Book: Football Days

W >> William H. Edwards >> Football Days




"'Boys, I want you to sing the doxology.'"

"Standing as they were, naked and covered with mud, blood and
perspiration, the eleven men that had won the championship sang the
Doxology from the beginning to the end as solemnly and as seriously, and
I am sure, as sincerely, as they ever did in their lives, while outside
the no less thankful fellow-students yelled and cheered and beat at the
doors and windows and howled for them to come out and show themselves.
This may strike some people as a very sacrilegious performance and as a
most improper one, but the spirit in which it was done has a great deal
to do with the question, and any one who has seen a defeated team lying
on the benches of their dressing room, sobbing like hysterical school
girls, can understand how great and how serious is the joy of victory to
the men that conquer."

Introducing Vic Kennard, opportunist extraordinary. Where is the Harvard
man, Yale man, or indeed any football man who will not be stirred by the
recollection of his remarkable goal from the field at New Haven that
provided the winning points for the eleven Percy Haughton turned out in
the first year of his regime. To Kennard himself the memory is still
vivid, and there are side lights on that performance and indeed on all
his football days at Cambridge, of which he alone can tell. I'll not
make 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 is
molded from the male sex and that the female of the species attends the
game for decorative purposes only. I protest. Listen. In 1908 I had the
good 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, through
the medium of a drop-kick, Haughton realizing that while a touchdown was
distinctly preferable, he was not afraid to fight it out in the next
best way.

"My prayers were answered, for the ball somehow or other made its way
over 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, it
was, on second thought, on the Harvard side) accompanied by my two
brothers, one of whom forgot himself far enough to go to Yale, and will
not even to this day acknowledge his hideous mistake.

"Five or six minutes before the end of the game, one E. H. Coy decided
that the time was getting short and Yale needed a touchdown. So he
grabbed a Harvard punt on the run and started. Yes, he did more than
start, he got well under way, circled the Harvard end and after
galloping fifteen yards, apparently concluded that I would look well as
minced meat, and headed straight for me, stationed well back on the
secondary defense. He had received no invitation whatsoever, but owing
to the fact that I believe every Harvard man should be at least cordial
to 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 weighed
only 195 pounds, but I am sure he had another couple of hundred tucked
away somewhere. When I had finished counting a great variety and number
of 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 a
nice soft place to pile up on. There was a feeling of great relief when
I 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 neither
the engine nor any one of the ten cars following would ever reach the
terminal.

"Mother, who had seen the whole performance, was little concerned with
other than the fact that E. H. had been delayed. His mission had been
more than delayed--as it turned out, it had been postponed. In the
meantime Dr. Nichols of the Harvard staff of first aid was working with
my knee, and from the stands it looked as though I might have broken my
leg.

"At this point some one who sat almost directly back of my mother called
out loud, 'That's young Kennard. It looks as though he'd broken his
leg.' My brother, feeling that mother had not heard the remark, and not
knowing what he might say, turned and informed him that Mrs. Kennard was
sitting almost directly in front of him, requesting that he be careful
what he said. Mother, however, heard the whole thing, and turning in her
seat said, 'That's all right, I don't care if his leg is broken, if we
only win this game.'

"My mother, who is a great football fan, after following the game for
three or four years, learned all the slang expressions typical of
football. She tried to work out new plays, criticised the generalship
occasionally, and fairly 'ate and slept' football during the months of
October and November. While the season was in progress I usually slept
at home in Boston where I could rest more comfortably. I occupied the
adjoining room to my mother's, and when I was ready for bed always
opened the door between the rooms.

"One night I woke up suddenly and heard my mother talking. Wondering
whether something was the matter, I got out of bed and went into her
room, appearing just in time to see my mothers arms outstretched. She
was calling 'Fair catch.' I spoke to her to see just what the trouble
was, and she, in a sleepy way, mumbled, 'We won.' She had been dreaming
of the Harvard-Dartmouth game.

"Early in the fall of 1908 Haughton heard rumors that the Indians were
equipping their backfield in a very peculiar fashion. Warner had had a
piece of leather the color and shape of a football sewed on the jerseys
of his backfield men, in such a position that when the arm was folded as
if carrying the ball, it would appear as if each of the backfield
players might have possession of the ball, and therefore disorganize
somewhat 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's
scheme. He wrote a friendly letter to Warner, stating that he did not
think it for the best interest of the game to permit his players to
appear in the Stadium equipped in this way, at the same time admitting
that there was nothing in the rules against it. Taking no chances,
however, Haughton worked out a scheme of his own. He discovered that
there was no rule which prevented painting the ball red, so he had a
ball painted the same color as the crimson jerseys. Had the Indians come
on the field with the leather ruse sewed on their jerseys, Haughton
would have insisted that the game be played with the crimson ball.

