Football Days Part 33

Myron E. Witham, that great player and captain of the Dartmouth team which was victorious over Harvard the day that Harvard opened the Stadium, says: "If one goes back to Hanover and visits the trophy room he will see hanging there the winning football which Dartmouth men glory over as they recall that wonderful victory over Harvard. Ed Hall is the man 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 our college."

There are many football enthusiasts who recall that wonderful backfield that Dartmouth had, McCornack, Eckstrom, McAndrews and Crolius. These men got away wonderfully fast and hit the line like one man. They played every game without a subst.i.tute for two years.

Fred Crolius, who takes great delight in recalling the old days, has the following to say about one who coached:

"One man, whose influence more than any other one thing, succeeded in laying a foundation for Dartmouth's wonderful results, but whose name is seldom mentioned in that connection is Doctor Wurtenberg, who was brought up in the early Yale football school. He had the keenest sense of fundamental football and the greatest intensity of spirit in transmitting his hard earned knowledge. Four critical years he worked with us filling every one with his enthusiasm and those four years Dartmouth football gained such headway that nothing could stop its growth."

Enough s.p.a.ce cannot be given to pay proper tribute to Walter McCornack, Dartmouth '97.

Myron Witham relates a humorous incident that happened in practice when McCornack was coach at Dartmouth. "Mac's serious and exacting demeanor on the practice field occasionally relaxed to enjoy a humorous situation. He chose to give a personal demonstration of my position and duty as quarterback in a particular formation around the end. He took my place and giving the proper signal, the team or rather ten-elevenths of the team went through with the play, leaving Mac behind standing in his tracks. Mac naturally was at a loss to locate the quarter, during the execution of the play and madly yelled, 'Where in the devil is that quarterback?' But immediately joined with the squad in the joke upon himself."

McCornack coached Dartmouth in the falls of 1901 and 1902. He brought the 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 resulted in a score of 16 to 6, Dartmouth out-rus.h.i.+ng Harvard at least 3 to 1.

McCornack then resigned, but left a wealth of material and a scientific game at Dartmouth, which was as good as any in the country. This was the beginning of Dartmouth's success in modern football, and for it McCornack has been named the father of modern football at Dartmouth.

The greatest compliment ever paid McCornack, in so far as athletics were concerned, was by President William Jewett Tucker of Dartmouth, who told an alumnus of the inst.i.tution:

"The discipline that McCornack maintained on the football field at Dartmouth was to the advantage of the general discipline of the inst.i.tution."

For ten years after McCornack had stopped coaching at Dartmouth, the captain of the Dartmouth team would wear his sweater in a Harvard game as an emblem to go by. The sweater is now worn out, and no one knows where it is.

If Eddie Holt's record at Princeton told of nothing else than the making of a great guard, this would be enough to establish Holt's ability as a guard coach. Eddie and Sam Craig played alongside of each other in the Yale defeat of '97. Holt says:

"The story of the making of Sam Craig is the old story of the stone the builders rejected, which is now the head stone of the corner. Sam never forgot the '97 defeat and I never have myself. After this game Sam gave up football, although he was eligible to play. Two years later, after Princeton had been defeated by Cornell, something had to be done to strengthen the Princeton line. Sam Craig was at the Seminary. I remembered him," said Holt, "and went over to his room and told him that he was needed. I shall never forget how his face lit up as he felt there was an opportunity to serve Princeton and a chance to play on a winning team; a chance to come back. He responded to my hurry call, eager to make 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 me that he guessed he was no good. You can never imagine how happy I was to see him improve day by day after I had taken a hold of him. The great game he played against Yale in '99 will always be one of my happiest recollections in football. My joy was supreme; the joy that comes to a coach as he sees his man make good--Sam sure did."

It is very doubtful whether the inside story of Harvard's victory over Yale in 1908 has ever been told. Those who remember this game know that the way for victory was paved by Ver Wiebe and Vic Kennard. Harry Kersburg, a Harvard coach, writes of that incident:

"The summer of 1907 and 1908, Kennard worked for several hours each day perfecting his kicking. This fact was known to only one of the coaches.

In 1906 and 1907, Kennard played as a subst.i.tute but was most unfortunate 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 the beginning of the 1908 season, even though the one coach who had great confidence in Kennard's ability as a kicker rooted hard for him at every coaches' meeting. About the middle of the season, Dave Campbell came on from the West and with the one lone coach became interested in Kennard.

