnapolis through several football seasons. It was an unrivalledopportunity to catch the spirit that permeates the atmosphere of thisgreat Service school and to realize how eagerly the progress of footballis watched by the heroes of the past who are serving wherever dutycalls. 

It was there that I met Superintendent Wainwright. His interest inAnnapolis football was keen. Another officer whose friendship I made atthe Academy was Commander Grant, who later was Rear Admiral, Commanderof the Submarine Flotilla. His spirit was truly remarkable. The way hecould talk to a team was an inspiration. 

It was during the intermission of a Navy-Carlisle game when the scorewas 11 to 6 in Carlisle's favor, that this exponent of fighting spiritcame into the dressing-room and in a talk to the team spared nothing andnobody. What he said about the White man not being able to defeat theIndian was typical. As a result of this unique dressing-room scene whenhe commanded the Navy to win out over the Indians, his charges camethrough to victory by the score of 17-11. 

There is no one man at Annapolis who sticks closer to the ship andaround whom more football traditions have grown than Paul Dashiell, aprofessor in the Academy. He bore for many years the burden ofresponsibility of Annapolis football. His earnest desire has been tosee the Navy succeed. He has worked arduously, and whenever Navy men gettogether they speak enthusiastically of the devotion of this formerLehigh hero, official and rule maker. Players have come and gone; thecall in recent years has been elsewhere, but Paul Dashiell has remained, and his interest in the game has been manifested by self-denial and hardwork. Defeat has come to him with great sadness, and there are manygames of which he still feels the sting; these come to him as nightmaresin his recollections of Annapolis football history. Great has been hisjoy in the Navy's hour of victory. 

It was here at Annapolis that I learned something of the old Navyfootball heroes. Most brilliant of all, perhaps, was Worth Bagley, amarvelous punter and great fighter. He lost his life later in the warwith Spain, standing to his duty under open fire on the deck of the_Winslow_ at Cardenas, with the utter fearlessness that wascharacteristic of him. 

I heard of the deeds on the football field of Mike Johnson, Trench, Pearson, McCormack, Cavanaugh, Reeves, McCauley, Craven, Kimball andBookwalter. I have played against the great Navy guard Halligan. I sawdeveloped the Navy players, Long, Chambers, Reed, Nichols and ChipSmith, who later was in charge of the Navy athletics. He was one of thebest quarterbacks the Navy ever had. I saw Dug Howard grow up fromboyhood in Annapolis and develop into a Navy star; saw him later coachtheir teams to victory; witnessed the great playing of Dougherty, Piersol, Grady and Bill Carpenter, who is no longer on the Navy list. All these players, together with Norton, Northcroft, Dague, Halsey, Ingram, Douglas, Jerry Land, Babe Brown and Dalton stand out among thosewho have given their best in Army and Navy games. 

Young Nichols, who was quarterback in 1912, was a most brilliant groundgainer. He resigned from the Service early in 1913, receiving acommission in the British Army. He was wounded, but later returned toduty only to be killed shortly afterward. Another splendid man. 

In speaking of Navy football I cannot pass over the name of W. H. Stayton, a man whose whole soul seemed to be permeated with Navyatmosphere, and who is always to be depended upon in Navy matters. Theassociation that I formed later in life with McDonough Craven and otherloyal Navy football men gave me an opportunity to learn of Annapolisfootball in their day. 

The list of men who have been invited to coach the Navy from year toyear is a long one. The ideal method of development of an undergraduateteam is by a system of coaching conducted by graduates of thatinstitution. Such alumni can best preserve the traditions, correctblunders of other years, and carry through a continuous policy alonglines most acceptable. Graduate coaching exclusively is nearlyimpossible for Navy teams, for the graduates, as officers, are stationedat far distant points, mostly on board ship. Their duties do not permitof interruption for two months. They cannot be spared from turret andbridge; from the team work so highly developed at present on shipboard. Furthermore, their absence from our country sometimes for years, keepsthem out of touch with football generally, and it is impossible for themto keep up to date--hence the coaching from other institutions. 

[Illustration: NORTHCROFT KICKING THE FIELD GOAL ANTICIPATED BY THE NAVYAND FEARED BY THE ARMY]

Lieutenant Frank B. Berrien was one of the early coaches and an ableone. Immediately afterward Dug Howard for three years coached the teamto victory. The Navy's football future was then turned over to JonasIngram, with the idea of working out a purely graduate system, in theface of such serious obstacles as have already been pointed out. 

One of the nightmares of my coaching experiences was the day that theArmy beat the Navy through the combined effort of the whole Army teamplus the individual running of Charlie Daly. This run occurred at thevery start of the second half. Doc Hillebrand and I were talking on theside lines to Evarts Wrenn, the Umpire. None of us heard the whistleblow for the starting of the second half. Before we knew it the Armysympathizers were on their feet cheering and we saw Daly hitting it upthe field, weaving through the Navy defense. 

Harmon Graves, who was coaching West Point that year, has since told methat the Army coaches had drilled the team carefully in receiving theball on a kick-off--with Daly clear back under the goal posts. On thekick-off, the Navy did just what West Point had been trained to expect. Belknap kicked a long high one direct to Daly, and then and there beganthe carefully prepared advance of the Army team. Mowing down theoncoming Navy players, the West Point forwards made it possible forclever Daly to get loose and score a touchdown after a run of nearly theentire length of the field. 

This game stands out in my recollection as one of the most sensationalon record. The Navy, like West Point, had had many victories, but thepurpose of this book is not to record year by year the achievements ofthese two institutions, but rather catch their spirit, as one fromwithout looks in upon a small portion of the busy life that is typicalof these Service schools. 

Scattered over the seven seas are those who heard the reveille offootball at Annapolis. From a few old-timers let us garner theirexperiences and the effects of football in the Service. 

C. L. Poor, one of the veterans of the Annapolis squad, Varsity andHustlers, has something to say concerning the effect of football uponthe relationship between officers and men. 

"Generally speaking, " he says, "it is considered that the relationshipis beneficial. The young officer assumes qualities of leadership andshows himself in a favorable light to the men, who appreciate hisability to show them something and do it well. The average youngAmerican, whether himself athletic or not, is a bit of a hero worshippertowards a prominent athlete, and so the young officer who has goodfootball ability gets the respect and appreciation of the crew to startwith. "

J. B. Patton, who played three years at Annapolis, says of the earlydays:

"I entered the Academy in 1895. In those days athletics were notencouraged. The average number of cadets was less than 200, and theentrance age was from 14 to 18--really a boys' school. So when anoccasional college team appeared, they looked like old men to us. 

"Match games were usually on Saturday afternoon, and all the cadetsspent the forenoon at sail drill on board the _Wyoming_ in ChesapeakeBay. I can remember spending four hours racing up and down the topgallant yard with Stone and Hayward, loosing and furling sail, and thenreturning to a roast beef dinner, followed by two 45-minute halves offootball. 

"One of our best games, as a rule, was with Johns Hopkins University. Paul Dashiell, then a Hopkins man, usually managed to smuggle one ormore Poes to Annapolis with his team. We knew it, but at that time wedid not object because we usually beat the Hopkins team. 

"Another interesting match was with the Deaf Mutes from Kendall College. It was a standing joke with us that they too frequently smuggled goodfootball players who were not mutes. These kept silent during the gameand talked with their hands, but frequently when I tackled one hard andfell on him, I could hear him cuss under his breath. "

M. M. Taylor brings us down to Navy football of the early nineties. 

"In my day the principal quality sought was beef. Being embryo sailorswe had to have nautical terms for our signals, and they made ouropponents sit up and take notice. When I played halfback I remember mysignals were my order relating to the foremast. For instance, 'Fore-top-gallant clew lines and hands-by-the-halyards' meant that I wasthe victim. On the conclusion of the order, if the captain could notlaunch a play made at once, he had to lengthen his signal, and sometimesthere would be a string of jargon, intelligible only to a sailor, whichwould take the light yard men aloft, furl the sail, and probably castreflections on the stowage of the bunt. Anything connected with theanchor was a kick. The mainmast was consecrated to the left half, andthe mizzen to the fullback. 

"In one game our lack of proper uniform worked to our advantage. I wason the sick list and had turned my suit over to a substitute. I bravedthe doctor's disapproval and went into the game in a pair of longworking trousers and a blue flannel shirt. The opposing team, Pennsylvania, hailed me as 'Little Boy Blue, ' and paid no furtherattention to me, so that by good fortune I made a couple of scores. Thenthey fell upon me, and at the close all I had left was the pants. "

J. W. Powell, captain of the '97 team, tells of the interim betweenArmy-Navy games. 

"Our head coach was Johnny Poe, " he says, "and he and Paul Dashiell tookcharge of the squad. Some of our good men were Rus White, Bill Tardy, Halligan and Fisher, holding over from the year before. A. T. Graham andJerry Landis in the line. A wild Irishman in the plebe class, PaddyShea, earned one end position in short order, while A. H. McCarthy wentin at the other wing. Jack Asserson, Bobby Henderson, Louis Richardsonand I made up the backfield. In '95, Princeton had developed theirfamous ends back system which was adopted by Johnny Poe and the game weplayed that year was built around this system. Johnny was a deadlytackler and nearly killed half the team with his system of live tacklingpractice. This was one of the years in which there was no Army and Navygame and our big game was the Thanksgiving Day contest with Lafayette. Barclay, Bray and Rinehart made Lafayette's name a terror in thefootball world. The game resulted in an 18 to 6 victory for Lafayette. 

"My most vivid recollections of that game are McCarthy's plucky playingwith his hand in a plaster cast, due to a broken bone, stopping Barclayand Bray repeatedly in spite of this handicap, and my own touchdown, after a twelve yard run, with Rinehart's 250 pounds hanging to me mostof the way. "

I recall a trip that the Princeton team of 1898 made to West Point. Itwas truly an attack upon the historical old school in a fashion de luxe. 

Alex Van Rensselaer, an old Princeton football captain, invited DocHillebrand to have the Tiger eleven meet him that Saturday morning atthe Pennsylvania Ferry slip in Jersey City. En route to West Point thatmorning this old Princeton leader met us with his steam yacht, _TheMay_. Boyhood enthusiasm ran high as we jumped aboard. Good fellowshipprevailed. We lunched on board, dressed on board. Upon our arrival atWest Point we were met by the Academy representative and were driven tothe football field. 

The snappy work of the Princeton team that day brought victory, and weattributed our success to the Van Rensselaer transport. Returning thatnight on the boat, Doc Hillebrand and Arthur Poe bribed the captain of_The May_ to just miss connecting with the last train to Princeton, andas a worried manager sat alongside of Van Rensselaer wondering whetherit were not possible to hurry the boat along a little faster, VanRensselaer himself knew what was in Doc's mind and so helped make itpossible for us to rest at the Murray Hill Hotel over night, and notallow a railroad trip to Princeton mar the luxury of the day. 

I have a lot of respect for the football brains of West Point. My lothas been very happily cast with the Navy. I have generally been on theopposite side of the field. I knew the strength of their team. I havelearned much of the spirit of the academy from their cheering at Armyand Navy games. Playing against West Point our Princeton teams havealways realized the hard, difficult task which confronted them, andvictory was not always the reward. 

Football plays a valued part in the athletic life of West Point. Fromthe very first game between the Army and the Navy on the plains when theMiddies were victorious, West Point set out in a thoroughly businesslikeway to see that the Navy did not get the lion's share of victories. 

If one studies the businesslike methods of the Army Athletic Associationand reads carefully the bulletins which are printed after each game, oneis impressed by the attention given to details. 

I have always appreciated what King, '96, meant to West Point football. Let me quote from the publication of the _Howitzer_, in 1896, theestimated value of this player at that time:

"King, of course, stands first. Captain for two years he brought WestPoint from second class directly into first. As fullback he outplayedevery fullback opposed to him and stands in the judgment of allobservers second only to Brooke of Pennsylvania. Let us read what Kinghas to say of a period of West Point football not widely known. 

"I first played on the '92 team, " he says. "We had two Navy games beforethis, but they were not much as I look back upon them. At this time wehad for practice that period of Saturday afternoon after inspection. That gave us from about 3 P. M. On. We also had about fifteenminutes between dinner and the afternoon recitations, and such days aswere too rainy to drill, and from 5:45 A. M. , to 6:05 A. M. Later in the year when it grew too cold to drill, we had thetime after about 4:15 P. M. , but it became dark so early thatwe didn't get much practice. We practiced signals even by moonlight. 

"Visiting teams used to watch us at inspection, two o'clock. We were intight full dress clothes, standing at attention for thirty to forty-fiveminutes just before the game. A fine preparation for a stiff contest. Wehad quite a character by the name of Stacy, a Maine boy. He was athickset chap, husky and fast. He never knew what it was to be stopped. He would fight it out to the end for every inch. Early in one of theYale games he broke a rib and started another, but the more it hurt, theharder he played. In a contest with an athletic club in the lastnon-collegiate game we ever played, the opposing right tackle wasbothering us. In a scrimmage Stacy twisted the gentleman's nose veryseverely and then backed away, as the man followed him, calling out tothe Umpire. Stacy held his face up and took two of the nicest punches inthe eyes that I ever saw. Of course, the Umpire saw it, and promptlyruled the puncher out, just as Stacy had planned. 

"Just before the Spanish War Stacy became ill. Orders were issued thatregiments should send officers to the different cities for the purposeof recruiting. He was at this time not fit for field service, so wasassigned to this duty. He protested so strongly that in some way he wasable to join his regiment in time to go to Cuba with his men. Heparticipated in all the work down there; and when it was over, even hehad to give in. He was sent to Montauk Point in very bad shape. Herallied for a time and obtained sick leave. He went to his old home inMaine, where he died. It was his old football grit that kept him goingin Cuba until the fighting was over. 

"No mention of West Point's football would be complete without the nameof Dennis Michie. He is usually referred to as the Father of Footballat the Academy. He was captain of the first two teams we ever had. Heplayed throughout the Navy game in '91 with ten boils on his back andneck. He was a backfield man and one of West Point's main line backers. He was most popular as a cadet and officer and was killed in action atSan Juan, Cuba. 

"One of the longest runs when both yards and time are considered everpulled off on a football field, was made by Duncan, '95, in ourPrinceton game of '93. Duncan got the ball on his 5-yard line on afumble, and was well under way before he was discovered. Lott, '96, later a captain of Cavalry, followed Duncan to interfere from behind. The only Princeton man who sensed trouble was Doggy Trenchard. He setsail in pursuit. He soon caught up with Lott and would have caughtDuncan, but for the latter's interference. Duncan finally scored thetouchdown, having made the 105 yards in what would have been fast timefor a Wefers. 

"We at West Point often speak of Balliet's being obliged to call on PhilKing to back him up that day, as Ames, one of our greatest centres, wasoutplaying him, and of the rage of Phil King, because on every point, Nolan, '96, tackled him at once and prevented King from making thosephenomenal runs which characterized his playing. "

Harmon Graves of Yale is a coach who has contributed much to WestPoint's football. 

"Harmon Graves is too well known now as coach to need our praise, " saysa West Pointer, "but it is not only as a successful coach, but as apersonal friend that he lives in the heart of every member of the teamand indeed the entire corps. There will always be a sunny spot at WestPoint for Graves. "

In a recent talk with Harmon Graves he showed me a beautifully engravedwatch presented to him by the Cadet Corps of West Point, a treasureprized. 

Of the privileged days spent at West Point Graves writes, as follows:

"Every civilian who has the privilege of working with the officers andcadets at West Point to accomplish some worthy object comes away a farbetter man than when he went there. I was fortunate enough to be askedby them to help in the establishment of football at the Academy and formany years I gave the best I had and still feel greatly their debtor. 

"At West Point amateur sport flourishes in its perfection, and a veryhigh standard of accomplishment has been attained in football. There areno cross-cuts to the kind of football success West Point has worked for:it is all a question of merit based on competency, accuracy and fearlessexecution. Those of us who have had the privilege of assisting in thedevelopment of West Point football have learned much of real value fromthe officers and cadets about the game and what really counts in themake-up of a successful team. It is fair to say that West Point hascontributed a great deal to football generally and has, in spite of manynecessary time restrictions, turned out some of the best teams andplayers in the last fifteen years. 

"The greatest credit is due to the Army Officers Athletic Association, which, through its football representatives, started right and thenpursued a sound policy which has placed football at West Point on a firmbasis, becoming the standing and dignity of the institution. 

"There have been many interesting and amusing incidents in connectionwith football at West Point which help to make up the tradition of thegame there and are many times repeated at any gathering of officers andcadets. I well remember when Daly, the former Harvard Captain, modestlytook his place as a plebe candidate for the team and sat in the frontrow on the floor of the gymnasium when I explained to the squad, andillustrated by the use of a blackboard, what he and every one else thereknew was the then Yale defense. There was, perhaps, the suggestion of asmile all around when I began by saying that from then on we weregathered there for West Point and to make its team a success that seasonand not for the benefit of Harvard or Yale. He told me afterwards thathe had never understood the defense as I had explained it. He masteredit and believed in it, as he won and kept his place on the team andlearned some things from West Point football, --as we all did. 

"The rivalry with the Navy is wholesome and intense, as it should be. Myfriend, Paul Dashiell, who fully shares that feeling, has much to dowith the success of the Navy team, and the development of football atthe Naval Academy. After a West Point victory at Philadelphia, he cameto the West Point dressing room and offered his congratulations. As Itook his hand, I noted that tears were in his eyes and that his voiceshook. The next year the Navy won and I returned the call. I was feelingrather grim, but when I found him surrounded by the happy Navy team, hewas crying again and hardly smiled when I offered my congratulation, andtold him that it really made no difference which team won for he criedanyway. 

"The sportsmanship and friendly rivalry which the Army and Navy gamebrings out in both branches of the Service is admirable and unique andreaches all officers on the day of the game wherever in the world theyare. Real preparedness is an old axiom at West Point and it has beenapplied to football. There I learned to love my country and respect themanhood and efficiency of the Army officers in a better way than I didbefore. I recall the seasons I have spent there with gratitude andaffection, both for the friends I have made and for the Army spirit. "

Siding with the Navy has enabled me to know West Point's strength. Anymention of West Point's football would be incomplete without the namesof some officers who have not only safeguarded the game at West Point, but have been the able representatives of the Army's football duringtheir service there. Such men are, Richmond P. Davis, Palmer E. Pierce, and W. R. Richardson. 

THE WAY THEY HAVE IN THE ARMY

If there is any one man who has permanently influenced football at WestPoint that man is H. J. Koehler, for years Master of the Sword at theAcademy. Under his active coaching some of the Army's finest playerswere developed. In recent years he has not been a member of the coachingstaff, but he none the less never loses touch with the team and hisadvice concerning men and methods is always eagerly sought. By virtue oflong experience at the Academy and because of an aptitude for analysisof the game itself he has been invaluable in harmonizing practice andplay with peculiar local conditions. 

Any time the stranger seeks to delve either into the history or theconstructive coaching of the game at the Academy, the younger men, aswell as the older, will always answer your questions by saying "Go askKoehler. " Always a hard worker and serious thinker, he is apt to givean almost nightly demonstration during the season of the foundationprinciples of the game. 

Not only West Pointers, but also Yale and Princeton men, who had to facethe elevens under Koehler's coaching will remember Romeyn, who, had hebeen kicking in the days of Felton, Mahan and the other long distanceartillerists, might well have held his own, in the opinion of Army men. Nesbitt, Waldron and Scales were among the other really brilliantplayers whom Koehler developed. He was in charge of some of the teamsthat played the hardest schedules in the history of West Point football. One year the cadets met Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Columbia, Syracuse andPenn State. Surely this was a season's work calculated to developremarkable men, or break them in the making. Bettison, center, KingBoyers at guard, and Bunker at tackle and half, were among the splendidplayers who survived this trial by fire. Casad, Clark and Phillips madeup a backfield that would have been a credit to any of the colleges. 

Soon, however, the Army strength was greatly to be augmented by theacquisition of Charles Dudley Daly, fresh from four years of football atHarvard. Reputations made elsewhere do not count for much at West Point. The coaches were glad to have Plebe Daly come out for the squad, butthey knew and he knew quite as well as they, that there are no shortcuts to the big "A. " Now began a remarkable demonstration of footballgenius. Not only did the former Harvard Captain make the team, but hisaid in coaching was also eagerly sought. An unusual move this, but atribute to the new man. 

Daly was modesty itself in those days as he has been ever since, evenwhen equipped with the yellow jacket and peacock feather of the headcoach. As player and as coach and often as the two combined, Daly'sconnection with West Point football covered eight years, in the courseof which he never played on or coached a losing team. His record againstthe Navy alone is seven victories and one tie, 146 points to 33. Hisfinal year's coaching was done in 1915. From West Point he was sent toHawaii, whence he writes me, as follows:

"There are certain episodes in the game that have always been ofparticular interest to me, such as Ely's game playing with broken ribsin the Harvard-Yale game of 1898; Charlie de Saulles' great playing witha sprained ankle in the Yale-Princeton game of the same year; thetackling of Bunker by Long of the Navy in the Army-Navy game of1902--the hardest tackle I have ever seen; and the daring quarterbackwork of Johnny Cutler in the Harvard-Dartmouth 1908 game, when hesnatched victory from defeat in the last few minutes of play. "

Undoubtedly Daly's deep study of strategy and tactics as used in warfarehad a great deal to do with his continued ascendency as a coach. Writing to Herbert Reed, one of the pencil and paper football men, withwhom he had had many a long argument over the generalship of the game, he said in part:

"Football within the limitations of the rules and sportsmanship is a wargame. Either by force or by deception it advances through the oppositionto the goal line, which might be considered the capital of the enemy. "

It was in Daly's first year that a huge Southerner, with a pleasantdrawl, turned up in the plebe class. It was a foregone conclusion almoston sight that Ernest, better known to football men throughout thecountry as Pot Graves, would make the Eleven. He not only played thegame almost flawlessly from the start, but he made so thorough a studyof line play in general that his system, even down to the most intimatedetails of face to face coaching filed away for all time in that secretlibrary of football methods at West Point, has come to be known asGraves' Bible. 

Daly, still with that ineradicable love for his own Alma Mater, lent apage or two from this tome to Harvard, and even the author appeared inperson on Soldiers' Field. The manner in which Graves made personaldemonstration of his teachings will not soon be forgotten by the Harvardmen who had to face Pot Graves. 

Graves has always believed in the force mentioned in Daly's few linesquoted above on the subject of military methods as applied to football. While always declaring that the gridiron was no place for a fist fight, he always maintained that stalwarts should be allowed to fight it outwith as little interference by rule as possible. As a matter of fact, Graves was badly injured in a game with Yale, and for a long timeafterwards hobbled around with a troublesome knee. He knew the man whodid it, but would never tell his name, and he contents himself withsaying "I have no ill will--he got me first. If he hadn't I would havegot him. "

A story is told of Graves' impatience with the members of a littleluncheon party, who in the course of an argument on the new football, were getting away from the fundamentals. Rising and stepping over to thewindow of the Officers' Club, he said, with a sleepy smile: "Come here aminute, you fellows, " and, pointing down to the roadway, added, "there's_my_ team. " Looking out of the window the other members of the party sawa huge steam roller snorting and puffing up the hill. 

Among the men who played football with Graves and were indeed of histype, were Doe and Bunker. Like Graves, Bunker in spite of his greatweight, was fast enough to play in the backfield in those years whenArmy elevens were relying so much upon terrific power. Those were thedays when substitutes had very little opportunity. In the final Navygame of 1902 the same eleven men played for the Army from start tofinish. 

In this period of Army football other first-class men were developed, notably Torney, a remarkable back, Thompson, a guard, and Tom Hammond, who was later to make a reputation as an end coach. Bunker was stillwith this aggregation, an eleven that marched fifty yards for atouchdown in fifteen plays against the midshipmen. The Army was amongthe early Eastern teams to test Eastern football methods against thoseof the West, the Cadets defeating a team from the University of Chicagoon the plains. 

The West Pointers had only one criticism to make of their visitors, andit was laconically put by one of the backs, who said:

"They're all-fired fast, but it's funny how they stop when you tacklethem. "

In this lineup was A. C. Tipton, at center, to whom belongs the honor offorcing the Rules Committee to change the code in one particular inorder to stop a maneuver which he invented while in midcareer in a biggame. No one will ever forget how, when chasing a loose ball andrealizing that he had no chance to pick it up, he kicked it again andagain until it crossed the final chalk mark where he fell on it for atouchdown. Tipton was something of a wrestler too, as a certainJapanese expert in the art of Jiu-jitsu can testify and indeed didtestify on the spot after the doctors had brought him too. 

There was no lowering of the standards in the succeeding years, whichsaw the development of players like Hackett, Prince, Farnsworth andDavis. Those years too saw the rise of such wonderful forwards as W. W. (Red) Erwin and that huge man from Alaska, D. D. Pullen. 

Coming now to more recent times, the coaching was turned over to H. M. Nelly, assisted by Joseph W. Beacham, fresh from chasing the littlebrown brother in the Philippines. Beacham had made a great reputation atCornell, and there was evidence that he had kept up with the game atleast in the matter of strategic possibilities, even while in thetangled jungle of Luzon. He brought with him even more than that--anuncanny ability to see through the machinery of the team and pick outits human qualities, upon which he never neglected to play. There havebeen few coaches closer to his men than Joe. 

Whenever I talk football with Joe Beacham he never forgets to mentionVaughn Cooper, to whom he gives a large share of the credit for the goodwork of his elevens. Cooper was of the quiet type, whose specialty wasdefense. These two made a great team. 

It was in this period that West Point saw the development of one of itsgreatest field generals. There was nothing impressive in the physicalappearance of little H. L. Hyatt. A reasonably good man, ball in hand, his greatest value lay in his head work. As the West Point trainer saidone day: "I've got him all bandaged up like a leg in a puttee, but fromthe neck up he's a piece of ice. " The charts of games in which Hyatt ranthe team are set before the squad each year as examples, not merely ofperfect generalship, but of the proper time to violate that generalshipand make it go, a distinction shared by Prichard, who followed in hisfootsteps with added touches of his own. 

One cannot mention Prichard's name without thinking at once of Merillat, who, with Prichard, formed one of the finest forward passingcombinations the game has seen. Both at Franklin Field and at the PoloGrounds this pair brought woe to the Navy. 

These stars had able assistance in the persons of McEwan, one of thegreatest centers the game has seen and who was chosen to lead the teamin 1916, Weyand, Neyland and O'Hare, among the forwards, and thebrilliant and sturdy Oliphant in the backfield, the man whose slashingplay against the Navy in 1915 will never be forgotten. Oliphant was of amost unusual type. Even when he was doing the heaviest damage to theNavy Corps the midshipmen could not but admire his wonderful work. 

What the Hustlers are to Annapolis the Cullom Hall team is to WestPoint. It is made up of the leftovers from the first squad andsubstitutes. One would travel far afield in search of a team with morespirit and greater pep in action, whether playing in outside games, oras their coach would put it, "showing up" the first Eleven. Notinfrequently a player of the highest caliber is developed in this squadand taken to the first eleven. 

The Cullom Hall squad, whose eleven generally manages to clean up someof the strongest school teams of the Hudson Valley, draws not a littleof its spirit, I think, from the late Lieutenant E. M. Zell, betterknown at the Academy as "Jobey. " It was a treat to see the Cullom Hallteam marching down the field against the first Eleven with the roly-polyfigure of Jobey in the thick of every scrimmage, coaching at the top ofhis lungs, even when bowled over by the interference of his own pupils. Since his time the squad has been turned over to Lieutenants Sellack andCrawford, who have kept alive the traditions and the playing spirit ofthis unique organization. 

Their reward for the bruising, hard work, with hardly a shadow of thehope of getting their letter, comes in seeing the great game itself. Like the college scrub teams the hardest rooters for the Varsity are tobe found in their ranks. 

Now for the game itself. Always hard fought, always well fought, thereis perhaps no clash of all the year that so wakes the interest of thegeneral public, that vast throng which, without college affiliations, is nevertheless hungry for the right of allegiance somewhere, somehow. 

While the Service Elevens are superbly supported by the men who havebeen through the exacting mill at West Point and Annapolis--theirsweethearts and wives, not to mention sisters, cousins, uncles andaunts--they are urged on to battle by that great impartial public whichbelieves that in a sense these two teams belong to it. It is notuncommon to find men who have had no connection with either academy inhot argument as to the relative merits of the teams. 

Once in the stands some apparently trifling thing begets a partisanshipthat this class of spectator is wont to wonder at after it is all over. 

Whether in Philadelphia in the earlier history of these contests onneutral ground, or in New York, Army and Navy Day has become by tacitconsent the nearest thing to a real gridiron holiday. For the civilianwho has been starved for thrilling action and the chance to cheerthrough the autumn days, the jam at the hotels used as headquarters bythe followers of the two elevens satisfies a yearning that he hashitherto been unable to define. There too, is found a host of old-timecollege football men and coaches who hold reunion and sometimes evenbury hatchets. Making his way through the crowds and jogging elbows withthe heroes of a sport that he understands only as organized combat hebecomes obsessed with the spirit of the two fighting institutions. 

Once in possession of the coveted ticket he hies himself to the field asearly as possible, if he is wise, in order to enjoy the preliminarieswhich are unlike those at any other game. Soon his heart beats faster, attuned to the sound of tramping feet without the gates. The measuredcadence swells, draws nearer, and the thousands rise as one, when firstthe long gray column and then the solid ranks of blue swing out upon thefield. The precision of the thing, the realization that order and systemcan go so far as to hold in check to the last moment the enthusiasms ofthese youngsters thrills him to the core. Then suddenly gray ranks andblue alike break for the stands, there to cut loose such a volume of noworderly, now merely frenzied noise as never before smote his ears. 

It is inspiration and it is novelty. The time, the place and the menthat wake the loyalty dormant in every man which, sad to say, so seldomhas a chance of expression. 

Around the field are ranged diplomat, dignitary of whatsoever rank, bothnative and foreign. In common with those who came to see, as well as tobe seen--and who does not boast of having been to the Army-Navygame--they rise uncovered as the only official non-partisan of footballhistory enters the gates--the President of the United States. Throughoutone half of the game he lends his support to one Academy and in theintermission makes triumphal progress across the field, welcomed on hisarrival by a din of shouting surpassing all previous effort, there tosupport their side. 

[Illustration: CADETS AND MIDDIES ENTERING THE FIELD]

It is perhaps one of those blessed hours in the life of a man upon whomthe white light so pitilessly beats, when he can indulge in the popularsport, to him so long denied, of being merely human. 

Men, methods, moods pass on. The years roll by, taking toll of every oneof us from highest to lowest. Yet, whether we are absorbed in the gameof games, or whether we look upon it as so many needs must merely as aspectacle, the Army-Navy game will remain a milestone never to beuprooted. I have spoken elsewhere and at length of football traditions. The Army-Navy game is not merely a football tradition but an Americaninstitution. It is for all the people every time. 

May this great game go on forever, serene in its power to bring out thebest that is in us, and when the Great Bugler sounds the silver-sweetcall of taps for all too many, there will still be those who in theirturn will answer the call of reveille to carry on the traditions of thegreat day that was ours. 

CHAPTER XIII

HARD LUCK IN THE GAME

It is as true in football, as it is in life, that we have no use for aquitter. The man who shirks in time of need--indeed there is no part inthis chapter or in this book for such a man. Football was never made forhim. He is soon discovered and relegated to the side line. He is houndedthroughout his college career, and afterwards he is known as a man whowas yellow. As Garry Cochran used to say:

"If I find any man on my football squad showing a white feather, I'llhave him hounded out of college. "

Football is a game for the man who has nerve, and when put to the test, under severe handicap, proves his sterling worth. 

A man has to be game in spirit. A man has to give every inch there is inhim. Optimism should surround him. There is much to be gained by heartyco-operation of spirit. There is much in the thought that you believeyour team is going to win; that the opposing team cannot beat you; thatif your opponent wins, it is going to be over your dead body. This sortof spirit is contagious, and generally passes from one to the other, until you have a wonderful team spirit, and eleven men are foundfighting like demons for victory. Such a spirit generally means avictory, and so gets its reward. There must be no dissenting spirit. Ifthere is such a spirit discernible, it should be weeded out immediately. 

Some years ago the Princeton players were going to the field house todress for the Harvard game. The captain and two of the players werewalking ahead of the rest of the members of the team. The game was underdiscussion, when the captain overheard one of the players behind himremark:

"I believe Harvard will win to-day. "

Shocked by this remark, the captain, who was one of those thoroughbredswho never saw anything but victory ahead, full of hope and confidence inhis team, turned and discovered that the remark came from one of hisregular players. Addressing him, he said:

"Well! If you feel that way about it, you need not even put on yoursuit. I have a substitute, who is game to the core. He will take yourplace. "

It is true that teams have been ruined where the men lack the greatquality of optimism in football. When a man gets in a tight place, whenthe odds are all against him, there comes to him an amazing superhumanstrength, which enables him to work out wonders. At such a time men havebeen known to do what seemed almost impossible. 

I recall being out in the country in my younger days and seeing a man, who had become irrational, near the roadside, where some heavy logs werepiled. This man, who ordinarily was only a man of medium strength, waspicking up one end of a log and tossing it around--a log, which, ordinarily, would have taken three men to lift. In the bewildering andexciting problems of football, there are instances similar to this, where a small man on one team, lined up against a giant in the opposingrush line, and game though handicapped in weight there comes to him atsuch a time a certain added strength, by which he was able to handlesuccessfully the duty which presented itself to him. 

I have found it to be the rule rather than the exception, that the bigman in football did not give me the most trouble; it was the man muchsmaller than myself. Other big linemen have found it to be true. Many asmall man has made a big man look ridiculous. 

Bill Caldwell, who used to weigh over 200 pounds when he played guard onthe Cornell team some years ago, has this to say:

"I want to pay a tribute to a young man who gave me my worst seventyminutes on the football field. His name was Payne. He played left guardfor Lehigh. He weighed about 145 pounds; was of slight build and seemedto have a sort of sickly pallor. I have never seen him since, but I takethis occasion to say this was the greatest little guard I ever met. Atleast he was great that day. Payne had been playing back of the lineduring part of the season, but was put in at guard against me. I had ahunch that he was going to bite me in the ankle, when he lined up thefirst time, for he bristled up and tore into me like a wild cat. I havemet a goodish few guards in my day, and was accustomed to almost anyform of warfare, but this Payne went around me, like a cooper around abarrel, and broke through the line and downed the runners in theirtracks. On plunges straight at him, he went to the mat and grabbed everyleg in sight and hung on for dear life. He darted through between mylegs; would vault over me; what he did to me was a shame. He was notrough, but was just the opposite. I never laid a hand on him all theafternoon. He would make a world beater in the game as it is playedto-day. "

Whenever Brown University men get together and speak of their wonderfulquarterbacks, the names of Sprackling and Crowther are always mentioned. Both of these men were All-American quarterbacks. Crowther filled theposition after Sprackling graduated. He weighed only 134 pounds, but hegave everything he had in him--game, though handicapped in weight. Inthe Harvard game of that year, about the middle of the second half, Haughton sent word over to Robinson, the Brown coach, that he ought totake the little fellow out; that he was too small to play football, andwas in danger of being seriously injured. Crowther, however, was like anIndia-rubber ball and not once during the season had he received anysort of injury. Robby told Crowther what Haughton had suggested, andsmiling, the latter said:

"Tell him not to worry about me; better look out for himself. "

On the next play Crowther took the ball and went around Harvard's endfor forty yards, scoring a touchdown. After he had kicked the goal, thelittle fellow came over to the side line, and said to Robby:

"Send word over to Haughton and ask him how he likes that. Ask him if hethinks I'm all in? Perhaps he would like to have me quit now. "

In the Yale game that year Crowther was tackled by Pendleton, one of thebig Yale guards. It so happened that Pendleton was injured several timeswhen he tackled Crowther and time had to be taken out. Finally the bigfellow was obliged to quit, and as he was led off the field, Crowtherhurried over to him, reaching up, placed his hands on his shoulder andsaid:

"Sorry, old man! I didn't mean to hurt you. " Pendleton, who weighed wellover 200 pounds, looked down upon the little fellow, but said never aword. 