"What did I learn in my football course? I learned to control my
temper, to exercise judgment, to think quickly and act decisively. I
learned the meaning of discipline, to take orders and carry them out to
the best of my ability without asking why. I had through the training
regular 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 great
wide world, the importance of being on time, a better control of my
nerves, and to demand the respect of fellow players. I learned to work
out problems for myself and to apply my energy more intelligently,--to
stick by the ship. I secured a wide friendship which money can't buy."

What Eddie Mahan was to Harvard, Charlie Barrett, Captain of the
victorious 1915 Eleven, was to Cornell. The Ithaca Captain was one of
those powerful runners whose remarkable physique did not interfere with
his shiftiness. Like his Harvard contemporary, he was a fine leader, but
unlike Mahan, with whom he clashed in the game with the Crimson in his
final year, he was not able to play the play through what was to him
probably the most important gridiron battle of his career. Nevertheless,
it was his touchdown in the first quarter that sounded the knell of the
Crimson hopes that day, and Cornell men will always believe that his
presence on the side line wrapped in a blanket, after his recovery from
the shock that put him out of the game, had much to do with inspiring
his Eleven.

Barrett was one of the products of the Cleveland University School,
whence so many star players have been sent up to the leading
universities. On the occasion of his first appearance at Ithaca it
became a practical certainty that he would not only make the Varsity
Eleven, but would some day be its captain. In course of time it became a
habit for the followers of the Carnelian and White to look to Barrett
for rescue in games that seemed to be hopelessly in the fire.

In his senior year the team was noted for its ability to come from
behind, and this team spirit was generally understood as being the
reflection of that of their leader. The Cornell Captain played the
second and third periods of his final game against Pennsylvania in a
dazed condition, and it is a tribute to his mental and physical
resources that in the last period of that game he played perhaps as fine
football as he had ever shown.

It was from no weakened Pennsylvania Eleven that Barrett snatched the
victory in this his crowded moment. The Quakers had had a disastrous
season up to Thanksgiving Day, but their pluck and rallying power, which
has become a tradition on Franklin Field, was never more in evidence.
The Quakers played with fire, with power and aggressiveness that none
save those who know the Quaker spirit had been led to expect. There
were heroes on the Red and Blue team that day, and without a Barrett at
his best against them, they would have won.

[Illustration: SAM WHITE'S RUN]

It was up to Eddie Hart with his supreme personality and indomitable
spirit, which has always characterized him from the day he entered
Exeter until he forged his way to the leadership of one of Princeton's
finest elevens to bring home the long deferred championship. When the
final whistle rang down the football curtain for the season of 1911 it
found Hart in the ascendancy having fulfilled the wonderful promise of
his old Exeter days. For he had made good indeed.

Yale and Harvard had been beaten through a remarkable combination of
team and individual effort in which Sam White's alertness and DeWitt's
kicking stood out; a combination which was made possible only through
Hart's splendid leadership.

At a banquet for this championship team given by the Princeton Club of
Philadelphia, Lou Reichner, the toastmaster, in introducing Sam White,
the hero of the evening, quoted from First Samuel III, Chapter ii, 12th
and 1st verses--"And the Lord said unto Samuel, behold I will do a thing
in Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shall
tingle. In that day I will perform against Eli, all things which I have
spoken concerning his house; when I begin I will also make an end. And
The Child Samuel ministered unto the Lord Eli." Mr. Reichner then
presented to the Child Samuel the souvenir sleeve links and a silver box
containing 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 on
Eddie Hart's team, were called before the toastmaster. There was a
triple cheer for Hobey and his father. Reichner said that he had nothing
for Papa Baker, but a souvenir for Hobey, and if the father was man
enough to take it away from him he could have it.

In speaking of the Yale-Princeton game at New Haven, some of the things
incidental to victory were told that evening by Sam White, who said:

"In the Yale game of 1911, Joe Duff, the Princeton guard, came over to
Hart, 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 right
one.'