On the day of the Springfield Training School game, most of the Harvard coaches went down to New Haven, leaving the team in charge of Campbell and Kennard's other rooter. The psychological moment had arrived. Just as soon as the Harvard team had rolled up a tidy little score, Kennard was sent into the game and instructions were given to the quarterback that he was to signal for a drop kick every time the Harvard team was within forty yards of the opponent's goal--no matter what the angle might be. The game ended with Kennard having kicked four goals from the field out of six tries. Nearly all of them were kicked from an average distance of thirty yards and at very difficult angles. At the next coaches' meeting serious consideration was given to what Kennard had done and from that time on he came into his own.

"Now for Rex Ver Wiebe. For two years he had plugged away at a line position on the second team. In his senior year he was advanced to the Varsity squad. With all his hard work it seemed impossible for him to develop into anything but a mediocre lineman. The line coaches, with much regret, had about given up all hope. One afternoon, two weeks before the Yale game, one of the line coaches was standing on the side lines talking with Pooch Donovan about Ver Wiebe. Pooch said little, but kept a close watch on Ver Wiebe for the next two or three days. At the end of that time he came out with the statement that if Ver Wiebe could be taught how to start, he would rapidly develop into one of the best halfbacks on the squad. Pooch's advice was followed and in the Yale game, Ver Wiebe's rushes outside tackle were one of the features of the game and were directly responsible for the ball being brought down the field to such a position that it was possible to subst.i.tute Kennard, who kicked a goal from the field and won the first victory for Harvard against Yale in many years.

"It is a strange coincidence that the first of Harvard's string of victories against Yale was won by two men who a few weeks before the game were in the so-called football discard."

No greater honor can be accorded a football man than the invitation to come back to his Alma Mater and take charge of the football situation.

Such a man has been selected after he has served efficiently at other inst.i.tutions, for it takes long experience to become a great coach and there are very few men who have given up all their time to consecutive coaching.

Successful coaches, as a rule, are men who have a genius for it, and whose strong personalities bring out the natural ability of the men under them. Successful football is the result of a good system, plus good material.

Of the men who coach to-day, the experience of John H. Rush, popularly known as Speedy Rush, stands out as unique. Rush never played football, for he preferred track athletics, but he understood the theory of the game. At the University School in Cleveland where Rush taught for many years, he took charge of the football team, and although coaching mere boys, his results were marvelous, and in 1915, when the Princeton coaching system was in a slough of despond, it was decided to give Rush an opportunity to show what he could do at Princeton.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

Metcalf Peterson Mumford Monroe Elmer Stover Donnell Norton Dwyer Weed Bullwinkle McCabe Franklin Schulte Thorpe Moffat Simmonds DeGraff Buermeyer Cochran Fairfield Todd Thompson Calder Aimee n.o.ble Gallagher Wadleton

COLUMBIA BACK IN THE GAME, 1915]

Rush makes no boasts. He is a silent worker, and football people at large were unanimous in their praise of his work at Princeton in the fall of 1915. Whatever the future holds in store for this coach, Princeton men at least are sure that an efficient policy has been established which will be followed out year after year, and that the loyal support of the Alumni is behind Rush.

There was never a time in Yale's history when so much general discussion and care entered into the selection of its football coach as in 1915.

From the long list of Yale football graduates the honor was bestowed upon Tad Jones, a man whose remarkable playing record at Yale is well known. Football records tell of his wonderful runs. His personality enables him to get close to the men, and he was wonderfully successful at Exeter, coaching his old school. Tad Jones represents one of the highest types of college athletes.

In 1915 when the college authorities decided Columbia might re-enter the football arena, after a lapse of ten years, it was a wonderful victory for the loyal Columbia football supporters. A most thorough and exhaustive search was then made for the proper man to teach Columbia the new football. The man who won the Committee's unanimous vote was Thomas N. Metcalf, who played football at Oberlin, Ohio. Metcalf earned recognition in his first year. He realized that Columbia's re-entrance into football must be gradual, and his schedule was arranged accordingly. He developed Miller, a quarterback who stood on a par with the best quarterbacks in 1915. Columbia had great confidence in Metcalf, and the pick of the old men, notably Tom Thorp, one of the gamest players any team ever had, volunteered their aid.