It is most unpleasant to play in a game where a man is injured. Yetstill more distressing when you realize that you yourself injuredanother player, especially one of your own team mates. 

In the Brown game of 1898, at Providence, Bosey Reiter, Princeton's starhalfback, made a flying tackle of a Brown runner. The latter wasstruggling hard, trying his best to get away from Reiter. At this momentI was coming along and threw myself upon the Brown man to prevent hisadvancing further. In the mixup my weight struck Bosey and fractured hiscollar-bone. It was a severe loss to the team, and only one who has hada similar experience can appreciate my feelings, as well as the team's, on the journey back to Princeton. 

We were to play Yale the following Saturday at Princeton. I knewReiter's injury was so serious that he could not possibly play in thatgame. 

The following Saturday, as that great football warrior lay in his bed atthe infirmary, the whistle blew for the start of the Yale game. We allrealized Reiter was not there: not even on the side lines, and ArthurPoe said, at the start of the game:

"Play for Bosey Reiter. He can't play for himself to-day. "

This spurred us on to better team work and to victory. The attendants atthe hospital told us later that they never had had such a livelypatient. He kept things stirring from start to finish of the gridironbattle. As the reports of the game were brought to him, he joined inthe thrill of the play. 

"My injury proved a blessing, " says Reiter, "as it gave me an extrayear, for in those days a year did not count in football, unless youplayed against Yale, and when I made the touchdown against Yale thefollowing season, it was a happy moment for me. "

All is not clear sailing in football. The breaks must come some time. They may come singly or in a bunch, but whenever they do come, it takescourage to buck the hard luck in the game. Just when things get nicelyunder way one of the star players is injured, which means the systematicteam work is handicapped. It is not the team, as a whole that I amthinking of, but the pangs of sorrow which go down deep into a fellow'ssoul, when he finds that he is injured; that he is in the hands of thedoctor. It is then he realizes that he is only a spoke in the big wheel;that the spirit of the game puts another man in his place. The game goeson. Nature is left to do her best for him. 

Let us for a while consider the player who does not realize, until afterthe game is over, that he is hurt. It is after the contest, when theexcitement has ceased, when reaction sets in, that a doctor and trainercan take stock of the number and extent of casualties. 

When such injured men are discovered, at a time like that, we wonder howthey ever played the game out. In fact the man never knew he wasinjured until the game was over. No more loyal supporter of footballfollows the big games than Reggi Wentworth, Williams, '91. 

He is most loyal to Bill Hotchkiss, Williams '91. 

"At Williamstown, one year, " Wentworth says, "Hotchkiss, who was awonderful all round guard, probably as great a football player as everlived (at least I think so) played with the Williams team on a fieldcovered with mud and snow three inches deep. The game was an unusuallysevere one, and Hotchkiss did yeoman's work that day. 

"As we ran off the field, after the game, I happened to stop, turned, and discovered Hotchkiss standing on the side of the field, with hisfeet planted well apart, like an old bull at bay. I went back where hewas and said:

"'Come on, Bill, what's the matter?'

"'I don't know, ' said he. 'There's something the matter with my ankles. I don't think I can walk. '

"He took one step and collapsed. I got a boy's sled, which was on thefield, laid Hotchkiss on it and took him to his room, only to find thatboth ankles were sprained. He did not leave his room for two weeks andwalked with crutches for two weeks more. It seemed almost unbelievablethat a man handicapped as he was could play the game through. Splintsand ankle braces were unknown in those days. He went on the field withtwo perfectly good ankles. How did he do it?"

Charles H. Huggins, of Brown University, better known perhaps, simply as"Huggins of Brown, " recalls a curious case in a game on Andrews Field:

"Stewart Jarvis, one of the Brown ends, made a flying tackle. As he didso, he felt something snap in one of his legs. We carried him off to thefield house, making a hasty investigation. We found nothing moreapparent than a bruise. I bundled him off to college in a cab; gave hima pair of crutches; told him not to go out until our doctor couldexamine the injury at six o'clock that evening. When the doctor arrivedat his room, Jarvis was not there. He had gone to the training table fordinner. The doctor hurried to the Union dining-room, only to find thatJarvis had discarded the crutches and with some of the boys had gone outto Rhodes, then, as now, a popular resort for the students. Later, welearned that he danced several times. The next morning an X-ray clearlyshowed a complete fracture of the tibia. 

"How it was possible for a man, with a broken leg, to walk around anddance, as he did, is more than I can fathom. "

What is there in a man's make-up that leads him to conceal from thetrainer an injury that he receives in a game; that makes him stay in thefield of play? Why is it that he disregards himself, and goes on in thegame, suffering physical as well as mental tortures, plucky thoughhandicapped? The playing of such men is extended far beyond the point oftheir usefulness. Yes, even into the danger zone. Such men giveeverything they have in them while it lasts. It is not intelligentfootball, however, and what might be called bravery is foolishness afterall. It is an unwritten law in football that a fresh substitute is farsuperior to a crippled star. The keen desire to remain in the game is sofirmly fixed in his mind that he is willing to sacrifice himself, and atthe same time by concealing his injury from the trainer and coaches he, unconsciously, is sacrificing his team; his power is gone. 

One of the greatest exhibitions of grit ever seen in a football game wasgiven by Harry Watson of Williams in a game at Newton Center betweenWilliams and Dartmouth. He was knocked out about eight times butabsolutely refused to leave the field. 

Another was furnished by W. H. Lewis, the Amherst captain and centerrush, against Williams in his last game at Amherst--the score was 0-0 ona wet field. Williams was a big favorite but Lewis played a wonderfulgame, and was all over the field on the defense. When the game was overhe was carried off, but refused to leave the field until the finalwhistle. 

One of the most thrilling stories of a man who was game, thoughhandicapped, is told by Morris Ely, quarterback for Yale, 1898. 

"My most vivid recollection of the Harvard-Yale game of 1898 is thatHarvard won by the largest score Yale had ever been beaten by up to thattime, 17 to 0. Next, that the game seemed unusually long. I believe Iproved a good exponent of the theory of being in good condition. Istarted the game at 135 pounds, in the best physical condition I haveever enjoyed, and while I managed to accumulate two broken ribs, abroken collar-bone and a sprained shoulder, I was discharged by thedoctor in less than three weeks as good as ever. 

"I received the broken ribs in the first half when Percy Jaffrey fell onme with a proper intention of having me drop a fumbled ball behind ourgoal line, which would have given Harvard an additional touchdowninstead of a touchback. I did not know just what had gone wrong buttried to help it out by putting a shin guard under my jersey over theribs during the intermission. No one knew I was hurt. 

"In the second half I tried to stop one of Ben Dibblee's runs on a puntand got a broken collar-bone, but not Dibblee. About the end of the gamewe managed to work a successful double pass and I carried the ball toHarvard's ten-yard line when Charlie Daly, who was playing back ondefense, stopped any chance we had of scoring by a hard tackle. Therewas no getting away from him that day, and as I had to carry the ballin the wrong arm with no free arm to use to ward him off, I presume, Igot off pretty well with only a sprained shoulder. The next play endedthe game, when Stub Chamberlin tried a quick place goal from the fieldand, on a poor pass and on my poor handling of the ball, hit the goalpost and the ball bounded back. I admit that just about that time thewhistle sounded pretty good as apparently the entire Harvard team landedon us in their attempt to block a kick. "

Val Flood, once a trainer at Princeton, recalls a game at New Haven, when Princeton was playing Yale:

"Frank Bergen was quarterback, " he says. "I saw he was not going right, and surprised the coaches by asking them to make a change. They asked meto wait. In a few minutes I went to them again, with the same result. Icame back a third time, and insisted that he be taken out. A substitutewas put in. I will never forget Bergen's face when he burst into tearsand asked me who was responsible for his being taken out. I told him Iwas. It almost broke his heart, for he had always regarded me as afriend. I knew how much he wanted to play the game out. He lived in NewHaven. When the doctor examined him, it was found that he had threebroken ribs. There was great danger of one of them piercing his lungshad he continued in the game. Of course, there are lots of boys thatare willing to do such things for their Alma Mater, but the gamest ofall is the man who, with a broken neck to start with, went out and putin four years of college football. I refer to Eddie Hart, who was notonly the gamest, but one of the strongest, quickest, cleanest men thatever played the game, and any one who knows Eddie Hart and those whohave seen him play, know that he never saved himself but played the gamefor all it was worth. He was the life and spirit of every team he everplayed on at Exeter or Princeton. "

Ed Wylie, an enthusiastic Hill School Alumnus, football player at Hilland Yale, tells the following anecdote:

"The nerviest thing I ever saw in a football game was in theHill-Hotchkiss 0 to 0 game in 1904. At the start of the second half, Arthur Cable, who was Hill's quarterback, broke his collar-bone. Heconcealed the fact and until the end of the game, no one knew how badlyhe was hurt. He was in every play, and never had time called but once. He caught a couple of punts with his one good arm and every other punthe attempted to catch and muffed he saved the ball from the other sideby falling on it. In the same game, a peculiar thing happened to me. Itackled Ted Coy about fifteen minutes before the end of the game, anduntil I awoke hours later, lying in a drawing-room car, pulling intothe Grand Central Station, my mind was a blank. Yet I am told the lastfifteen minutes of the game I played well, especially when our line wasgoing to pieces. I made several gains on the offensive, never missed asignal and punted two or three times when close to our goal line. "

No less noteworthy is the spirit of a University of Pennsylvania player, who was handicapped during his gridiron career with Penn' by many severeinjuries. This man had worked as hard as any one possibly could to makethe varsity for three years. His last year was no different fromprevious seasons; injuries always worked against him. In his final yearhe had broken his leg early in the season. A short time before theCornell game he appeared upon the field in football togs, full of spiritand determined to get in the game if they needed him. This was his lastchance to play on the Penn' team. 

I was an official in that game. Near its close I saw him warming up onthe side line. His knee was done up in a plaster cast. He could donothing better than hobble along the side lines, but in the closingmoments when Penn' had the game well in hand, a mighty shout went upfrom the side lines, as that gallant fellow, who had been handicappedall during his football career, rushed out upon the field to take hisplace as the defensive halfback. Cornell had the ball, and they weremaking a tremendous effort to score. The Cornell captain, not knowingof this man's physical condition, sent a play in his direction. Theinterference of the big red team crashed successfully around the Penn'end and there was left only this plucky, though handicapped player, between the Cornell runner and a touchdown. 

Putting aside all personal thought, he rushed in and made a wonderfultackle. Then this hero was carried off the field, and with him thetradition of one who was willing to sacrifice himself for the sport heloved. 

Andy Smith, a former University of Pennsylvania player, was a man whowas game through and through. He seemed to play better in a severe game, when the odds were against him. Smith had formerly been at PennsylvaniaState College. In a game between Penn' State and Dartmouth, FredCrolius, of Dartmouth, says of Smith:

"Andy Smith was one of the gamest men I ever played against. This big, determined, husky offensive fullback and defensive end, when he wasn'tbutting his head into our impregnable line, was smashing an interferencethat nearly killed him in every other play. Battered and bruised he keptcoming on, and to every one's surprise he lasted the entire game. Yearsafterward he showed me the scars on his head, where the wounds hadhealed, with the naïve remark: 'Some team you fellows had that year, Fred. ' Some team was right. And we all remember Andy and his ownindividual greatness. "

There is no finer, unselfish spirit brought out in football, than thatevidenced in the following story, told by Shep Homans, an old timePrinceton fullback:

"A young fellow named Hodge, who was quarterback on the Princeton scrub, was making a terrific effort to play the best he could on the last dayof practice before the Yale game. He had hoped even at the last hourthat the opportunity might be afforded him to be a substitute quarter inthe game. However, his leg was broken in a scrimmage. As he lay on theground in great pain, realizing what had happened and forgettinghimself, he looked up and said:

"'I'm mighty glad it is not one of the regulars who is hurt, so that ourchance against Yale will not be affected. '"

Crolius, one of the hardest men to stop that Dartmouth ever had, tellsof Arthur Poe's gameness, when they played together on the HomesteadAthletic Club team, after they left college. "Arthur Poe was about asgame a man as the football world ever saw. He was handicapped in hisplaying by a knee which would easily slip out of place. We men whoplayed with him on the Homestead team were often stopped after Arthurhad made a magnificent tackle and had broken up heavy interference, withthis quiet request:

"'Pull my bum knee back into place. '

"After this was done, he would jump up and no one would ever know thatit had been out. This man, who perhaps was the smallest man playing atthat time, was absolutely unprotected. His suit consisted of a pair ofshoes, stockings, unpadded pants, jersey and one elastic knee bandage. "

Mike Donohue, a Yale man who had been coach at Auburn for many years, vouches for the following story:

When Mike went to Auburn and for several years thereafter he had no oneto assist him, except a few of the old players, who would drop in for aday or so during the latter part of the season. One afternoon Mikehappened to glance down at the lower end of the field where a squad ofgrass-cutters (the name given to the fourth and fifth teams) werebooting the ball around, when he noticed a pretty good sized boy who wasswinging his foot into the ball with a good stiff leg and was kickinghigh and getting fine distance. Mike made a mental note of this fact anddecided to investigate later, as a good punter was very hard to find. 

Later in the afternoon he again looked towards the lower end of thefield and saw that the grass-cutters were lining up for a scrimmageamong themselves, using that part of the field, which was behind thegoal post, so he dismissed the squad with which he had been working andwent down to see what the boy he had noticed early in the afternoonreally looked like. When he arrived he soon found the boy he was lookingfor. He was playing left end and Mike immediately noticed that he hadhis right leg extended perfectly straight behind him. Stopping the play, Mike went over to the fellow and slapping him on the back said:

"Don't keep that right leg stiff behind you like that. Pull it up underyou. Bend it at the knee so you can get a good start. "

With a sad expression on his face, and tears almost in his eyes, the boyturned to Mike and said:

"Coach, that damn thing won't bend. It's wood. "

Vonalbalde Gammon, one of the few players who met his death in anintercollegiate game, lived at Rome, Georgia, and entered the Universityof Georgia in 1896. He made the team his first year, playing quarterbackon the eleven which was coached by Pop Warner and which won the Southernchampionship. He received the injury which caused his death in theGeorgia-Virginia game, played in Atlanta, Georgia, on October 30th, 1897. He was a fine fellow personally and one of the most popular men atthe University. As a football player, he was an excellent punter, agood plunger, and a strong defensive man. On account of his kicking andplunging ability he was moved to fullback in his second year. 

In the Virginia game he backed up the line on the defense. All thatafternoon he worked like a Trojan to hold in check the powerful massesVirginia had been driving at the tackles. Early in the second half Vondove in and stopped a mass aimed at Georgia's right tackle, but when themass was untangled, he was unable to get up. An examination showed thathe was badly hurt. In a minute or two, however, he revived and was seton his feet and was being taken from the field by Coach McCarthy, whenCaptain Kent, thinking that he was not too badly hurt to continue in thegame, said to him:

"Von, you are not going to give up, are you?"

"No, Bill, " he replied, "I've got too much Georgia grit for that. "

These were his last words, for upon reaching the side lines he lapsedinto unconsciousness and died at two o'clock the next morning. 

Gammon's death ended the football season that year at the University. Italso came very near ending football in the State of Georgia, as theLegislature was in session, and immediately passed a bill prohibitingthe playing of the game in the State. 

However, Mrs. Gammon--Von's mother--made a strong, earnest and personalappeal to Governor Atkinson to veto the bill, which he did. 

Had it not been for Mrs. Gammon, football would certainly have beenabolished in the State of Georgia by an act of the Legislature of 1897. 

I knew a great guard whose whole heart was set on making the Princetonteam, and on playing against Yale. This man made the team. In aPrinceton-Columbia game he was trying his best to stop that wonderfulColumbia player, Harold Weekes, who with his great hurdling play wasthat season's sensation. In his hurdling he seemed to take his life inhis hands, going over the line of the opposing team feet first. When thegreat guard of the Princeton team to whom I refer tried to stop Weekes, his head collided with Weekes' feet and was badly cut. 

The trainer rushed upon the field, sponged and dressed the wound and theguard continued to play. But that night it was discovered that bloodpoisoning had set in. There was gloom on the team when this becameknown. But John Dana, lying there injured in the hospital, and knowinghow badly his services were needed in the coming game with Yale, withhis ambition unsatisfied, used his wits to appear better than he reallywas in order to get discharged from the hospital and back on the team. 

The physician who attended him has told me since that Dana would keephis mouth open slyly when the nurse was taking his temperature so thatit would not be too high and the chart would make it appear that he wasall right. 

At any rate, he seemed to improve steadily, and finally reported to thetrainer, Jim Robinson, two days before the Yale game. He was full ofhope and the coaches decided to have Robinson give him a try-out, sothat they could decide whether he was as fit as he was making it appearhe was. 

I shall never forget watching that heroic effort, as Robinson took himout behind the training house, to make the final test. With a head-gear, especially made for him, Dana settled down in his regular position, ready for the charge, anticipating the oncoming Yale halfback andthrobbing with eagerness to tackle the man with the ball. 

Then he plunged forward, both arms extended, but handicapped by histerrible injury, he toppled over upon his face, heart-broken. The spiritwas there, but he was physically unfit for the task. 

The Yale game started without Dana, and as he sat there on the sidelines and saw Princeton go down to defeat, he was overcome with thethought of his helplessness. He was needed, but he didn't have a chance. 

CHAPTER XIV

BRINGING HOME THE BACON

Happy is the thought of victory, and while we realize that there shouldalways be eleven men in every play, each man doing his duty, therefrequently comes a time in a game, when some one man earns the creditfor winning the game, and brings home the bacon. Maybe he has been thecaptain of the team, with a wonderful power of leadership which had heldthe Eleven together all season and made his team a winning one. From therecollections of some of the victories, from the experiences of the menwho participated in them and made victory possible, let us play some ofthose games over with some of the heroes of past years. 

Billy Bull

One of the truly great bacon-getters of the past is Yale's Billy Bull. Football history is full of his exploits when he played on the Yale teamin '85, '86, '87 and '88. Old-time players can sit up all night tellingstories of the games in which he scored for Yale. His kicking proved awinning card and in happy recollection the old-timers tell of Bull, thehero of many a game, being carried off the field on the shoulders of anadmiring crowd of Yale men after a big victory. 

"In the course of my years at Yale, six big games were played, " saysBull, "four with Princeton and two with Harvard. I was fortunate inbeing able to go through all of them, sustaining no injury whatsoever, except in the last game with Princeton. In this game, Channing camethrough to me in the fullback position and in tackling him I received ascalp wound which did not, however, necessitate my removal from thegame. 

"Of the six games played, only one was lost, and that was the Lamar gamein the fall of '85. In the five games won I was the regular kicker inthe last three, and, in two of these, kicking proved to be the decidingfactor. Thus in '87--Yale 17, Harvard 8--two place kicks and one dropkick were scored in the three attempts, totaling nine points. Considering the punting I did that day, and the fact that bothplace-kicks were scored from close to the side lines, I feel that thatgame represents my best work. 

"The third year of my play was undoubtedly my best year; in fact theonly year in which I might lay claim to being anything of a kicker. Thusin the Rutgers game of '87 I kicked twelve straight goals fromplacement. Counting the two goals from touchdowns against Princeton Ihad a batting average of 1000 in three games. 

"Through the last year I was handicapped with a lame kicking leg andwas out of form, for in the final game with Princeton that year, '88, Itried at least four times before scoring the first field goal of thegame. In the second half I had but one chance and that was successful. This was the 10-0 game, in which all the points were scored by kicking, although the ground was wet and slippery. 

"It is of interest to note, in connection with drop-kicking in the olddays, that the proposition was not the simple matter it is to-day. Then, the ball had to go through the quarter's hands, and the kicker inconsequence had so little time in which to get the ball away that he wasreally forced to kick in his tracks and immediately on receipt of theball. Fortunately I was able to do both, and I never had a try for adrop blocked, and only one punt, the latter due to the fact that theball was down by the side line, and I could not run to the left (whichwould have taken me out of bounds) before kicking. 

"Perhaps one of the greatest sources of satisfaction to me, speaking ofpunting in particular, was the fact that I was never blocked byPrinceton. And yet it was extremely fortunate for me that I was aleft-footed kicker and thus could run away from Cowan, who played a lefttackle before kicking. If I had had to use my right foot I doubt if Icould have got away with anything, for Cowan was certainly a wonderfulplayer and could get through the Yale line as though it were paper. Healways brought me down, but always after the ball had left my foot. Iknow that it has been thought at Princeton that I stood twelve yardsback from the line when kicking. This was not so. Ten yards was theregular distance, always. But, I either kicked in my tracks or directlyafter running to the left. "

THE DAY COLUMBIA BEAT YALE

Columbia men enthusiastically recall the day Columbia beat Yale. AColumbia man who is always on hand for the big games of the year isCharles Halstead Mapes, the ever reliable, loyal rooter for the game. Hehas told the tale of this victory so wonderfully well that footballenthusiasts cannot but enjoy this enthusiastic Columbia version. 

"Fifteen years ago Yale was supreme in football, " runs Mapes' story. "Occasionally, but only very occasionally, one of their great rivals, Princeton or Harvard, would win a game from them, but for any outsider, anybody except one of the 'Eternal Triangle, ' to beat Yale was out ofthe question--an utter impossibility. And, by the way, that Triangle attimes got almost as much on the nerves of the outside public as theFrenchmen's celebrated three--wife, husband, lover--the foundation oftheir plays. 

"The psychological effect of Yale's past prestige was all-powerful inevery game. The blue-jerseyed figures with the white Y would tumblethrough the gate and spread out on the field; the stands would rise tothem with a roar of joyous welcome that would raise the veryskies--Y-a-l-e! Y-a-l-e! Y--A--L--E!

[Illustration: TWO ACES--BILL MORLEY AND HAROLD WEEKS]

"'Small wonder that each man was right on his toes, felt as though hewere made of steel springs. All other Yale teams had won, 'We will win, of course. '

"But the poor other side--they might just as well throw their canvasjackets and mole-skin trousers in the old suit-case at once and go home. 'Beat Yale! boys, we're crazy, but every man must try his damnedest tokeep the score low, ' and so the game was won and lost before the refereeeven blew his starting whistle. 

"This was the general rule, but every rule needs an exception to proveit, and on a certain November afternoon in 1899 we gave them theirbelly-full of exception. We had a very strong team that year, with sometruly great players, Harold Weekes and Bill Morley (there never were twobetter men behind the line), and Jack Wright, old Jack Wright, playingequally well guard or center, as fine a linesman as I have ever seen. Weekes, Morley, and Wright were on the All-American team of that year, and Walter Camp in selecting his All-American team for All Time severalyears ago picked Harold Weekes as his first halfback. 

"I can see the game now; there was no scoring in the first half. Tothe outsider the teams seemed evenly matched, but we, who knew ourmen, thought we saw that the power was there; and if they could butrealize their strength and that they had it in them to lay low atlast that armor-plated old rhinoceros, the terror of the collegejungle--Yale, --with an even break of luck, the game must be ours. 

"In the second half our opportunity came. By one of the shifting chancesof the game we got the ball on about their 25-yard line; one yard, threeyards, two yards, four yards, we went through them; there was nostopping us, and at last--over, well over, for a touchdown. 

"Through some technicality in the last rush the officials, instead ofallowing the touchdown, took the ball away from us and gave it to Yale. They were right, probably quite right, but how could we think so? Yaleat once kicked the ball to the middle of the field well out of danger. The teams lined up. 

"On the very next play, with every man of that splendidly trained Elevendoing his allotted work, Harold Weekes swept around the end, aided bythe magnificent interference of Jack Wright, which gave him his start. He ran half the length of the field, through the entire Yale team, andplanted the ball squarely behind the goal posts for the touchdown whichwon the game. If we had ever had any doubt that cruel wrong is righted, that truth and justice must prevail, it was swept away that moment in agreat wave of thanksgiving. 

"I shall never forget it--Columbia had beaten Yale! Tears running downmy cheeks, shaken by emotion, I couldn't speak, let alone cheer. My bestgirl was with me. She gave one quick half-frightened glance and Ibelieve almost realized all I felt. She was all gold. I feel now thetimid little pressure on my arm as she tried to help me regain controlof myself. God! why has life so few such moments!"

BEHIND THE SCENES

Let us go into the dressing room of a victorious team, which defeatedYale at Manhattan Field a good many years ago and let us read with thatgreat lover of football, the late Richard Harding Davis, as he describesso wonderfully well some of the unique things that happened in thecelebration of victory. 

"People who live far away from New York and who cannot understand fromthe faint echoes they receive how great is the enthusiasm that thiscontest arouses, may possibly get some idea of what it means to thecontestants themselves through the story of a remarkable incident, thatoccurred after the game in the Princeton dressing room. The team werebeing rubbed down for the last time and after their three months ofself-denial and anxiety and the hardest and roughest sort of work thatyoung men are called upon to do, and outside in the semi-darknessthousands of Princeton followers were jumping up and down and huggingeach other and shrieking themselves hoarse. One of the Princeton coachescame into the room out of this mob, and holding up his arm for silencesaid, "'Boys, I want you to sing the doxology. '"

"Standing as they were, naked and covered with mud, blood andperspiration, the eleven men that had won the championship sang theDoxology from the beginning to the end as solemnly and as seriously, andI am sure, as sincerely, as they ever did in their lives, while outsidethe no less thankful fellow-students yelled and cheered and beat at thedoors and windows and howled for them to come out and show themselves. This may strike some people as a very sacrilegious performance and as amost improper one, but the spirit in which it was done has a great dealto do with the question, and any one who has seen a defeated team lyingon the benches of their dressing room, sobbing like hysterical schoolgirls, can understand how great and how serious is the joy of victory tothe men that conquer. "

Introducing Vic Kennard, opportunist extraordinary. Where is the Harvardman, Yale man, or indeed any football man who will not be stirred by therecollection of his remarkable goal from the field at New Haven thatprovided the winning points for the eleven Percy Haughton turned out inthe first year of his régime. To Kennard himself the memory is stillvivid, and there are side lights on that performance and indeed on allhis football days at Cambridge, of which he alone can tell. I'll notmake a conversation of this, but simply say as one does over the 'phone, "Kennard talking":--

[Illustration: VIC KENNARD'S KICK]

"Many of us are under the impression that the only real football fan ismolded from the male sex and that the female of the species attends thegame for decorative purposes only. I protest. Listen. In 1908 I had thegood fortune to be selected to enter the Harvard-Yale Game at New Haven, for the purpose of scoring on Yale in a most undignified way, throughthe medium of a drop-kick, Haughton realizing that while a touchdown wasdistinctly preferable, he was not afraid to fight it out in the nextbest way. 

"My prayers were answered, for the ball somehow or other made its wayover the crossbar and between the uprights, making the score, Harvard 4, Yale 0. My mother, who had made her way to New Haven by a forced march, was sitting in the middle of the stand on the Yale (no, I'm wrong, itwas, on second thought, on the Harvard side) accompanied by my twobrothers, one of whom forgot himself far enough to go to Yale, and willnot even to this day acknowledge his hideous mistake. 

"Five or six minutes before the end of the game, one E. H. Coy decidedthat the time was getting short and Yale needed a touchdown. So hegrabbed a Harvard punt on the run and started. Yes, he did more thanstart, he got well under way, circled the Harvard end and aftergalloping fifteen yards, apparently concluded that I would look well asminced meat, and headed straight for me, stationed well back on thesecondary defense. He had received no invitation whatsoever, but owingto the fact that I believe every Harvard man should be at least cordialto every Yale man, I decided to go 50-50 and meet him half way. 

"We met informally. That I know. I will never forget that. He weighedonly 195 pounds, but I am sure he had another couple of hundred tuckedaway somewhere. When I had finished counting a great variety and numberof stars, it occurred to me that I had been in a ghastly railroad wreck, and that the engine and cars following had picked out my right knee as anice soft place to pile up on. There was a feeling of great relief whenI looked around and saw that the engineer of that train, Mr. E. H. Coy, had stopped with the train, and I held the greatest hopes that neitherthe engine nor any one of the ten cars following would ever reach theterminal. 

"Mother, who had seen the whole performance, was little concerned withother than the fact that E. H. Had been delayed. His mission had beenmore than delayed--as it turned out, it had been postponed. In themeantime Dr. Nichols of the Harvard staff of first aid was working withmy knee, and from the stands it looked as though I might have broken myleg. 

"At this point some one who sat almost directly back of my mother calledout loud, 'That's young Kennard. It looks as though he'd broken hisleg. ' My brother, feeling that mother had not heard the remark, and notknowing what he might say, turned and informed him that Mrs. Kennard wassitting almost directly in front of him, requesting that he be carefulwhat he said. Mother, however, heard the whole thing, and turning in herseat said, 'That's all right, I don't care if his leg is broken, if weonly win this game. '

"My mother, who is a great football fan, after following the game forthree or four years, learned all the slang expressions typical offootball. She tried to work out new plays, criticised the generalshipoccasionally, and fairly 'ate and slept' football during the months ofOctober and November. While the season was in progress I usually sleptat home in Boston where I could rest more comfortably. I occupied theadjoining room to my mother's, and when I was ready for bed alwaysopened the door between the rooms. 

"One night I woke up suddenly and heard my mother talking. Wonderingwhether something was the matter, I got out of bed and went into herroom, appearing just in time to see my mothers arms outstretched. Shewas calling 'Fair catch. ' I spoke to her to see just what the troublewas, and she, in a sleepy way, mumbled, 'We won. ' She had been dreamingof the Harvard-Dartmouth game. 

"Early in the fall of 1908 Haughton heard rumors that the Indians wereequipping their backfield in a very peculiar fashion. Warner had had apiece of leather the color and shape of a football sewed on the jerseysof his backfield men, in such a position that when the arm was folded asif carrying the ball, it would appear as if each of the backfieldplayers might have possession of the ball, and therefore disorganizesomewhat the defense against the man who was actually carrying the ball. Instead of one runner each time, there appeared to be four. 

"Haughton studied the rules and found nothing to prevent Warner'sscheme. He wrote a friendly letter to Warner, stating that he did notthink it for the best interest of the game to permit his players toappear in the Stadium equipped in this way, at the same time admittingthat there was nothing in the rules against it. Taking no chances, however, Haughton worked out a scheme of his own. He discovered thatthere was no rule which prevented painting the ball red, so he had aball painted the same color as the crimson jerseys. Had the Indians comeon the field with the leather ruse sewed on their jerseys, Haughtonwould have insisted that the game be played with the crimson ball. 

"What did I learn in my football course? I learned to control mytemper, to exercise judgment, to think quickly and act decisively. Ilearned the meaning of discipline, to take orders and carry them out tothe best of my ability without asking why. I had through the trainingregular habits knocked into me. I learned to meet, know and size up men. I learned to smile when I was the most discouraged fellow in this greatwide world, the importance of being on time, a better control of mynerves, and to demand the respect of fellow players. I learned to workout problems for myself and to apply my energy more intelligently, --tostick by the ship. I secured a wide friendship which money can't buy. "

What Eddie Mahan was to Harvard, Charlie Barrett, Captain of thevictorious 1915 Eleven, was to Cornell. The Ithaca Captain was one ofthose powerful runners whose remarkable physique did not interfere withhis shiftiness. Like his Harvard contemporary, he was a fine leader, butunlike Mahan, with whom he clashed in the game with the Crimson in hisfinal year, he was not able to play the play through what was to himprobably the most important gridiron battle of his career. Nevertheless, it was his touchdown in the first quarter that sounded the knell of theCrimson hopes that day, and Cornell men will always believe that hispresence on the side line wrapped in a blanket, after his recovery fromthe shock that put him out of the game, had much to do with inspiringhis Eleven. 

Barrett was one of the products of the Cleveland University School, whence so many star players have been sent up to the leadinguniversities. On the occasion of his first appearance at Ithaca itbecame a practical certainty that he would not only make the VarsityEleven, but would some day be its captain. In course of time it became ahabit for the followers of the Carnelian and White to look to Barrettfor rescue in games that seemed to be hopelessly in the fire. 

In his senior year the team was noted for its ability to come frombehind, and this team spirit was generally understood as being thereflection of that of their leader. The Cornell Captain played thesecond and third periods of his final game against Pennsylvania in adazed condition, and it is a tribute to his mental and physicalresources that in the last period of that game he played perhaps as finefootball as he had ever shown. 

It was from no weakened Pennsylvania Eleven that Barrett snatched thevictory in this his crowded moment. The Quakers had had a disastrousseason up to Thanksgiving Day, but their pluck and rallying power, whichhas become a tradition on Franklin Field, was never more in evidence. The Quakers played with fire, with power and aggressiveness that nonesave those who know the Quaker spirit had been led to expect. Therewere heroes on the Red and Blue team that day, and without a Barrett athis best against them, they would have won. 

[Illustration: SAM WHITE'S RUN]

It was up to Eddie Hart with his supreme personality and indomitablespirit, which has always characterized him from the day he enteredExeter until he forged his way to the leadership of one of Princeton'sfinest elevens to bring home the long deferred championship. When thefinal whistle rang down the football curtain for the season of 1911 itfound Hart in the ascendancy having fulfilled the wonderful promise ofhis old Exeter days. For he had made good indeed. 

Yale and Harvard had been beaten through a remarkable combination ofteam and individual effort in which Sam White's alertness and DeWitt'skicking stood out; a combination which was made possible only throughHart's splendid leadership. 

At a banquet for this championship team given by the Princeton Club ofPhiladelphia, Lou Reichner, the toastmaster, in introducing Sam White, the hero of the evening, quoted from First Samuel III, Chapter ii, 12thand 1st verses--"And the Lord said unto Samuel, behold I will do a thingin Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shalltingle. In that day I will perform against Eli, all things which I havespoken concerning his house; when I begin I will also make an end. AndThe Child Samuel ministered unto the Lord Eli. " Mr. Reichner thenpresented to the Child Samuel the souvenir sleeve links and a silver boxcontaining the genuine soil from Yale Field. 

After Sam had been sufficiently honored, Alfred T. Baker, Princeton '85, a former Varsity football player, and his son Hobey Baker, who played onEddie Hart's team, were called before the toastmaster. There was atriple cheer for Hobey and his father. Reichner said that he had nothingfor Papa Baker, but a souvenir for Hobey, and if the father was manenough to take it away from him he could have it. 

In speaking of the Yale-Princeton game at New Haven, some of the thingsincidental to victory were told that evening by Sam White, who said:

"In the Yale game of 1911, Joe Duff, the Princeton guard, came over toHart, Captain of the Princeton team, and said:

"'Ed, I can't play any more. I can't stand on my left leg. '

"'That's all right, ' answered Hart, 'go back and play on your rightone. '

"Joe did and that year he made the All-American guard. 

"It was less than a week before the Harvard-Princeton game at Princeton, 1911, a friend of mine wrote down and asked me to get him four goodseats, and said if I'd mention my favorite cigar, he'd send me a box inappreciation. I got the seats for him, but it was more or less of astruggle, but in writing on did not mention cigars. He sent me a checkto cover the cost of the tickets and in the letter enclosed a smallscarf pin which he said was sure to bring me luck. He had done quite alittle running in his time and said it had never failed him and urged meto be sure and put it in my tie the day of the Harvard-Princeton game. Iam not superstitious, but I did stick it in my tie when I dressed thatSaturday morning and it surely had a charm. It was in the first halfthat I got away for my run, and as we came out of the field house at thestart of the second half, whom should I see but my friend, yelling likea madman--

"'Did you wear it? Did you wear it?'

"I assured him I did, and it seemed to quiet and please him, for hemerely grinned and replied:

"'I told you! I told you!'

