LEST WE FORGET
Marshall Newell
There is no hero of the past whose name has been handed down in
Harvard's football traditions as that of Marshall Newell. He left many
lasting impressions upon the men who came in contact with him. The men
that played under his coaching idolized him, and this extended even
beyond the confines of Harvard University. This is borne out in the
following tribute which is paid Newell by Herbert Reed, that was on the
Cornell scrub when Newell was their coach.
"It is poignantly difficult, even to-day, years after what was to so
many of us a very real tragedy," says Reed, "to accept the fact that
Marshall Newell is dead. The ache is still as keen as on that Christmas
morning when the brief news dispatches told us that he had been killed
in a snowstorm on a railroad track at Springfield. It requires no great
summoning of the imagination to picture this fine figure of a man, in
heart and body so like his beloved Berkshire oaks, bending forward, head
down, and driving into the storm in the path of the everyday duty
that led to his death. It was, as the world goes, a short life, but a
fruitful one--a life given over simply and without questioning to
whatever work or whatever play was at hand.
[Illustration: MARSHALL NEWELL]
"To the vast crowds of lovers of football who journeyed to Springfield
to see this superman of sport in action in defense of his Alma Mater he
will always remain as the personification of sportsmanship combined with
the hard, clean, honest effort that marks your true football player. To
a great many others who enjoyed the privilege of adventuring afield with
him, the memory will be that of a man strong enough to be gentle, of
magnetic personality, and yet withal, with a certain reserve that is
found only in men whose character is growing steadily under the urge of
quiet introspection. Yet, for a man so self-contained, he had much to
give to those about him, whether these were men already enjoying place
and power or merely boys just on the horizon of a real man's life. It
was not so much the mere joy and exuberance of living, as the wonder and
appreciation 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 fortune
to know.
"The world about him was to Newell rich in expression of things
beautiful, things mysterious, things that struck in great measure awe
and reverence into his soul. A man with so much light within could not
fail to shine upon others. He had no heart for the city or the life of
the city, and for him, too, the quest of money had no attraction. Even
before he went to school at Phillips Exeter, the character of this
sturdy boy had begun to develop in the surroundings he loved throughout
his life. Is it any wonder, then, that from the moment he arrived at
school he became a favorite with his associates, indeed, at a very early
stage, something of an idol to the other boys? He expressed an ideal in
his very presence--an ideal that was instantly recognizable as true and
just--an ideal unspoken, but an ideal lived. Just what that ideal was
may perhaps be best understood if I quote a word or two from that little
diary of his, never intended for other eyes but privileged now, a
quotation that has its own little, delicate touch of humor in
conjunction with the finer phrases:
"'There is a fine selection from Carmen to whistle on a load of logs
when driving over frozen ground; every jolt gives a delightful emphasis
to the notes, and the musician is carried along by the dictatorial
leader as it were. What a strength there is in the air! It may be rough
at times, but it is true and does not lie. What would the world be if
all were open and frank as the day or the sunshine?'
"I want to record certain impressions made upon a certain freshman at
Cornell, whither Newell went to coach the football team after his
graduation from Harvard. Those impressions are as fresh to-day as they
were 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 no
easy taskmaster, but always a just one. Many a young man of that period
will remember, as I do, the grinding day's work when everything seemed
to go wrong, when mere discouragement was gradually giving way to actual
despair, when, somewhat clogged with mud and dust and blood, he felt a
sudden slap on the back, and heard a cheery voice saying, 'Good work
to-day. Keep it up.' Playing hard football himself, Newell demanded hard
football of his pupils. I wish, indeed, that some of the players of
to-day who groan over a few minutes' session with the soft tackling
dummy of these times could see that hard, sole leather tackling dummy
swung from a joist that went clear through it and armed with a shield
that hit one over the head when he did not get properly down to his
work, that Newell used.
"It was grinding work this, but through it one learned.
"That ancient and battered dummy is stowed away, a forgotten relic of
the old days, in the gymnasium at Cornell. There are not a few of us
who, when returning to Ithaca, hunt it up to do it reverence.