One of the most prominent football coaches which Pennsylvania boasts of to-day, is Bob Folwell. Always a brilliant player, full of spirit and endowed with a great power of leaders.h.i.+p, he was a huge success as a coach at Lafayette. His team beat Princeton. At Was.h.i.+ngton and Jefferson, he beat Yale twice. His ability as a coach was watched carefully not only by the graduates of Penn, but by the football world as a whole.

In 1916 this hard-working, energetic up-to-date coach a.s.sumed control of the football situation on Franklin Field.

CHAPTER XX

UMPIRE AND REFEREE

There is a group of individuals connected with football to whom the football public pays little attention, until at a most inopportune time in the game, a whistle is blown, or a horn is tooted and you see a presumptuous individual stepping off a damaging five yard penalty against your favorite team. At such a time you arise in your wrath and demand: "Who is that guy anyway? Where did he come from? Why did he give that penalty?" Other m.u.f.fled tributes are paid him.

In calmer moments you realize that the officials are the caretakers of football. They see to it that the game is preserved to us year after year.

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 train himself properly for the season's work. In antic.i.p.ation of the afternoon's work, he must get his proper sleep; no night cafes or late hours should be his before a big contest.

The workings of football minds towards an official are most narrow and critical at times. The really wise official will remain away from both teams until just before the game, lest some one accuse him of being too familiar with the other side. He can offer no opinion upon the game before the contest.

Each college has its preferred list of officials. Much time is given to the selection of officials for the different games. Before a man can be chosen for any game it must be shown that he has had no ancestors at either of the colleges in whose game he will act and that he is always unprejudiced. At the same time the fact that a man has been approved as a football official by three of four big colleges is about as fine a football diploma as any one would wish.

For the larger games an official receives one hundred dollars and expenses. This seems a lot of money for an afternoon's work just for sport's sake, but there are many officials on the discarded list to-day who would gladly return all the money they ever received, if they could but regain their former popularity and prestige in the game. Certainly an official is not an over-paid man.

The wise official arrives at the field only a scant half hour before the game. Generally the head coach sends for you, and as he takes you to a secluded spot he describes in his most serious way an important play he will use in the game. He tells you that it is within the rules, but for some curious reason, anxiously asks your opinion. He informs you that the _opposing_ team has a certain play which is clearly illegal and wants you to watch for it constantly. He furthermore warns you solemnly that the other team is going to try to put one of his best players out of the game and beseeches you to antic.i.p.ate this cowardly action, and you smile inwardly. Football seriousness is oftentimes amusing. Some of our best Umpires always have a little talk with the team before the game.

I often remember the old days when Paul Das.h.i.+ell, 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 to play off-side. He would explain just how he interpreted holding and the use of arms in the game. He would urge us to be thoroughbreds and to play the game fair; to make it a clean game, so that it might be unnecessary to inflict penalties. "Football," he would say, "is a game for the players, not for the officials." Then he would depart, leaving behind him a very clear conviction with us that he meant business. If we broke the rules our team would unquestionably suffer.

Some of my most pleasant football recollections are those gained as an official in the game. I count it a rare privilege to have worked in many games year after year where I came in close contact with the players on different college teams; there to catch their spirit and to see the working out of victories and defeats at close range.

Here it is that one comes in close touch with the great power of leaders.h.i.+p, that "do or die" spirit, which makes a player ready to go in a little harder with each play. Knocked over, he comes up with a grin and sets his jaw a little stiffer for next time.

As an official you are often thrilled as you see a man making a great play; you long to pat him on the back and say, "Well done!" If you see an undiscovered fumbled ball you yearn to yell out--"Here it is!" But all this you realize cannot be done unless one momentarily forgets himself like John Bell.

"My recollection is that I acted as an official in but one game," says he. "I was too intense a partisan. Nevertheless, I was pressed into service in a Lehigh-Penn game in the late '80's. I recall that Duncan Spaeth, now Professor of English at Princeton and coach of the Princeton crew, was playing on Pennsylvania's team. He made a long run with the ball; was thrown about the 20-yard line; rose, pushed on and was thrown again between the 5- and 10-yard line. Refusing to be downed, he continued to roll over a number of times, with several Lehigh players hanging on to him, until finally he was stopped, within about a foot of the goal line. Forgetting his official duties, in the excitement of the moment, it is alleged that the referee (myself) jumped up and down excitedly, calling out: 'Roll over, Spaethy, just _once_ more!' And Spaethy did. A touchdown resulted. But the Referee's fate after the game was like that of St. Stephen--he was stoned."