"After the game I said nothing of the episode, but did secretly decideto keep the pin safely locked up until the day of the Yale-Princetongame. I again stuck it in my tie that morning and the charm still held, and I am still wondering to this day, if it doesn't pay to be a littlebit superstitious. "

Every Harvard man remembers vividly the great Crimson triumph of 1915over Yale. It will never be forgotten. During the game I sat on theHarvard side lines with Doctor Billy Brooks, a former Harvard captain. He was not satisfied when Harvard had Yale beaten by the score of 41 to0, but was enthusiastically urging Harvard on to at least one or twomore touchdowns, so that the defeat which Yale meted out to Harvard in1884, a game in which he was a player, would be avenged by a largerscore, but alas! he had to be satisfied with the tally as it stood. 

A story is told of the enthusiasm of Evert Jansen Wendell, as he stoodon the side lines of this same game and saw the big Crimson rollercrushing Yale down to overwhelming defeat. This enthusiastic Harvardgraduate cried out:

"'We must score again!'

"Another Harvard sympathiser, standing nearby, said:

"'Mr. Wendell, don't you think we have beaten them badly enough? Whatmore do you want?'

"'Oh, I want to see them suffer, ' retorted Wendell. "

After this game was over and the crowd was surging out of the stadiumthat afternoon I heard an energetic newsboy, who was selling the_Harvard Lampoon_, crying out at the top of his voice:

"'_Harvard Lampoon_ for sale here. All about the New Haven wreck. '"

Eddie Mahan

There is no question that the American game of football will go on foryears to come. If the future football generals develop a betterall-around man than Eddie Mahan, captain of the great Harvard team of1915, whose playing brought not only victory to Harvard but wasaccompanied by great admiration throughout the football world, they maywell congratulate themselves. From this peerless leader, whose playingwas an inspiration to the men on his team, let us put on record, so thatfuture heroes may also draw like inspiration from them, some of Mahan'sown recollections of his playing days. 

"I think the greatest game I ever played in was the Princeton game in1915, because we never knew until the last minute that we had won thegame, " says the Crimson star. "There was always a chance of Princeton'sbeating us. The score was 10 to 6. I worked harder in that game than inany game I ever played. 

"Frank Glick's defensive work was nothing short of marvelous. He is thefootball player I respect. He hit me so hard. The way I ran, it wasseldom that anybody got a crack at me. I would see a clear space and thefirst thing I knew Glick would come from behind somewhere, or somebody, and would hit me when I least expected it, and he usually hit me goodand hard. It seemed sometimes that he came right out of the ground. Itell you after he hit me a few times he was the only man I was lookingfor; I did not care much about the rest of the team. 

"One of the things that helped me most in my backfield play was PoochDonovan's coaching. He practiced me in sprints, my whole freshman year. He took a great interest in me. He speeded me up. I owe a great debt ofgratitude to Pooch. I could always kick before I went to Harvard, backin the old Andover days. I learned to kick by punting the ball all theafternoon, instead of playing football all the time. I think that is theway men should learn to kick. The more I kicked, the better I seemed toget. "

Among the many trophies Eddie Mahan has received, he prizes as much asany the watch presented to him by the townspeople of Natick, his hometown, his last year at Andover, after the football season closed. He wasattending a football game at Natick between Natick High and Milton High. 

"It was all a surprise to me, " says Eddie. "They called me out on thefield and presented me with this watch which is very handsomelyinscribed. 

"Well do I recall those wonderful days at Andover and the games betweenAndover and Exeter. There is intense rivalry between these two schools. Many are the traditions at Andover, and some of the men who had precededme, and some with whom I played were Jack Curtis, Ralph Bloomer, FrankHinkey, Doc Hillebrand and Jim Rodgers. Then there was Trevor Hogg, whowas captain of the Princeton 1916 team, Shelton, Red Braun, Bob Jones. The older crowd of football men made the game what it is at Andover. Lately they have had a much younger crowd. When I was at Andover, JohnnyKilpatrick, Henry Hobbs, Ham Andrews, Bob Foster and Bob McKay hadalready left there and gone to college. 

"It has been a great privilege for me to have played on different teamsthat have had strong players. I cannot say too much about Hardwick, Bradlee, and Trumbull. Brickley was one of the hardest men for ouropponents to bring down when he got the ball. He was a phenomenalkicker. I had also a lot of respect for Mal Logan, who playedquarterback on my team in 1915. He weighed less than 150 pounds. He usedto get into the interference in grand shape. He counted for something. He was a tough kid. He could stand all sorts of knocks and he used toget them too. When I was kicking he warded off the big tackles as theycame through. He was always there and nobody could ever block a kickfrom his side. The harder they hit him, the stronger he came back everytime. "

When I asked Mahan about fun in football he said:

"We didn't seem to do much kidding. There was a sort of serious spirit;Haughton had such an influence over everybody, they were afraid to laughbefore practice, while waiting for Haughton, and after practiceeverybody was usually so tired there was not much fooling in thedressing room; but we got a lot of fun out of the game. "

Of Haughton's coaching methods and the Harvard system Eddie has a fewthings to tell us that will be news to many football men. 

"Haughton coaches a great deal by the use of photographs which are takenof us in practice as well as regular games. He would get us all togetherand coach from the pictures--point out the poor work. Seldom were thegood points shown. Nevertheless, he always gave credit to the man whogot his opponent in the interference. Haughton used to say:

"'Any one can carry a ball through a bunch of dead men. '

"Haughton is a good organizer. He has been the moving spirit atCambridge but by no means the whole Harvard coaching staff. Theindividual coaches work with him and with each other. Each one hascontrol or supreme authority over his own department. The backfieldcoach has the picking of men for their positions. Harvard followsCharlie Daly's backfield play; improved upon somewhat, of course, according to conditions. Each coach is considered an expert in his ownline. No coach is considered an expert in all fields. This is the methodat Harvard. 

"Outside of Haughton, Bill Withington, Reggie Brown, and Leo Leary havebeen the most recent prominent coaches. The Harvard generalship hasbeen the old Charlie Daly system. Reggie Brown has been a greatstrategist. Harvard line play came from Pot Graves of West Point. "

[Illustration: KING, OF HARVARD, MAKING A RUN; MAHAN PUTTING BLACK ONHIS HEAD]

George Chadwick

What George Chadwick, captain of Yale's winning team of 1902, gave ofhimself to Yale football has amply earned the thoroughly remarkabletributes constantly paid to this great Yale player. He was a mostdeceptive man with the ball. In the Princeton game John DeWitt was thedangerous man on the Princeton team, feared most on account of his greatkicking ability. 

DeWitt has always contended that Chadwick's team was the best Yale teamhe ever saw. He says: "It was a better team than Gordon Brown's for thereason that they had a kicker and Gordon Brown's team did not have akicker. But this is only my opinion. "

Yale and Princeton men will not forget in a hurry the two wonderful runsfor touchdowns, one from about the center of the field, that Chadwickmade in 1902. 

"I note, " writes Chadwick, "that there is a general impression that theopening in the line through which I went was large enough to accommodatean express train. As a matter of fact, the opening was hardly largeenough for me to squeeze through. The play was not to make a largeopening, and I certainly remember the sensation of being squeezed whengoing through the line. 

"There were some amusing incidents in connection with that particulargame that come back to me now. I remember that when going down on thetrain from New York to Princeton, I was very much amused at MikeMurphy's efforts to get Tom Shevlin worked up so he would play an extragood game. Mike kept telling Tom what a good man Davis was and how thelatter was going to put it all over him. Tom clenched his fists, put ona silly grin and almost wept. It really did me a lot of good, as ithelped to keep my mind off the game. When it did come to the game, hisfirst big game, Shevlin certainly played wonderful football. 

"I had been ill for about a week and a half before this game and reallyhad not played in practice for two or three weeks. Mike was ratherafraid of my condition, so he told me to be the last man always to getup before the ball was put in play. I carefully followed his advice andas a result a lot of my friends in the stand kept thinking that I hadbeen hurt. 

"Toward the end of the game we were down about on Princeton's 40-yardline. It was the third down and the probabilities were that we would notgain the distance, so I decided to have Bowman try for a drop-kick. Ihappened to glance over at the side line and there was old Mike Murphymaking strenuous motions with his foot. The umpire, Dashiell, saw himtoo, and put him off the side lines for signalling. I remember beingextremely angry at the time because I was not looking at the side linesfor any signals and had decided on a drop kick anyhow. 

"In my day it was still the policy to work the men to death, to drillthem to endure long hours of practice scrimmage. About two weeks beforethe Princeton game in my senior year, we were in a slump. We had a long, miserable Monday's practice. A lot of the old coaches insisted thatfootball must be knocked into the men by hard work, but it seemed to methat the men knew a lot of football. They were fundamentally good andwhat they really needed was condition to enable them to show theirfootball knowledge. It is needless to say that I was influenced greatlyin this by Mike Murphy and his knowledge of men and conditioning them. Joe Swann, the field coach, and Walter Camp were in accord, so we turneddown the advice of a lot of the older coaches and gave the Varsity onlyabout five minutes' scrimmage during the week and a half preceding thePrinceton game, with the exception of the Bucknell game the Saturdaybefore. During the week before the Princeton and Harvard games we wentup to Ardsley and had no practice for three days. There was afive-minutes' scrimmage on Thursday. This was an unusual proceeding, butit was so intensely hot the day of the Princeton game, and we all lostso much weight something unusual had to be done. The team played well inthe Princeton game, but it was simply a coming team then. In the Harvardgame, which we won 23 to 0, it seemed to me that we were at the top ofour form. 

"I think the whole incident was a lesson to us at New Haven of the greatvalue of condition to men who know a great deal of football. I know frommy own experience during the three preceding years that it had been toolittle thought of. The great cry had too often been 'We must drumfootball into them, no matter what their physical condition. '

"After the terribly exhausting game at Princeton, which we won, 12 to 5, DeWitt Cochrane invited the team to go to his place at Ardsley andrecuperate. It really was our salvation, and I have always been mostgrateful to Mr. And Mrs. Cochrane for so generously giving up theirhouse completely to a mob of youngsters. We spent three delightful days, almost forgot football entirely, ate ravenously and slept like tops. 

"Big Eddie Glass was a wonderful help in interference. I used to playleft half and Eddie left guard. On plays where I would take the ballaround the end, or skirting tackle, Eddie would either run in theinterference or break through the line and meet me some yards beyond. Wehad a great pulling and hauling team that year, and the greatest pullerand hauler was Eddie Glass. Perry Hale, who played fullback mysophomore year, was a great interferer. He was big, and strong and fast. On a straight buck through tackle, when he would be behind me, if therewas not a hole in the proper place, he would whirl me all the way roundand shoot me through a hole somewhere else. It would, of course, act asan impromptu delayed play. In one game I remember making a forty yardrun to a touchdown on such a manoeuver. "

[Illustration:

McCord Mills Roper Burke Pell Craig Mattis Lathrope Lloyd Bannard BoothWheeler ReiterPoe Edwards HillebrandHutchinson Palmer McClave

PRINCETON'S 1899 TEAM]

Arthur Poe

There never was as much real football ability concealed in a smallpackage as there was in that great player, Arthur Poe. He was alwaysusing his head, following the ball, strong in emergency. He was endowedwith a wonderful personality, and a man who always got a lot of fun outof the game and made fun for others, but yet was on the job everyminute. He always inspired his team mates to play a little harder. Rather than write anything more about this great player, let us readwith him the part he so ably played in some of Princeton's footballgames. 

"The story of my run in 1898 is very simple. Yale tried a mass play onDoc Hillebrand, which, as usual, was very unsuccessful in that quarter. He broke through and tackled the man with the ball. While the Yale menwere trying to push him forward, I grabbed the ball from his arms andhad a clear field and about ten yards start for the goal line. I don'tbelieve I was ever happier in my life than on this day when I made thePrinceton team and scored this touchdown against Yale. 

"In the second half McBride tried a center drive on Booth and Edwards. The line held and I rushed in, and grabbed the ball, but before I gotvery far the Referee blew his whistle, and after I had run across thegoal line I realized that the touchdown was not going to be allowed. 

"Lew Palmer and I were tried at end simply to endeavor to provide adefense against the return runs of de Saulles on punts. He, by the way, was the greatest open field runner I have ever seen. 

"My senior year started auspiciously and the prospects for a victoriouseleven appeared especially bright, as only two of the regular players ofthe year before had graduated. The first hard game was against Columbia, coached by Foster Sanford, who had a wealth of material drawn from thefour corners of the earth. In the latter part of the game my opponent byway of showing his disapproval of my features attempted to change them, but was immediately assisted to the ground by my running mate and wasundergoing an unpleasant few moments, when Sanford, reinforced byseveral dozen substitutes, ran to his rescue and bestowed some unkindcompliments on different parts of my pal's anatomy. With the arrival ofBurr McIntosh and several old grads, however, we were released fromtheir clutches, and the game proceeded. 

"After the Cornell game the Yale game was close at hand. We wereconfident of our ability to win, though we expected a bitter hardstruggle, in which we were not disappointed. Through a well developedinterference on an end run, Reiter was sent around the end for severallong gains, resulting in a touchdown, but Yale retaliated by blocking akick and falling on the ball for a touchdown. Sharpe, a few minuteslater, kicked a beautiful goal, so that the score was 10 to 6 in Yale'sfavor. The wind was blowing a gale all through the first half and asYale had the wind at their backs we were forced to play a rushing game, but shortly after the second half began the wind died down considerablyso that McBride's long, low kicks were not effective to any greatextent. 

"Yale was on the defensive and we were unable to break through for thecoveted touchdown, though we were able to gain ground consistently forlong advances. In the shadow of their goal line Yale held us mainlythrough the wonderful defensive playing of McBride. I never saw a finerdisplay of backing up the rush line than that of McBride during thesecond half. So strenuous was the play that eight substitutions had beenmade on our team, but with less than five minutes to play we started afurious drive for the goal line from the middle of the field, and withMcClave, Mattis and Lathrope carrying the ball we went to Yale's 25-yardline in quick time. 

"With only about a minute to play it was decided to try a goal from thefield. I was selected as the one to make the attempt. I was standing onthe 34-yard line, about ten yards to the left of centre when I kicked;the ball started straight for the far goal post, but apparently wasdeflected by air currents and curved in not more than a yard from thepost. I turned to the Referee, saw his arms raised and heard him say'Goal' and then everything broke loose. 

"I saw members of the team turning somersaults, and all I remember afterthat was being seized by a crowd of alumni who rushed out upon thefield, and hearing my brother Ned shout, 'You damned lucky kid, you havelicked them again. ' I kicked the ball with my instep, having learnedthis from Charlie Young of Cornell, who was then at Princeton Seminaryand was playing on the scrub team. The reason I did this was because LewPalmer and myself wore light running shoes with light toes, not kickingshoes at all. 

"After the crowd had been cleared off the field there were only 29seconds left to play, and after Yale had kicked off we held the ballwithout risking a play until the whistle blew, when I started full speedfor the gate, followed by Bert Wheeler. I recall knocking down severalmen as we were bursting through and making our way to the bus. It wasthe first, last and only goal from the field I ever attempted, and themost plausible explanation for its success was probably predestination. "

[Illustration: "NOTHING GOT BY JOHN DeWITT"]

Arthur Poe was a big factor in football, even when he wasn't running orkicking Yale down to defeat. 

"Bill Church's roughness, in my freshman year, had the scrub bluffed, "continues Arthur. "When Lew Palmer volunteered to play halfback and takecare of Bill on punts, Bill was surprised on the first kick he attemptedto block to feel Lew's fist on his jaw and immediately shouted:

"'I like you for that, you damn freshman. '

"That was the first accident that attracted attention to Lew. Palmer wasone of the gamest men and he won a Varsity place by the hardest kind ofwork. 

"Well do I recall the indignation meeting of the scrub to talk overplans of curbing Johnny Baird and Fred Smith in their endeavor to killthe scrub. "

John DeWitt

Big John DeWitt was the man who brought home the Yale bacon for theTigers in 1903. To be exact he not only carried, but also kicked ithome. Two surprise parties by a single player in so hard a game are rareindeed. Whenever I think of DeWitt I think of his great power ofleadership. He was an ideal captain. He thought things out for himself. He was the spirit of his team. 

This great Princeton captain was one of the most versatile football menknown to fame. Playing so remarkably in the guard position, he also didthe kicking for his team and was a great power in running with the ball. 

DeWitt thought things out almost instantly and took advantage of everypossible point. The picture on the opposite page illustrates wonderfullywell how he exerted and extended himself. This man put his whole soulinto his work and was never found wanting. His achievements will hold aconspicuous place in football history. Nothing got by John DeWitt. 

DeWitt's team in 1903 was the first to bring victory over Yale toPrinceton since 1899. On that day John DeWitt scored a touchdown andkicked a placement goal, which will long be remembered. Let us go backand play a part of that game over with John himself. 

"Whenever I think of football my recollections go back to the Yale gameof 1903, " says DeWitt. "My most vivid recollections are of my loyal teammates whose wonderful spirit and good fellowship meant so much to thesuccess of that Eleven. Without their combined effort Princeton couldnot have won that day. 

"We had a fine optimistic spirit before the game and the fact that JimHogan scored a touchdown for Yale in the first part of the game seemedto put us on our mettle and we came back with the spirit that I havealways been proud of. Hogan was almost irresistible. You could hardlystop him when he had the ball. He scored between Harold Short and myselfand jammed through for about 12 yards to a touchdown. If you tackled JimHogan head on he would pull you right over backwards. He was thestrongest tackle I ever saw. He seemed to have overpowering strength inhis legs. He was a regular player. He never gave up until the whistleblew, but after the Princeton team got its scoring machine at work, thePrinceton line outplayed the Yale line. 

"I think Yale had as good a team as we had, if not better, that day. Thepersonnel of the team was far superior to ours, but we had our spirit inthe game. We were going through Yale to beat the band the last part ofthe game. "

DeWitt, describing the run that made him famous, says:

"Towards the end of the first half, with the score 6 to 0 againstPrinceton, Yale was rushing us down the field. Roraback, the Yalecenter, was not able to pass the ball the full distance back for thepunter. Rockwell took the ball from quarterback position and passed itto Mitchell, the fullback. On this particular play our whole line wentthrough on the Yale kick formation. No written account that I have everseen has accurately described just what happened. Ralph Davis was thefirst man through, and he blocked Mitchell's kick. Ridge Hart, who wascoming along behind him, kicked the loose ball forward and the oval wasabout fifteen to twenty yards from where it started. I was comingthrough all the time. 

"As the bouncing ball went behind Mitchell it bobbed up right in frontof me. I probably broke all rules of football by picking it up, but thechances looked good and I took advantage of them. I really was wonderingthen whether to pick it up or fall on it, but figured that it was harderto fall on it than to pick it up, so I put on all the steam I had andstarted for the goal. Howard Henry was right behind me until I got nearthe goal post. After I had kicked the goal the score was 6 to 6. Nevercan I forget the fierce playing on the part of both teams that now tookplace. 

"Shortly after this in the second half I punted down into Yale'sterritory. Mitchell fumbled and Ralph Davis fell on the ball on the30-yard line. We tried to gain, but could not. Bowman fell on the ballafter the ensuing kick, which was blocked. It had rolled to the 5-yardline. Yale tried to gain once; then Bowman went back to kick. I cannever pay enough tribute to Vetterlein, to the rare judgment that hedisplayed at this point in the game. When he caught that punt and heeledit, he used fine judgment; but for his good head work we never wouldhave won that game. I kicked my goal from the field from the 43-yardline. 

[Illustration: JOHN DeWITT ABOUT TO PICK UP THE BALL]

"As Ralph Davis was holding the ball before I kicked it, the Yaleplayers, who were standing ten yards away were not trying to make it anythe easier for us. I remember in particular Tom Shevlin was kiddingRalph Davis, who replied: 'Well, Tom, you might as well give it to usnow--the score is going to be 11-6, ' and just then what Davis had saidcame through. 

"If any one thinks that my entire football experience was a bed ofroses, I want to assure him that it was not. I experienced the sadnessof injury and of not making the team. The first day I lined up I brokethree bones in one hand. Three weeks later, after they had healed Ibroke the bones in my other hand and so patiently waited until thefollowing year to make the team. 

"The next year I went through the bitter experience of defeat, and wewere beaten good and plenty by Yale. Defeat came again in 1902. It wasin that year that I met, as my opponent, the hardest man I ever playedagainst, Eddie Glass. The Yale team came at me pretty hard the firstfifteen minutes. Glass especially crashed into me. He was warned threetimes by Dashiell in the opening part of the game for strenuous work. Glass was a rough, hard player, but he was not an unfair player atthat. I always liked good, rough football. He played the game for allit was worth and was a Gibraltar to the Yale team. 

"Now that my playing days are over, I think there is one thing thatyoung fellows never realize until they are through playing; that theymight have helped more; that they might have given a few extra minutesto perfect a play. The thing that has always appealed to me most infootball is to think of what might have been done by a little extraeffort. It is very seldom you see a man come off the field absolutelyused up. I have never seen but one or two cases where a man had to behelped to the dressing room. I have always thought such a man did notgive as much as he should, --we're all guilty of this offense. A littleextra punch might have made a touchdown. "

Tichenor, of the University of Georgia, tells the following:

"In a Tech-Georgia game a peculiar thing happened. One of the goal lineswas about seven yards from the fence which was twelve feet high andperfectly smooth. Tech had worked the ball down to within about threeyards of Georgia's goal near the fence. Here the defense of the Red andBlack stiffened and, taking the ball on downs, Ted Sullivan immediatelydropped back for a kick. The pass was none too good and he swung hisfoot into the ball, which struck the cross bar, bounded high up in theair, over the fence, behind the goal post. 

"Then began the mighty wall-scaling struggle to get over the fence andsecure the coveted ball. As fast as one team would try to boost eachother over, their opponents would pull them down. This contest continuedfor fully five minutes while the crowd roared with delight. In themeantime George Butler, the Referee, took advantage of the situationand, with the assistance of several spectators, was boosted over thefence where he waited for some player to come and fall on the ball, which was fairly hidden in a ditch covered over with branches. Butlertells to this day of the amusing sight as he beheld first one pair ofhands grasping the top of the fence; one hand would loosen, then theother; then another set of hands would appear. Heads were bobbing up anddown and disappearing one after the other. The crowd now becameinterested and showed their partiality, and with the assistance of someof the spectators a Tech player made his way over the fence and beganhis search for the ball, closely followed by a Georgia player. Theyrushed around frantically looking for the ball. Then Red Wilson joinedin the search and quickly located it in the ditch; soon had it safely inhis arms and Tech scored a touchdown. 

"This was probably the only touchdown play in the history of the gamewhich none of the spectators saw and which only the Referee and twoother players saw at the time the player touched the ball down. "

That Charlie Brickley was in the way of bringing home the bacon toHarvard is well known to all. There have been very few players who wereas reliable as this star. It was in his senior year that he was captainof the team and when the announcement came at the start of the footballseason that Brickley had been operated upon for appendicitis thefootball world extended to him its deepest sympathy. During his illnesshe yearned to get out in time to play against Yale. This all came true. The applause which greeted him when Haughton sent this great player intothe game--with the Doctor's approval--must have impressed him that oneand all were glad to see him get into the game. 

Let us hear what Brickley has to say about playing the game. 

"I have often been asked how I felt when attempting a drop kick in aclose game before a large crowd. During my first year I was a littlenervous, but after that it didn't bother me any more than as if I wereeating lunch. Constant practice for years gave me the feeling that Icould kick the ball over every time I tried. If I was successful, thosewho have seen me play are the best judges. Confidence is a necessity indrop kicking. The three hardest games I ever played in were theDartmouth 3 to 0 game in 1912, and Princeton 3 to 0 in 1913, and theYale 15 to 5 game of the same year. The hardest field goal I ever had tokick was against Princeton in the mud in 1913. 

[Illustration: THE EVER RELIABLE BRICKLEY]

[Illustration: A FOOTBALL THOROUGHBRED--TACK HARDWICK]

"The most finished player in all around play I ever came across is TackHardwick. He could go through a game, or afternoon's practice andperform every fundamental function of the game in perfect fashion. Themost interesting and remarkable player I ever came across was EddieMahan. He could do anything on the football field. He was so versatile, that no real defense could be built against him. He had a wonderfulintuitive sense and always did just the right thing at the right time. "

CHAPTER XV

"THE BLOODY ANGLE"

Football in its very nature is a rough game. It calls for the contact ofbodies under high momentum and this means strains and bruises! Thanks tothe superb physical condition of players, it usually means nothing moreserious. 

The play, be it ever so hard, is not likely to be dangerous provided itis clean, and the worst indictment that can be framed against a playerof to-day, and that by his fellows, is that he is given to dirtytactics. This attitude has now been established by public opinion, andis reflected in turn by the strictness of officials, the sentiment ofcoaches and football authorities generally. So scientific is the gameto-day that only the player who can keep his head, and clear his mind ofangry emotions, is really a valuable man in a crisis. 

Again, the keynote of success in football to-day is team work, perfectinterlocking of all parts. In the old days play was individual, managainst man, and this gave rise in many cases to personal animositywhich frequently reduced great football contests to little more thanpitched battles. Those who to-day are prone to decry football as arough and brutal sport--which it no longer is--might at least reversetheir opinions of the present game, could they have spent a certainlurid afternoon in the fall of '87 at Jarvis Field where the elevens ofHarvard and Princeton fought a battle so sanguinary as to come down tous through the years legended as a real _crimson_ affair. One of thesaddest accidents that ever occurred on a university football fieldhappened in this contest and suggested the caption of "the BloodyAngle, " the historic shambles of the great Gettysburg battle. 

Luther Price, who played halfback on the Princeton teams of '86 and '87and who was acting captain the larger part of the latter season, tellsthe following story of the game:

"Princeton's contest with Harvard in the autumn of '87 was the bloodiestgame that I ever experienced or saw. At that period the footballrelations between the two colleges were fast approaching a crisis andthe long break between the institutions followed a couple of seasonslater. It is perhaps true that the '87 game was largely responsible forthe rupture because it left secret bitterness. 

"In fact, the game was pretty near butchery and the defects of the rulescontributed to this end. Both sides realized that the contest was goingto be a hummer but neither imagined the extent of the casualties. Hadthe present rules applied there would have been a long string ofsubstitutes in the game and the caption of 'The Bloody Angle' could nothave been applied. 

"In those days an injured player was not allowed to leave the field ofplay without the consent of the opponents' captain. One can easily graspthe fact that your adversaries' captain was not apt to permit a player, battered almost to worthlessness, to go to the bench and to allow you tosubstitute a strong and fresh player. Therein lies the tale of thisgame. 

"Princeton was confident of winning but not overconfident. We went outto Jarvis field on a tallyho from Boston, and I recall how eagerly wedashed upon the field, anxious for the scrap to begin. It was a clear, cold day with a firm turf--a condition that helped us, as we werelighter than Harvard, especially behind the line. None of our backsweighed more than 155 pounds. 

"Holden, the Crimson captain, was probably the most dangerous of ouropponents. He was a deceptive running back owing to the difficulty ofgauging his pace. He was one of the speediest sprinters in the Easterncolleges and if he managed to circle either end it was almost good-byeto his opponents. 

"We were all lying in wait for Holden, not to cripple him or take anyunfair advantage, but to see that he did not cross our goal line. It wasnot long before we had no cause to be concerned on that score. Butbefore Holden was disposed of we suffered a most grievous loss in thedisqualification of Hector Cowan, our left guard and our main source ofstrength. Princeton worked a majority of the tricks through Cowan andwhen he was gone we lost the larger part of our offensive power. 

"Cowan's disqualification was unjustified by his record or by anytendency toward unfair play, though this statement should not beregarded as a reflection on the fairness of Wyllys Terry, the old Yaleplayer, who was the umpire. Walter Camp, by the way, was the referee. 

"There never was a fairer player than Cowan, and such a misfortune aslosing him by disqualification for any act on the field was never dreamtof by the Princeton men. The trouble was that Terry mistook an accidentfor a deliberate act. Holden was skirting Princeton's left end whenCowan made a lunge to reach him. Holden's deceptive pace was nearly toomuch for even such a star as Cowan, whose hands slipped from the Harvardcaptain's waist down to below his knees until the ankles were touched. Cowan could have kept his hands on Holden's ankles, but as tacklingbelow the knees was foul, he quickly let go. But Holden tumbled andseveral Princeton men were on him in a jiffy. 

"Harvard immediately claimed that it was a foul tackle. It was adesperate claim but it proved successful. To our astonishment andchagrin, Terry ruled Cowan off the field. Cowan was thunderstruck at thedecision and protested that he never meant to tackle unfairly. We arguedwith Terry but he was unrelenting. To him it seemed that Cowan meant tomake a foul tackle. The situation was disheartening but we still feltthat we had a good chance of pulling through even without Cowan. 

"What was particularly galling to us was that we had allowed twotouchdowns to slip from our grasp. Twice we had carried the ball towithin a few yards of the Harvard line and had dropped the ball whenabout to cross it. Both errors were hardly excusable and were traceableto over-anxiety to score. With Cowan on the field we had found that hecould open up the Harvard line for the backs to make long runs but nowthat he was gone we could be sure of nothing except grilling work. 

"Soon after occurred the most dramatic and lamentable incident which putHolden out of the game. We had been warned long before the contest thatHolden was a fierce tackler and that if we, who were back of thePrinceton line, wished to stay in the game it would be necessary towatch out for his catapultic lunges. 

"Holden made his tackles low, a kind of a running dive with his headthrust into his quarry's stomach. The best policy seemed, in case Holdenhad you cornered, to go at him with a stiff arm and a suddenly raisedknee to check his onslaught and, if possible, shake him off in theshuffle, but that was a mighty difficult matter for light backs to do. 

"First the line was opened up so that I went through. Harding, theHarvard quarter, who was running up and down the Crimson line like apanther, didn't get me. My hand went against his face and somehow I gotrid of him. Finally I reached Holden, who played the fullback positionwhile on the defensive, and had him to pass in order to get a touchdown. There was a savage onslaught and Holden had me on the ground. 

"A few moments later Ames, who played back with Channing and me, wentthrough the Harvard line and again Holden was the only obstacle to atouchdown for Princeton. There was another savage impact and bothplayers rolled upon the ground, but this time Holden did not get up. Hegot his man but he was unconscious or at least seemingly so. His chestbone had been broken. It was a tense moment. We all felt a pang ofsympathy, for Holden was a square, if rough, player. Harvard's cheerssubsided into murmurs of sorrow and Holden was carried tenderly off thefield. 

"The accident made Harvard desperate, and as we were without Cowan wewere in the same mental condition. It was hammer and tongs from thattime on. I don't know that there was any intention to put players outof business, but there was not much mercy shown. 

"It appeared to me that some doubt existed on the Harvard side as to whocaused Holden's chest bone to be broken, but that the suspicion wasmainly directed at me. Several years later an article written at Harvardand published in the _Public Ledger_ in Philadelphia gave a long accountof how I broke Holden's chest bone. This seemed to confirm my notionthat there was a mixup of identity. However that may be, it soon becameevident in the game that I was marked for slaughter. 

"Vic Harding made a profound and lasting impression on me both with hishands and feet. In fact, Harding played in few games of importance inwhich he was not disqualified. He was not a bad fellow at all in socialrelations, but on a football field he was the limit of 'frightfulness. 'I don't know of any player that I took so much pleasure in punching asHarding. Ames and Harding also took delight in trying to make eachother's faces change radically in appearance. 

"I think that Harding began to paint my face from the start of the gameand that as it proceeded he warmed up to the task, seeing that he wasmaking a pretty good job of it. He had several mighty able assistants. The work was done with several hundred Wellesley College girls, who wereseated on benches close to the sideline, looking on with the deepestinterest and, as it soon appeared, with much sympathy. I will not forgethow concerned they looked. 

"By the middle of the second half I guess they did see a spectacle in mefor they began to call to me and hold out handkerchiefs. At first Ididn't realize what they meant for I was so much engaged with the dutiesthat lay in front of me that it was difficult to notice them, but theirentreaties soon enlightened me. They were asking me as a special favorto clean my face with their handkerchiefs, but I replied--perhaps ratherabruptly--that I really didn't have time to attend to my facial toilet. 

"My nose had been broken, both eyes well closed and my canvas jacket anddoeskin knickerbockers were scarlet or crimson--whichever you prefer--inhue. Strength was quickly leaving me and the field swam. I finallypropped myself up against a goal post. The next thing I knew was that Iwas being helped off the field. My brother, Billy, who was highlyindignant over the developments, took my place. This was about ten orfifteen minutes before the end of the game, which then consisted of two45 minute periods. 

"Ames emerged from the game with nothing more than the usual number ofcuts and bruises. At that time we did not have any nose-guards, head-guards and other paraphernalia such as are used nowadays, exceptthat we could get ankle braces, and Ames wore one. That ankle stood thetest during the fight. 

"A majority of the other players were pretty well cut up. After Cowanwas disqualified Bob (J. Robb) Church, subsequently Major in the UnitedStates Army Medical Corps and formerly the surgeon of Roosevelt's RoughRiders in the Spanish War, was shifted from tackle to Cowan's positionat guard. Chapin, a brilliant student, who had changed from Amherst toPrinceton, went in at tackle. He was a rather erratic player, andHarvard kept pounding in his direction with the result that Bob Churchhad a sea of trouble and I was forced to move up close to the line fordefensive work. It was this that really put me out of business. My leftshoulder had been hurt early in the season and it was bound in rubber, but fortunately it was not much worse off than at the beginning of thegame. 

"Bob Church risked his life more than once in the Spanish War and forhis valor he received a Medal of Honor from Congress, but it is safe tosay that he never got such a gruelling as in this Harvard game. He wasbattered to the extent of finding it difficult to rise after tacklingand finally he was lining up on his knees. It was a magnificentexhibition of pluck. As I recall, Bob lasted to the end of the game. 

"It was not until near the close that any scoring took place and thenHarvard made two touchdowns in quick succession. We lacked substitutesto put in and, even if we had had them, it is doubtful whether we couldhave got them in as long as a player was able to stand up. The onlysatisfaction we had was that we had done the best we could to win andour confidence that with Cowan we could have won even if Holden had notbeen hurt. We had beaten Harvard the year before with essentially thesame team that we played in this game. "

CHAPTER XVI

THE FAMILY IN FOOTBALL

It is almost possible, I think, to divide football men into two distinctclasses--those who are made into players (and often very good ones) bythe coaches and those who are born with the football instinct. Just howto define football instinct is a puzzle, but it is very easy to discernit in a candidate, even if he never saw a football till he set foot onthe campus. By and large, it will be read first in a natural aptitudefor following the ball. After that, in the general way he has ofhandling himself, from falling on the ball to dodging and straight arm. Watch the head coach grin when some green six-foot freshman dives for arolling ball and instinctively clutches it into the soft part of hisbody as he falls on it. Nobody told him to do it just that way, or tokeep his long arms and legs under control so as to avoid accident, buthe does it nevertheless and thus shows his football instinct. 

There is still another kind of football instinct, and that is the kindthat is passed down from father to son and from brother to brother. Theysay that the lacemakers of Nottingham don't have to be taught how tomake lace because, as children, they somehow absorb most of thenecessary knowledge in the bosom of their family, and I think the samething is true of sons and brothers of football players. Generally, theypick up the essentials of the game from "Pop" long before they get toschool or college or else are properly educated by an argus-eyedbrother. 

[Illustration:

Johnson Edgar AllenArthur Nelson Gresham Johnny

THE POE FAMILY]

But the matter of getting football knowledge--of developing theinstinct--isn't always left to the boy. Unless I'm grievously mistakenit's more often the fond father who takes the first step. In fact, somefathers I've known have, with a commendable eye to future victories, even dated the preparation of their offspring from the hour when he wasfirst shown them by the nurse: "Let me take a squint at the littlerascal, " says the beaming father and expertly examines the younghopeful's legs. "Ah, hah, bully! We'll make a real football player outof _him_!"

And so, some day when Dick or Ken is six or seven, Father produces astrange looking, leather-cased bladder out of a trunk where Motherhasn't discovered it and blows it up out on the front porch under theyoungster's inquisitive eye and tucks in the neck and laces it up. 

"What is it, Pop? What you going to do with it?"