"Let him for a moment transfer his allegiance to the scrub eleven, and
in that moment the Varsity team knew that it was in a real football
game. They were hard days indeed on Percy Field, but good days. I have
seen Newell play single-handed against one side of the Varsity line,
tear up the interference like a whirlwind, and bring down his man. Many
of us have played in our small way on the scrub when for purposes of
illustration Newell occupied some point in the Varsity line. We knew
then what would be on top of us the instant the ball was snapped. Yet
when the heap was at its thickest Newell would still be in the middle of
it or at the bottom, as the case might be, still working, and still
coaching. Both in his coaching at Harvard and at Cornell he developed
men whose names will not be forgotten while the game endures, and some
of these developments were in the nature of eleventh-hour triumphs for
skill 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 recall
those long Sunday afternoons when he walked through the woodland paths
in the two big gorges, or over the fields at Ithaca in company much of
the time with--not the captain of the team, not the star halfback, not
the great forward, but some young fellow fresh from school who was still
down in the ruck of the squad. More than once he called at now one, now
another fraternity house and hailed us: 'Where is that young freshman
that is out for my team? I would like to have him take a little walk
with me.' And these walks, incidentally, had little or nothing to do
with football. They were great opportunities for the little freshman who
wanted to get closer to the character of the man himself. No flower, no
bit of moss, no striking patch of foliage escaped his notice, for he
loved them all, and loved to talk about them. One felt, returning from
one of these impromptu rambles, that he had been spending valuable time
in that most wonderful church of all, the great outdoors, and spending
it with no casual interpreter. Memories of those days in the sharp
practice on the field grow dim, but these others I know will always
endure.
"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 insistently
resurgent.
"Marshall Newell was born in Clifton, N. J., on April 2, 1871. His early
life 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 later
years. He entered Phillips Exeter Academy in the fall of 1887, and was
graduated in 1890. Almost at once he achieved, utterly without effort, a
popularity rare in its quality. Because of his relation with his
schoolmates and his unostentatious way of looking after the welfare of
others, he soon came to be known as Ma Newell, and this affectionate
sobriquet not only clung to him through all the years at Exeter and
Harvard, but followed him after graduation whithersoever he went. While
at 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 subtler
influence of character that distinguished all his days. He was a member
of the victorious football eleven of 1890, and of the winning crew of
1891, both in his freshman year. He also played on the freshman football
team and on the university team of '91, '92, '93, and rowed on the
Varsity crews of '92 and '93. In the meantime he was gaining not only
the respect and friendship of his classmates, but those of the
instructors as well. Socially, and despite the fact that he was little
endowed with this world's goods, he enjoyed a remarkable popularity. He
was a member of the Institute of 1770, Dickey, Hasty Pudding, and
Signet. In addition, he was the unanimous choice of his class for Second
Marshal on Class Day. Many other honors he might have had if he had
cared to seek them. He accepted only those that were literally forced
upon him.
"In the course of his college career he returned each summer to his home
in Great Barrington and quietly resumed his work on the farm.
"After graduation he was a remarkably successful football coach at
Cornell University, and was also a vast help in preparing Harvard
elevens. His annual appearance in the fall at Cambridge was always the
means of putting fresh heart and confidence in the Crimson players.
"He turned to railroading in the fall of 1896, acting as Assistant
Superintendent of the Springfield Division of the Boston and Albany
Railroad. Here, as at college, he made a profound personal impression on
his associates. The end came on the evening of December 24th, in 1897.
"In a memorial from his classmates and friends, the following
significant paragraph appears: 'Marshall Newell belonged to the whole
University. He cannot be claimed by any clique or class. Let us, his
classmates, simply express our gratitude that we have had the privilege
of knowing him and of observing his simple, grand life. We rejoice in
memories of his comradeship; we deeply mourn our loss. To those whose
affliction has been even greater than our own, we extend our sympathy.'
This memorial was signed by Bertram Gordon Waters, Lincoln Davis, and
George C. Lee, Jr., for the class, men who knew him well.