"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 good
seats, and said if I'd mention my favorite cigar, he'd send me a box in
appreciation. I got the seats for him, but it was more or less of a
struggle, but in writing on did not mention cigars. He sent me a check
to cover the cost of the tickets and in the letter enclosed a small
scarf pin which he said was sure to bring me luck. He had done quite a
little running in his time and said it had never failed him and urged me
to be sure and put it in my tie the day of the Harvard-Princeton game. I
am not superstitious, but I did stick it in my tie when I dressed that
Saturday morning and it surely had a charm. It was in the first half
that I got away for my run, and as we came out of the field house at the
start of the second half, whom should I see but my friend, yelling like
a madman--

"'Did you wear it? Did you wear it?'

"I assured him I did, and it seemed to quiet and please him, for he
merely grinned and replied:

"'I told you! I told you!'

"After the game I said nothing of the episode, but did secretly decide
to keep the pin safely locked up until the day of the Yale-Princeton
game. 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 little
bit superstitious."

Every Harvard man remembers vividly the great Crimson triumph of 1915
over Yale. It will never be forgotten. During the game I sat on the
Harvard side lines with Doctor Billy Brooks, a former Harvard captain.
He was not satisfied when Harvard had Yale beaten by the score of 41 to
0, but was enthusiastically urging Harvard on to at least one or two
more touchdowns, so that the defeat which Yale meted out to Harvard in
1884, a game in which he was a player, would be avenged by a larger
score, 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 stood
on the side lines of this same game and saw the big Crimson roller
crushing Yale down to overwhelming defeat. This enthusiastic Harvard
graduate cried out:

"'We must score again!'

"Another Harvard sympathiser, standing nearby, said:

"'Mr. Wendell, don't you think we have beaten them badly enough? What
more 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 stadium
that 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 for
years to come. If the future football generals develop a better
all-around man than Eddie Mahan, captain of the great Harvard team of
1915, whose playing brought not only victory to Harvard but was
accompanied by great admiration throughout the football world, they may
well congratulate themselves. From this peerless leader, whose playing
was an inspiration to the men on his team, let us put on record, so that
future heroes may also draw like inspiration from them, some of Mahan's
own recollections of his playing days.

"I think the greatest game I ever played in was the Princeton game in
1915, because we never knew until the last minute that we had won the
game," says the Crimson star. "There was always a chance of Princeton's
beating us. The score was 10 to 6. I worked harder in that game than in
any game I ever played.

"Frank Glick's defensive work was nothing short of marvelous. He is the
football player I respect. He hit me so hard. The way I ran, it was
seldom that anybody got a crack at me. I would see a clear space and the
first 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 good
and hard. It seemed sometimes that he came right out of the ground. I
tell you after he hit me a few times he was the only man I was looking
for; I did not care much about the rest of the team.

"One of the things that helped me most in my backfield play was Pooch
Donovan'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 of
gratitude to Pooch. I could always kick before I went to Harvard, back
in the old Andover days. I learned to kick by punting the ball all the
afternoon, instead of playing football all the time. I think that is the
way men should learn to kick. The more I kicked, the better I seemed to
get."

Among the many trophies Eddie Mahan has received, he prizes as much as
any the watch presented to him by the townspeople of Natick, his home
town, his last year at Andover, after the football season closed. He was
attending 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 the
field and presented me with this watch which is very handsomely
inscribed.

"Well do I recall those wonderful days at Andover and the games between
Andover and Exeter. There is intense rivalry between these two schools.
Many are the traditions at Andover, and some of the men who had preceded
me, and some with whom I played were Jack Curtis, Ralph Bloomer, Frank
Hinkey, Doc Hillebrand and Jim Rodgers. Then there was Trevor Hogg, who
was 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, Johnny
Kilpatrick, Henry Hobbs, Ham Andrews, Bob Foster and Bob McKay had
already left there and gone to college.

"It has been a great privilege for me to have played on different teams
that have had strong players. I cannot say too much about Hardwick,
Bradlee, and Trumbull. Brickley was one of the hardest men for our
opponents to bring down when he got the ball. He was a phenomenal
kicker. I had also a lot of respect for Mal Logan, who played
quarterback on my team in 1915. He weighed less than 150 pounds. He used
to 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 to
get them too. When I was kicking he warded off the big tackles as they
came through. He was always there and nobody could ever block a kick
from his side. The harder they hit him, the stronger he came back every
time."

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 laugh
before practice, while waiting for Haughton, and after practice
everybody was usually so tired there was not much fooling in the
dressing room; but we got a lot of fun out of the game."

Of Haughton's coaching methods and the Harvard system Eddie has a few
things to tell us that will be news to many football men.