"That's what men call a football, Son. And right now I'm going to _kick_it. " And kick it he does--all around the lot--until after a particularlygood lift he chuckles to himself, the old war horse, and with the smellof ancient battles in his nostrils sits down to give the boy his firstlesson in the manliest and best game on earth. And this first lesson istackling. Perhaps the picture on the opposite page will remind you ofthe time you taught _your_ boys the good old game. 

This particular kind of football instinct has produced many of thefinest players the colleges have ever seen. In a real football familythere isn't much bluffing as to what you can do nor are there manyexcuses for a fumble or a missed tackle. With your big brothers' earsopen and their tongues ready with a caustic remark, it doesn't need"Pop's" keen eye to keep you within the realms of truth as to the lengthof your run or why you missed that catch. 

Quite often, as it happens, "Pop" is thinking of a certain big game heonce played in and remembering a play--Ah! if only he could forget thatplay!--in which he fumbled and missed the chance of a life-time. Likesome inexorable motion picture film that refuses to throw anything butone fatal scene on the screen, his recollections make the actors taketheir well-remembered positions and the play begins. For the thousandthtime he gnashes his teeth as he sees the ball slip from his grasp. "Dog-gone it, " he mutters, "if my boy doesn't do better in the big gamethan _I_ did, I'll whale the hide off him!"

Strangely enough not all brothers of a football family follow oneanother to the same college, and there have been several cases wherebrother played against brother. But for the only son of a great playerto go anywhere else than to his father's college would be rank heresy. Idaresay even the other college wouldn't like it. 

[Illustration: JUST BOYS]

Of famous fathers whose football instinct descended without dilutioninto their sons perhaps the easiest remembered have been Walter Camp, who captained the Elis in '78 and '79 and whose son, Walter, Jr. , playedfullback in 1911--Alfred T. Baker, one of the Princeton backs in '83, and '84, whose son Hobey captained his team in 1914--Snake Ames, whoplayed in four championship games for Princeton against both Yale andHarvard, and whose son, Knowlton Ames, Jr. , played on the Princetonteams of '12, '13 and '14--and that sterling Yale tackle of '91 and '92, "Wallie" Winter, whose son, Wallace, Jr. , played on his Freshman team in1915. 

When we come to enumerating the brothers who have played, it is the Poefamily which comes first to mind. Laying aside friendship or naturalbias, I feel that my readers will agree with me in the belief that itwould be hard to find six football players ranking higher than the sixPoe brothers. Altogether, Princeton has seen some twenty-two years ofPoes, during at least thirteen of which there was a Poe on the Varsityteam. Johnson Poe, '84, came first, to be followed by Edgar Allen, twicecaptain, then by Johnny, now in his last resting place "somewhere inFrance, " then by Nelson, then Arthur, twice the fly in Yale's ointment, and lastly by Gresham Poe. I haven't a doubt but that after due lapse oftime this wonderful family will produce other Poes, sons and cousins, tocarry on the precious tradition. 

Next in point of numbers probably comes the Riggs family of fivebrothers, of whom three, Lawrence, Jesse and Dudley, played on Princetonteams, while Harry and Frank were substitutes. The Hodge family werefour who played at Princeton--Jack, Hugh, Dick and Sam. 

After the Riggs family comes the Young family of Cornell--Ed. , Charles, George and Will--all of whom played tremendously for the Carnelian andWhite in the nineties. Charles Young later studied at the TheologicalSeminary at Princeton and played wonderful football on the scrub in mytime from sheer love of sport, since as he is, at this writing, physicaldirector at Cornell. Amherst boasts of the wonderful Pratt brothers, whodid much for Amherst football. 

Of threes there are quite a number. Prominent among them have been theWilsons of both Yale and Princeton, Tom being a guard on the Princetonteams of 1911 and 1912, while Alex captained Yale in 1915 and sawanother brother in orange and black waiting on the side lines across thefield. Situations like this are always productive of thrills. Let thebrother who has been waiting longingly throw off his blanket and rushacross the field into his position and instantly the news flashesthrough the stands. "Brother against brother!" goes the thrillingwhisper--and every heart gives an extra throb as it hungers in an unholybut perfectly human way for a clash between the two. There were threeHarlan brothers who played at Princeton in '81, '83, '84. 

At Harvard Lothrope, Paul and Ted Withington; Percy, Jack and SamWendell. 

In Cornell a redoubtable trio were the Taussigs. Of these J. HawleyTaussig played end for four years ending with the '96 team. Charlesfollowed in the same position in '99, '00 and '01 and Joseph K. , laterLieutenant Commander of the torpedoboat destroyer _Wadsworth_ playedquarter on the Naval Academy team in '97 and '98. 

A third trio of brothers were the Greenways of Yale. Of these, John andGil Greenway played both football and baseball while Jim Greenway rowedon the crew. Another Princeton family, well known, has been the Moffats. The first of these to play football was Henry, who played on the '73team which was the first to beat Yale. He was followed by theredoubtable Alex, who kicked goals from all over the field in '82, '83, and '84, by Will Moffat who was a Varsity first baseman and by NedMoffat who played with me at Lawrenceville. Equally well known have beenthe Hallowells of Harvard--F. W. Hallowell, '93, R. H. Hallowell, '96, and J. W. Hallowell, '01. Another Hallowell--Penrose--was on the trackteam, while Colonel Hallowell, the father, was always a power in Harvardathletics. 

When we come to cite the pairs of brothers who have played, the listseems endless. The first to come to mind are Laurie Bliss of the Yaleteams of '90, '91 and '92 and "Pop" Bliss of the '92 team, principally, I think, because of Laurie's wonderful end running behind interferenceand because "Pop" Bliss, at a crucial moment in a Harvard-Yale gamedeliberately disobeyed the signal to plunge through centre on Harvard's2-yard line and ingeniously ran around the end for a touchdown. TommyBaker and Alfred Baker were brothers. 

Continuing the Yale list, there have been the Hinkeys, Frank and Louis, who need no praise as wonderful players--Charlie and Johnny deSaulles--Sherman and "Ted" Coy--W. O. Hickok, the famous guard of '92, '93 and '94 and his brother Ross--Herbert and Malcolm McBride, both ofwhom played fullback--Tad Jones and his brother Howard--the Philbins, Steve and Holliday--Charlie Chadwick and his younger brother, George, who captained his team in 1902. Their father before them was an athlete. 

In Harvard there have been the Traffords, Perry and Bernie--ArthurBrewer and Charley the fleet of foot, who ran ninety yards in theHarvard-Princeton game of 1895 and caught Suter from behind--the twoShaws, --Evarts Wrenn, '92 and his famous cousin Bob who played tennisquite as well as he played football. 

[Illustration: HOBEY BAKER WALTER CAMP, JR. SNAKE AMES, JR. ]

Princeton, too, has seen many pairs of brothers--"Beef" Wheeler, thefamous guard of '92, '93 and '94 and Bert Wheeler, the splendid fullbackof '98 and '99 whose cool-headed playing helped us win from Yale both inPrinceton and at New Haven--the Rosengartens, Albert and his cousinFritz and Albert's brother who played for Pennsylvania--the Tibbotts, Dave and Fred--J. R. Church, '88, and Bill Church, the roaring, stampingtackle of '95 and '96--Ross and Steve McClave--Harry and GeorgeLathrope--Jarvis Geer and Marshall Geer who played with me on teams atboth school and college--Billy Bannard and Horace Bannard--Fred Kaferand Dana Kafer, the first named being also the very best amateur catcherI have ever seen. Fred Kafer, by the way, furnished an interestinganachronism in that while he was one of the ablest mathematicians of histime in college he found it wellnigh impossible to remember his footballsignals! Let us not forget, too, Bal Ballin, who was a Princetoncaptain, and his brother Cyril. 

In other colleges, the instances of football skill developed bybrotherly emulation have been nearly as well marked. Dartmouth, forinstance, produced the Bankhart brothers--Cornell, the Starbucks--oneof them, Raymond, captaining his team--the Cools, Frank and Gib--thelatter being picked by good judges as the All-America center in1915--and the Warners, Bill and Glenn. 

The greatest three players from any one family that ever played thebackfield would probably be the three Draper brothers--Louis, Phil andFred. All went to Williams and all were stars; heavy, fast backs, whowere good both on defense and offense, capable of doing an immenseamount of work and never getting hurt. 

At Pennsylvania, there have been the Folwells, Nate and R. C. Folwelland the Woodruffs, George and Wiley, although George Woodruff, originator of the celebrated "guards back, " was a Yale man long beforehe coached at Pennsylvania. It is impossible for any one who saw JackMinds play to forget this great back of '94, '95, '96 and '97, whosebrother also wore the Red and Blue a few years later. 

Doubtless there have been many more fathers, brothers and sons who havebeen equally famous and I ask indulgence for my sins of omission, forthe list is long. Principally, I have recalled their names for thereason that I knew or now know many of these great players intimatelyand so have learned the curious longing--perhaps "passion"--for the gamewhich is passed from one to the other of a football family. In a waythis might be compared with the military spirit which allows a familyto state proudly that "_we_ have always been Army (or Navy) people. " Andwho shall say that the clash and conflict of this game, invented andplayed only by thoroughly virile men, are not productive of preciselythose qualities of which the race may, some day, well stand in need. Ifby the passing down from father to son and from brother to brother of aspirit of cheerful self-denial throughout the hard fall months--of grimdoggedness under imminent defeat and of fair play at all times, whethervictor or vanquished--a finer, truer sense of what a man may be and dois forged out of the raw material, then football may feel that it hasserved a purpose even nobler than that of being simply America'sgreatest college game. 

CHAPTER XVII

OUR GOOD OLD TRAINERS

There are not many football enthusiasts who analyze the factors thatbring victory. Many of us do not appreciate the importance attached tothe trainer, or realize the great part that he plays, until we are outof college. We know that the men who bore the brunt of the battle havereceived their full share of glory--the players and coaches. 

But there arises in the midst of our athletic world men who trained, menwho safeguarded the players. Trainers have been associated with footballsince the early eighties, and a careful trainer's eye should ever be onthe lookout wherever football is played. Players, coaches and trainersgo hand in hand in football. 

Every one of these men that I have known has had a strong personality. Each one, however, differed somewhat from the others. There is a greataffection on the part of the players for the man who cares for theirathletic welfare. These men are often more than mere trainers. Theirpersonalities have carried them farther than the dressing room. Theirinterest in the boys has continued after they left college. Theirinfluence has been a lasting one, morally, as well as physically. 

On account of their association, the trainers keep pace with the menabout them; not limiting their interest to athletics. They are alwaysfound entertaining at the athletic banquets, and their personalitiescount for much on the campus. They are all but boys grown up, with wellknown athletic records behind them. In the hospital, or in the quietnessof a college room, or on trips, the trainer is a friend and adviser. 

Go and talk to the trainer of the football team if you want to get anunbiased opinion of the team's work or of the value of the individualcoaches. Some of our trainers know much about the game of football--thetechnical side--and their advice is valuable. 

Every trainer longs to handle good material, but more power to thetrainer who goes ahead with what he's got and makes the best out of itwithout a murmur. In our recollections we know of teams that werereported to be going stale--"over-trained"--"a team of cripples"--whoslumped--could not stand the test--were easily winded--could not endure. 

They were nightmares to the trainer. Soon you read in the daily pressindications that a change of trainer is about to take place in such acollege. 

Then we turn to another page of our recollections where we read:

"The team is fit to play the game of their lives. " "Only eleven menwere used in to-day's game. " "Great tribute to the trainer. " "Men couldhave played all day"--"no time taken out"--"not a man injured"--"pink ofcondition. " Usually all this spells victory. 

Jack McMasters was the first trainer that I met. "Scottie, " as every oneaffectionately called him, never asked a man to work for him any harderthan he would work himself. In a former chapter you have read how Jackand I put in some hard work together. 

I recall a trip to Boston, where Princeton was to play Harvard. Most ofthe Princeton team had retired for the night. About ten o'clock ArthurPoe came down into the corridor of the Vendome Hotel and told "Scottie"that Bill Church and Johnny Baird were upstairs taking a cold shower. 

Jack was furious, and without stopping for the elevator hustled upstairstwo steps at a time only to find both of these players sound asleep inbed. Needless to say that Arthur Poe kept out of sight until Jackretired for the night. A trainer's life is not all pleasure. 

Once after the train had started from Princeton this same devilishArthur Poe, as Jack would call him, rushed up forward to where Jack wassitting in the train and said:

"Jack, I don't see Bummie Booth anywhere on the train. I guess he musthave been left behind. "

With much haste and worry Jack made a hurried search of the entire trainto find Booth sitting in the last seat in the rear car with a broad grinon his face. 

Jack's training experience was a very broad one. He trained manyvictorious teams at Harvard after he left Princeton and was finallytrainer at Annapolis. A pronounced decoration that adorns "Scottie" is amuch admired bunch of gold footballs and baseballs, which he wearssuspended from his watch chain--in fact, so many, that he has had tohave his chain reinforced. If you could but sit down with Jack andadmire this prized collection and listen to some of his prizedachievements--humorous stories of the men he has trained and some of thevictories which these trophies designate you would agree with me that notwo covers could hold them. 

But we must leave Jack for the present at home with his family in SandyHook Cottage, Drummore by Stranraer, Scotland, in the best of health, happy in his recollection of a service well rendered and appreciated byevery one who knew him. 

Jim Robinson

There was something about Jim Robinson that made the men who knew him inhis training days refer to him as "Dear Old Jim, " and although he nolonger cries out from the side lines "trot up, men, " a favoriteexpression of his when he wanted to keep the men stirring about, therestill lives within all of us who knew him a keen appreciation of hisservice and loyalty to the different colleges where he trained. 

He began training at Princeton in 1883 and he finished his work there. How fine was the tribute that was paid him on the day of his funeral!Dolly Dillon, captain of the 1906 team, and his loyal team mates, all ofwhom had been carefully attended by Jim Robinson on the football fieldthat fall, acted as pallbearers. There was also a host of old athletesand friends from all over the country who came to pay their last tributeto this great sportsman and trainer. 

Mike Murphy and Jim Robinson were always contesting trainers. AtPrinceton that day with the team gathered around, Murphy related someinteresting and touching experiences of Jim's career. 

Jim's family still lives at Princeton, and on one of my recent visitsthere, I called upon Mrs. Robinson. We talked of Jim, and I saw againthe loving cups and trophies that Jim had shown me years before. 

Jim Robinson trained many of the heroes of the old days, Hector Cowanbeing one of them. In later years he idolized the playing of that greatfootball hero, John DeWitt, who appreciated all that Jim did to makehis team the winner. The spirit of Jim Robinson was comforting as wellas humorous. No mention of Jim would be complete without his dialect. 

[Illustration: THE ELECT]

He was an Englishman and abused his h's in a way that was a delight tothe team. Ross McClave tells of fun at the training table one day whenhe asked Jim how to spell "saloon. " Jim, smiling broadly and knowing hewas to amuse these fellows as he had the men in days gone by, said:"Hess--Hay--Hell--two Hoes--and--a Hen. "

Few men got more work out of a team than did Jim Robinson. There wasalways a time for play and a time for work with Jim. 

Mike Murphy

Mike Murphy was the dean of trainers. 

Bob Torrey, one of the most remarkable center-rushes that Pennsylvaniaever had, is perhaps one of the greatest admirers of Mike Murphy duringhis latter years. Torrey can tell it better than I can. 

"Murphy's sense of system was wonderful; he was a keen observer and hada remarkable memory; he seemed to do very little in the way ofbookkeeping, but his mind was carefully pigeon-holed and was a perfectcard index. 

"He could have thirty men on the field at once and carry onconversations with visitors and graduates; issue orders to workmen andnever lose sight of a single one of his men. He was popular wherever hewent. His fame was not only known here, but abroad. His charm of mannerand his cheerful courage will be remembered by all who knew him, butonly those who knew him well realize what an influence he had on theboys with whom he worked, and how high were his ideals of manhood. Theamount of good done by Mike Murphy in steering boys into the right trackcan never be estimated. "

Prep' School boys athletically inclined followed Murphy. Many a man wentto college in order to get Murphy's training. He was an athletic magnet. 

"The Old Mike"

The town of Natick, Mass. , boasts of Mike Murphy's early days. Wonderfulathletic traditions centered there. His early days were eventful for hisathletic success, as he won all kinds of professional prizes for shortdistance running. Boyhood friends of Mike Murphy tell of the comradeshipamong Mike Murphy, Keene Fitzpatrick, Pooch and Piper Donovan--allNatick boys. They give glowing accounts of the "truck team" consistingof this clever quartet, each of whom were "ten-second" men in thesprinting game. 

If that great event which was run off at the Marlboro Fair and CattleShow could be witnessed to-day, thousands of admirers would love to seein action those trainers, see them as the Natick Hose truck defeatedthe Westboro team that day, and sent the Westboro contingent home withshattered hopes and empty pocketbooks. 

"In connection with Army-Navy games, " writes Crolius of Dartmouth, "I'llnever forget Mike Murphy's wonderful ability to read men's condition bytheir 'mental attitude. ' He was nearly infallible in his diagnosis. "

Once we questioned Mike. He said, "Go get last year's money back, you'regoing to lick them!" And true to his uncanny understanding he was right. Was it any wonder that men gave Murphy the credit due him?

Mike Murphy had a strong influence over the players. He was theirever-present friend. He could talk to a man, and his personality couldreach farther than any of the coaches. The teams that Murphy talked tobetween the halves, both at Yale and Pennsylvania, were always inspired. Mike Murphy always gave a man something of himself. 

It is interesting to read what a fellow trainer, Keene Fitzpatrick, hasto say of Mike:

"Mike first started to train at Yale. Then he went to the DetroitAthletic Club in Detroit; then he came back to Yale; then he went to theUniversity of Pennsylvania; then back to Yale again, and finally back tothe University of Penn', where he died. 

"We were always great friends and got together every summer; we used togo up to a little country town, Westboro, on a farm; had a little roomin a farmhouse outside of the town of Natick, and there we used to gettogether every year (Mike and Fitz') and share our opinions, and compareand give each other the benefit of our discoveries of the season's work. 

"Murphy was one of the greatest sprinters this world ever had. Theycalled him 'stucky' because he had so much grit and determination. Theyear after Mike died the Intercollegiate was held at Cambridge. All thetrainers got together and a lot of flowers were sent out to Mike's gravein Hopkinton, Massachusetts. "

A CHAT WITH POOCH DONOVAN

Pooch Donovan's success at Harvard goes hand in hand with that ofHaughton. 

In the great success of Harvard's Varsity, year after year, the finehand of the trainer has been noticeable. Harvard's teams have stood thetest wonderfully well, and all the honors that go with victory have beenheaped upon Pooch Donovan's head. 

Every man on the Harvard squad knows that Donovan can get as much workout of his players as it is possible for any human being to get out ofthem. Pooch Donovan served at Yale in 1888, 1889 and 1890, when MikeMurphy was trainer there. He and Donovan used to have long talkstogether and they were ever comparing notes on the training of varsityteams. Pooch Donovan owes much to Mike Murphy, and the latter wasPooch's loyal supporter. 

"What made Mike Murphy a sturdy man, was that he was such a hardloser--he could not stand to lose, " says Donovan. 

"You know the thing that keeps me young is working shoulder to shoulderwith these young fellows. " This to me, in the dressing-room, where wehave no time for anything but cold truths. "It was the same thing thatkept Mike Murphy going ten years after the doctors said he would soon beall in. That was when he returned to Yale, after he had been atPennsylvania. There is something about this sort of work thatinvigorates us and keeps us young. I'm no longer a young man in years, but it is the spirit and inspiration of youth with which this workidentifies me that keeps me really young. "

When I asked Pooch about Eddie Mahan's great all-around ability, hisface lighted up, and I saw immediately that what I had heard wastrue--that Donovan simply idolized Eddie Mahan. Mahan lives in Natick, Massachusetts, where Donovan also has his home. He has seen Ned Mahangrow to manhood. Mahan had his first football training as a player onthe Natick High School team. 

"Ned Mahan, " said Pooch, "was the best all-around football man I haveever handled. He was easy to handle, eager to do as he was told, and henever caused the trainer any worry. Up to the very last moment heplayed, he was eager to learn everything he could that would improve hisgame. He had lots of football ability. 

"You know Mahan was a great star at Andover. He kicked wonderfully thereand was good in all departments of the game, and he improved a hundredper cent. After he came to Harvard. "

Pooch Donovan told me about the first day that Eddie Mahan came out uponthe Harvard field. At Cambridge, little is known by the head coach abouta freshman's ability. One day Haughton said to Pooch Donovan:

"Where is that Natick friend of yours? Bring him over to the Stadium andlet's see him kick. "

Donovan got Mahan and Haughton said to Mahan:

"Let's see you kick. "

Mahan boosted the ball seventy yards, and Haughton said:

"What kind of a kick is that?"

Mahan thought it was a great kick. 

"How do you think any ends can cover that?" said Haughton. 

Mahan thereupon kicked a couple more, low ones, but they went about asfar. 

"Who told you _you_ could kick?" quoth Haughton. "You must kick highenough for your ends to cover the distance. "

"Take it easy and don't get excited, " Donovan was whispering to Mahanon the side. "Take your time, Ned. "

But Mahan continued kicking from bad to worse. Haughton was gettingdisgusted, and finally remarked:

"Your ends never can cover those punts. "

Mahan then kicked one straight up over his head, and the first word everuttered by him on the Harvard field, was his reply to Haughton:

"I guess almost any end can cover _that_ punt, " he said. 

Donovan tells me that he used to carry in his pocket a few blankcartridges for starting sprinters. Sitting on a bench with some friends, on Soldiers' Field, one day he reached into his hip pocket for someloose tobacco. Unconsciously he stuffed into the heel of his pipe ablank cartridge that had become mixed with the tobacco. The gun club waspracticing within hearing distance of the field. As Donovan lighted hispipe the cartridge went off. He thought he was shot. Leaping to his feethe ran down the field, his friends after him. 

"I was surprised at my own physical condition--at my being able to standso well the shock of being shot, " says Donovan in telling the story. "Myfriends thought also that I was shot. But when I slowed up, stillbewildered, and they caught up with me, they were puzzled to see my facecovered with powder marks and a broken pipe stem sticking out of mymouth. 

"Not until then did any of us realize what had really happened. Thecartridge had grazed my nose slightly, but outside of that I was allright. Since then I am very careful what I put in my tobacco. "

Eddie is known as "Pooch Donovan's pet. " Probably the bluest time thatDonovan ever had--in fact, he says it was the bluest--was when EddieMahan had an off-day in the Stadium. That was the day when Cornell beatHarvard. Mahan himself says it was the worst day he ever had in hislife, and he blames himself. 

"It was just as things will come sometimes, " Pooch said to me. "Nobodyknows why they will come, but come they will once in a while. "

"Burr, the great Harvard captain, " said Pooch, "was a natural bornleader of men. He knew a lot of football and Haughton thought the worldof him. Burr went along finely until the last week of the season. Then, in falling on the ball, he bruised his shoulder, and would not allowhimself to go into the Yale game. It was really this display of goodjudgment on his part that enabled Harvard to win. 

"Too often a team has been handicapped by the playing of a crippledveteran. As a matter of fact, the worst kind of a substitute is oftenbetter than a crippled player. The fact that the great captain, Burr, stood on the side lines while his team was playing, urged his team mateson to greater efforts. 

"In this same game the opposite side of this question was demonstrated. Bobbie Burch, the Yale captain, who had been injured the week before thegame, was put in the game. His injury handicapped the Yale teamconsiderably. "

Pooch Donovan has been eight years at Harvard. He has five goldfootballs, which he prizes and wears on his watch chain. During theeight years there have been five victories over Yale, two ties and onedefeat. Pooch has been a football player himself and the experience hasmade him a better trainer. 

In 1895 he played on Temple's team of the Duquesne Athletic Club. He wastrainer and halfback, and was very fond of the game. Later on he playedin Cleveland against the Chicago Athletic Club, on whose team playedHeffelfinger, Sport Donnelly, and other famous knights of the gridiron. 

"In the morning we did everything we could to make the stay of thevisiting team pleasant, " says Donovan, regarding those days, "but in theafternoon it was different, and in the midst of the game a fellowcouldn't help wondering how men could be so nice to each other in themorning and so rough in the afternoon. "

Pooch Donovan cannot say enough in favor of Doctor E. H. Nichols, thedoctor for the Harvard team. Pooch's judgment is endorsed by many aHarvard man that I have talked to. 

Keene Fitzpatrick

When Biffy Lea was coaching at the University of Michigan in 1901, itwas my opportunity and privilege to see something of Western football. Iwas at Ann Arbor assisting Lea the last week before Michigan playedChicago. Michigan was defeated. That night at a banquet given to theMichigan team, there arose a man to respond to a toast. 

His words were cheering to the men and roused them out of the gloom ofdespair and defeat to a strong hope for the coming year. That man wasKeene Fitzpatrick. I had heard much about him, but now that I really hadcome to meet him I realized what a magnetic man he was. 

He knew men and how to get the best out of them. Fitzpatrick went fromMichigan to Yale, from Yale back to Michigan, and then to Princeton, where Princeton men hope he will always stay. 

Michigan admirers were loath to lose Fitzpatrick and their tribute tohim on leaving was as follows:

"The University of Michigan combination was broken yesterday when KeeneFitzpatrick announced that he had accepted Princeton's offer, to takeeffect in the fall of 1910. He was trainer for Michigan for 15 years. For five years Fitz' has been sought by every large university in theEast. 

"What was Michigan's loss, was Princeton's gain. He made men better, not alone physically, but morally. His work has been uplifting along alllines of university activities. In character and example he is as greatand untiring as in his teaching and precept. The final and definiteknowledge of his determination to leave Michigan is a severe blow to thestudents all of whom know and appreciate his work. Next to PresidentAngell, no man of the University of Michigan, in the last ten years, hasexerted a more wholesome influence upon the students than has KeeneFitzpatrick. His work brought him in close touch with the students andhis influence over them for good has been wonderful. He is a man ofideals and clean life. "

"To 'Fitz, ' as the boys called him, as much as to the great coach Yostis due Michigan's fine record in football. His place will be hard tofill. Fitz has aided morally in placing athletics on a high plane and incultivating a fine spirit of sportsmanship. He was elected an honorarymember of the class of 1913 at Princeton. The Secretary of the classwrote him a letter in which he said: 'The senior class deeplyappreciates your successful efforts, and in behalf of the Universitytakes this opportunity of expressing its indebtedness to you for thevaluable results which you have accomplished. '"

Yost had a high opinion of Fitzpatrick. 

"Fitz and I worked together for nine years, " writes Yost. "We were likebrothers during that association at Michigan. There is no one personwho contributed so much to the University of Michigan as this greattrainer. His wonderful personality, his expert assistance and that greatoptimism of his stood out as his leading qualifications. My associationwith him is one of the pleasantest recollections of my life. He put themen in shape, trained them and developed them. They were 'usable' allthe time. He is a trainer who has his men in the finest mental conditionpossible. I don't think there was ever a trainer who kept men more fit, physically and mentally, than Keene Fitzpatrick. "

There were in Michigan two players, brothers, who were far apart inskill. Keene says one was of varsity calibre, but wanted his brother, too, to make the Eleven. "Once, " says Keene, "when we were going on atrip, John, who was a better player, said, 'I will not go if Joe cannotgo, ' so in order to get John, we had to take Joe. "

Fitzpatrick tells of an odd experience in football. "In 1901 Michiganwent out to Southern California and played Leland Stanford University atPasadena, January 1. When the Michigan team left Ann Arbor forCalifornia in December, it was 12° below zero and when they played onNew Year's it was 80° at 3 P. M. "

Stanford was supposed to have a big advantage due to the climate. Michigan won by a score of 49 to 0. Michigan used but eleven men in thegame, and it was their first scrimmage since Thanksgiving Day. A funnything happened en route to Pasadena. 

"Every time the train stopped, " said Keene, "we hustled the men out togive them practice running through signals and passing the ball. Everything went well until we arrived in Ogden, Utah. We hustled the menout as usual for a work-out, and in less than two minutes the men wereall in, lying down on the ground, gasping for breath. We could notunderstand what was wrong, until some one came along and reminded usthat we were in a very high altitude and that it affected people whowere not accustomed to it. We all felt better when we received thatinformation. "

Michael J. Sweeney

There are few trainers in our prep. Schools who can match the record ofMike Sweeney. He has been an important part of the Hill School'sathletics for years. Many of the traditions of this school are grouped, in fact, about his personality. Hill School boys are loud in theirpraises of Sweeney's achievements. He always had a strong hold on thestudents there. He has given many a boy words of encouragement that havehelped him on in the school, and this same boy has come back to him inafter life to get words of advice. 

Many colleges tried to sever his connection with Hill School. I knowthat at one time Princeton was very anxious to get Sweeney's services. He was happy at Hill School, however, and decided to stay. It was thereat Hill School that Sweeney turned out some star athletes. Perhaps oneof the most prominent was Tom Shevlin. Sweeney saw great possibilitiesin Shevlin. He taught him the fundamentals that made Shevlin one of thegreatest ends that ever played at Yale. He typified Sweeney's idealfootball player. Shevlin never lost an opportunity to expressappreciation of what Sweeney had done for him. 

Tom gave all credit for his athletic ability to Mike Sweeney of Hill andMike Murphy of Yale. His last desire for Yale athletics was to bringSweeney to Yale and have him installed, not as a direct coach or trainerof any team, but more as a general athletic director, connected with thefaculty, to advise and help in all branches of college sport. 

Tom Shevlin idolized Sweeney. Those who were at the banquet of the 1905team at Cambridge will recall the tribute that Shevlin then paid to him. He declared that he regarded Sweeney as "the world's greatest brain onall forms of athletics. "

Whenever Mike Sweeney puts his heart into his work he is one of the mostcompletely absorbed men I know. 

Sweeney possesses an uncanny insight into the workings of the games andindividuals. Oftentimes as he sits on the side lines he can foretell anaccident coming to a player. 

Mike was sitting on the Yale side lines one day, and remarked to EdWylie, a former Hill School player--a Yale substitute at that time:

"They ought to take Smith out of the game; he shows signs of weakening. You'd better go tell the trainer to do it. "

But before Wylie could get to the trainer, several plays had been runoff and the man who had played too long received an injury, and was donefor. Sweeney's predictions generally ring true. 

It is rather remarkable, and especially fortunate that a prep. Schoolshould have such an efficient athletic director. For thirteen yearsSweeney acted in that capacity and coached all the teams. He taughtother men to teach football. 

Jack Moakley

Had any one gone to Ithaca in the hope of obtaining the services of JackMoakley, the Cornell trainer, he would have found this popular trainer'sfriends rising up and showing him the way to the station, because therenever has been a human being who could sever the relations between JackMoakley and Cornell. 

The record he has made with his track teams alone entitles him to a highplace, if not the highest place, on the trainer's roll of honor. To tellof his achievements would fill an entire chapter, but as we areconfining ourselves to football, his work in this department of Cornellsports stands on a par with any football trainer. 

Jack Moakley takes his work very seriously and no man works any harderon the Cornell squad than does their trainer. Costello, a Cornellcaptain of years ago, relates the following incident:

"Jack Moakley had a man on his squad who had a great habit of digging upunusual fads, generally in the matter of diet. At this particular timehe had decided to live solely on grape nuts. As he was one of the bestmen on the team, Jack did not burden himself with trouble over this fad, although at several times Moakley told him that he might improve if hewould eat some real food. However, when this man started a grape nutcampaign among the younger members of the squad he aroused Jack's ireand upon his arrival at the field house he wiped the black board cleanof all instructions and in letters a foot high wrote:

 "They who eat beef are beefy. " "They who eat nuts are nutty. "

The resultant kidding finally made the old beefsteak popular with ourfriend. 

Johnny Mack

It would not seem natural if one failed to see Johnny Mack on the sidelines where Yale is playing. In eleven years at New Haven Yale teamswere never criticised on account of their condition. The physicalcondition of the Yale team has always been left entirely in JohnnyMack's hands, and the hard contests that they went through in the seasonof 1915 were enough to worry any trainer. Johnny Mack was alwaysoptimistic. 

There is much humor in Johnny Mack. It is amusing to hear Johnny tell ofthe experience that he and Pooch Donovan had in a Paris restaurant, andI'm sure you can all imagine the rest. Johnny said they got along prettywell with their French until they ordered potatoes and the waitersbrought in a peck of peas. 

It is a difficult task for a trainer to tell whether a player is fullyconscious of all that is going on in a game. Sometimes a hard tackle ora blow on the head will upset a man. Johnny Mack tells a story thatillustrates this fact:

"There was a quarterback working in the game one day. I thought he wasgoing wrong. I said to the coach: 'I think something has happened to ourquarterback. ' He told me to go out and look him over. I went out andcalled the captain to one side after I had permission from the Referee. I asked him if he thought the quarterback was going right. He repliedthat he thought he was, but called out some signals to him to see if heknew them. The quarter answered the captain's questions after a fashionand the captain was satisfied, but, just the same, he didn't look goodto me. I asked the captain to let me give him a signal; one we neverused, and one the captain did not even know. 

"Said I, 'What's this one--48-16-32-12?'

"'That's me through the right end, ' he said. 

"'Not on your life, old man, ' said I, 'that's you and me to the sidelines!'

"I remember one fall, " says Johnny, "when we were very shy on bigmaterial at Yale. The coaches told me to take a walk about the campusand hunt up some big fellows who might possibly come out for football. While going along the Commons at noon, the first fellow I met was a big, fine looking man, a 210 pounder at least, with big, broad shoulders. Istopped him and asked if he had ever played football. 

"'Yes, ' he said, 'I played a little at school. I'll come out next week. 'I told him not to bother about next week, but to come out thatafternoon--that I'd meet him at the gym' at one o'clock and have someclothes for him. He came at one o'clock and I told one of the rubbers tohave some clothes ready. When I came back at 1:30 and looked around Icouldn't recognize him. 'Where in the world is my big fellow?' I said toJim the rubber. 

"'Your big fellow? Why, he just passed you, ' said Jim. 

"'No, ' said I, 'that can't be the man; that must be some consumptive. '

"'Just the same, that's your big fellow in his football suit, ' saidJim. 'The biggest part of him is hanging up in there on a nail. '

"_Some_ tailors, these fellows have nowadays. "

Johnny Mack further tells of an amusing incident in Foster Sanford'scoaching. 

"At early practice in New Haven Sanford was working the linemen, " saysJohnny. "He picked a green, husky looking boy out of the line ofcandidates and was soon playing against him. He didn't know who Sandywas, and believe me, Sandy was handling him pretty rough to see what hewas made of. The first thing you know the fellow was talking to himselfand, when Sandy was careless, suddenly shot over a stiff one on Sandy'sface and yelled:

"'I'm going to have you know that no man's going to push _me_ aroundthis field. '

"Sandy was happy as could be. He patted the chap on the back and roared, 'Good stuff; you're all right. You're the kind of a man I want. We canuse men like you!'

"But Foster Sanford was not the only old-timer who could take the youngones' hard knocks, " says Johnny. "I've seen Heffelfinger come back toYale Field after being out of college twenty years and play with thescrubs for fifty-five minutes without a layoff! I never saw a man withsuch endurance. 

"Ted Coy was a big, good-natured fellow. He was never known to take timeout in a game in the four years he played football. In his senior yearhe didn't play until the West Point game. While West Point was puttingit all over us, Coy was on the side lines, frantically running up anddown. But we had strict instructions from the doctor not to play him, nomatter what happened. 

"Suddenly Coy said: 'Johnny, let me in. I'm not going to have my teamlicked by this crowd. ' And in he jumped. 

"I saw him call Philbin up alongside of him and the first thing I knew Isaw Philbin and Coy running up the field like a couple of deer. In justthree plays they took the ball from our own 5-yard line to a touchdown. After that there was a different spirit in the team. Coy was aninspiration to his players. "

"One more story, " says Johnny. 