"Harvard men, I feel sure, will forgive me if I like to believe that
Newell belonged not merely to the whole Harvard University, but to every
group of men that came under his influence, whether the football squad
at 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 said
in Newell's own words, selections from that diary of which I have
already spoken, and which set the stamp on the character of the man for
all time. This, for instance:
"'It is amusing to notice the expression in the faces of the horses on
the street as you walk along; how much they resemble people, not in
feature, 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 or
patting their noses.' And this, in more serious vein: 'Happened to think
how there was a resemblance in water and our spirits, or rather in their
sources. Some people are like springs, always bubbling over with
freshness and life; others are wells and have to be pumped; while some
are only reservoirs whose spirits are pumped in and there stagnate
unless drawn off immediately. Most people are like the wells, but the
pump handle is not always visible or may be broken off. Many of the
springs are known only to their shady nooks and velvet marshes, but,
once found, the path is soon worn to them, which constantly widens and
deepens. It may be used only by animals, but it is a blessing and
comfort if only to the flowers and grasses that grow on its edge.'
"Serious as the man was, there are glints and gleams of quiet humor
throughout this remarkable human document. One night in May he wrote,
'Stars and moon are bright this evening; frogs are singing in the
meadow, 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 them
in. 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 the
barn swallows fighting for feathers in the air; the big barn is filled
with 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 his
head. Pine needles catch the light that has streamed through them for a
hundred years. The wind drives the clouds one day as if they were waves
of crested brown.' Where indeed in the crowded city streets was he to
listen 'to the language of the leaves,' and how indeed, 'Feel the colors
of the West.'
"Is it not possible that something more even than the example and
influence of his character was lost to the world in his death? What
possibilities were there not in store for a man who could feel and write
like this: 'Grand thunderstorm this evening. Vibrations shook the house
and the flashes of lightning were continuous for a short time. It is
authority and majesty personified, and one instinctively bows in its
presence, 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 I
stood not long ago among his own Berkshire Hills, hoping thus to prepare
myself by pilgrimage for this halting but earnest tribute to a
great-hearted gentleman, who, in his quiet way, meant so much to so many
of his fellow humans."
Walter B. Street
W. L. Sawtelle of Williams, who knew this great player in his playing
days, writes as follows:
"No Williams contemporary of Walter Bullard Street can forget two
outstanding facts of his college career: his immaculate personal
character and his undisputed title to first rank among the football men
whom Williams has developed. He was idolized because of his athletic
prowess; he was loved because he was every inch a man. His personality
lifted his game from the level of an intercollegiate contest to the
plane of a man's expression of loyalty to his college, and his supremacy
on the football field gave a new dignity to the undergraduate's ideals
of true manhood.
"His name is indelibly written in the athletic annals of Williams, and
his influence, apparently cut off by his early death, is still a vital
force among those who cheered his memorable gains on the gridiron and
who admired him for his virile character."
W. D. Osgood
Gone from among us is that great old-time hero, Win Osgood. In this
chapter of thoroughbreds, let us read the tribute George Woodruff pays
him:
"When my thoughts turn to the scores of fine, manly football players I
have known intimately, Win Osgood claims, if not first place, at least a
unique place, among my memories. As a player he has never been surpassed
in his specialty of making long and brilliant runs, not only around, but
through the ranks of his opponents. After one of his seventy- or
eighty-yard runs his path was always marked by a zig-zag line of
opposing tacklers just collecting their wits and slowly starting to get
up from the ground. None of them was ever hurt, but they seemed
temporarily 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 three
touchdowns against each of the strong Yale, Harvard and Princeton
elevens, and in the Harvard-Pennsylvania game at Philadelphia in 1894,
he thrilled the spectators with his runs more than I have ever seen any
man do in any other one game.
"But I would belittle my own sense of Osgood's real worth if I confined
myself to expatiating on his brilliant physical achievements. His moral
worth and gentle bravery were to me the chief points in him that arouse
true admiration. When I, as coach of Penn's football team, discovered
that Osgood had quietly matriculated at Pennsylvania, without letting
anybody know of his intention, I naturally cultivated his friendship, in
order to get from him his value as a player; but I found he was of even
more value as a moral force among the players and students. In this way
he helped me as much as by his play, because, to my mind, a football
team 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 his
expedition to help the Cubans, and I have often regretted not having
been with him through that experience. He went as a Major of Artillery
to be sure, but not for the title, nor the adventure only, but I am sure
from love of freedom and overwhelming sympathy for the oppressed. He
said to me:
"'The Cubans may not be very lovely, but they are human, and their cause
is lovely.'