"Haughton coaches a great deal by the use of photographs which are taken
of us in practice as well as regular games. He would get us all together
and coach from the pictures--point out the poor work. Seldom were the
good points shown. Nevertheless, he always gave credit to the man who
got 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 at
Cambridge but by no means the whole Harvard coaching staff. The
individual coaches work with him and with each other. Each one has
control or supreme authority over his own department. The backfield
coach has the picking of men for their positions. Harvard follows
Charlie Daly's backfield play; improved upon somewhat, of course,
according to conditions. Each coach is considered an expert in his own
line. No coach is considered an expert in all fields. This is the method
at Harvard.

"Outside of Haughton, Bill Withington, Reggie Brown, and Leo Leary have
been the most recent prominent coaches. The Harvard generalship has
been the old Charlie Daly system. Reggie Brown has been a great
strategist. Harvard line play came from Pot Graves of West Point."

[Illustration: KING, OF HARVARD, MAKING A RUN; MAHAN PUTTING BLACK ON
HIS HEAD]


George Chadwick

What George Chadwick, captain of Yale's winning team of 1902, gave of
himself to Yale football has amply earned the thoroughly remarkable
tributes constantly paid to this great Yale player. He was a most
deceptive man with the ball. In the Princeton game John DeWitt was the
dangerous man on the Princeton team, feared most on account of his great
kicking ability.

DeWitt has always contended that Chadwick's team was the best Yale team
he ever saw. He says: "It was a better team than Gordon Brown's for the
reason that they had a kicker and Gordon Brown's team did not have a
kicker. But this is only my opinion."

Yale and Princeton men will not forget in a hurry the two wonderful runs
for touchdowns, one from about the center of the field, that Chadwick
made in 1902.

"I note," writes Chadwick, "that there is a general impression that the
opening in the line through which I went was large enough to accommodate
an express train. As a matter of fact, the opening was hardly large
enough for me to squeeze through. The play was not to make a large
opening, and I certainly remember the sensation of being squeezed when
going through the line.

"There were some amusing incidents in connection with that particular
game that come back to me now. I remember that when going down on the
train from New York to Princeton, I was very much amused at Mike
Murphy's efforts to get Tom Shevlin worked up so he would play an extra
good game. Mike kept telling Tom what a good man Davis was and how the
latter was going to put it all over him. Tom clenched his fists, put on
a silly grin and almost wept. It really did me a lot of good, as it
helped to keep my mind off the game. When it did come to the game, his
first big game, Shevlin certainly played wonderful football.

"I had been ill for about a week and a half before this game and really
had not played in practice for two or three weeks. Mike was rather
afraid of my condition, so he told me to be the last man always to get
up before the ball was put in play. I carefully followed his advice and
as a result a lot of my friends in the stand kept thinking that I had
been hurt.

"Toward the end of the game we were down about on Princeton's 40-yard
line. It was the third down and the probabilities were that we would not
gain the distance, so I decided to have Bowman try for a drop-kick. I
happened to glance over at the side line and there was old Mike Murphy
making strenuous motions with his foot. The umpire, Dashiell, saw him
too, and put him off the side lines for signalling. I remember being
extremely angry at the time because I was not looking at the side lines
for 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 drill
them to endure long hours of practice scrimmage. About two weeks before
the 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 that
football must be knocked into the men by hard work, but it seemed to me
that the men knew a lot of football. They were fundamentally good and
what they really needed was condition to enable them to show their
football knowledge. It is needless to say that I was influenced greatly
in 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 turned
down the advice of a lot of the older coaches and gave the Varsity only
about five minutes' scrimmage during the week and a half preceding the
Princeton game, with the exception of the Bucknell game the Saturday
before. During the week before the Princeton and Harvard games we went
up to Ardsley and had no practice for three days. There was a
five-minutes' scrimmage on Thursday. This was an unusual proceeding, but
it was so intensely hot the day of the Princeton game, and we all lost
so much weight something unusual had to be done. The team played well in
the Princeton game, but it was simply a coming team then. In the Harvard
game, which we won 23 to 0, it seemed to me that we were at the top of
our form.

"I think the whole incident was a lesson to us at New Haven of the great
value of condition to men who know a great deal of football. I know from
my own experience during the three preceding years that it had been too
little thought of. The great cry had too often been 'We must drum
football 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 and
recuperate. It really was our salvation, and I have always been most
grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Cochrane for so generously giving up their
house completely to a mob of youngsters. We spent three delightful days,
almost forgot football entirely, ate ravenously and slept like tops.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.