"There were two boys at New Haven. Their first names were Jack, and bothwere substitutes on the scrub. About the middle of the second half inthe Harvard game, the coach told me to go and warm up Jack. One of theJacks jumped up, while the other Jack sank back on the bench withsurprise and sorrow on his face. Seeing that a mistake had been made, Isaid, 'Not you, but _you_, Jack, ' and pointed to the other. As the rightJack jumped up, the cloudy face turned to sunshine, as only a footballplayer can imagine, and the sunny smile of the first Jack turned todeepest gloom, an affecting sight I shall never forget. "

"Huggins of Brown"

I know of no college trainer who seems to get more pleasure out of hiswork than Huggins of Brown. There are numerous incidents that arerecorded in this book that have been the experiences of thisgood-natured trainer. 

A trainer's life is not always a merry one. Many things occur that tendto worry him, but he gets a lot of fun out of it just the same. Hugginssays:

"Some few years ago Brown had a big lineman on its team who had neverbeen to New York, where we went that year to meet Carlisle. The playersput in quite a bit of time jollying him and having all sorts of fun athis expense. We stopped at one of the big hotels, and the rooms were onthe seventh and eighth floors. In the rooms were the rope fire escapes, common in those days, knotted every foot or so. The big lineman askedwhat it was for, and the other fellows told him, but added that thisroom was the only one so equipped and that he must look sharp that noneof the others helped themselves to it for their protection against fire. 

"That night, as usual, I was making my rounds after the fellows had goneto bed. Coming into this player's room I saw that he was asleep, butthat there appeared to be some strange, unusual lump in the bed. Iimmediately woke him to find out what it was. Much to my amusement, Idiscovered that he had wound about fifteen feet of the rope around hisbody and I had an awful job trying to assure him that the boys had beenfooling him. Nothing that I could say, however, would convince him, andI left him to resume his slumbers with the rope still wrapped tightlyabout his body. "

Huggins not only believes that Brown University is a good place totrain, but he thinks it is a good place to send his boy. He has a sonwho is a freshman at Brown as I write. Huggins went to Brown in the fallof 1896, as trainer. Here is another good Huggins story:

"Sprackling, our All-American quarterback of a few years ago, always hadhis nerve with him and, however tight the place, generally managed toget out with a whole skin. But I recall one occasion when the wind wastaken out of his sails; he was at a loss what to say or how to act. Wewere talking over prospects on the steps in front of the Brown Union onemorning just before college opened, the fall that he was captain, when ayoung chap came up and said:

"'Are you Sprackling, Captain of the Team?'

"'That's me, ' replied Sprack. 

"'Well, I'm coming out for quarterback, ' the young man declared, 'and Iexpect to make it. I can run the 100 in ten-one and the 220 in evens andI'm a good quarterback. I'm going to beat you out of your job. '

"Sprack, for once in his life, was flustered to death. When several ofthe boys who were nearby and had heard the conversation, began to laugh, he grew red in the face and quickly got up and walked away without aword. But before I could recover myself, the promising candidate haddisappeared. "

Harry Tuthill, specialist in knees and ankles, was the first trainerWest Point ever had. When he turned up at the Academy he was none toosure that a football was made of leather and blown up. 

He got his job at the Point through the bandaging of Ty Cobb's ankle. AnArmy coach saw him do it and said:

"Harry, if you can do that, the way you do it, come to West Point and doit for us. "

Tuthill was none too welcome to the authorities other than the footballmen. In the eyes of the superintendent every cadet was fit to doanything that might be required of him. 

"You've got to make good with the Supe, " said the coaches. 

So Harry went out and watched the dress parade and the ensuing doubletime review. After the battalion was dismissed, Tuthill was introducedto the Superintendent. 

"Well, Mr. Tuthill, " said the Superintendent, "I'm glad to meet you, butI really do not see what we need of a trainer. "

Harry shifted his feet and gathering courage blurted out:

"Run those boys around again and then ask them to whistle. "

 * * * * *

There are many other trainers who deserve mention in this chapter, menwho are earnestly and loyally giving up their lives to the training ofthe young men in our different colleges, but space will not permit totake up any more of these interesting characters. Their tribute must bea silent one, not only from myself but from the undergraduates andgraduates of the colleges to which they belong and upon whose shouldersare heaped year after year honors which are due them. 

FIRST DOCTOR IN CHARGE OF ANY TEAM

Doctor W. M. Conant, Harvard '79, says:

"I believe I was the first doctor associated with the Harvard team, andso far as I know, the first doctor who was in charge of any team at anycollege. At Harvard this custom has been kept up. I was requested byArthur Cumnock, who had been beaten the previous year by Yale, to comeout and help him win a game. This I consented to do provided I hadabsolute control of the medical end of the team, which consisted notonly of taking care of the men who were injured, but also of their diet. This has since been taken up by the trainer. 

"The late George Stewart and the late George Adams were the coaches incharge that year, and my recollections of some of the difficulties thatarose because of new methods are very enjoyable--even at this late day. So far as I know this was the first season men were played in the sameposition opposite one another. In other words, there was an attempt toform a second eleven--which is now a well recognized condition. 

"I had a house built under the grandstand where every man from our teamwas stripped, rubbed dry and put into a new suit of clothes, also givena certain amount of hot drink as seemed necessary. This was a thingwhich had never been done before, and in my opinion had a largeinfluence in deciding the game in Harvard's favor; as the men went outupon the field in the second half almost as fresh as when they startedthe first half. 

"I remember that I had not seen a victory over Yale since I wasgraduated from college in 1879. Some of the suggestions that I madeabout the time men should be played were laughed at. The standpoint Itook was that a man should not be allowed by the coach to play until hewas deemed fit. The physician in charge was also a matter of seriousdiscussion. Many of these points are now so well established that to thepresent generation it is hardly possible to make them realize that from1890 to 1895 it was necessary to make a fight to establish certainwell-known methods. 

"What would the present football man think of being played for one andone-half hours whether he was in shape or not? The present football mandoes not appreciate what some of the older college graduates wentthrough in order to bring about the present reasonable methods adoptedin handling the game. "

[Illustration: HOW IT HURTS TO LOSE]

CHAPTER XVIII

NIGHTMARES

There are few players who never experienced defeat in football. At sucha time sadness reigns. Men who are big in mind and body have broken downand cried bitterly. How often in our experience have we seen men takenout of the game leaving it as though their hearts would break, only togo to the side lines, and there through dimmed eyes view the inevitabledefeat, realizing that they were no longer a factor in the struggle. Such an experience came to Frank Morse in that savage Penn-Princetongame of years ago at Trenton. He had given of his best; he played awonderful game, but through an injury he had to be removed to the sidelines. Let this great hero of the past tell us something about the pangsof defeat as he summons them to mind in his San Francisco office afteran interval of twenty-two years. 

"The average American university football player takes his defeats tooseriously--in the light of my retrospect--much too seriously, " writesMorse. "As my memory harks back to the blubbering bunch of stalwartyoung manhood that rent the close air of the dressing-room with itsdismal howls after each of the five defeats in which I participated, Iam convinced that this is not what the world expects of strong men inthe hour of adversity. 

"A stiff upper lip is what the world admires, and it will extend thehand of sympathy and help to the man who can wear it. This should betaught by football coaches to their men as a part of the lessons of lifethat football generally is credited with teaching. 

"Alex Moffat, than whom no more loyal and enthusiastic Princetonian everlived, to my mind, had the right idea. During one of those periods ofabysmal depths of despondency into which a losing team is plunged, herushed into the room, waving his arms over his head in hischaracteristic manner, and in his high-pitched voice yelled:

"'Here, boys, get down to work; cut out this crying and get to cussing. '

"Doubtless much of this was due to the strain and the high tension towhich the men were subjected, but much of it was mere lack of effort atrestraint. 

"Johnny Poe, as stout-hearted a man as ever has, or ever will stand on afootball field, once said to me:

"'This sob stuff gives me a pain in the neck but, like sea-sickness, when the rest of the crowd start business, it's hard to keep out of it. Besides, I don't suppose there's any use getting the reputation ofbeing exclusive and too stuck up to do what the rest of the gang do. '

"Of the defeats in which I participated, probably none was moredisheartening than the one suffered at the hands of the University ofPennsylvania in 1892 at the Manheim cricket grounds near Philadelphia. Ishall always believe that the better Princeton team would have won withcomparative ease had it not been for the wind. In no game in which Iever played was the wind so largely the deciding factor in the result. The flags on the poles along the stands stood out stiffly as theysnapped in the half gale. 

"Pennsylvania won the toss and elected to have the wind at their backs. For forty-five minutes every effort made against the Red and Blue wasmore than nullified by the blustering god Æolus. When Pennsylvaniakicked, it was the rule and not the exception for the ball to go sailingfor from one-half to three quarters the length of the field. On theother hand, I can see in my mind's eye to-day, as clearly as I didduring the game, a punt by Sheppard Homans, the Princeton fullback, which started over the battling lines into Pennsylvania territory, slowed up, hung for an instant in the air and then was swept back to apoint approximating the line from where it started. 

"It was the most helpless and exasperating feeling that I everexperienced. The football player who can conceive of a game in whichunder no circumstances was it permissible to kick, but instead provideda penalty, can perhaps appreciate the circumstances. 

"In the second half, when we changed goals, the flags hung limplyagainst their staffs, but we had spent ourselves in the unequal contestduring the first half. "

Nightmares, even those of football, do not always beget sympathy. Uponoccasion a deal of fun is poked at the victim, and this holds true evenin the family circle. 

Tom Shevlin was noted as the father of a great many good stories, but itwas proverbial that he refrained from telling one upon himself. However, in at least one instance he deviated from habit to the extent ofrelating an incident concerning his father and the father of CharlieRafferty, captain of the Yale 1903 eleven. Tom at the time was asophomore, and Shevlin, senior, who idolized his son, made it a practiceof attending all important contests in which he participated, came onfrom Minneapolis in his private car to witness the spectacle of Tom'ssingle-handed defeat of "The Princetons. " As it chanced the Shevlin carwas put upon a siding adjoining that on which the car of Gill Raffertylay. Rafferty, as a matter of fact, was making his laborious way downthe steps as Mr. Shevlin emerged from his car. Mr. Rafferty looked up, blinked in the November sunlight and then nodded cheerfully. "Well, Shevlin, " he said, "I suppose by to-night we'll be known simply as thefathers of two great Yale favorites. " Shevlin nodded and said "hefancied such would be the case. " A few hours later, in the gloom of thetwilight, after Yale had been defeated, the elder Shevlin was findinghis somber way to the steps of his car and met Rafferty face to face. Shevlin nodded and was about to pass on without speaking, when Raffertyplaced his hand upon his shoulder. "Well, Shevlin, " he said solemnly, "Isee we are still old man Shevlin and old man Rafferty. "

W. C. Rhodes

One has only to hear Jim Rodgers tell the story of Billy Rhodes torealize how deeply the iron of football disaster sinks into the soul. 

"Rhodes was captain of the losing team in the fall of '90, when Yale'sEleven was beaten by Harvard's, " Rodgers tells us. "Arthur Cumnock wasthe Harvard captain, and the score was 12 to 6. Two remarkable runs fortouchdowns made by Dudley Dean and Jim Lee decided the contest. 

"For twenty years afterwards, back to Springfield, New Haven orCambridge, wherever the Yale-Harvard games were played, came with theregularity of their occurrence, Billy Rhodes. 

"He was to be seen the night before, and the morning of the game. Healways had his tickets for the side line and wore the badge as anex-Yale captain. But the game itself Billy Rhodes never saw. 

"If at Springfield, he was to be found in the Massasoit House, walkingthe floor until the result of the game was known. If at New Haven, hewas not at the Yale Field. He walked around the field and out into thewoods. If the game was at Cambridge, he was not at Holmes Field, orlater, at Soldiers' Field. 

"When the game was over he would join in the celebration of victory, orsink into the misery of defeat, as the case might be. But he never couldwitness a game. The sting of defeat had left its permanent wound. "

A YALE NIGHTMARE

Those who saw the Army defeat Yale at West Point in 1904 must realizewhat a blow it was to the Blue. The first score came as a result of ablocked kick by West Point, which was recovered by Erwin, who picked upthe ball and dashed across the line for a touchdown. The Army scored thesecond time when Torney cut loose and ran 105 yards for a touchdown. 

Sam Morse, captain of the Yale 1906 team, who played right halfback inthis game, tells how the nightmare of defeat may come upon us at anytime, even in the early season, and incidentally how it may have itscompensations. 

"An instance of the psychology of football is to be found in the fallof 1904, when Jim Hogan was captain of the Yale team, " says Morse. "Ihad the pleasure of playing back of him on the defensive in almost everygame of that year, and I got to depend so much on those bull-likecharges of his that I fear that if I had been obliged to play back ofsome one else my playing would have been of inferior quality. 

"Yale had a fine team that year, defeating both Harvard and Princetonwith something to spare. The only eleven that scored on us was WestPoint, and they beat us. It is a strange thing that the Cadets alwaysseem to give Yale a close game, as in that year even though beaten byboth Harvard and Princeton by safe scores, and even though Yale beatHarvard and Princeton handily, the Army played us to a standstill. 

"After the game, as is so often the case when men have played themselvesout, there was a good deal of sobbing and a good many real tears wereshed. Every man who has played football will appreciate that there aretimes when it is a very common matter for even a big husky man to weep. We were all in the West Point dressing-room when Jim Hogan arose. Hefelt what we all took to be a disgrace more keenly than any of us. Therewas no shake in his voice, however, or any tears in his eyes when hebellowed at us to stop blubbering. 

"'Don't feel sorry for yourselves. I hope this thing will hurt us allenough so that we will profit by it. It isn't a matter to cry over--it'sa matter to analyze closely and to take into yourself and to digest, andfinally to prevent its happening again. '

"He drove it home as only Jim Hogan could. At the close Ralph Bloomerjumped to his feet and cried:

"'Jim, old man, we are with you, and you are right about it, and we willwipe this thing out in a way which will satisfy you and all the rest ofthe college. '

"The whole team followed him. Right then and there that aggregationbecame a Yale football team in the proper sense, and one of the greatestYale football teams that ever played. It was the game followed by Jim'sspeech that made the eleven men a unit for victory. 

"If Jim had been allowed to live a few more years the quality ofleadership that he possessed would have made of him a very prominent andpowerful man. His memory is one of the dearest things to all of us whowere team mates or friends of his, but I hardly ever think of himwithout picturing him that particular day in the dressing-room at WestPoint, when in five minutes he made of eleven men a really greatfootball team. "

Even Eddie Mahan is not immune to the haunting memory of defeat, andperhaps because of the very fact that disaster came into hisbrilliant gridiron career only once, and then in his senior year, ithit him hard. The manner of its telling by this great player issufficient proof of that. Here is Eddie's story:

[Illustration:

Hunkin Tilley Bailey Snyder Jewett Gillies Miller LalleyShiverick Anderson Menler Barrett Cool Shelton CollinsEckley Schock Schlicter Zander

CORNELL'S GREAT TEAM--1915]

"I enjoyed my football days at Harvard so well that I would like to goback each fall and play football for the rest of my life. I wish togoodness I could go back and play just one game over--that is theCornell game of 1915. My freshman team won all its games, and during thethree years that I played for the Harvard Varsity I never figured in alosing game except that one. Cornell beat Harvard 10 to 0. The score ofthat game will haunt me all my life long. This game has been a nightmareto me ever since. Every time I think of football that game is one of thefirst things that comes to mind. I fumbled a lot. I don't know why, butI couldn't seem to hold onto the ball. 

"We blocked four kicks, but Cornell recovered every one. We sort of feltthat there was more than the Cornell team playing against us--a goalfrom the field and a touchdown. Shiverick, of Cornell, stands out in myrecollection of that game. He was a good kicker. Once he had to kick outfrom behind the goal post down in his own territory. Watson and I wereboth laying for a line buck; playing up close. Shiverick kicked one overmy head, out of bounds at his own 45-yard line. 

"I felt like a burglar after this game, because I felt that I had lostit. I was feeling pretty blue until the Monday after the game, when thecoaches picked eleven men as the Varsity team, and just as soon as theysent these eleven men to a section of the field to get acquainted witheach other--that was the beginning of team work. From the way thosefellows went at it that day, and from the spirit they showed, we feltthat no team could ever lick us again, neither Princeton nor Yale. TheCornell game acted like a tonic on the whole crowd. Instead ofdisheartening the team it instilled in us determination. We said:

"'We know what it is to be licked, and we'll be damned if we'll belicked again. '"

Jack de Saulles' football ambitions were realized when he made the Yaleteam at quarterback, the position which his brother Charlie, before him, had occupied. His spectacular runs, his able generalship, his ability tohandle punts, coupled with that characteristic de Saulles' grit, madehim a famous player. 

Let this game little quarterback tell his own story:

"Billy Bull and I have often discussed the fact that when an attempt fora goal from the field failed, one of the players of the opposing sidealways touched the ball back of the goal line (thereby making it dead), and brought it out to the 25-yard line to kick. Of course, the ball isnever dead until it is touched down. It was in the fall of 1902 when wewere playing West Point. In the latter part of the second half of thatgame, with the score 6 to 6, Charlie Daly attempted a field goal, whichwas unsuccessful. What Billy Bull and I had discussed many times cameinto my mind like a flash. I picked the ball up and walked out with itas if it had been touched back of the goal. When I passed the 25-yardline, walking along casually, Bucky Vail, who was the referee, yelled tome to stop. I walked over to him unconcerned and said: 'Bucky, old boy!this ball is not dead, because I did not touch it down. And I am goingdown the field with it. ' By that time the West Point men had taken theirpositions in order to receive the kick from the 25-yard line. While Iwas still walking down the field, in order to pass all the West Pointmen, before making my dash for a certain touchdown, it struck Bucky Vailthat I was right, and he yelled out at the top of his voice. 'The ballis not dead. It is free. ' Whereupon the West Point men started after me. An Army man tackled me on their 25-yard line, after I had taken the balldown the field for nearly a touchdown. I have often turned over in mybed at night since that time, cursing the action of Referee Vail. If hehad not interfered with my play I would have walked down the field for atouchdown and victory for Yale. The final score remained 6 to 6. 

"I have often thought of the painful hours I would have suffered had Imissed the two open field chances in the disastrous game at Cambridge inthe fall of 1902, when Yale was beaten 23 to 0. On two differentoccasions in that game a Harvard runner with interference had passed thewhole Yale team. I was the only Yale man between the Harvard man and atouchdown. The supreme satisfaction I had in nailing both of thoserunners is one of the most pleasant recollections of my football career. 

"When I was a little shaver, back in 1889, I lived at South Bethlehem, Pa. Paul Dashiell and Mathew McClung, who were then playing football atLehigh University, took an interest in me. Paul Dashiell took me to thefirst football game I ever saw. Dibby McClung gave me one of the oldpractice balls of the Lehigh team. This was the first football I everhad in my hands. For weeks afterwards that football was my nightlycompanion in bed. These two Lehigh stars have always been my footballheroes, and it was a happy day for me when I played quarterback on theYale team and these two men acted as officials that day. "

[Illustration: ONE SCENE NEVER PHOTOGRAPHED IN FOOTBALL]

CHAPTER XIX

MEN WHO COACHED

The picture on the opposite page will recall to mind many a seriousmoment in the career of men who coached; when something had gone wrong;when some player had not come up to expectation; when a combination ofpoor judgment and ill luck was threatening to throw away the results ofa season's work. Such scenes are never photographed, but they arepreserved no less indelibly in the minds of all who have played thisrôle. 

Where is the old football player, who, gazing at this picture, will notbe carried back to those days that will never come again; hours when youlistened perhaps guiltily to the stinging words of the coach; momentswhen spurred on by the thunder and lightning of his wrath you couldhardly wait to get out upon the field to grapple with your opponents. Atsuch times, all that was worth while seemed to surge up within you, fiercely demanding a chance, while if you were a coach you yearned toget into the game, only to realize as the team trotted out on the fieldthat yours was no longer a playing part. All you could expecthenceforth would be to walk nervously up and down the side line withchills and thrills alternating along your spine. 

There were no coaches in the old days. Football history relates that inthe beginning fellows who wanted fun and exercise would chip in and buya leather cover for a beef bladder. It was necessary to have a supply ofthese bladders on hand, for stout kicks frequently burst them. 

In those days the ball was tossed up in the air and all hands rushed forit. There was no organization then, very few rules, and the footballplayers developed themselves. 

To-day the old-time player stands on the side lines and hears the coachyelling:

"Play hard! Fall on the ball! Tackle low! Start quick! Charge hard andfast!"

As far as the fundamentals go, the game seems to him much the same, butwhen he begins to recollect he sees how far it has really progressed. Herecalls how the football coach became a reality and how a teacher offootball appeared upon the gridiron. 

Better coaching systems were installed as football progressed. Ruleswere expanded, trainers crept in, intercollegiate games were scheduledand competition and keen rivalry developed everywhere. In fact, thedesire to win has become so firmly established in the minds of collegemen that we now have a finished product in our great American game offootball--wonderfully attractive, but very expensive. 

Competition has grown to such an extent that our coaching systems ofto-day resemble, in a way, the plans for national preparedness--costly, but apparently necessary. All this means that the American football man, like the American captain of industry, or the American pioneer in anyfield of activity, is never content to stand still. His motto is, "EverOnward. "

It is not always the star player that makes the greatest coach. Themediocre man is quite likely to have absorbed as much football teachingability as the star; and when his opportunity comes to coach, hesometimes gets more out of the men than the man with the big reputation. 

Personality counts in coaching. In addition to a coach's keen sense offootball, there must be a strong personality around which the playersmay rally. All this inspires confidence. 

It is a joy for a coach to work with good material--the real foundationof success. The rules of to-day, however, give what, under oldstandards, was the weaker team a much broader opportunity for victoryover physically larger and stronger opponents. 

But there are days nevertheless when every coach gets discouraged; timeswhen there is no response from the men he is coaching--when theirslowness of mind and body seem to justify the despair of Charlie Dalywho said to his team:

"You fellows are made of crockery from the neck down and ivory from theneck up. "

Football is fickle. To-day you may be a hero. After the last game youmay be carried off on the shoulders of enthusiastic admirers and dinedand wined by hosts of friends; but across the field there is a grimfaced coach who may already be scheming out a play for next year whichwill snatch you back from the "Hall of Fame" and make your friendsdescribe you sadly as a "back-number. "

Haughton arrived at Harvard at the psychological moment. Harvard hadpassed through many distressing years playing for the footballsupremacy. He found something to build upon, because, although the gameat Cambridge was in the doldrums, there had been keen and capablecoaching in the past. 

Prominent among those who have worked hard for Harvard and whose workhas been more than welcome, are Arthur Cumnock, that brilliant end rush, George Stewart, Doctor William A. Brooks, a former Harvard captain, Lewis, Upton, John Cranston, Deland, Hallowell, Thatcher, Forbes, Waters, Newell, Dibblee, Bill Reid, Mike Farley, Josh Crane, CharlieDaly, Pot Graves, Leo Leary, and others well versed in the game offootball. 

Haughton had had some experience not only in coaching at Cambridge butcoaching at Cornell, and the Harvard football authorities realized thatof all the Harvard graduates Haughton would probably be the best man toturn the tide in Harvard football. 

Percy, who played tackle on a winning Crimson eleven, and Sam Feltonwill be well remembered as the fastest punters of their day. 

The first Harvard team coached by Haughton defeated Yale. It was in 1908when Haughton used a spectacular method, when he rushed Vic Kennard intothe Crimson backfield after Ver Wiebe had brought the ball up the fieldwhere Haughton's craft sent Vic Kennard in to make the winning threepoints and Kennard himself will tell the story of that game. The nextyear Percy Haughton's team could not defeat the great Ted Coy, whokicked two goals from the field. 

The performance of the Harvard 1908 team was the more remarkable becauseBurr, who was the captain and the great punter at that time, had beeninjured and the team was without his services. How well I remember himon the side lines keenly following the play, but brilliant in hisself-denial. 

There have been times when victories did not come to Harvard with theregularity that they have under the Haughton régime, but the scales goup and down year by year, game by game, and from defeats we learn much. 

Let us read what this premier coach says upon reflection:

"Surely the game of football brings out the best there is in one. Asidefrom the mental and physical exercise, the game develops thatinestimable quality of doing one's best under pressure. What bettertraining for the game of life than the acid test of a championship game. Such a test comes not alone to the player but to the coach as well. 

"What truer and finer friends can one have than those whom we have metthrough the medium of football! And finally as the years tend to narrowthis precious list, through death, what greater privilege than toassociate with the fellow whose muscles are lithe and whose mind isclean. Such a man was Francis H. Burr, captain of the Harvard team in1908. Words fail me to express my sincere regard for that gallantleader. His spirit still lives at Cambridge; his type we miss. 

"I am proud of the men who worked shoulder to shoulder in bringing aboutHarvard victories. The list is a long one. I shall always cherish thehearty co-operation of these men who gave their best for Harvard. "

It was Al Sharpe, that great Cornell coach, who, in the fall of 1915found it possible to break through the Harvard line of victories, andhanging on the walls in the trophy room at Cornell University is a muchprized souvenir of Cornell's visit to Cambridge. That was the onlydefeat on the Harvard schedule. But sometimes defeats have to come toinsure victory, and perhaps in that defeat by Cornell lay the reason forthe overwhelming score against Yale. 

[Illustration:

Whitney Dadmun Harte L. Curtis Dougherty HarrisHaughton Taylor McKintock Weatherhead R. Curtis Cowen BlanchardKing Parson Gilman Mahan Watson Wallace SoucyBoles Robinson Coolidge Horneen Rollins

HARVARD, 1915]

Slowly, but surely, Al Sharpe has won his way into the front ranks offootball coaches. Working steadfastly year after year he has built upand established a system that has set Cornell's football machinery upona firm foundation. 

Glenn Warner

Glenn Warner has contributed a great deal to football, both as a playerand coach. 

Warner was one of the greatest linemen that ever played on the Cornellteam. After leaving college he began his coaching career in 1895 at theUniversity of Georgia. His success there was remarkable. It attracted somuch attention that he was called back to Cornell in 1897 and 1898. In1899 Warner moved again and began his historic work at the CarlisleIndian School, turning out a team year after year that gave the bigcolleges a close battle and sometimes beat them. 

There never was a team that attracted so much attention as the CarlisleIndians. They were popular everywhere and drew large crowds, not only onaccount of their being Redmen, but on account of their adaptability tothe game. Warner, as their coach, wrought wonders with them, and reallyall the colleges at one time or another had their scalps taken by theIndians. They were the champion travelers of the game. Their games weregenerally all away from home, and yet the long trips did not seem tohamper them in their play. They got enjoyment out of traveling. 

Going from Princeton to New York one Friday night some years ago, I wastold by the conductor that the Carlisle football team was in the lastcar. I went back and talked with Warner. The Indian team were amusingthemselves in one end of the car, and thus passing the time away byentering into a game they were accustomed to play on trips. One of theCarlisle players would stand in the center of the aisle and some fifteenor so men would group about him, in and about and on top of the seats. This central figure would bend over and close his eyes. Then some onefrom the crowd would reach over and spank the crouching Indian aterrific blow, hastily drawing back his hand. Then the Indian who hadreceived the blow would straighten up and try, by the expression ofguilt on the face of the one who had delivered the blow, to find hisman. Their faces were a study, yet nearly every time the right man wasdetected. 

Who is there in football who will ever forget the Indian team, their redblankets and all that was typical of them; the yells that the crowdsgave as the Indians appeared. They seemed always to be fit. They werefull of spirit and anxious to clash with their opponents. 

[Illustration: THE GREATEST INDIAN OF THEM ALL]

I recall an incident in a Princeton-Carlisle game, when the game wasbeing fiercely waged. Miller, the great Indian halfback, had scored atouchdown, after a long run. It was not long after this that a Princetonplayer was injured. Maybe the play was being slowed up a little. Anyway, time was taken out. One of the Indians seemed to sense the situation. The Princeton players were lying on the ground while the Carlisle menwere prancing about eager to resume the fray, when one of the Indiansremarked:

"White man play for wind. Indian play football. "

In 1915 Warner went to the University of Pittsburgh. Here he has alreadybegun to duplicate former successes. Cruikshank, Peck, and Wagner arethree of Pittsburgh's many stars. Probably the greatest football playerthat Warner ever developed at the Carlisle Indian School was Jim Thorpe, whose picture appears on the opposite page. Unhappy the end, and notinfrequently the back, who had to face this versatile player. Thorpe wasa raider. 

Billy Bull

Billy Bull of Yale is one of the old heroes who has kept in very closetouch with the game. He has been a valuable coach at Yale and the Elis'kicking game is left entirely in his hands. He is an enthusiasticbeliever in the game. Immediately after leaving New Haven in 1889 hestarted to coach and since that time he has not missed a year. Years agohe inaugurated a routine system of coaching for the various styles ofkicks. "My object, " he said recently, "has been to turn out consistentrather than wonderful kickers. As a player I was early impressed withthe value of kicking, not only in a general way but also in a particularway, such as the punt in an offensive way. For more than twenty-fiveyears I have talked it up. For a long time I talked it to deaf ears, especially at Yale. I talked it when I coached at West Point for tenyears and was generally set down as a harmless crank on the subject, butI have lived to see the time when every one agrees on the great value ofthis offensive kick. 

"When I entered Yale I was an absolute greenhorn, but the greenhorn hada chance then, for he was able to play in actual scrimmage every day;now the squads are so big that opportunities for playing the game forlong daily periods are entirely wanting. 

"To-day it is a case of a heap big talk, a coach for every position, more talk, lots of system, blackboard exercises and mighty little actualplay. 

"I have often wondered if things were not being overdone as far ascoaching goes in the preparatory schools at the present time. Thesuperabundance of coaches and the demand for victory combine to forcethe boy. 

"If there is any forcing to do, the college is the place for it, whenthe boy is older and better able to stand the strain. In recent years Ihave seen not a few brokendown boys enter college. Boys are coming tocollege now who needs must be told everything, and if there is not alarge body of coaches about to tell them, they mutiny. They seem toforget, or not to know, that most is up to the man himself. 

"When a boy comes to college with the idea that all that is necessary isfor him to be told, constantly told how to do this and that, and he willdeliver in the last ditch, I cannot help thinking that something iswrong. 

"I have in mind right now a player in the line, who came to collegeafter four years of school football. Ever since his entry he hascomplained that no one has told him anything. Now this particular playerspends ten months of each year loafing, and expects in his two months offootball to do a man's job in a big game. 

"No amount of blackboard and other talk is going to make a player do aman's job and whip his opponent. No man can play a tackle job properlyif he does not realize the kind of a proposition he is up against twelvemonths in the year and act accordingly. He has got to do his ownthinking, and see to it himself that he has the necessary strength andtoughness, to play the game, as one must to win. "

Sanford the Unique

George Foster Sanford is unique in football. He made splendid teams whenhe coached at Columbia, while his subsequent record with the RutgersEleven attracted wide attention. 

In the _Columbia Alumni News_ of October, 1915, Albert W. Putnam, aformer player, reviews seven years of Morningside football, and pays thefollowing tribute to Foster Sanford:

"Sanford coached the teams of 1899, 1900 and 1901. He coached them ably, conscientiously and thoroughly, and in my opinion was the best footballcoach in the country. "

"During my three years' experience as coach at Columbia, " says Sanford, "we beat all the big teams except Harvard. I was fortunate enough todevelop such men as Weekes, Morley, Wright, and Berrien, players whoserecords will always stand high in the Hall of Football Fame at Columbia. I was particularly well satisfied with the work I got out of Slocovitch, a former Yale player, whom the Yale coaches had never seemed to handleproperly. I did not allow him to play over one day a week. This wasbecause I had discovered that he was very heavily muscled; that if heplayed continuously he would become muscle bound. My treatment proved tofit the case exactly and Slocovitch became a star end for Columbia. Wedefeated Yale the first year; the next year at New Haven the contest wasa strenuous one, and the game attracted unusual attention. It was in myown home town, and I had to stand for a lot of good natured kidding, butthose who were there will remember how scared the Yale coaches gotduring the last part of the game, when Columbia made terrific advances. How Columbia's team fought Gordon Brown's Eleven almost to a standstillthat day is something that the Yale coaches of that time will longremember. "

An old Yale player, Bob Loree, whose father is a Trustee of Rutgers, induced Sanford to lend the college his assistance. Apparently thisconnection was an unmixed blessing. "Mr. L. F. Loree, Bob's father, "says Sandy, "has frankly admitted that in his opinion Sanford's gift tothe college (for he works without remuneration) has brought a spirit anda betterment of conditions which is worth fully as much as donations ofthousands of dollars. 

"From the first day I went there, " continues Sandy, "I started to buildup football for Rutgers and to rely on Rutgers men for my assistants. Itwas there that I met the best football man I ever coached, John T. Toohey. This remarkable tackle weighed 220 pounds. The life he led andthe example he set will always have a lasting influence upon Rutgersmen. For sad to relate, Toohey was killed in the railroad yards atOneonta, where he was yard master. Toohey was a great leader, possessinga wonderful personality, and winning the immediate respect of every onewho knew him. "

Twenty-five years have passed since I saw Sanford that morning in theFifth Avenue Hotel. Since then I have followed his football career withenthusiasm. Boyhood heroes live long in mind. He is what might be calleda major surgeon in football, for it is a matter of record that he hasbeen called back to Yale, not when the patient was merely sick, but in aserious condition. Usually the operation has been performed with suchskill that the patient has rallied with disconcerting suddenness. 

Talking to the Yale teams between the halves, giving instructions, whichhave turned dubious prospects into flaming victories, is a service whichSanford has rendered Yale more than once. Victory, as it happens, is theprincipal characteristic of Sanford's work. Long is the list of playerswhom Sanford has developed. 

"In my coaching experience, " Sandy tells us, "I doubt if I ever coacheda man where my hard work counted for more at Yale than the case ofCharlie Chadwick in 1897. For many years there has been a saying that aone man defense is as good as an eleven men defense, providing you canget one man who can do it. 

"Of course this never worked out literally, but the case of CharlieChadwick is probably the best explanation of its value. Besides beingoverdeveloped, he was temperamental. At times he would show great formand at other times his playing was hopeless. This year I was asked tocome to New Haven and began coaching the linemen. Chadwick looked goodto me, in spite of much criticism that was made by the coaches. In theiropinion they thought he was not to be relied upon, so I decided to stakemy reputation, and began in my own way, feeling sure that I could getresults, in preparing him for the Harvard and Princeton games. 

[Illustration: LEARNING THE CHARGE]

"I started out purposely annoying Chadwick in every possible way, goingwith him wherever he went. I went with him to his room evenings and didnot leave until he had become so bored that he fell asleep, or that hegot mad and told me to get out. I planned it that Chadwick approach thecoaches whenever he saw them together and say: 'I wish you would let meplay on this team. If you will I will play the game of my life. I willplay like hell. ' After he had made this speech two or three times, theywere very positive that he was more than temperamental. I kept steadilyat my plan, however, and felt sure it would work out. 

"The line was finally turned over to me and I had opportunity to slipChadwick in for two or three plays at left guard. He played like ademon; he was literally a one man defense, but he received no credit. Iimmediately removed him from the game and criticised him severely andtold him to follow up the play and in case I needed him he would behandy. I realized what a great player he was proving to be, and my greatproblem then was how I was to convince the coaches that Chadwick shouldstart the game. I tried it out a few times, but saw it was uselesstrying to convince them, so I decided to concentrate on Jim Rodgers, theCaptain. Jim consented. My plan was to tell no one except Marshall, theman whose place Chadwick was to take. The lineup was called out in thedressing room before the game. Chadwick's name was not included. I hadarranged with Julian Curtis, who was in close touch with the cheerleaders, that when I gave the signal, the Yale crowd would be instructedto stand and yell nothing but 'Chadwick, Chadwick, Chadwick. ' The Yaleteam ran out upon the field. I stayed behind with Chadwick and came inthrough the gate holding him by the arm. Before going on the side linesI stopped him and said: 'Look here, Chadwick. It doesn't look as thoughyou're going to play, but if I put you in that lineup how will youplay?' Like a shot from a cannon he roared: 'I'll play like hell. '

"You could have heard him a mile. 'Well then, give me your sweater andwarm up, ' I said, and as I gave the signal to Julian Curtis, he passedthe word on to the cheer leaders and the sight of Chadwick running upand down those side lines will never be forgotten. It is estimated thathe leaped five yards at a stride, and with the students cheering, 'Chadwick, Chadwick, Chadwick, ' he was sent out into the lineup--and therest, well, you'd better ask the men who played on the Harvard team thatday. It was a stream of men going on and off the field and they wereheaded for right guard position on the Harvard side. Harvard could notbeat Chadwick, so the game ended in a tie. "

Jim Rodgers, captain of that team, also has something to say ofChadwick. 