"When Osgood, with almost foolhardy bravery, sat his horse directing his
dilapidated artillery fire in Cuba, and thus conspicuous, made himself
even more marked by wearing a white sombrero, he was not playing the
part of a fool; he was following his natural impulse to exert a moral
force on his comrades who could understand little but liberty and
bravery.
"When the Angel of Death gave him the accolade of nobility by touching
his brow in the form of a Mauser bullet, Win Osgood simply welcomed his
friend by gently breathing 'Well,' a word typical of the man, and even
in 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 very
much interested in settlement work on the East Side in New York. He
devoted much of his time after business to this great work which still
stands as a monument to him. He was as loyal to it as he was to football
when he played at Yale. Gordon Brown's career at Yale was a remarkable
one. He was captain of the greatest football team Yale ever had.
Whenever the 1900 team is mentioned it is spoken of as Gordon Brown's
team. The spirit of this great thoroughbred still lives at Yale, still
lives at Groton School where he spent six years. He was captain there
and leader in all the activities in the school. He was one of the
highest type college men I have ever known. He typified all the best
there was in Yale. He was strong mentally, as well as physically.
It was my pleasure to have played against him in two Yale-Princeton
games, '98 and '99. I have never known a finer sportsman than he. He
played the game hard, and he played it fair. He had nothing to say to
his opponents in the game. He was there for business. Always urging his
fellow players on to better work. Every one who knew this gallant leader
had absolute confidence in him. All admired and loved him. There was no
one at Yale who was more universally liked and acknowledged as a leader
in all the relations of the University than was Gordon Brown. The
influence of such a man cannot but live as a guide and inspiration for
all that is best at Yale University.
Gordon Brown's name will live in song and story. There were with him
Yale men not less efficient in the football sense, as witnesses the
following:
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 his
way. His effort was a splendid one. He was never idle, and was an honor
man for the greater part of his stay at school. He found time to go out
for football, however, and turned out to be one of the greatest players
that ever went to Exeter. Jim Hogan was one of the highest type of
Exeter men, held up as an example of what an Exeter boy should be. His
spirit 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 the
football line. It was almost like that in the classroom, always on the
edge of his seat fighting for every bit of information that he could get
and determined to master any particularly difficult subject. It was
interesting and almost amusing at times to watch him. One could not help
respecting such earnestness. He possessed great powers of leadership and
there was never any question as to his sincerity and perfect
earnestness. He was not selfish, but always trying to help his fellow
students accomplish something. His influence among the boys was
thoroughly good, and he held positions of honor and trust from the time
of his admission."
Jim was hungry for an education--eager to forge ahead. His whole college
career was an earnest endeavor. He never knew what it was to lose
heart. "Letting go" had no part in his life.
Jim was a physical marvel. His 206 pounds of bone and muscle counted for
much in the Yale rush line. Members of the faculty considered him the
highest type of Yale man, and it is said that President Hadley of Yale
once referred to 1905 as "Hogan's Class."
As a football player, Jim had few equals. He was captain of the Yale
team 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 his
face, he would break into the opposing line, smash up the interference
and throw the backs for a loss.
I can see him rushing the ball, scoring touchdowns, making holes in the
line, doing everything that a great player could do, and urging on his
team mates:
"Harder, Yale; hard, harder, Yale."
He was a hard, strong, cheerful player; that is, he was cheerful as long
as the other men fought fair.
Great was Jim Hogan. To work with him shoulder to shoulder was my
privilege. 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 the
hillside in Torrington, Conn., surrounded by loving friends, and the
individual pictures of that strong Gordon Brown team hanging on the wall
above him, a loving coterie of friends said good-bye. Many a boy now out
of college realizes that he owes a great deal to the brotherly spirit of
Jim Hogan.
[Illustration: McCLUNG, REFEREE SHEVLIN HOGAN]
Thomas J. Shevlin
There is a college tradition which embodies the thought that a man can
never do as much for the university as the university has done for him.
But in that great athletic victory of 1915, when Yale defeated Princeton
at New Haven, I believe Tom Shevlin came nearer upsetting that tradition
than any one I know of. He contributed as much as any human being
possibly could to the university that brought him forth.
Tom Shevlin's undergraduate life at New Haven was not all strewn with
roses, but he was glad always to go back when requested and put his
shoulder to the wheel. The request came usually at a time when Yale's
football was in the slough of despond. He was known as Yale's emergency
coach.
Tom Shevlin had nerve. He must have been full of it to tackle the great
job which was put before him in the fall of 1915. Willingly did he
respond and great was the reward.
When I saw him in New York, on his way to New Haven, I told him what a
great honor I thought it was for Yale to single him out from all her
coaches at this critical time to come back and try to put the Yale team
in shape. It did not seem either to enthuse or worry him very much. He
said:
"I just got a telegram from Mike Sweeney to wait and see him in New York
before going to New Haven. I suppose he wants to advise me not to go and
tackle the job, but I'm going just the same. Yale can't be much worse
off for my going than she is to-day."
The result of Shevlin's coaching is well known to all, and I shall
always remember him after the game with that contented happy look upon
his face as I congratulated him while he stood on a bench in front of
the Yale stand, watching the Yale undergraduates carry their victorious
team off the field. Walter Camp stood in the distance and Shevlin yelled
to him:
"Well, how about it, Walter?"
This victory will go down in Yale's football history as an almost
miraculous event. Here was a team beaten many times by small colleges,
humiliated and frowned upon not only by Yale, but by the entire college
world. They presented themselves in the Yale bowl ready to make their
last stand.
As for Princeton it seemed only a question as to how large her score
would be. Men had gone to cheer for Princeton who for many years had
looked forward to a decisive victory over Yale. The game was already
bottled up before it started; but when Yale's future football history
is written, when captain and coaches talk to the team before the game
next year, when mass meetings are called to arouse college spirit, at
banquets where victorious teams are the heroes of the occasion, some one
will stand forth and tell the story of the great fighting spirit that
Captain Wilson and his gallant team exhibited in the Yale bowl that
November day.
Although Tom Shevlin, the man that made it possible, is now dead, his
memory at Yale is sacred and will live long. Many will recall his
wonderful playing, his power of leadership, his Yale captaincy, his
devotion to Yale at a time when he was most needed. If, in the last game
against Harvard, the team that fought so wonderfully well against
Princeton could not do the impossible and defeat the great Haughton
machine, it was not Shevlin's fault. It simply could not be done. It
lessens in not the slightest degree the tribute that we pay to Tom
Shevlin.
Francis H. Burr
Ham Fish was a great Harvard player in his day. When his playing days
were over Walter Camp paid him the high tribute of placing him on the
All Time, All-American team at tackle. Fish played at Harvard in 1907
and 1908, and was captain of the team in 1909. I know of no Harvard man
who is in a better position to pay a tribute to Francis Burr, whose
spirit 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 following
regarding Burr:
"Francis Burr was of gigantic frame, standing six feet three and agile
as a young mountain lion. He weighed 200 pounds. The incoming class of
1905 was signalized by having this man who came from Andover. He stood
out above his fellows, not only in athletic prowess but in all around
manly qualities, both mental and moral. Burr had no trouble in making a
place 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 the
most inestimable service to Harvard athletics by securing Percy Haughton
as Head Coach. Hooks Burr was primarily responsible for Haughton and the
abundance of subsequent victories. Just when Burr's abilities as player
and captain were most needed he dislocated his collar bone in practice.
I shall never forget the night before the Yale game how Burr, who had
partially recovered, and was very anxious to play, reluctantly and
unselfishly yielded to the coaches who insisted that he should not incur
the risk of a more serious break. Harvard won that day, the first time
in seven years and a large share of the credit should go to the injured
leader. We were all happy over the result but none of us were as happy
as he.
"Stricken with pneumonia while attending the Harvard Law School in 1910
he died, leaving a legacy full of encouragement and inspiration to all
Harvard men. He exemplified in his life the Golden Rule,--'Do unto
others 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 more
universally loved than Neil Snow. What he did and the way he did it has
become a tradition at Michigan. He was idolized by every one who knew
him. As a player and captain he set a wonderful example for his men to
pattern after. He was a powerful player; possessing such determination
and fortitude that he would go through a stone wall if he had to. He was
their great all-around athlete; good in football, baseball and track. He
had the unique record of winning his Michigan M twelve times during his
college course at Ann Arbor.