"In the Harvard-Yale game, " Rodgers writes, "Charlie Chadwick played thegame of his life. He used up about six men who played against him thatday, but he never could put out Bill Edwards the day we playedPrinceton. I played against Chadwick on the Scrub, and the first chargehe made against me I went clean back to fullback. It was just as thoughan automobile had hit me. I played against Heffelfinger and a lot ofthem. I could hold those fellows. Gee! but I was sore. I said to myself, you won't do that again, and the next time I was set back just as far. 

"One feature of this Yale-Princeton game impressed me tremendously, thatof Bill Edwards' stand, against what I considered a superman, CharlesChadwick. Before the game I had confidently expected Big Bill to resignafter about five minutes' play, knowing, as I did, how Chadwick wasgoing. In this, however, Edwards was a great disappointment, as he stuckthe game out and was stronger at the end, than at the start or half waythrough. Had he weakened at all, Ad Kelly's great offensive work wouldhave been doomed to failure. Edwards finished up the game againstChadwick with a face that resembled a raw beefsteak. To my mind he wasthe worst punished man I have ever seen. He stood by his guns to thefinish, and ever since then my hat has been off to him. "

One of the most interesting characters in Southern football is W. R. Tichenor, a thorough enthusiast in the game and known wherever there isa football in the South. His father was president of the AlabamaPolytechnic. He was a fine player and weighed about 120 pounds. He isthe emergency football man of the South. Whenever there is a footballdispute Tichenor settles it. Whenever a coach is taken sick, Tichenor iscalled upon to take his place. Whenever an emergency official is needed, Tich comes to the rescue. He tells the following story:

"Every boy who has been to Auburn in the last twenty years knows BobFrazier. Many of them, however, may not recognize that name, as he hasbeen called Bob 'Sponsor' for so long that few of them know his realname. Bob is as black as the inside of a coal mine and has rubbed andworked for the various teams at Auburn 'since the memory of manrunneth not to the contrary. '

[Illustration: BILLY BULL ADVISING WITH CAPTAIN TALBOT]

"Just after the Christmas holidays one year in the middle nineties, Bob, with the view of making a touch, called at Bill Williams' room onenight. 

"After asking Bill if he had had a good Christmas, 'Sponsor' remarked:'You know, Mr. Williams, us Auburn niggers went down and played demTuskegee niggers a game of football during Christmas. '

"'Who did you have on the team, Bob?' inquired Bill. 

"'Oh--we had a lot of dese niggers roun' town yere. They was me, an'Crooksie, an' Homer, an' Bear, an' Cockeye, an' a lot of dese yer townniggers. '

"'How did you come out?' asked Bill. 

"'Oh, dem Tuskegee niggers give us a good lickin'. '

"'What position did you play?'

"'Me?' said Bob, 'I was de cap'en. I played all roun'. I played center. Den I played quarterback. Den I played halfback. '

"'What system of signals did you use and who called them?' was Bill'snext inquiry. 

"'Ain't I tole you, Mr. Williams, I was de cap'en. I called the signals. Dem niggers of mine couldn't learn no signals, so we jus' played lack wehad some. I'd give some numbers to fool the Tuskegee niggers. But demnumbers didn't mean nothin'. I'd say, "two, four, six, eight, ten--tekdat ball, Homer, an' go roun' the end. " Dat's de only sort of signalsdem niggers could learn and sometimes dey missed dem. Dat's de reason wegot beat and dem Tuskegee niggers got all my money. Mr. Williams, I'mjus' as nickless as a ha'nt. Can't you lem' me two bits til' Saddaynight, please suh? Honest to God, I'll pay you back den, shore. '"

Listening to Yost

"Hurry Up" Yost is one of the most interesting and enthusiastic footballcoaches in the country. The title of "Hurry Up" has been given him onaccount of the "pep" he puts into his men and the speed at which theywork. Whether in a restaurant or a crowded street, hotel lobby or on arailroad train, Yost will proceed to demonstrate this or that play andcarefully explain many of the things well worth while in football. He isalways in deadly earnest. Out of the football season, during businesshours, he is ever ready to talk the game. Yost's football experience asa player began at the University of West Virginia, where he playedtackle. Lafayette beat them that year 6 to 0. Shortly after this Yostentered Lafayette. His early experience in football there was under thefamous football expert and writer, Parke Davis. 

Yost and Rinehart wear a broad smile as they tell of the way ParkeDavis used to entertain teams off the field. He always kept them in thefinest of humor. Parke Davis, they say, is a born entertainer, and manyan evening in the club house did he keep their minds off football by awonderful demonstration of sleight-of-hand with the cards. 

"If Parke Davis had taken his coat off and stuck to coaching he wouldhave been one of the greatest leaders in that line in the countryto-day, " says Yost. "He was more or a less a bug on football. You knowthat to be good in anything one must be crazy about it. Davis wascertainly a bug on football and so am I. Everybody knows that. 

"I shall never forget Davis after Lafayette had beaten Cornell 6 to 0, in 1895, at Ithaca. That night in the course of the celebration Parkeuncovered everything he had in the way of entertainment and gave anexhibition of his famous dance, so aptly named the 'dance du venture, 'by that enthusiastic Lafayette alumnus, John Clarke. 

"I have been at Michigan fifteen seasons. My 1901 team is perhaps themost remarkable in the history of football in many ways. It scored 550points to opponents' nothing, and journeyed 3500 miles. We playedStanford on New Year's day, using no substitutes. On this great teamwere Neil Snow, and the remarkable quarterback Boss Weeks. WillieHeston, who was playing his first year at Michigan, was another star onthis team. A picture of Michigan's great team appears on the oppositepage. 

"Boss Weeks' two teams scored more than 1200 points. If that team hadbeen in front of the Chinese Wall and got the signal to go, not a manwould have hesitated. Every man that played under Boss Weeks idolizedhim, and when word was brought to the university that he had died, everyMichigan man felt that its university had lost one of its greatest men. 

"I am perhaps more of a boy's man to-day than I ever was. There is agreat satisfaction in feeling that you have an influence in the lives ofthe men under you. Coaching is a sacred job. There's no question aboutit. 

"There is a wonderful athletic spirit at Michigan, and when we have massmeetings in the Hill Auditorium 6000 men turn out. At such a time onefeels the great power behind an athletic team. Some of the greatMichigan football players within my recollection were Jimmy Baird, JackMcLain, Neil Snow, Boss Weeks, Tom Hammond, Willie Heston, Herrnstein, grand old Germany Schultz, Benbrook, Stan Wells, Dan McGugin, DaveAllerdice, Hugh White and others I might mention on down to JohnMaulbetsch. "

Reggie Brown is probably one of the most famous of the Harvard coaches. His work in Harvard football is to find out what the other teams aredoing. He is on hand at Yale Field every Saturday when the Yale teamplays. He is unique in his scouting work, in that he carries hisfindings in his head. His memory is his mental note book. 

[Illustration:

Craft McGugin Gregory Yost Graver Baird FitzpatrickWilson Snow White Shorts HestonSweeley Weeks Redden Redner Herrnstein

MICHIGAN'S FAMOUS 1901 TEAM]

In talking with Harvard men I have found that the general impression isthat the work of this coach is one of Harvard's biggest assets. 

Jimmy Knox of Harvard is one of Haughton's most valued scouts. Everyfall Princeton is his haven of scouting. He does it most successfullyand in a truly sportsmanlike way. 

One day en route to Princeton I met Knox on the train and sat with himas far as Princeton Junction. When we arrived at Princeton, a friend ofmine called me aside and said:

"Who is that loyal Princeton man who seems never to miss a game?"

"He is not a Princeton man, " I replied. "He is Knox the Harvard scout. He will be with Haughton to-morrow at Cambridge with his dope book. "

"From questions asked me I am quite sure that there is an uttermisconception of the work of the scouts for the big league teams, " saysJimmy. "I have frequently been asked how I get in to see the practice ofour opponents, how I manage to get their signals, how I anticipate whatthey are going to do, what is the value of scouting anyway. From fiveyears' experience, I can say that I have never seen our opponentsexcept in public games. I have never unconsciously noted a signal evenfor a kick, much less made a deliberate attempt to learn the opponents'signals or code. What little I know of their ultimate plans is merely byapplying common sense to their problem, based on the material andmethods which they command. As to the value of scouting, volumes mightbe written, but suffice it to say that it is the principal means ofstandardizing the game. If the big teams of the country playedthroughout the season in seclusion, the final games would be ahodge-podge of varying systems which would curtail the interest of thespectator and all but block the development of the game. 

"The reports of the scouts give the various coaching corps a fixedobjective so that the various teams come to their final game with whatmight be considered a uniform examination to pass. The result is asteady, logical development of the game from the inside and the maximuminterest for the spectator. It is unfortunate that the public hasmisconstrued scouting to mean spying, for there is nothing underhandedin the scouting department of football as any big team coach willtestify. "

Knox tells of an interesting experience of his Freshman year. 

"I never hear the question debated as to whether character is born in aman or developed as time goes on, " says he, "without recalling my firstmeeting with Marshall Newell, probably the best loved man that evergraduated from Harvard. In the middle '90's it was considered beneaththe dignity of a former Varsity player to coach any but Varsitycandidates. Marshall Newell was an exception. Without solicitation hecame over to the Freshman field many times and gave us youngsters thebenefit of his advice. On his first trip he went into the lineup andgave us an example of how the game could be played by a master. When thepractice was over, Ma Newell came up to me and said: 'I guess I was alittle rough, my boy, but I just wanted to test your grit. You hadbetter come over to the Varsity field to-morrow with two or three of theother fellows that I am going to speak to. I'll watch you and help youafter you get there. ' And he did. He was loved because he was big enoughto disregard convention, to sympathize with the less proficient and tomake an inferior feel as if he were on a plane of equality. The highesttype of manhood was born with Marshall Newell and developed throughevery hour of a too short life. 

"Only those who played football in the old days and have carefullyfollowed it since appreciate the difference in the two types of game. Ifrequently wonder if the old type of game did not develop more in a manthan the modern. As a freshman I was playing halfback on the secondVarsity one afternoon when a sudden blow knocked me unconscious whilethe play was at one end of the field. When I regained consciousness theplay was at the other end of the field, not a soul was near me orthinking of me. I had hardly got within ear-shot of the scrimmage when Iheard Lewis, one of the Varsity coaches, call out, 'Come on, get inhere, they can't kill fellows like you. ' I went into the scrimmage andplayed the rest of the afternoon. It was a simple incident, but Ilearned two lessons of life from it: first, you can expect mighty littlesympathy when you are down; second, you are not out if you will only goback and stick to it. "

Dartmouth holds a unique position in college football. There are manymen who were responsible for Dartmouth's success, men who have stood byyear after year and worked out the football policy there. 

It is my experience that Dartmouth men universally call Ed Hall thefather of Dartmouth football. He has served faithfully on the RulesCommittee as well as an official in the game. 

Myron E. Witham, that great player and captain of the Dartmouth teamwhich was victorious over Harvard the day that Harvard opened theStadium, says: "If one goes back to Hanover and visits the trophy roomhe will see hanging there the winning football which Dartmouth men gloryover as they recall that wonderful victory over Harvard. Ed Hall is theman who is often called upon to speak to the men between the halves. His talks have a telling effect. Hall's name is traditional at ourcollege. "

There are many football enthusiasts who recall that wonderful backfieldthat Dartmouth had, McCornack, Eckstrom, McAndrews and Crolius. Thesemen got away wonderfully fast and hit the line like one man. They playedevery game without a substitute for two years. 

Fred Crolius, who takes great delight in recalling the old days, has thefollowing to say about one who coached:

"One man, whose influence more than any other one thing, succeeded inlaying a foundation for Dartmouth's wonderful results, but whose name isseldom mentioned in that connection is Doctor Wurtenberg, who wasbrought up in the early Yale football school. He had the keenest senseof fundamental football and the greatest intensity of spirit intransmitting his hard earned knowledge. Four critical years he workedwith us filling every one with his enthusiasm and those four yearsDartmouth football gained such headway that nothing could stop itsgrowth. "

Enough space cannot be given to pay proper tribute to Walter McCornack, Dartmouth '97. 

Myron Witham relates a humorous incident that happened in practice whenMcCornack was coach at Dartmouth. "Mac's serious and exacting demeanoron the practice field occasionally relaxed to enjoy a humoroussituation. He chose to give a personal demonstration of my position andduty as quarterback in a particular formation around the end. He took myplace and giving the proper signal, the team or rather ten-elevenths ofthe team went through with the play, leaving Mac behind standing in histracks. Mac naturally was at a loss to locate the quarter, during theexecution of the play and madly yelled, 'Where in the devil is thatquarterback?' But immediately joined with the squad in the joke uponhimself. "

McCornack coached Dartmouth in the falls of 1901 and 1902. He broughtthe team up from nothing to a two years' defeat of Brown and two years'scoring on Harvard. The game with Harvard in the fall of 1902 resultedin a score of 16 to 6, Dartmouth out-rushing Harvard at least 3 to 1. 

McCornack then resigned, but left a wealth of material and a scientificgame at Dartmouth, which was as good as any in the country. This was thebeginning of Dartmouth's success in modern football, and for itMcCornack has been named the father of modern football at Dartmouth. 

The greatest compliment ever paid McCornack, in so far as athletics wereconcerned, was by President William Jewett Tucker of Dartmouth, who toldan alumnus of the institution:

"The discipline that McCornack maintained on the football field atDartmouth was to the advantage of the general discipline of theinstitution. "

For ten years after McCornack had stopped coaching at Dartmouth, thecaptain of the Dartmouth team would wear his sweater in a Harvard gameas an emblem to go by. The sweater is now worn out, and no one knowswhere it is. 

If Eddie Holt's record at Princeton told of nothing else than the makingof a great guard, this would be enough to establish Holt's ability as aguard coach. Eddie and Sam Craig played alongside of each other in theYale defeat of '97. Holt says:

"The story of the making of Sam Craig is the old story of the stone thebuilders rejected, which is now the head stone of the corner. Sam neverforgot the '97 defeat and I never have myself. After this game Sam gaveup football, although he was eligible to play. Two years later, afterPrinceton had been defeated by Cornell, something had to be done tostrengthen the Princeton line. Sam Craig was at the Seminary. Iremembered him, " said Holt, "and went over to his room and told him thathe was needed. I shall never forget how his face lit up as he felt therewas an opportunity to serve Princeton and a chance to play on a winningteam; a chance to come back. He responded to my hurry call, eager tomake good. Coaching him was the finest thing I ever did in football. Good old Sam, I can see him now, standing on the side lines telling methat he guessed he was no good. You can never imagine how happy I was tosee him improve day by day after I had taken a hold of him. The greatgame he played against Yale in '99 will always be one of my happiestrecollections in football. My joy was supreme; the joy that comes to acoach as he sees his man make good--Sam sure did. "

It is very doubtful whether the inside story of Harvard's victory overYale in 1908 has ever been told. Those who remember this game know thatthe way for victory was paved by Ver Wiebe and Vic Kennard. HarryKersburg, a Harvard coach, writes of that incident:

"The summer of 1907 and 1908, Kennard worked for several hours each dayperfecting his kicking. This fact was known to only one of the coaches. In 1906 and 1907, Kennard played as a substitute but was mostunfortunate in being smashed up in nearly every game in which he played. On account of this record, he was given little or no attention at thebeginning of the 1908 season, even though the one coach who had greatconfidence in Kennard's ability as a kicker rooted hard for him at everycoaches' meeting. About the middle of the season, Dave Campbell came onfrom the West and with the one lone coach became interested in Kennard. On the day of the Springfield Training School game, most of the Harvardcoaches went down to New Haven, leaving the team in charge of Campbelland Kennard's other rooter. The psychological moment had arrived. Justas soon as the Harvard team had rolled up a tidy little score, Kennardwas sent into the game and instructions were given to the quarterbackthat he was to signal for a drop kick every time the Harvard team waswithin forty yards of the opponent's goal--no matter what the anglemight be. The game ended with Kennard having kicked four goals from thefield out of six tries. Nearly all of them were kicked from an averagedistance of thirty yards and at very difficult angles. At the nextcoaches' meeting serious consideration was given to what Kennard haddone and from that time on he came into his own. 

"Now for Rex Ver Wiebe. For two years he had plugged away at a lineposition on the second team. In his senior year he was advanced to theVarsity squad. With all his hard work it seemed impossible for him todevelop into anything but a mediocre lineman. The line coaches, withmuch regret, had about given up all hope. One afternoon, two weeksbefore the Yale game, one of the line coaches was standing on the sidelines talking with Pooch Donovan about Ver Wiebe. Pooch said little, butkept a close watch on Ver Wiebe for the next two or three days. At theend of that time he came out with the statement that if Ver Wiebe couldbe taught how to start, he would rapidly develop into one of the besthalfbacks on the squad. Pooch's advice was followed and in the Yalegame, Ver Wiebe's rushes outside tackle were one of the features of thegame and were directly responsible for the ball being brought down thefield to such a position that it was possible to substitute Kennard, whokicked a goal from the field and won the first victory for Harvardagainst Yale in many years. 

"It is a strange coincidence that the first of Harvard's string ofvictories against Yale was won by two men who a few weeks before thegame were in the so-called football discard. "

No greater honor can be accorded a football man than the invitation tocome back to his Alma Mater and take charge of the football situation. Such a man has been selected after he has served efficiently at otherinstitutions, for it takes long experience to become a great coach andthere are very few men who have given up all their time to consecutivecoaching. 

Successful coaches, as a rule, are men who have a genius for it, andwhose strong personalities bring out the natural ability of the menunder them. Successful football is the result of a good system, plusgood material. 

Of the men who coach to-day, the experience of John H. Rush, popularlyknown as Speedy Rush, stands out as unique. Rush never played football, for he preferred track athletics, but he understood the theory of thegame. At the University School in Cleveland where Rush taught formany years, he took charge of the football team, and although coachingmere boys, his results were marvelous, and in 1915, when the Princetoncoaching system was in a slough of despond, it was decided to give Rushan opportunity to show what he could do at Princeton. 

[Illustration:

Metcalf Peterson Mumford Monroe Elmer Stover Donnell Norton Dwyer WeedBullwinkle McCabe Franklin Schulte Thorpe Moffat SimmondsDeGraff Buermeyer Cochran Fairfield Todd ThompsonCalder Aimee Noble Gallagher Wadleton

COLUMBIA BACK IN THE GAME, 1915]

Rush makes no boasts. He is a silent worker, and football people atlarge were unanimous in their praise of his work at Princeton in thefall of 1915. Whatever the future holds in store for this coach, Princeton men at least are sure that an efficient policy has beenestablished which will be followed out year after year, and that theloyal support of the Alumni is behind Rush. 

There was never a time in Yale's history when so much general discussionand care entered into the selection of its football coach as in 1915. From the long list of Yale football graduates the honor was bestowedupon Tad Jones, a man whose remarkable playing record at Yale is wellknown. Football records tell of his wonderful runs. His personalityenables him to get close to the men, and he was wonderfully successfulat Exeter, coaching his old school. Tad Jones represents one of thehighest types of college athletes. 

In 1915 when the college authorities decided Columbia might re-enter thefootball arena, after a lapse of ten years, it was a wonderful victoryfor the loyal Columbia football supporters. A most thorough andexhaustive search was then made for the proper man to teach Columbia thenew football. The man who won the Committee's unanimous vote was ThomasN. Metcalf, who played football at Oberlin, Ohio. Metcalf earnedrecognition in his first year. He realized that Columbia's re-entranceinto football must be gradual, and his schedule was arrangedaccordingly. He developed Miller, a quarterback who stood on a par withthe best quarterbacks in 1915. Columbia had great confidence in Metcalf, and the pick of the old men, notably Tom Thorp, one of the gamestplayers any team ever had, volunteered their aid. 

One of the most prominent football coaches which Pennsylvania boasts ofto-day, is Bob Folwell. Always a brilliant player, full of spirit andendowed with a great power of leadership, he was a huge success as acoach at Lafayette. His team beat Princeton. At Washington andJefferson, he beat Yale twice. His ability as a coach was watchedcarefully not only by the graduates of Penn, but by the football worldas a whole. 

In 1916 this hard-working, energetic up-to-date coach assumed control ofthe football situation on Franklin Field. 

CHAPTER XX

UMPIRE AND REFEREE

There is a group of individuals connected with football to whom thefootball public pays little attention, until at a most inopportune timein the game, a whistle is blown, or a horn is tooted and you see apresumptuous individual stepping off a damaging five yard penaltyagainst your favorite team. At such a time you arise in your wrath anddemand: "Who is that guy anyway? Where did he come from? Why did he givethat penalty?" Other muffled tributes are paid him. 

In calmer moments you realize that the officials are the caretakers offootball. They see to it that the game is preserved to us year afteryear. 

An official is generally a man who has served his time as a player. Those days over, he enters the arena as Umpire, Referee or Linesman. 

One who has a keen desire to succeed in this line of work ought to trainhimself properly for the season's work. In anticipation of theafternoon's work, he must get his proper sleep; no night cafés or latehours should be his before a big contest. 

The workings of football minds towards an official are most narrow andcritical at times. The really wise official will remain away from bothteams until just before the game, lest some one accuse him of being toofamiliar with the other side. He can offer no opinion upon the gamebefore the contest. 

Each college has its preferred list of officials. Much time is given tothe selection of officials for the different games. Before a man can bechosen for any game it must be shown that he has had no ancestors ateither of the colleges in whose game he will act and that he is alwaysunprejudiced. At the same time the fact that a man has been approved asa football official by three of four big colleges is about as fine afootball diploma as any one would wish. 

For the larger games an official receives one hundred dollars andexpenses. This seems a lot of money for an afternoon's work just forsport's sake, but there are many officials on the discarded list to-daywho would gladly return all the money they ever received, if they couldbut regain their former popularity and prestige in the game. Certainlyan official is not an over-paid man. 

The wise official arrives at the field only a scant half hour before thegame. Generally the head coach sends for you, and as he takes you to asecluded spot he describes in his most serious way an important play hewill use in the game. He tells you that it is within the rules, but forsome curious reason, anxiously asks your opinion. He informs you thatthe _opposing_ team has a certain play which is clearly illegal andwants you to watch for it constantly. He furthermore warns you solemnlythat the other team is going to try to put one of his best players outof the game and beseeches you to anticipate this cowardly action, andyou smile inwardly. Football seriousness is oftentimes amusing. Some ofour best Umpires always have a little talk with the team before thegame. 

I often remember the old days when Paul Dashiell, the famous Umpire, used to come into our dressing room. Standing in the center of the room, he would make an appeal to us in his earnest, inimitable way, not toplay off-side. He would explain just how he interpreted holding and theuse of arms in the game. He would urge us to be thoroughbreds and toplay the game fair; to make it a clean game, so that it might beunnecessary to inflict penalties. "Football, " he would say, "is a gamefor the players, not for the officials. " Then he would depart, leavingbehind him a very clear conviction with us that he meant business. If webroke the rules our team would unquestionably suffer. 

Some of my most pleasant football recollections are those gained as anofficial in the game. I count it a rare privilege to have worked in manygames year after year where I came in close contact with the players ondifferent college teams; there to catch their spirit and to see theworking out of victories and defeats at close range. 

Here it is that one comes in close touch with the great power ofleadership, that "do or die" spirit, which makes a player ready to go ina little harder with each play. Knocked over, he comes up with a grinand sets his jaw a little stiffer for next time. 

As an official you are often thrilled as you see a man making a greatplay; you long to pat him on the back and say, "Well done!" If you seean undiscovered fumbled ball you yearn to yell out--"Here it is!" Butall this you realize cannot be done unless one momentarily forgetshimself like John Bell. 

"My recollection is that I acted as an official in but one game, " sayshe. "I was too intense a partisan. Nevertheless, I was pressed intoservice in a Lehigh-Penn game in the late '80's. I recall that DuncanSpaeth, now Professor of English at Princeton and coach of the Princetoncrew, was playing on Pennsylvania's team. He made a long run with theball; was thrown about the 20-yard line; rose, pushed on and was thrownagain between the 5- and 10-yard line. Refusing to be downed, hecontinued to roll over a number of times, with several Lehigh playershanging on to him, until finally he was stopped, within about a foot ofthe goal line. Forgetting his official duties, in the excitement ofthe moment, it is alleged that the referee (myself) jumped up and downexcitedly, calling out: 'Roll over, Spaethy, just _once_ more!' AndSpaethy did. A touchdown resulted. But the Referee's fate after the gamewas like that of St. Stephen--he was stoned. "

[Illustration: CLOSE TO A THRILLER

Erwin of Pennsylvania Scoring Against Cornell. ]

In the old days one official used to handle the entire game. A man wouldeven officiate in a game where his own college was a contestant. Thiswas true in the case of Walter Camp, Tracy Harris, and other heroes ofthe past. Later the number of officials was increased. Such a listrecords Wyllys Terry, Alex Moffat, Pa Corbin, Ray Tompkins, S. V. Coffin, Appleton and other men who protected the game in the earlystages. 

Within my recollection, for many years the two most prominent, as wellas most efficient officials, whose names were always coupled, wereMcClung, Referee, and Dashiell, Umpire. No two better officials everworked together and there is as much necessity for team work inofficiating as there is in playing. Both graduated from Lehigh, and theprominent position that they took in football was a source of greatsatisfaction to their university. 

Officials come and go. These men have had their day, but no two evercontributed better work. The game of Football was safe in their hands. 

Paul Dashiell and Walter Camp are the only two survivors of theoriginal Rules Committee. 

Dashiell's Reminiscences

"As an official, the first big game I umpired was in 1894 between Yaleand Princeton, following this with nine consecutive years of umpiringthe match, " writes Dashiell. "After Harvard and Yale resumed relations, I umpired their games for six years running. I officiated in practicallyall the Harvard-Penn' games and Penn'-Cornell games during those years, as well as many of the minor games, having had practically everySaturday taken each fall during those twelve years, so I saw about allthe football there was. When I look back on those years and what theytaught me I feel that I'd not be without them for the world. They showedso much human nature, so many hundreds of plucky things, mingled with alot of mean ones; such a show of manhood under pressure. I learned toknow so many wonderful chaps and some of my most valued friendships wereformed at those times. I liked the responsibility, too; although I knewthat from one game to another I was walking on ice so thin that one badmistake, however unintended, would break it. 

"The rules were so incomplete that common sense was needed and, frequently, interpretation was simply by mutual consent. Bitterness offeeling between the big colleges made my duties all the harder. But itwas an untold satisfaction when I could feel that I had done well, andas I said, the responsibility had its fascination and, in the main, wasa great satisfaction. 

"And then came the inevitable, a foul seen only by me, which called foran immediate penalty. This led to scathing criticism and accusations ofunfairness by many that did not understand the incident, altogetherleaving a sting that will go down with me to my grave in spite of myhappy recollections of the game. I had always taken a great pride in thejob, and in what the confidence of the big universities from one year toanother meant. I knew a little better than anybody else howconscientiously I had tried to be fair and to use sense and judgment, and the end of it all hurt a lot. 

"One friendship was made in these years that has been worth more thanwords can tell. I refer to that of Matthew McClung. To be known as aco-official with McClung was a privilege that only those who knew himcan appreciate. I had known him before at Lehigh in his undergraduatedays, and had played on the same teams with him. In after years we wereofficials together in a great many of the big games where feeling ranhigh and manliness and fairness, as well as judgment, were often put toa pretty severe test at short notice. Never was there a squarersportsman, or a fairer, more conscientious and efficient official; nor atruer, more gallant type of real man than he. His early death took outof the game a man of the kind we can ill afford to lose and no tributethat I could pay him would be high enough. 

"One night after a Yale-Harvard game at Cambridge, I was boarding themidnight train for New York. The porter had my bag, and as we enteredthe car, he confided in me, in an almost awestruck tone, that: 'Dad deregentlemin in de smokin' compartment am John L. Sullivan. '

"I crept into my berth, but next morning, in the washroom, I recognizedJohn L. As the only man left. He emerged from his basin and asked:

"'Were you at that football game yesterday?' and then 'Who won?'

"I told him, and by way of making conversation, asked him if he wasinterested in all those outdoor games. But his voice dropped to thesepulchral and confidential, as he said:

"'There's murder in that game!'

"I answered: 'Well! How about the fighting game?'

"He came back with: 'Sparring! It doesn't compare in roughness, ordanger, with football. In sparring you know what you are doing. You knowwhat your opponent is trying to do, and he's right there in front ofyou, and, there's only one! But in football! Say, there's twenty-twopeople trying to do you!'

"There being only twenty-one other than the player concerned, I couldnot but infer that he meant to indicate the umpire as thetwenty-second. "

My Personal Experiences

In my experience as an official I recall the fact that I beganofficiating as a Referee, and had been engaged and notified in theregular way to referee the Penn'-Harvard game on Franklin Field in 1905. When I arrived at the field, McClung was the other official. He hadnever umpired but had always acted as a Referee. In my opinion a manshould be either Referee or Umpire. Each position requires a differentkind of experience and I do not believe officials can successfullyinterchange these positions. Those who have officiated can appreciatethe predicament I was in, especially just at that time when there was somuch talk of football reform, by means of changing the rules, changingthe style of the game, stopping mass plays. However, I consented; forappreciating that McClung was sincere in his statement that he would donothing but referee, I was forced to accept the Umpire's task. 

It was a game full of intense rivalry. The desire to win was carryingthe men beyond the bounds of an ordinarily spirited contest, and theUmpire's job proved a most severe task. It was in this game that eitherfour or five men were disqualified. 

I continued several years after this in the capacity of Umpire. Oneunfortunate experience as Umpire came as a result of a penalty inflictedupon Wauseka, an Indian player who had tackled too vigorously a Penn'player who was out of bounds. Much wrangling ensued and a policeman wascalled upon the field. It was the quickest way to keep the game fromgetting out of hand. 

Washington and Jefferson played the Indians at Pittsburgh some yearsago. I acted as Umpire. The game was played in a driving rain storm anda muddier field I never saw. The players, as well as the officials, werecovered with mud. In fact my sweater was saturated, the players havingused it as a sort of towel to dry their hands. A kicked ball had beenfumbled on the goal line and there was a battle royal on the part of theplayers to get the coveted ball. I dived into the scramble of wriggling, mud-covered players to detect the man who might have the ball. Thestockings and jerseys of the players were so covered with mud that youcould not tell them apart. As I was forcing my way down into the mass ofplayers I heard a man shouting for dear life: "I'm an Indian! I'm anIndian! It's my ball!"

When I finally got hold of the fellow with the ball I could not for thelife of me tell whether he was an Indian or not. However, I held up thedecision until some one got a bucket and sponge and the player's facewas mopped off, whereupon I saw that he was an Indian all right. He hadscored a touchdown for his team. 

An official in the game is subject to all sorts of criticisms and abuse. Sometimes they are humorous and others have a sting which is not readilyforgotten. 

I admit, on account of my size, there were times in a game when I wouldget in a player's way; sometimes in the spectators' way. During aYale-Harvard game, in which I was acting as an official, the play cameclose to the side line, and I had taken my position directly between theplayers and the spectators, when some kind friend from the bleachersyelled out:

"Get off the field, how do you expect us to see the game?"

I shall never forget one poor little fellow who had recovered a fumbledball, while on top of him was a wriggling mass of players trying to getthe ball. As I slowly, but surely, forced my way down through the pileof players I finally landed on top of him. I shall never forget how hegrunted and yelled, "Six or seven of you fellows get off of me. "

It was in the same game that some man from the bleachers called out as Iwas running up the field: "Here comes the Beef Trust. "

There was a coach of a Southern college who tried to put over a new oneon me, when I caught him coaching from the side lines in a game withPennsylvania on Franklin Field. I first warned him, and when hepersisted in the offense, I put him behind the ropes, on a bench, besides imposing the regular penalty. It was not long after this, that Idiscovered he had left the bench. I found him again on the side line, wearing a heavy ulster and change of hat to disguise himself, but thisquick change artist promptly got the gate. 

I knew a player who had an opportunity to get back at an official, butthere was no rule to meet the situation. A penalty had been imposed, because the player had used improper language. A heated argumentfollowed, and I am afraid the Umpire was guilty of a like offense, whenthe player exclaimed:

"Well! Well! Why don't you penalize yourself?"

He surely was right. I should have been penalized. 

One sometimes unconsciously fails to deal out a kindness for a courtesydone. That was my experience in a Harvard-Yale game at Cambridge oneyear. On the morning before the game, while I was at the Hotel Touraine, I was making an earnest effort to get, what seemed almost impossible, aseat for a friend of mine. I had finally purchased one for ten dollars, and so made known the fact to two or three of my friends in thecorridor. About this time a tall, athletic, chap, who had heard that Iwanted an extra ticket, volunteered to get me one at the regular price, which he succeeded in doing. I had no difficulty in returning myspeculator's ticket. I thanked the fellow cordially for getting me theticket. I did not see him again until late that afternoon when the gamewas nearly over. Some rough work in one of the scrimmages compelled meto withdraw one of the Harvard players from the game. As I walked withhim to the side lines, I glanced at his face, only to recognize myfriend--the ticket producer. The umpire's task then became harder thanever, as I gave him a seat on the side line. That player was VicKennard. 

Evarts Wrenn, one of our foremost officials a few years ago, has hadsome interesting experiences of his own. 

"While umpiring a game between Michigan and Ohio State, at Columbus, " hesays, "Heston, Michigan's fullback, carrying the ball, broke through theline, was tackled and thrown; recovered his feet, started again, wastackled and thrown again, threw off his tacklers only to be thrownagain. Again he broke away. All this time I was backing up in front ofthe play. As Heston broke away from the last tacklers, I backed suddenlyinto the outstretched arms of the Ohio State fullback, who, it appears, had been backing up step by step with me. Heston ran thirty yards for atouchdown. You can imagine how unpopular I was with the home team, andhow ridiculous my plight appeared. 

"Another instance occurred in a Chicago-Cornell game at MarshallField, " Wrenn goes on to say. "You know it always seems good to anofficial to get through a game without having to make any disagreeabledecisions. I was congratulating myself on having got through this gameso fortunately. As I was hurrying off the field, I was stopped by thelittle Cornell trainer, who had been very much in evidence on the sidelines during the game. He called to me. 

"'Mr. Wrenn' (and I straightened, chucking out my chest and getting myhand ready for congratulations). 'That was the ---- ---- piece ofumpiring I ever saw in my life. ' I cannot describe my feelings. I wasstanding there with my mouth open when he had got yards away. "

Dan Hurley, who was captain of the 1904 Harvard team, writes me, asfollows:

"Football rules are changed from year to year. The causes of thesechanges are usually new points which have arisen the year previousduring football games. A good many rules are interpreted according tothe judgment of each individual official. I remember two points thatarose in the Harvard-Penn' game in 1904, at Soldiers' Field. In thisyear there was great rivalry between the players representing Harvardand Pennsylvania. The contest was sharp and bitterly fought all the waythrough. Both teams had complained frequently to Edwards, the Umpire. Finally he caught two men red-handed, so to speak. There was noargument. Both men admitted it. It so happened that both men were veryvaluable to their respective teams. The loss of either man would begreatly felt. Both captains cornered Edwards and both agreed that he wasperfectly right in his contention that both men should have to leave thefield, but--and it was this that caused the new rule to be enforced thenext year. Both captains suggested that they were perfectly willing forboth men to remain in the game despite the penalty, and with eager facesboth captains watched Edwards' face as he pondered whether he should orshould not permit them to remain in the game. He did, however, allowboth to play. Of course, this ruling was establishing a dangerousprecedent; therefore, the next year the Rules Committee incorporated anew rule to the effect that two captains of opposing teams could not bymutual agreement permit a player who ought to be removed for committinga foul to remain in the game. "

Bill Crowell of Swarthmore, later a coach at Lafayette, is anotherofficial who has had curious experiences. 