He played his last game of football at Pasadena, California. Neil was
very fond of exercise. He believed in exercise, and when word was sent
out that Neil Snow had gone, it was found that he had just finished
playing in a game of racquets in Detroit, and before the flush and zest
were entirely gone, the last struggle and participation in athletic
contests for Neil Snow were over.
It was my experience to have been at Ann Arbor in 1900, when Biffy Lee
coached the Michigan team. It was at this time that I met Neil Snow, who
was captain of the team, and when I grew to know him, I soon realized
how his great, quiet, modest, though wonderful personality, made
everybody idolize him. Modesty was his most noticeable characteristic.
He was always the last to talk of his own athletic achievements. He
believed in action, more than in words. After his playing days were over
he made a great name for himself as an official in the big games. The
larger colleges in the East had come to realize with what great
efficiency Neil Snow acted as an official and his services were eagerly
sought.
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, a
portion 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 playing
days at Princeton. These two halfbacks were great team mates. When Bill
Bannard 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 the
Harvard-Princeton game of 1896, and with it comes a tribute to one of us
who has passed to the great beyond; one with whom I played side by side
for three years, Bill Bannard. I always thought that in this particular
game he never received the credit due him. In my opinion his run on
that memorable day was the best I have ever seen. His running and
dodging and his excellent judgment had no superior in the football
annals of our day.
"In speaking of great individual plays that have won close games, his
name should go down with Charlie Daly, Clint Wyckoff, Arthur Poe, Snake
Ames and Dudley Dean, for with Reiter's splendid interference in putting
out the Harvard left end, Billy Bannard's touchdown gave Princeton the
confidence to carry her to victory that day and to the ultimate
championship 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 had
seen him play at Exeter and there formed his acquaintance and later at
Dartmouth saw him develop into the mighty center rush of the 1903
Dartmouth 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 this
eleven was due to its good fellowship and team work. The central figure
was the idol of his fellow players. Such was Hooper. Shortly after the
football season that year he was operated upon for appendicitis and it
soon became evident that he could not recover. He was told of his
plight.
"He bravely faced the inevitable and expressed the wish that if he
really had to go he might have with him at the last his comrades of the
football field. These team mates rallied at his request. They surrounded
him; they talked the old days over, and supported by those with whom he
had fought for the glory of his college this real hero passed into the
Great Beyond, and deep down in the traditions of Dartmouth and Exeter
the name of Harry Hooper is indelibly written."
The game of football is growing old. The ranks of its heroes are being
slowly but surely thinned. The players are retiring from the game of
life; some old and some young. The list might go on indefinitely. There
are many names that deserve mention. But this cannot be. The list of
thoroughbreds is a long one. Yours must be a silent tribute.
Doctor Andrew J. McCosh, Ned Peace, Gus Holly, Dudley Riggs, Harry
Brown, Symmes, Bill Black, Pringle Jones, Jerry McCauley, Jim Rhodes,
Bill Swartz, Frank Peters, George Stillman, H. Schoellkopf, Wilson of
the Navy and Byrne of the Army, Eddie Ward, Albert Rosengarten, McClung,
Dudley and Matthews.
Richard Harding Davis and Matthew McClung were two Lehigh men whose
position in the football world was most prominent. The esteem in which
they are held by their Alma Mater is enduring. I had talked with Dick
Davis when this book was in its infancy. He was very much interested and
asked that I write him a letter outlining what I would like to have him
send me. Just before he died I received this letter from him. I regret
he did not live to tell the story he had in mind.
[Illustration: (Handwritten Letter)
RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
MOUNT KISCO
NEW YORK
April 2nd
My Dear Edwards,
Yes, indeed. As soon as I finish something I am at work on, I'll "think
back", 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 leaders
at Lehigh, who first organized that University's football team. He was a
truly remarkable player. What he did in football is well known to men of
his day. He loved the game; he wrote about the game; he did much to help
the game.