"In a Lehigh-Indian game a few years ago at South Bethlehem, in which Iwas acting as referee, " he says, "in the early part of the game Lehighheld Carlisle for four downs inside of the three-yard line, and when onthe last try, Powell, the Indian back, failed to take it over, contraryto the opinion of Warner, their coach. I called out, 'Lehigh's ball, 'and moved behind the Lehigh team which was forming to take the ball outof danger. Just before the ball was snapped, and everything was quiet inthe stands, Warner called across the field:

"'Hey! Crowell! you're the best defensive man Lehigh's got. '"

Phil Draper, famous in Williams football, and without doubt one of thegreatest halfbacks that ever played, also served his time as anofficial. He says:

"From my experience as an official, I believe that most of theirtroubles come from the coaches. If things are not going as well withtheir team as they ought to go, they have a tendency to blame it on theofficials in order to protect themselves. "

"There was, in my playing days, as now, the usual controversy inreference to the officials of the game, " says Wyllys Terry, "and thesame controversies arose in those days in regard to the decisions whichwere given. My sympathies have always been with the officials in thegame in all decisions that they have rendered. It is impossible for themto see everything, but when they come to make a decision they are theonly ones that are on the spot and simply have to decide on what theysee at the moment. 

"It is a difficult position. Thousands say you are right, thousands sayyou are wrong--but my belief has always been that nine times out of tenthe official's decision is correct. It was my misfortune to officiatein but one large game; that between Harvard and Princeton in the fall of'87. This was the year that there was a great outcry regarding therules, particularly in reference to tackling. It was decided that atackle below the waist was a foul and the penalty was disqualification. I was appointed Umpire in the Harvard-Princeton game of that year. Before the game I called the teams together and told them what therepresentatives of the three colleges had agreed upon. They hadauthorized me to carry the rules out in strict accordance with theirinstructions and I proposed to do so. In the early part of the gamethere was a scrimmage on one side of the field and after the mass hadbeen cleared away, I heard somebody call for me. On looking around Ifound that the call came from Holden, Captain of the Harvard team. Hecalled my attention to the fact that he was still being tackled and thatthe man had both his arms around his knee, with his head resting on it. He demanded, under the agreed interpretation of the rules, that thetackle be decided a foul, and that the man be disqualified and sent fromthe field. The question of intent was not allowed me, for I had todecide on the facts as they presented themselves. The result was thatCowan, one of the most powerful, and one of the best linemen that everstood on a football field, was disqualified. The Captain of thePrinceton team remarked at the time, 'I would rather have any three mendisqualified than Cowan. ' As the game up to that time had been veryclose, and the Princeton sympathizers were sure of victory, I believe Iwas the most cordially hated ex-football player that ever existed. Shortly after this the Harvard men had the Princeton team near theirgoal line and in possession of the ball. Two linemen used their hands, which on the offense is illegal, and made a hole through which theHarvard halfback passed and crossed the line for a touchdown amidtremendous cheers from the Harvard contingent. This touchdown was notallowed by the Umpire. Again I was the most hated football man thatlived, so far as Harvard was concerned. The result was I had no friendson either side of the field. 

"After the game, in talking it over with Walter Camp, he assured me thatthe decisions had been correct, but that he was very glad he had not hadto make them. In spite of these decisions, I was asked to umpire in anumber of big games the next year: but that one experience had beenenough for me. I never appeared again in that or any other officialcapacity. I have been trying for the last thirty-two years to get backthe friends which, before that game, I had in both Princeton and Harvardcircles, with only a fair amount of success. "

I have always considered it a great privilege to have been associatedas an official in the game with Pa Corbin. I know of no man that everworked as earnestly and intelligently to carry out his official duties, and year after year he has kept up his interest in the game, not only asa coach, but as a thoroughly competent official. 

As a favorite with all colleges his services were eagerly sought. Herecollects the following:--

"The experience that made as much of an impression upon me as any, wasthe game with Penn-Lafayette which came just after the experience of theyear before which developed so much rough play. The man agreed upon forUmpire, did not appear, and after waiting a while the two captains cameto me and asked if I would umpire in addition to acting as referee. Iaccused them of conspiracy to put me entirely out of business, but theyinsisted and I reluctantly acquiesced. I told both teams that I would beso busy that I would have no time for arguments or even investigationand any move that seemed to me like roughness would be penalized to thefull extent of the rules regardless of whom he was or of how many. Theresult was that it was one of the most decent games and in fact almostgentlemanly that I have ever experienced. "

Joe Pendleton has been an official for twenty years. He is an alert, conscientious officer in the game. I have worked many times with Joeand he is a very interesting partner in the official end of the game. 

In the fall of 1915 Joe had a very severe illness and his absence fromthe football field was deeply regretted. 

Joe always wore his old Bowdoin sweater and when out upon the field, thebig B on the chest of Joe's white sweater almost covered him up. 

"A few years ago I had occasion to remove a player from a game for afoul play, " says Joe, "and in a second the quarterback was telling me ofmy mistake. 'Why, you can't put that man out, ' he said, and when Iquestioned him as to where he got such a mistaken idea, his reply was:

"'Why, he is our captain!'

"In another game after the umpire had disqualified a player for kickingan opponent, the offending player appealed to me, basing his claim onthe ground that he had not kicked the man until after the whistle hadbeen blown and the play was over. Another man on the same team claimedexemption from a penalty on the ground that he had slugged his opponentwhile out of bounds. He actually believed that we could not penalize forfouls off the playing field. 

"The funniest appeal I ever had made to me was made by a player yearsago who asked that time be taken out in order that he might change aperfectly good jersey for one of a different color. It seems he had losthis jersey and had borrowed one from a player on the home team. When Iasked him why he wanted to change his jersey he replied:

"'Because my own team are kicking the stuffing out of me and I must geta different colored jersey. At times my team mates take me for anopponent. '

"In a game where it was necessary to caution the players against talkingtoo much to their opponents one particularly curious incident occurred. 

"One team, in order to give one of the larger college elevens a stiffpractice game, had put in the field two or three ringers. The bigcollege team men were rather suspicious that their opponents were notentirely made up of bona fide students. A big tackle on the larger teammade the following remark to a supposed ringer:

"'I'll bet you five to one you cannot name the president of yourcollege. ' The answer came back, 'Well, old boy, perhaps I can't, butperhaps I can show you how to play tackle and that's all I'm here for. '"

The Princeton-Yale game of 1915 was one of the most bitterly contestedin the history of football. Princeton was a strong favorite, but Yaleforced the fighting and had their opponents on the defensive almost fromthe beginning. Princeton's chances were materially hurt by a number ofsevere penalties which cost her considerably in excess of one hundredyards. Each of the officials had a hand in the infliction of thepenalties, but the Referee, who happened to be Nate Tufts of Brown, had, of course, to enforce them all by marking off the distance given to Yaleand putting the ball in the proper place. 

In the evening after the game, a number of football officials and otherswere dining in New York; in the party was a Princeton graduate, who wasintroduced to Mr. Tufts, the Referee of the game of the afternoon. Atthe introduction the Princeton man remarked that when he was a boy hehad read of Jesse James, the McCoy brothers, and other noted bandits andtrain robbers, but that he took off his hat to Mr. Tufts as the king ofthem all. 

Okeson, a star player of Lehigh and prominent official, recalls thisgame:

"In 1908 I umpired in a memorable game which took place at New Havenbetween Yale and Princeton, which resulted in a victory for Yale, 12-10. This was before any rule was inserted calling for the Referee to notifythe teams to appear on the field at the beginning of the second half. Atthat time a ten-minute intermission was allowed between the halves. Thefirst half closed with the score 10-0 in favor of Princeton. At the endof about seven minutes Mike Thompson, who was Referee, following thecustom that had grown up, although no rule required it, left the fieldto notify the teams to return. When he came back I asked him if he hadfound them, for on the old Yale Field it was something of a job tolocate the teams once they had passed through the gates. Mike said thatthey were in the Field House on the other side of the baseball field andthat he had called in to them. The Princeton players appeared in aminute or two, but no sign of Yale. Finally, getting suspicious, Mikeasked Bill Roper, who was head coach at Princeton that year, if the Yaleteam had been in the Field House. The answer was 'No, ' and we suddenlywoke up to the fact that although time for the intermission had endedthree or four minutes before, the Yale team was not notified, andfurthermore, no one knew where they were except that they were somewhereunder the stands. There were many gates and to leave by one to searchmeant running a chance that the Yale team might appear almostimmediately through another and then the game be further delayed by theabsence of the Referee. This being the case, Mike had no choice but todo as he did, namely, send messengers through all gates. One of thesemessengers met the Yale team coming along under the stands. The coacheshad decided that time must be up, although none of them had kept arecord of it, and had started back finally without any notice. Eightminutes over the legal ten had been taken before they appeared on thefield and Bill Roper was raging. As Yale won in the second half it wasonly natural that we officials were greatly censored by Princeton, andYale did not escape criticism. Yet the whole thing came from the factthat a custom had grown up of depending on the Referee to find and bringthe teams back to the field instead of each team either staying on thefield, or failing that, taking the responsibility on themselves ofgetting back in time. Yale simply followed the usual custom and 'Mike'was misled due to being told that both teams had gone to the Field Houseby one of those ready volunteers who furnish information whether theyknow anything about the subject in hand or not. "

[Illustration: CRASH OF CONFLICT

When Charge Meets Charge. ]

CHAPTER XXI

CRASH OF CONFLICT

The start of a football game is most exciting; not alone for theplayers, but for the spectators as well. Every one is keyed up inanticipation of the contest. The referee's whistle blows; the ball iskicked off--the game has begun. 

Opponents now meet face to face on the field of battle. What happens onthe gridiron is plainly seen by the spectators, but it is not possiblefor them to hear the conversations which take place. There is much goodnatured joshing between the players, which brings out the humorous aswell as the serious side of the contest. In a game, and during the harddays of practice, many remarks are made which, if overheard, would givethe spectators an insight into the personal, human side of the sport. 

It behooves every team to make the most of the first five minutes ofplay. Every coach in the country will tell his team to get the charge ontheir opponents from the start. A good start usually means a goodending. 

From the side lines we see the men put their shoulders to their work, charging and pushing their opponents aside to make a hole in the line, through which the man with the ball may gain his distance; or we may seea man on the defensive, full of grim determination to meet the oncomingcharges of his opponent. As we glance at the accompanying picture of aYale-West Point game, we will observe the earnest effort that is beingmade in the great game of football--the crash of conflict. 

One particularly amusing story is told about a former Lehigh player in aPrinceton game several years ago. 

"After the match had been in progress twenty minutes or more, " says aPrinceton man who played, "we began to show a large number of bruises onour faces. This was especially the case with House Janeway, whoseopponent, at tackle, was a big husky Lehigh player. Janeway finallybecame suspicious of the big husky, whose arms often struck him duringthe scrimmage. 

"'What have you got on your arm?' shouted Janeway at his adversary. 

"'Never you mind. I'm playing my game, ' was the big tackle's retort. 

"Janeway insisted that the game be stopped temporarily for aninspection. The Lehigh tackle demurred. Hector Cowan, whose face hadsuffered, backed up Janeway's demand. 

"'Have you anything on your arm?' demanded the referee of the Lehighplayer. 

"'My sleeve, ' was the curt reply. 

"'Well, turn up your sleeve then. '

"The big tackle was forced to comply with the official's request, anddisclosed a silver bracelet. 

"'Either take that off or go out of the game, ' was the referee's orders. 

"'But I promised a girl friend that I would wear it through the match, 'protested Lehigh's tackle. 'I can't take it off. Don't youunderstand--it was _wished_ on!'

"'Well! I "wish" it off, ' the referee replied. 'This is no societyaffair. '

"The big tackle objected to this, declaring he would sooner quit thegame than be disloyal to the girl. 

"'Then you will quit, ' was the command of the umpire, and the big tackleleft the field, a substitute taking his place. "

Lueder, a Cornell tackle, one of the best in his day, mentions apersonal affair that occurred in the Penn game in 1900, between BlondyWallace and himself. 

Blondy's friends when they read this will think he had an off day in hisgeneral football courtesy. Lueder states:

"When I was trying to take advantage of my opponent, I was outwitted andwas told to play on the square. I took Wallace's advice and never playeda nicer game of football in my life. Just this little reprimand, from anolder player, taught me a lot of football. "

In the Yale-Brown game, back in 1898, Richardson, that wonderful Brownquarterback, received the ball on a double pass from Dave Fultz and ran65-yards before he was downed by Charlie de Saulles, the Yalequarterback, on Yale's 5-yard line. When Richardson got up, he turned tode Saulles and said:

"You fool, why did you tackle me? I lost a chance to be a hero. "

Yale, by the way, won that game by a score of 18 to 14. 

Yost relates a humorous experience he had at Michigan in 1901, which washis most successful season at that University. 

"Buffalo University came to Michigan with a much-heralded team. Theywere coached by a Dartmouth man and had not been scored upon. Buffalopapers referred to Michigan as the Woolly Westerners, and the Buffaloenthusiasts placed bets that Michigan would not score. The timeregulation of the game, two halves, was thirty-five minutes, withoutintermission. At the end of the first half the score was 65 to 0. Duringthis time many substitutions had been made, some nineteen or twenty men, so that every player Buffalo brought with them had at one time oranother participated in the game. 

"The Buffalo coach came to me and said:

"'Yost, we will have to cut this next half short. '

"'Why?' I asked. Of course, I did not realize that every available manhe had with him was used up, but I felt rather liberal at that stage ofthe game and said:

"'Let them rest fifteen or twenty minutes for the intermission, and thenuse them over again; use them as often as you like. I don't care. '

"About fifteen minutes after the second half had started, I discoveredon Michigan's side of the field, covered up in a blanket, a big fellownamed Simpson, one of the Buffalo players. I was naturally curious, andsaid:

"'Simpson, what are you doing over here? You are on the wrong side. '

"'Don't say anything, ' came the quick response, 'I know where I am at. The coach has put me in three times already and I'm not going in thereagain. Enough is enough for any one. _I've had mine. _'

"The score was then 120 to 0, in favor of Michigan, and the Buffalo teamquit fifteen minutes before the game should have ended. 

"It may be interesting to note that from this experience of Buffalo withMichigan the expression, 'I've got you Buffaloed, ' is said to haveoriginated, and to-day Michigan players use it as a fighting word. "

Yost smiled triumphantly as he related the following:

"The day we played the Michigan Agricultural College we, of course, wereat our best. The M. A. C. Was taken on as a preliminary game, which wasto be two twenty-minute halves. 

"At the beginning of the second half the score was 118 to 0, in favor ofMichigan. 

"At this time, a big husky tackle, after a very severe scrimmage hadtaken place, stood up, took off his head gear, threw it across the fieldand started for the side line, passing near where I was standing, when Iyelled at him:

"'The game is not over yet. Go back. '

"'Oh, ' he said, 'we came down here to get some experience. I've had allI want. Let the other fellows stay, if they want to; me for the dressingroom. '

"And when this fellow quit, all the other M. A. C. Players stopped, andthe game ended right there. There were but four minutes left to play. "

Somebody circulated a rumor that Yost had made the statement thatMichigan would beat Iowa one year 80 to 0. Of course, this rumor cameout in the papers on the day of the game, but Yost says:

"I never really said any such thing. However, we did beat them 107 to 0, whereupon some fellow from Iowa sent me a telegram, after the game, which read: 'Ain't it awful. Box their remains and send them home. '"

In Tom Shevlin's year at Yale, 1902, Mike Sweeney, his old trainer andcoach at Hill School, was in New Haven watching practice for about fourdays before the first game. Practice that day was a sort of survival ofthe fittest, for they were weeding out the backs, who were doing thecatching. About five backs were knocked out. A couple had been carriedoff, with twisted knees, and still the coaches were trying for morespeed and diving tackles. 

Tom had just obliterated a 150-pound halfback, who had lost the ball, the use of his legs and his Varsity aspirations altogether. Stopped bySweeney, on his way back up the field, Tom remarked:

"Mike, this isn't football. It's war. "

A Brown man tells the following interesting story:

"In a game that we were playing with some small college back in 1906 outon Andrews Field, Brown had been continually hammering one tackle forbig gains. The ball was in the middle of the field and time had beentaken out for some reason or other. Huggins and Robby were standing onthe side lines, and just as play was about to be resumed, Robby noticedthat the end on the opposing team was playing out about fifteen feetfrom his tackle, and was standing near us, when Robby said to him:

"'What's the idea? Why don't you get in there where you belong?'

"The end's reply was:

"'I'm wise. Do you think I'm a fool? I don't want to be killed. '"

During a scrub game, the year that Brown had the team that trimmed Yale21 to 0, Huggins says:

"Goldberg, a big guard who, at that time, was playing on the secondeleven, kept holding Brent Smith's foot. Brent was a tackle; one of thebest, by the way, that we ever had here at Brown. Smith complained tothe coaches, who told him not to bother, but to get back into the gameand play football. This he did, but before he settled down to business, he said to Goldberg:

"'If you hold my foot again, I'll kick you in the face. '

"About two plays had been run off, when Smith once more shouted:

"'He's holding me. ' Robby went in back of him and said:

"'Why didn't you kick him?'

"'Kick him!' replied Brent. 'He held _both_ my feet!'"

Hardwick recalls another incident that has its share of humor, whichoccurred in the Yale bowl on the day of its christening. 

"Yale was far behind--some thirty points--playing rather raggedly. Theyhad possession of the ball on Harvard's 1-yard line and were attemptinga strong rushing attack in anticipation of a touchdown. They weremeeting with little or no success in penetrating Pennock and Trumbull, backed by Bradlee. And on the third down they were one yard farther awayfrom the goal than at the start. They attempted another plunge ontackle, and were using that uncertain form of offense, the direct pass. The center was a trifle mixed and passed to the wrong man, with theresult that Yale recovered the ball on Harvard's 25-yard line. Wilson, then a quarter for Yale, turned to his center and asked him sharply:

"'Why don't you keep track of the signals?'

"In a flash, the center rush turned and replied:

"'How do you expect me to keep track of signals, when I can hardly keeptrack of the touchdowns. '"

Brown University was playing the Carlisle Indians some ten years ago atthe Polo Grounds at New York City. Bemus Pierce, the Indian captain, called time just as a play was about to be run off, and the Brown teamcontinued in line, while Hawley Pierce, his brother, a tackle on theIndian team, complained, in an audible voice, that some one on the Brownteam had been slugging him. Bemus walked over to the Brown line with hisbrother, saying to him:

"Pick out the man who did it. "

Hawley Pierce looked the Brunonians over, but could not decide whichplayer had been guilty of the rough work. By this time, the two minuteswere up, and the officials ordered play resumed. Bemus shouted toHawley:

"Now keep your eyes open and find out who it was. Show him to me, andafter the game I'll take care of him properly. "

It is interesting to note that Bemus only weighed 230 pounds and hislittle brother tipped the scale at 210 pounds. 

In 1900 Brown played the University of Chicago, at Chicago. During thesecond half, Bates, the Brown captain, was injured and was taken fromthe game, and Sheehan, a big tackle, was made temporary captain. At thattime the score was 6 to 6. Sheehan called the team together andaddressed them in this manner:

"Look here, boys, we've got thirteen minutes to play. Get in and playlike hell. Every one of you make a touchdown. We can beat 'em withease. "

For many years the last statement was one of Brown's battle-cries. Brown, by the way, won that game by a score of 12 to 6. 

A former Brown man says that in a Harvard game some few years ago, Brownhad been steadily plowing through the Crimson's left guard. Goldberg, ofthe Brown team, had been opening up big holes and Jake High, Brown'sfullback, had been going through for eight and ten yards at a time. Goldberg, who was a big, stout fellow, not only was taking care of theHarvard guard, but was going through and making an endeavor to clean upthe secondary defense. High, occasionally, when he had the ball, insteadof looking where he was going, would run blindly into Goldberg and theplay would stop dead. Finally, after one of these experiences, Jakecried out:

[Illustration: AINSWORTH, YALE'S TERROR IN AN UPHILL GAME]

"Goldberg, if you would only keep out of my way, I would make theAll-American. "

In the same game, High, on a line plunge, got through, dodged thesecondary defense and was finally brought down by Harvard's backfieldman, O'Flaherty. Jake always ran with his mouth wide open, andO'Flaherty, who made a high tackle, was unfortunate enough to stick hisfinger in High's mouth. He let out a yell as Jake came down on it:

"What are you biting my finger for?" High as quickly responded:

"What are you sticking it in my mouth for?"

Huggins of Brown says: "The year that we beat Pennsylvania so badly outon Andrews Field, Brown had the ball on Penn's 2-yard line. Time wascalled for some reason, and we noticed that the backfield men wereclustered about Crowther, our quarterback. We afterwards learned thatall four of the backfield wanted to carry the ball over. Crowtherreached down and plucked three blades of grass and the halfbacks and thefullback each drew one with the understanding that the one drawing theshortest blade could carry the ball. Much to their astonishment, theyfound that all the pieces of grass were of the same length. Crowther, who made the All-American that year, shouted:

"You all lose. I'll take it myself, " and over the line he went with theball tucked away under his arm. 

"Johnny Poe was behind the door when fear went by, " says Garry Cochran. "Every one knows of his wonderful courage. I remember that in theHarvard '96 game, at Cambridge, near the end of the first half, two ofour best men (Ad Kelly and Sport Armstrong) were seriously hurt, whichdisorganized the team. The men were desperate and near the breakingpoint. Johnny, with his true Princeton spirit, sent this message to eachman on the team:

"'If you won't be beat, you can't be beat. '"

"This message brought about a miracle. It put iron in each man's soul, and never from that moment did Harvard gain a yard, and for foursucceeding years--'If you won't be beat, you can't be beat, ' wasPrinceton's battle-cry. 

"The good that Johnny did for Princeton teams was never heralded abroad. His work was noiseless, but always to the point. 

"I remember the Indian game in '96. The score in the first half was 6 to0, in favor of the Indians. I believe they had beaten Harvard and Penn, and tied Yale. There wasn't a word said in the club house when the teamcame off the field, but each man was digging in his locker for a specialpair of shoes, which we had prepared for Yale. Naturally I was verybitter and refused to speak to any one. Then I heard the quiet, confident voice talking to Johnny Baird, who had his locker next tomine. I can't remember all he said, but this is the gist of hisconversation:

"'Johnny, you're backing up the center. Why can't you make that lineinto a fighting unit? Tell 'em their grandfathers licked a hundredbetter Indians than these fellows are, and it's up to them to show theyhaven't back-bred. '

"Johnny Baird carried out these orders, and the score, 22 to 6, favoringPrinceton, showed the result. 

"Once more Johnny Poe's brains lifted Princeton out of a hole. I couldmention many cases where Johnny has helped Princetonians, but they arepersonal and could not be published. 

"I can only say, that when I lost Johnny Poe, I lost one who can neverbe replaced, and I feel like a traitor because I was not beside him whenhe fell. "

 * * * * *

Rinehart tells how he tried to get even with Sam Boyle. 

"I went into professional football, after leaving Lafayette, " saysRinehart. "I joined the Greensburg Athletic Club team at Greensburg, Pennsylvania, solely for the purpose of getting back at Sam Boyle, formerly of the University of Penn. He was playing on the PittsburghAthletic Club. "

When I asked Rinehart why he wanted to get square with Sam Boyle, hesaid:

"For the reason that Sam, during the Penn-Lafayette contest in '97, hadacted in a very unsportsmanlike manner and kept telling his associatesto kill the Lafayette men and not to forget what Lafayette did to themlast year, and a lot more, but possibly it was fortunate for Sam that hedid not play in our Greensburg-Pittsburgh Athletic Club game. I wasready to square myself for Lafayette. "

A lot of good football stories have been going the rounds, some old, some new, but none of them better than the one Barkie Donald, afterwarda member of the Harvard Advisory Football Committee, tells on himself, in a game that Harvard played against the Carlisle Indians in 1896. 

It was the first time Harvard and Carlisle had met--Harvard winning--4to 0--and Donald played tackle against Bemus Pierce. 

Donald, none too gentle a player, for he had to fight every day againstBert Waters, then a coach, knew how to use his arms against the Indian, and also when charging, how to do a little execution with his elbows andthe open hand, just as the play was coming off. He was playinglegitimately under the old game. He roughed it with the big Indian andcaught him hard several times, but finally Bemus Pierce had something tosay. 

"Mr. Donald, " he said, quietly, "you have been hitting me and if you doit again, I shall hit you. " But Donald did not heed the warning, and inthe next play he bowled at Bemus harder than ever for extra measure. Still the big Indian did not retaliate. 

"But I thought I was hit by a sledge hammer in the next scrimmage, " saidDonald after the game. "I remember charging, but that was all. I wasdown and out, but when I came to I somehow wabbled to my feet and wentback against the Indian. I was so dazed I could just see the big fellowmoving about and as we sparred off for the next play he said in a matterof fact tone:

"'Mr. Donald, you hit me, one, two, three times, I hit you onlyone--we're square. '

"And you bet we were square, " Donald always adds as he tells the story. 

Tacks Hardwick, in common with most football players, thinks the worldof Eddie Mahan. 

"I have played football and baseball with Eddie, " he says, "and amnaturally an ardent admirer of his ability, his keen wit and histhorough sportsmanship. One of Eddie's greatest assets is histemperament. He seldom gets nervous. I have seen him with the basesfull, and with three balls on the batter, turn about in the box with asmile on his face, wave the outfield back, and then groove the ballwaist high. Nothing worried him. His ability to avoid tacklers in thebroken field had always puzzled me. I had studied the usual methodsquite carefully. Change of pace, reversing the field, spinning whentackled, etc. , --most of the tricks I had given thought to, butapparently Eddie relied little on these. He used them all instinctively, but favored none. 

"Charlie Brickley had a favorite trick of allowing his arm to be tackledflat against his leg, then, at the very moment his opponent thought hehad him, Charlie would wrench up his arm and break the grip. 

"Percy Wendell used to bowl over the tackler by running very low. Irelied almost exclusively on a straight arm, and 'riding a man. ' Thismeans that when a tackler comes with such force that a straight arm isnot sufficient to hold him off, and you know he will break through, youput your hand on the top of his head, throw your hips sharply away, andvault as you would over a fence rail, using his head as a support. If heis coming hard, his head has sufficient power to give you quite a boost, and you can 'ride him' a considerable distance--often four or fiveyards. When his momentum dies, drop off and leave him. Well, Eddiedidn't use any of these. Finally I asked him how he figured on gettingby the tackler, and what the trick was he used so effectively. 

"'It's a cinch, ' Eddie replied. 'All I do is poke my foot out at him, give it to him; he goes to grab it, and I take it away!'

[Illustration: TWO TO ONE HE GETS AWAY

Brickley Being Tackled by Wilson and Avery. ]

"Leo Leary had been giving the ends a talk on being 'cagey. ' 'Cagey'play is foxy--such as never getting in the same position on every play, moving about, doing the unexpected. If you wish to put your tackle out, play outside him, and draw him out, and then at the last moment hop inclose to your own tackle, and then charge your opponent. The reverse istrue as well. The unexpected and unusual make up 'cagey' play. Muchemphasis had been laid on this, and we were all thoroughly impressed, especially Weatherhead, that year a substitute. 

"Weatherhead's appearance and actions on the field were well adapted tocagey play. Opponents could learn nothing by analyzing his expression. It seldom varied. His walk had a sort of tip-toe roll to it, muchsimilar to the conventional stage villain, inspecting a room beforerobbing a safe. In the course of the afternoon game, Weatherhead put hiscoaching in practice. 

"We had a habit--practically every team has--of shouting 'Signal'whenever a player did not understand the orders of the quarterback. MalLogan had just snapped out his signals, when Al Weatherhead left hisposition. Casting furtive glances at the opponents, and tip-toeing alonglike an Indian scout at his best, the very personification of'caginess, ' Weatherhead approached Logan. Logan, thinking Al haddiscovered some important weak spot in the defense, leaned forwardattentively. Weatherhead rolled up, and carefully shielding his mouthwith his hand, asked in a stage whisper 'Signal. '

"A piece of thoughtfulness that expressed the spirit of the man who didit, and also the whole team, took place at the Algonquin Hotel at NewLondon, on the eve of the Harvard-Yale game in 1914. The Algonquin isfundamentally a summer hotel, although it is open all the year. TheHarvard team had their headquarters there, and naturally the place waspacked with the squad and the numerous followers. Eddie Mahan and Iroomed together, and in the room adjoining were Watson and Swigert, twosubstitute quarterbacks. Folding doors separated the rooms, and thesehad been flung open. In the night, it turned cold, and the summerbedding was insufficient. Swigert couldn't sleep, he was so chilled, sohe got up, and went in search of blankets. He examined all the closetson that floor, without success; then he explored the floors above andbelow, and finally went down to the night clerk, and demanded someblankets of him. After considerable delay, he obtained two thinblankets, and thoroughly chilled from his walk in his bare feet, returned to the room. Passing our door, he spied Eddie curled up andshivering, about half asleep. I was asleep, but a cold, uncomfortablesleep that is no real rest. He walked in, and placing one blanket overEddie and one over me, went back to his own bed colder than ever. 

"I am a firm believer in rough, rugged, aggressive, bruising football, "says Hardwick. "The rougher, the better, if, and only if, it islegitimate and clean football. I am glad to say that clean football hasbeen prevalent in my experience. Only on the rarest occasions have Ifelt any unclean actions have been intentional and premeditated. We havemade it a point to play fierce, hard and clean football, and have nearlyalways received the same treatment. 

"In my freshman year, however, I felt that I had been wronged, andfoolishly I took it to heart. Since that time I have changed my mind asI have had an opportunity to know the player personally and my ownobservation and the general high reputation he has for sportsmanshiphave thoroughly convinced me of my mistake. The particular play inquestion was in the Yale 1915 game. We started a wide end run, and I wasattempting to take out the end. I dived at his knees but aimed too farin front, falling at his feet. He leaped in the air to avoid me, andcame down on the small of my back, gouging me quite severely with hisheel cleats. I felt that it was unnecessary and foolishly resented it. "

One of the most famous games in football was the Harvard-Yale encounterat Springfield in '94. Bob Emmons was captain of the Harvard team andFrank Hinkey captain of Yale. This game was so severely fought that itwas decided best to discontinue football relations between these twouniversities and no game took place until three years later. 

Jim Rodgers, who was a substitute at Yale that year, relates someinteresting incidents of that game:

"In those old strenuous days, they put so much fear of God in you, itscared you so you couldn't play. When we went up to Springfield, we wereall over-trained. Instead of putting us up at a regular hotel, they putus up at the Christian Workers, that Stagg was interested in. Thebedrooms looked like cells, with a little iron bed and one lamp in eachroom, " says Jim. "You know after one is defeated he recalls these factsas terrible experiences. None of us slept at all well that night, and myknees were so stiff I could hardly walk. Yale relied much on FredMurphy. Harvard had coached Hallowell to get Murphy excited. Murphy wasquick tempered. If you got his goat, he was pretty liable to use hishands, and Harvard was anxious to have him put out of the game. Hallowell went to his task with earnestness. He got Murphy to the pointof rage, but Murphy had been up against Bill Odlin, who used to coach atAndover, and Bill used to give you hell if you slugged when the umpirewas looking. But when his back was turned you could do anything. 

"Murphy stood about all he could and when he saw the officials were ina conference he gave Hallowell a back-hander, and dropped him like abrick. His nose was flattened right over his cheek-bone. Fortunatelythat happened on the Yale side of the field. If it had happened on theHarvard side, there would have been a riot. There was some noise whenthat blow was delivered; the whole crowd in the stand stood aghast andheld its breath. So Harvard laid for Murphy and in about two plays theygot him. How they got him we never knew, but suddenly it was apparentthat Murphy was gone. The trainer finally helped Murphy up and thecaptain of the team told him in which direction his goal was. He wouldbreak through just as fine and fast as before, but the moment his headgot down to a certain angle, he would go down in a heap. He was game tothe core, however, and he kept on going. 

"It was in this game that Wrightington, the halfback, was injured, though this never came out in the newspapers. Wrightington caught a puntand started back up the field. In those days you could wriggle andsquirm all you wanted to and you could pile on a thousand strong, if youliked. Frank Hinkey was at the other end of the field playing wide, andready if Wrightington should take a dodge. Murphy caught Wrightingtonand he started to wriggle. It was at this time that Louis Hinkey camecharging down the field on a dead run. In trying to preventWrightington from advancing any further with the ball, Louis Hinkey'sknee hit Wrightington and came down with a crash on his collar-bone andneck. Wrightington gave one moan, rolled over and fainted dead away. Frank Hinkey was not within fifteen yards of the play, and Louis did itwith no evil intention. Frank thought that Wrightington had been killedand he came over and took Louis Hinkey by the hand, appreciating thesevere criticism which was bound to be heaped upon his brother Louis. There was a furor. It was on everybody's tongue that Frank Hinkey hadpurposely broken Wrightington's collar-bone. Frank knew who did it, butthe 'Silent Hinkey' never revealed the real truth. He protected hisbrother. 

"Yale took issue on the point, and as a result the athletic relationshipwas suspended. 

"It was in this game that Bronc Armstrong established the world's briefrecord for staying in the game. He was on the field for twentyseconds--then was ruled out. I think Frank Hinkey is the greatest endthat was ever on a field. To my mind he never did a dirty thing, but hetackled hard. When Frank Hinkey tackled a man, he left him there. Inlater years when I was coaching, an old Harvard player who was visitingme, came out to Yale Field. He had never seen Hinkey play football, buthe had read much about him. I pointed out several of the men to him, such as Heffelfinger, and others of about his type, all of whom measuredup to his ideas, and finally said:

[Illustration: SNAPPING THE BALL WITH LEWIS]

[Illustration: "TWO INSEPARABLES"

Frank Hinkey and the Ball. ]

"'Where is that fellow Hinkey?' And when I pointed Hinkey out to him, hesaid:

"'Great guns, Harvard complaining about that little shrimp, I'm ashamedof Harvard. '

"Hinkey was a wonderful leader. Every man that ever played under himworshipped him. He had his team so buffaloed that they obeyed everyorder, down to the most minute detail. 

"When Hinkey entered Yale, there were two corking end rushes in college, Crosby and Josh Hartwell. After about two weeks of practice, there wasno longer a question as to whether Hinkey was going to make the team. Itwas a question of which one of the old players was going to lose hisjob. They called him 'consumptive Hinkey. '"

Every football player, great though he himself was in his prime, has hisgridiron idol. The man, usually some years his elder, whose exploits asa boy he has followed. Joe Beacham's paragon was and is Frank Hinkey andthe depth of esteem in which the former Cornell star held Hinkey is wellexemplified in the following incident, which occurred on the BlackDiamond Express, Eastbound, as it was passing through Tonawanda, NewYork. Beacham had been dozing, but awoke in time to catch a glimpse ofthe signboard as the train flashed by. Leaning slightly forward hetapped a drummer upon the shoulder. The salesman turned around. "Takeoff your hat, " came the command. "Why?" the salesman began. "Take offyour hat, " repeated Beacham. The man did so. "Thank you; now put it on, "came the command. The drummer summing up courage, faced Beacham andsaid, "Now will you kindly tell me why you asked me to do this?" Joesmiled with the satisfied feeling of an act well performed and said: "Itold you to lift your hat because we are passing through the town whereFrank Hinkey was born. "

Later, in the smoking room, Joe heard the drummer discussing theincident with a crowd of fellow salesmen, and he said, concluding, "WhatI'd like to know is who in hell is Frank Hinkey?"

And late that evening when the train arrived in New York Joe Beacham andthe traveling man had become the best of friends. In parting, Joe said:"If there's anything I haven't told you, I'll write you about it. "

Sandy Hunt, a famous Cornell guard and captain, says:

"Here is one on Bill Hollenback, the last year he played forPennsylvania against Cornell. Bill went into the game, thoroughly fit, but Mike Murphy, then training the team, was worried lest he be injured. In an early scrimmage Bill's ear was nearly ripped off. Blood flowed andMike left the side lines to aid. Mike was waved away by Bill. 'It'snothing but a scratch, Mike, let me get back in the game. ' Play wasresumed. Following a scrimmage, Mike saw Bill rolling on the ground inagony. 'His ankle is gone, ' quoth Mike, as he ran out to the field. Leaning over Bill, Mike said: 'Is it your ankle, or knee, Bill?' Bill, writhing in agony, gasped:

"'No; somebody stepped on my corn. '"

Hardwick has this to tell of the days when he coached Annapolis:

"One afternoon at Annapolis, the Varsity were playing a practice gameand were not playing to form, or better, possibly, they were not playingas the coaches had reason to hope. There was an indifference in theirplay and a lack of snap and drive in their work that roused Head CoachIngram's fighting blood. Incidentally, Ingram is a fighter from his feetup, every inch, as broad-minded as he is broad-shouldered, and a keenstudent of football. The constant letting up of play, and the lack offight, annoyed him more and more. At last, a Varsity player sat down andcalled for water. Immediately, the cry was taken up by his team mates. This was more than Ingram could stand. Out he dashed from the sidelines, right into the group of players, shaking his fist and shrieking:

"'Water! Water! What you need is fire, not water!'"

Fred Crolius tells a good story about Foster Sanford when he wascoaching at West Point. One of the most interesting institutions tocoach is West Point. Even in football field practice the same militaryspirit is in control, most of the coaches being officers. Only when aunique character like Sandy appears is the monotony shattered. Sandy isoften humorous in his most serious moments. One afternoon not many weeksbefore the Navy game Sandy, as Crolius tells it, was paying particularattention to Moss, a guard whom Sanford tried to teach to play low. Mosswas very tall and had never appreciated the necessity of bending hisknees and straightening his back. Sanford disgusted with Moss as he sawhim standing nearly erect in a scrimmage, and Sandy's voice would ringout, "Stop the play, Lieutenant Smith. Give Mr. Moss a side line badge. Moss, if you want to watch this game, put on a badge, then everybodywill know you've got a right to watch it. " In the silence of the paradeground those few words sounded like a trumpet for a cavalry charge, butSandy accomplished his purpose and made a guard of Moss. 

The day Princeton played Yale at New Haven in 1899, I had a brother oneach side of the field; one was Princeton Class, 1895, and the other wasan undergraduate at Yale, Class of 1901. 

My brother, Dick, told me that his friends at Yale would joke him as towhether he would root for Yale or Princeton on November 25th of thatyear. I did not worry, for I had an idea. A friend of his told me thefollowing story a week after the game:

"You had been injured in a mass play and were left alone, for themoment, laid out upon the ground. No one seemed to see you as the playcontinued. But Dick was watching your every move, and when he saw youwere injured he voluntarily arose from his seat and rushed down theaisle to a place opposite to where you were and was about to go out onthe field, when the Princeton trainer rushed out upon the field andstood you on your feet, and as Dick came back, he took his seat in theYale grandstand. Yale men knew then where his interest in the game lay. "

After Arthur Poe had kicked his goal from the field, Princeton men lostthemselves completely and rushed out upon the field. In the midst of theexcitement, I remember my brother, George, coming out andenthusiastically congratulating me. 

CHAPTER XXII

LEST WE FORGET

Marshall Newell

There is no hero of the past whose name has been handed down inHarvard's football traditions as that of Marshall Newell. He left manylasting impressions upon the men who came in contact with him. The menthat played under his coaching idolized him, and this extended evenbeyond the confines of Harvard University. This is borne out in thefollowing tribute which is paid Newell by Herbert Reed, that was on theCornell scrub when Newell was their coach. 

"It is poignantly difficult, even to-day, years after what was to somany of us a very real tragedy, " says Reed, "to accept the fact thatMarshall Newell is dead. The ache is still as keen as on that Christmasmorning when the brief news dispatches told us that he had been killedin a snowstorm on a railroad track at Springfield. It requires no greatsummoning of the imagination to picture this fine figure of a man, inheart and body so like his beloved Berkshire oaks, bending forward, headdown, and driving into the storm in the path of the everyday dutythat led to his death. It was, as the world goes, a short life, but afruitful one--a life given over simply and without questioning towhatever work or whatever play was at hand. 

[Illustration: MARSHALL NEWELL]

"To the vast crowds of lovers of football who journeyed to Springfieldto see this superman of sport in action in defense of his Alma Mater hewill always remain as the personification of sportsmanship combined withthe hard, clean, honest effort that marks your true football player. Toa great many others who enjoyed the privilege of adventuring afield withhim, the memory will be that of a man strong enough to be gentle, ofmagnetic personality, and yet withal, with a certain reserve that isfound only in men whose character is growing steadily under the urge ofquiet introspection. Yet, for a man so self-contained, he had much togive to those about him, whether these were men already enjoying placeand power or merely boys just on the horizon of a real man's life. Itwas not so much the mere joy and exuberance of living, as the wonder andappreciation of living that were the springs of Marshall Newell's being. 

"It was this that made him the richest poor man it was ever my fortuneto know. 

"The world about him was to Newell rich in expression of thingsbeautiful, things mysterious, things that struck in great measure aweand reverence into his soul. A man with so much light within could notfail to shine upon others. He had no heart for the city or the life ofthe city, and for him, too, the quest of money had no attraction. Evenbefore he went to school at Phillips Exeter, the character of thissturdy boy had begun to develop in the surroundings he loved throughouthis life. Is it any wonder, then, that from the moment he arrived atschool he became a favorite with his associates, indeed, at a very earlystage, something of an idol to the other boys? He expressed an ideal inhis very presence--an ideal that was instantly recognizable as true andjust--an ideal unspoken, but an ideal lived. Just what that ideal wasmay perhaps be best understood if I quote a word or two from that littlediary of his, never intended for other eyes but privileged now, aquotation that has its own little, delicate touch of humor inconjunction with the finer phrases:

"'There is a fine selection from Carmen to whistle on a load of logswhen driving over frozen ground; every jolt gives a delightful emphasisto the notes, and the musician is carried along by the dictatorialleader as it were. What a strength there is in the air! It may be roughat times, but it is true and does not lie. What would the world be ifall were open and frank as the day or the sunshine?'

"I want to record certain impressions made upon a certain freshman atCornell, whither Newell went to coach the football team after hisgraduation from Harvard. Those impressions are as fresh to-day as theywere in that scarlet and gold autumn years ago. 

"Here was a man built like the bole of a tree, alight with fire, determination, love of sport, and hunger for the task in hand. He was noeasy taskmaster, but always a just one. Many a young man of that periodwill remember, as I do, the grinding day's work when everything seemedto go wrong, when mere discouragement was gradually giving way to actualdespair, when, somewhat clogged with mud and dust and blood, he felt asudden slap on the back, and heard a cheery voice saying, 'Good workto-day. Keep it up. ' Playing hard football himself, Newell demanded hardfootball of his pupils. I wish, indeed, that some of the players ofto-day who groan over a few minutes' session with the soft tacklingdummy of these times could see that hard, sole leather tackling dummyswung from a joist that went clear through it and armed with a shieldthat hit one over the head when he did not get properly down to hiswork, that Newell used. 

"It was grinding work this, but through it one learned. 

"That ancient and battered dummy is stowed away, a forgotten relic ofthe old days, in the gymnasium at Cornell. There are not a few of uswho, when returning to Ithaca, hunt it up to do it reverence. 

"Let him for a moment transfer his allegiance to the scrub eleven, andin that moment the Varsity team knew that it was in a real footballgame. They were hard days indeed on Percy Field, but good days. I haveseen Newell play single-handed against one side of the Varsity line, tear up the interference like a whirlwind, and bring down his man. Manyof us have played in our small way on the scrub when for purposes ofillustration Newell occupied some point in the Varsity line. We knewthen what would be on top of us the instant the ball was snapped. Yetwhen the heap was at its thickest Newell would still be in the middle ofit or at the bottom, as the case might be, still working, and stillcoaching. Both in his coaching at Harvard and at Cornell he developedmen whose names will not be forgotten while the game endures, and someof these developments were in the nature of eleventh-hour triumphs forskill and forceful, yet none the less sympathetic, personality. 

"After all, despite his remarkable work as a gridiron player and tutor, I like best to think of him as Newell, the man; I like best to recallthose long Sunday afternoons when he walked through the woodland pathsin the two big gorges, or over the fields at Ithaca in company much ofthe time with--not the captain of the team, not the star halfback, notthe great forward, but some young fellow fresh from school who was stilldown in the ruck of the squad. More than once he called at now one, nowanother fraternity house and hailed us: 'Where is that young freshmanthat is out for my team? I would like to have him take a little walkwith me. ' And these walks, incidentally, had little or nothing to dowith football. They were great opportunities for the little freshman whowanted to get closer to the character of the man himself. No flower, nobit of moss, no striking patch of foliage escaped his notice, for heloved them all, and loved to talk about them. One felt, returning fromone of these impromptu rambles, that he had been spending valuable timein that most wonderful church of all, the great outdoors, and spendingit with no casual interpreter. Memories of those days in the sharppractice on the field grow dim, but these others I know will alwaysendure. 

"This I know because no month passes, indeed it is almost safe to say, hardly a week, year in and year out, in which they are not insistentlyresurgent. 

"Marshall Newell was born in Clifton, N. J. , on April 2, 1871. His earlylife was spent largely on his father's farm in Great Barrington, Mass. , that farm and countryside which seemed to mean so much to him in lateryears. He entered Phillips Exeter Academy in the fall of 1887, and wasgraduated in 1890. Almost at once he achieved, utterly without effort, apopularity rare in its quality. Because of his relation with hisschoolmates and his unostentatious way of looking after the welfare ofothers, he soon came to be known as Ma Newell, and this affectionatesobriquet not only clung to him through all the years at Exeter andHarvard, but followed him after graduation whithersoever he went. Whileat school he took up athletics ardently as he always took up everything. Thus he came up to Harvard with an athletic reputation ready made. 

"It was not long before the class of '94 began to feel that subtlerinfluence of character that distinguished all his days. He was a memberof the victorious football eleven of 1890, and of the winning crew of1891, both in his freshman year. He also played on the freshman footballteam and on the university team of '91, '92, '93, and rowed on theVarsity crews of '92 and '93. In the meantime he was gaining not onlythe respect and friendship of his classmates, but those of theinstructors as well. Socially, and despite the fact that he was littleendowed with this world's goods, he enjoyed a remarkable popularity. Hewas a member of the Institute of 1770, Dickey, Hasty Pudding, andSignet. In addition, he was the unanimous choice of his class for SecondMarshal on Class Day. Many other honors he might have had if he hadcared to seek them. He accepted only those that were literally forcedupon him. 

"In the course of his college career he returned each summer to his homein Great Barrington and quietly resumed his work on the farm. 

"After graduation he was a remarkably successful football coach atCornell University, and was also a vast help in preparing Harvardelevens. His annual appearance in the fall at Cambridge was always themeans of putting fresh heart and confidence in the Crimson players. 

"He turned to railroading in the fall of 1896, acting as AssistantSuperintendent of the Springfield Division of the Boston and AlbanyRailroad. Here, as at college, he made a profound personal impression onhis associates. The end came on the evening of December 24th, in 1897. 

"In a memorial from his classmates and friends, the followingsignificant paragraph appears: 'Marshall Newell belonged to the wholeUniversity. He cannot be claimed by any clique or class. Let us, hisclassmates, simply express our gratitude that we have had the privilegeof knowing him and of observing his simple, grand life. We rejoice inmemories of his comradeship; we deeply mourn our loss. To those whoseaffliction has been even greater than our own, we extend our sympathy. 'This memorial was signed by Bertram Gordon Waters, Lincoln Davis, andGeorge C. Lee, Jr. , for the class, men who knew him well. 

"Harvard men, I feel sure, will forgive me if I like to believe thatNewell belonged not merely to the whole Harvard University, but to everygroup of men that came under his influence, whether the football squadat Cornell or the humble track walkers of the Boston and Albany. 

"Remains, I think, little more for me to say, and this can best be saidin Newell's own words, selections from that diary of which I havealready spoken, and which set the stamp on the character of the man forall time. This, for instance:

"'It is amusing to notice the expression in the faces of the horses onthe street as you walk along; how much they resemble people, not infeature, but in spirit. Some are cross and snap at the men who pass;others asleep; and some will almost thank you for speaking to them orpatting their noses. ' And this, in more serious vein: 'Happened to thinkhow there was a resemblance in water and our spirits, or rather in theirsources. Some people are like springs, always bubbling over withfreshness and life; others are wells and have to be pumped; while someare only reservoirs whose spirits are pumped in and there stagnateunless drawn off immediately. Most people are like the wells, but thepump handle is not always visible or may be broken off. Many of thesprings are known only to their shady nooks and velvet marshes, but, once found, the path is soon worn to them, which constantly widens anddeepens. It may be used only by animals, but it is a blessing andcomfort if only to the flowers and grasses that grow on its edge. '

"Serious as the man was, there are glints and gleams of quiet humorthroughout this remarkable human document. One night in May he wrote, 'Stars and moon are bright this evening; frogs are singing in themeadow, and the fire-flies are twinkling over the grass by the spring. Tree toads have been singing to-day. Set two hens to-night, nailed themin. If you want to see determination, look in a setting hen's eye. Robins have been carrying food to their nests in the pine trees, and thebarn swallows fighting for feathers in the air; the big barn is filledwith their conversation. '

"In the city he missed, as he wrote, 'the light upon the hills. ' Again, 'The stars are the eyes of the sky. The sun sets like a god bowing hishead. Pine needles catch the light that has streamed through them for ahundred years. The wind drives the clouds one day as if they were wavesof crested brown. ' Where indeed in the crowded city streets was he tolisten 'to the language of the leaves, ' and how indeed, 'Feel the colorsof the West. '

"Is it not possible that something more even than the example andinfluence of his character was lost to the world in his death? Whatpossibilities were there not in store for a man who could feel and writelike this: 'Grand thunderstorm this evening. Vibrations shook the houseand the flashes of lightning were continuous for a short time. It isauthority and majesty personified, and one instinctively bows in itspresence, not with a feeling of dread, but of admiration and respect. '

"It was in the thunder and shock and blaze of just such a storm that Istood not long ago among his own Berkshire Hills, hoping thus to preparemyself by pilgrimage for this halting but earnest tribute to agreat-hearted gentleman, who, in his quiet way, meant so much to so manyof his fellow humans. "

Walter B. Street

W. L. Sawtelle of Williams, who knew this great player in his playingdays, writes as follows:

"No Williams contemporary of Walter Bullard Street can forget twooutstanding facts of his college career: his immaculate personalcharacter and his undisputed title to first rank among the football menwhom Williams has developed. He was idolized because of his athleticprowess; he was loved because he was every inch a man. His personalitylifted his game from the level of an intercollegiate contest to theplane of a man's expression of loyalty to his college, and his supremacyon the football field gave a new dignity to the undergraduate's idealsof true manhood. 

"His name is indelibly written in the athletic annals of Williams, andhis influence, apparently cut off by his early death, is still a vitalforce among those who cheered his memorable gains on the gridiron andwho admired him for his virile character. "

W. D. Osgood

Gone from among us is that great old-time hero, Win Osgood. In thischapter of thoroughbreds, let us read the tribute George Woodruff payshim:

"When my thoughts turn to the scores of fine, manly football players Ihave known intimately, Win Osgood claims, if not first place, at least aunique place, among my memories. As a player he has never been surpassedin his specialty of making long and brilliant runs, not only around, butthrough the ranks of his opponents. After one of his seventy- oreighty-yard runs his path was always marked by a zig-zag line ofopposing tacklers just collecting their wits and slowly starting to getup from the ground. None of them was ever hurt, but they seemedtemporarily stunned as though, when they struck Osgood's mighty legs, they received an electric shock. 

"While at Cornell in 1892, Osgood made, by his own prowess, two to threetouchdowns against each of the strong Yale, Harvard and Princetonelevens, and in the Harvard-Pennsylvania game at Philadelphia in 1894, he thrilled the spectators with his runs more than I have ever seen anyman do in any other one game. 

"But I would belittle my own sense of Osgood's real worth if I confinedmyself to expatiating on his brilliant physical achievements. His moralworth and gentle bravery were to me the chief points in him that arousetrue admiration. When I, as coach of Penn's football team, discoveredthat Osgood had quietly matriculated at Pennsylvania, without lettinganybody know of his intention, I naturally cultivated his friendship, inorder to get from him his value as a player; but I found he was of evenmore value as a moral force among the players and students. In this wayhe helped me as much as by his play, because, to my mind, a footballteam is good or bad according to whether the bad elements or the good, both of which are in every set of men, predominate. 

"In the winter of 1896, Osgood nearly persuaded me to go with him on hisexpedition to help the Cubans, and I have often regretted not havingbeen with him through that experience. He went as a Major of Artilleryto be sure, but not for the title, nor the adventure only, but I am surefrom love of freedom and overwhelming sympathy for the oppressed. Hesaid to me:

"'The Cubans may not be very lovely, but they are human, and their causeis lovely. '

"When Osgood, with almost foolhardy bravery, sat his horse directing hisdilapidated artillery fire in Cuba, and thus conspicuous, made himselfeven more marked by wearing a white sombrero, he was not playing thepart of a fool; he was following his natural impulse to exert a moralforce on his comrades who could understand little but liberty andbravery. 

"When the Angel of Death gave him the accolade of nobility by touchinghis brow in the form of a Mauser bullet, Win Osgood simply welcomed hisfriend by gently breathing 'Well, ' a word typical of the man, and evenin death, it is reported, continued to sit erect upon his horse. "

Gordon Brown

There are many young men who lost a true friend when Gordon Brown died. He was their ideal. After his college days were over, he became verymuch interested in settlement work on the East Side in New York. Hedevoted much of his time after business to this great work which stillstands as a monument to him. He was as loyal to it as he was to footballwhen he played at Yale. Gordon Brown's career at Yale was a remarkableone. He was captain of the greatest football team Yale ever had. Whenever the 1900 team is mentioned it is spoken of as Gordon Brown'steam. The spirit of this great thoroughbred still lives at Yale, stilllives at Groton School where he spent six years. He was captain thereand leader in all the activities in the school. He was one of thehighest type college men I have ever known. He typified all the bestthere was in Yale. He was strong mentally, as well as physically. 

It was my pleasure to have played against him in two Yale-Princetongames, '98 and '99. I have never known a finer sportsman than he. Heplayed the game hard, and he played it fair. He had nothing to say tohis opponents in the game. He was there for business. Always urging hisfellow players on to better work. Every one who knew this gallant leaderhad absolute confidence in him. All admired and loved him. There was noone at Yale who was more universally liked and acknowledged as a leaderin all the relations of the University than was Gordon Brown. Theinfluence of such a man cannot but live as a guide and inspiration forall that is best at Yale University. 

Gordon Brown's name will live in song and story. There were with himYale men not less efficient in the football sense, as witnesses thefollowing:

A Yale Song verse from the _Yale Daily News_, November 16th, 1900:

 Jimmy Wear and Gordon Brown, Fincke and Stillman gaining ground; Olcott in the center stands With Perry Hale as a battering ram-- No hope for Princeton;

James J. Hogan

The boys who were at Exeter when that big raw-boned fellow, Jim Hogan, entered there will tell of the noble fight he made to get an education. He worked with his hands early and late to make enough money to pay hisway. His effort was a splendid one. He was never idle, and was an honorman for the greater part of his stay at school. He found time to go outfor football, however, and turned out to be one of the greatest playersthat ever went to Exeter. Jim Hogan was one of the highest type ofExeter men, held up as an example of what an Exeter boy should be. Hisspirit still lives in the school. In speaking of Hogan recently, Professor Ford of Exeter, said:

"Whenever Hogan played football his hands were always moving in thefootball line. It was almost like that in the classroom, always on theedge of his seat fighting for every bit of information that he could getand determined to master any particularly difficult subject. It wasinteresting and almost amusing at times to watch him. One could not helprespecting such earnestness. He possessed great powers of leadership andthere was never any question as to his sincerity and perfectearnestness. He was not selfish, but always trying to help his fellowstudents accomplish something. His influence among the boys wasthoroughly good, and he held positions of honor and trust from the timeof his admission. "

Jim was hungry for an education--eager to forge ahead. His whole collegecareer was an earnest endeavor. He never knew what it was to loseheart. "Letting go" had no part in his life. 

Jim was a physical marvel. His 206 pounds of bone and muscle counted formuch in the Yale rush line. Members of the faculty considered him thehighest type of Yale man, and it is said that President Hadley of Yaleonce referred to 1905 as "Hogan's Class. "

As a football player, Jim had few equals. He was captain of the Yaleteam in his senior year and was picked by the experts as an"All-American Tackle. "

Jim Hogan at his place in the Yale rush line was a sight worth seeing. With his jersey sleeves rolled up above his elbows and a smile on hisface, he would break into the opposing line, smash up the interferenceand throw the backs for a loss. 

I can see him rushing the ball, scoring touchdowns, making holes in theline, doing everything that a great player could do, and urging on histeam mates:

"Harder, Yale; hard, harder, Yale. "

He was a hard, strong, cheerful player; that is, he was cheerful as longas the other men fought fair. 

Great was Jim Hogan. To work with him shoulder to shoulder was myprivilege. To know him, was to love, honor and respect him. 

Jim spent his last hours in New Haven, and later in a humble home on thehillside in Torrington, Conn. , surrounded by loving friends, and theindividual pictures of that strong Gordon Brown team hanging on the wallabove him, a loving coterie of friends said good-bye. Many a boy now outof college realizes that he owes a great deal to the brotherly spirit ofJim Hogan. 

[Illustration: McCLUNG, REFEREE SHEVLIN HOGAN]

Thomas J. Shevlin

There is a college tradition which embodies the thought that a man cannever do as much for the university as the university has done for him. 

But in that great athletic victory of 1915, when Yale defeated Princetonat New Haven, I believe Tom Shevlin came nearer upsetting that traditionthan any one I know of. He contributed as much as any human beingpossibly could to the university that brought him forth. 

Tom Shevlin's undergraduate life at New Haven was not all strewn withroses, but he was glad always to go back when requested and put hisshoulder to the wheel. The request came usually at a time when Yale'sfootball was in the slough of despond. He was known as Yale's emergencycoach. 

Tom Shevlin had nerve. He must have been full of it to tackle the greatjob which was put before him in the fall of 1915. Willingly did herespond and great was the reward. 

When I saw him in New York, on his way to New Haven, I told him what agreat honor I thought it was for Yale to single him out from all hercoaches at this critical time to come back and try to put the Yale teamin shape. It did not seem either to enthuse or worry him very much. Hesaid:

"I just got a telegram from Mike Sweeney to wait and see him in New Yorkbefore going to New Haven. I suppose he wants to advise me not to go andtackle the job, but I'm going just the same. Yale can't be much worseoff for my going than she is to-day. "

The result of Shevlin's coaching is well known to all, and I shallalways remember him after the game with that contented happy look uponhis face as I congratulated him while he stood on a bench in front ofthe Yale stand, watching the Yale undergraduates carry their victoriousteam off the field. Walter Camp stood in the distance and Shevlin yelledto him:

"Well, how about it, Walter?"

This victory will go down in Yale's football history as an almostmiraculous event. Here was a team beaten many times by small colleges, humiliated and frowned upon not only by Yale, but by the entire collegeworld. They presented themselves in the Yale bowl ready to make theirlast stand. 

As for Princeton it seemed only a question as to how large her scorewould be. Men had gone to cheer for Princeton who for many years hadlooked forward to a decisive victory over Yale. The game was alreadybottled up before it started; but when Yale's future football historyis written, when captain and coaches talk to the team before the gamenext year, when mass meetings are called to arouse college spirit, atbanquets where victorious teams are the heroes of the occasion, some onewill stand forth and tell the story of the great fighting spirit thatCaptain Wilson and his gallant team exhibited in the Yale bowl thatNovember day. 

Although Tom Shevlin, the man that made it possible, is now dead, hismemory at Yale is sacred and will live long. Many will recall hiswonderful playing, his power of leadership, his Yale captaincy, hisdevotion to Yale at a time when he was most needed. If, in the last gameagainst Harvard, the team that fought so wonderfully well againstPrinceton could not do the impossible and defeat the great Haughtonmachine, it was not Shevlin's fault. It simply could not be done. Itlessens in not the slightest degree the tribute that we pay to TomShevlin. 

Francis H. Burr

Ham Fish was a great Harvard player in his day. When his playing dayswere over Walter Camp paid him the high tribute of placing him on theAll Time, All-American team at tackle. Fish played at Harvard in 1907and 1908, and was captain of the team in 1909. I know of no Harvard manwho is in a better position to pay a tribute to Francis Burr, whosespirit still lives at Cambridge, than Ham Fish. They were team mates, and when in 1908 Burr remained on the side lines on account of injuries, Ham Fish was the acting Harvard captain. Fish tells us the followingregarding Burr:

"Francis Burr was of gigantic frame, standing six feet three and agileas a young mountain lion. He weighed 200 pounds. The incoming class of1905 was signalized by having this man who came from Andover. He stoodout above his fellows, not only in athletic prowess but in all aroundmanly qualities, both mental and moral. Burr had no trouble in making aplace on the Varsity team at Guard. He was a punter of exceeding worth. In the year of 1908 he was captain of the Harvard team and wrought themost inestimable service to Harvard athletics by securing Percy Haughtonas Head Coach. Hooks Burr was primarily responsible for Haughton and theabundance of subsequent victories. Just when Burr's abilities as playerand captain were most needed he dislocated his collar bone in practice. I shall never forget the night before the Yale game how Burr, who hadpartially recovered, and was very anxious to play, reluctantly andunselfishly yielded to the coaches who insisted that he should not incurthe risk of a more serious break. Harvard won that day, the first timein seven years and a large share of the credit should go to the injuredleader. We were all happy over the result but none of us were as happyas he. 

"Stricken with pneumonia while attending the Harvard Law School in 1910he died, leaving a legacy full of encouragement and inspiration to allHarvard men. He exemplified in his life the Golden Rule, --'Do untoothers as you would have them do unto you. ' Of him it can be truly said, his life was gentle as a whole, and the elements so mixed in him that'nature might stand up and say to all the world, --"He was a man. "'"

Neil Snow

The University of Michigan never graduated a man who was moreuniversally loved than Neil Snow. What he did and the way he did it hasbecome a tradition at Michigan. He was idolized by every one who knewhim. As a player and captain he set a wonderful example for his men topattern after. He was a powerful player; possessing such determinationand fortitude that he would go through a stone wall if he had to. He wastheir great all-around athlete; good in football, baseball and track. Hehad the unique record of winning his Michigan M twelve times during hiscollege course at Ann Arbor. 

He played his last game of football at Pasadena, California. Neil wasvery fond of exercise. He believed in exercise, and when word was sentout that Neil Snow had gone, it was found that he had just finishedplaying in a game of racquets in Detroit, and before the flush and zestwere entirely gone, the last struggle and participation in athleticcontests for Neil Snow were over. 

It was my experience to have been at Ann Arbor in 1900, when Biffy Leecoached the Michigan team. It was at this time that I met Neil Snow, whowas captain of the team, and when I grew to know him, I soon realizedhow his great, quiet, modest, though wonderful personality, madeeverybody idolize him. Modesty was his most noticeable characteristic. He was always the last to talk of his own athletic achievements. Hebelieved in action, more than in words. After his playing days were overhe made a great name for himself as an official in the big games. Thelarger colleges in the East had come to realize with what greatefficiency Neil Snow acted as an official and his services were eagerlysought. 

Neil Snow loved athletics. He often referred to his college experiences. His example was one held up as ideal among the men who knew him. 

When Billy Bannard died Johnny Poe wrote to Mrs. Bannard a letter, aportion of which follows:

 I greatly enjoy thinking of those glorious days in the fall of '95, '96 and '97, when I was coaching at Princeton and saw so much of Billy, and if I live to a ripe old age I do not think I shall forget how he and Ad Kelly came on in the Yale game of '95, and with the score of 16-0 against us started in by steadily rushing the ball up to and over the Yale goal, and after the kick-off, once more started on the march for another touchdown. 

 It was a superb exhibition of nerve in the face of almost certain defeat and showed a spirit that would not be downed, and I have often thought of this game in different far-off parts of the world. 

 While Yale finally won 20-10 still Billy showed the same spirit that Farragut showed when told that the river was filled with torpedoes and that it would be suicidal to proceed. He replied, "Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead!"

 I love to think of Billy's famous fifty yard run for a touchdown through the Harvard team in '96 at Cambridge, when the score had been a tie, and how he with Ad Kelly and Johnny Baird went through the Yale team in that '96 game and ran the score up to 24, representing five touchdowns. Never before had a Yale team been driven like chaff before the wind, as that blue team was driven. 

Billy Bannard and Ad Kelly's names were always coupled in their playingdays at Princeton. These two halfbacks were great team mates. When BillBannard died Ad Kelly lost one of his best friends. 

In Ad Kelly's recollections, we read:

"Whenever I think of my playing days I always recall theHarvard-Princeton game of 1896, and with it comes a tribute to one of uswho has passed to the great beyond; one with whom I played side by sidefor three years, Bill Bannard. I always thought that in this particulargame he never received the credit due him. In my opinion his run onthat memorable day was the best I have ever seen. His running anddodging and his excellent judgment had no superior in the footballannals of our day. 

"In speaking of great individual plays that have won close games, hisname should go down with Charlie Daly, Clint Wyckoff, Arthur Poe, SnakeAmes and Dudley Dean, for with Reiter's splendid interference in puttingout the Harvard left end, Billy Bannard's touchdown gave Princeton theconfidence to carry her to victory that day and to the ultimatechampionship two weeks later. "

Harry Hooper

When Henry Hooper, one of Dartmouth's greatest players, was taken away, every man who knew Hooper felt it a great personal loss. Those who hadseen him play at Exeter and there formed his acquaintance and later atDartmouth saw him develop into the mighty center rush of the 1903Dartmouth team, idolized him. 

C. E. Bolser of Dartmouth, who knew him well, says:

"Harry Hooper was a great center on a great team. The success of thiseleven was due to its good fellowship and team work. The central figurewas the idol of his fellow players. Such was Hooper. Shortly after thefootball season that year he was operated upon for appendicitis and itsoon became evident that he could not recover. He was told of hisplight. 

"He bravely faced the inevitable and expressed the wish that if hereally had to go he might have with him at the last his comrades of thefootball field. These team mates rallied at his request. They surroundedhim; they talked the old days over, and supported by those with whom hehad fought for the glory of his college this real hero passed into theGreat Beyond, and deep down in the traditions of Dartmouth and Exeterthe name of Harry Hooper is indelibly written. "

The game of football is growing old. The ranks of its heroes are beingslowly but surely thinned. The players are retiring from the game oflife; some old and some young. The list might go on indefinitely. Thereare many names that deserve mention. But this cannot be. The list ofthoroughbreds is a long one. Yours must be a silent tribute. 

Doctor Andrew J. McCosh, Ned Peace, Gus Holly, Dudley Riggs, HarryBrown, Symmes, Bill Black, Pringle Jones, Jerry McCauley, Jim Rhodes, Bill Swartz, Frank Peters, George Stillman, H. Schoellkopf, Wilson ofthe Navy and Byrne of the Army, Eddie Ward, Albert Rosengarten, McClung, Dudley and Matthews. 

Richard Harding Davis and Matthew McClung were two Lehigh men whoseposition in the football world was most prominent. The esteem in whichthey are held by their Alma Mater is enduring. I had talked with DickDavis when this book was in its infancy. He was very much interested andasked that I write him a letter outlining what I would like to have himsend me. Just before he died I received this letter from him. I regrethe did not live to tell the story he had in mind. 

[Illustration: (Handwritten Letter)

RICHARD HARDING DAVISMOUNT KISCONEW YORK

April 2nd

My Dear Edwards, Yes, indeed. As soon as I finish something I am at work on, I'll "thinkback", and write you some memoirs. 

With all good wishes

Richard Harding Davis]

His interest in football had been a keen one. He was one of the leadersat Lehigh, who first organized that University's football team. He was atruly remarkable player. What he did in football is well known to men ofhis day. He loved the game; he wrote about the game; he did much to helpthe game. 

CHAPTER XXIII

ALOHA

"Hail and Farewell, " crowded by the Hawaiians into one pregnant word!Would that this message might mean as much in as little compass. I canpromise only brevity and all that brevity means in so vast a matter asfootball to a man who would love nothing better than to talk on forever. 

We know that football has really progressed and improved, and that theboys of to-day are putting football on a higher plane than it has everbeen on before. We are a progressive, sporting public. 

Gone are the old Fifth Avenue horse buses, that used to carry the men tothe field of battle; gone, too, are the Fifth Avenue Hotel and theHoffman House, with their recollections of great victories fittinglycelebrated. The old water bucket and sponge, with which Trainer JimRobinson used to rush upon the field to freshen up a tired player, arenow things of the past. To-day we have the spectacle of Pooch Donovangiving the Harvard players water from individual sanitary drinking cups!

The old block game is no more. Heavy mass play has been opened up. To-day there is something for the public to _see_; something interestingto watch at every point; something significant in every move. As aresult, greatly increased multitudes witness the game. No longer dofootball enthusiasts stand behind ropes on the side lines. Thepopularity of the game has made it necessary to build huge _stadia_ forthe sport, to take the place of the old wooden stands. 

College games, for the most part, nowadays are played on collegegrounds. Accordingly the sport has been withdrawn from the miscellaneousmultitude and confined to the field where it really belongs and thespirit of the game is now just what it should be--exclusivelycollegiate. 

Best of all, the modern style of play has made the game more than ever aheroic see-saw, with one side uppermost for a time only to jar the veryground with the shock of its fall. 

Yet, victorious or defeated, the spirit through it all is one ofsplendid and overflowing college enthusiasm. While there is aboundingjoy in an unforeseen or hard won victory there is also much that isinspirational in the sturdy, courageous, devoted support ofcollege-mates in the hour of defeat. 

Isaac H. Bromley, Yale '53, once summed up eloquently the spirit ofcollege life and sport in the following words:

"These contests and these triumphs are not all there is of college life, but they are a not unimportant part of it. The best education, the mostuseful training, come not from the classroom and from books, but fromthe attrition of mind on mind, from the wholesome emulation engenderedby a common aim and purpose, from the whetting of wits by good-naturedrivalry, the inspiration of youthful enthusiasms, the blending togetherof all of us in undying love for our common Mother. 

"As to the future: We may not expect this unbroken round of victories togo on forever; we shall need sometimes, more than the inspiration ofvictory, the discipline of defeat. And it will come some day. Ourchampions will not last forever. Some time Stagg must make his last homerun, and Camp his final touchdown. Some day Bob Cook will 'hear the dipof the golden oars' and 'pass from sight with the boatman pale. '

"It would be too much to think that all their successors will equallysucceed. It might be monotonous. But of one thing we may beassured--that whatever happens, we shall never fail to extend the meedof praise to the victors. We shall be hereafter, as in the past we havealways been, as stout in adversity as we have been merry in sunshine. "

 * * * * *

 "Then strip, lads, and to it Though sharp be the weather; And if, by mischance you should happen to fall There are worse things in life Than a tumble on heather And life is itself, but a game, of football. "

[Transcriber's Note:

Many words in this text were inconsistently hyphenated or spelled, so Ihave normalized them. The majority are football terms that originallyappeared inconsistently as "full-back, " "fullback, " and "full back, "for example. ]