FRESHMAN YEAR

I believe that every man who has had the privilege of going to college will agree with me that as a freshman lands in a college town, he is a very happy and interested individual. The newness of things and his freedom are very attractive. He comes to college fresh from his school day experiences ready to conform himself to the traditions and customs of 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 in mind, outside of the classroom, is football. Sometimes it is the uppermost thought in the classroom. What kind of a Varsity football team are we going to have? This is the question heard on all sides.

Every bit of available football material is eagerly sought by the coaches. I recall so well my freshman year at Princeton, how Garry Cochran, captain of the football team, went about the college with Johnny Poe, looking over the undergraduates and watching the incoming trains for football possibilities. If a fellow looked as though he might have good material to work upon, he was asked to report at the Varsity field the next day.

All athletic interests are focused on the gridiron. The young undergraduate who has no likelihood of making the team, fills himself with facts about the individuals who are trying to win a place. He starts 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 their work; he becomes interested in the individual progress each candidate is making. In this way, the members of the team know that they have the support of the college, and this makes them play harder. This builds up college spirit.

Every college has its own freshman and sophomore traditions; one at Princeton is, that shortly after college opens there must be a rush about the cannon, between the freshman and sophomore classes. All those who have witnessed this sight, know that it is a vital part of Princeton undergraduate life. On that night in my freshman year, great care was taken by Cochran that none of the incoming football material engaged in the rush. No chances were taken of injuring a good football prospect among either freshmen or sophomores. Eddie Holt, Bert Wheeler, Arthur Poe, Doc Hillebrand, Bummie Booth and I were in the front ranks of the class of 1900, stationed back of Witherspoon Hall ready to make the rush upon the sophomores, who were huddled together guarding the cannon. Cochran and his coterie of coachers ran out as we were approaching the cannon and forced us out of the contest. He ordered us to stand on the outside 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 the fray. Cochran knew all of us because we were among those who had been called to college before the opening to enter preliminary training. Every football player who has had the experience of being summoned ahead of time will understand my feeling. I was very happy when I received from Cochran, during the summer before I entered Princeton, a letter inviting me to report for football practice two weeks before college opened. When I arrived at Princeton on the appointed day, I found the candidates 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 game the year before. Eddie Holt loomed up and I recalled him as the big fellow who played on the Andover team against Lawrenceville two years before. He had gone from Andover to Harvard and had played on the Harvard team the year before, and had decided to leave Harvard and enter Princeton.

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

Trainer Jack McMasters was on the job and put us through some very severe preliminary training. It was warm in New Jersey early in September, and often in the middle of practice Jack would occasionally play the hose on us. It did not take us long to learn that varsity football training was much more strenuous than that of the preparatory school. The vigorous programme, prepared, especially for me, convinced me that McMasters and the coaches had decided that my 224 pounds were too much weight. Jack and I used to meet at the field house four mornings each week. He would array me in thick woolen things, and top them off with a couple of sweaters, so that I felt as big as a house. He would then take me out for an excursion of eight miles across country, running and walking. Sometimes other candidates kept us company, but only Jack and I survived.

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

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

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

We were soon in shape for the first try-out of the season; preliminary training was over, and the team was ready for its first game. We won the Rutgers game 44 to 0 and after we defeated the Navy, we went to play Lafayette at Easton. I had as my opponent in the Lafayette game, Rinehart. I shall never forget this game. I was playing left guard alongside of Jarvie Geer, who was a substitute for Bill Church, who had been injured in practice the week before and could not play. Just before the first half was over, Lafayette feinted on a kick, and instead of Bray, that star Lafayette fullback, boosting the ball, Barclay shot through the line between Geer and myself for thirty yards. There was my down-fall. Rinehart had taken care of me beautifully, and finally, Net Poe saved the day by making a beautiful tackle of Barclay, who was fast approaching the Princeton goal line. There was no score made, but the fact that Barclay had made the distance through me, made me feel mighty mean. I recall Cochran during the intermission, when he said: "Holt; you take Edwards' place at left-guard."

The battle between those giants during the second half was a sight worth seeing 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 a regular in the first three games of the season. I was being tried out and had been found wanting. I had proved a disappointment, and I knew Cochran knew it and I knew the whole college would know it, but I made up my mind to give the very best I had in me, and hoped to square myself later and make the team. I knew what it was to be humiliated, taken out of a game, and to realize that I had not stood the test. I began to reason it out—maybe I was carried away with the fact of having played on the varsity team—maybe I did not give my best. Anyway I learned much that day. It was my first big lesson of failure in football. That failure 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 Bray at fullback. It was this same team that, later in the fall, beat Pennsylvania, without the services of Captain Walbridge, who had been injured.

It was not long after this that Princeton played Cornell at Princeton. I recall the day I first saw Joe Beacham, that popular son of Cornell, who afterwards coached West Point. He is now in the regular army, stationed at 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 counts much in these years to assist Al Sharpe in the coaching; Tom Fennel, Taussig and Freeborn. With these stars assisting, Cornell could do nothing with Princeton's great team and the score 37 to 0 tells the tale.

I was not playing in this game, but recall the following incident. Joe Beacham was making a flying run through the Princeton team. A very pretty girl covered with furs, wearing the red and white of Cornell, was enthusiastically yelling at the top of her voice "Go it, Joe! go it, Joe!" much to the delight and admiration of the Princeton undergraduates near her. Since then Joe has told me that it was his sister. Maybe it was, but as Joe was rushing onward, with Dan Reed and Tom Fennel interfering wonderfully for him, and urged on by his fond admirer in the grandstand, his progress was rudely halted by the huge form of Edwin Crowdis which appeared like a cloud on the horizon and projected itself before the oncoming scoring machine of Cornell. When they met, great was the crash, for Crowdis spilled the player, ball and all. This was the time, the place, and the girl; and it meant that Edwin Crowdis had made the Princeton Varsity team.

I realized it at the moment, and although I knew that it would probably put me in the substitute ranks for the rest of the season, I was wild with joy to see Edwin develop at this particular moment, and perform his great play. His day had come, his was the reward, and Joe Beacham had been laid low. As for the girl, she subsided abruptly, and is said to have remarked, as Crowdis smashed the Cornell machine: "Well, I never did 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 his sweater and jumped into the game in spite of the trainers' earnest entreaty not to. He tried to instill a new spirit into the game. It was one of those terrible Monday practice games, of which every football player knows. The varsity could not make any substantial gains against the second team, which was unusually strong that year, as most of the varsity substitutes were playing. How frantic Bill Church was! He was playing tackle alongside of Edwin Crowdis, against whom I was playing. My chances of making the Varsity were getting slimmer. Very few practice days were left before the men would be selected for the final game. I was making the last earnest stand. The varsity line men were not opening up the scrub line as easily as they desired, and we were all stopping up the offensive play of the Varsity. I was going through very low and tackling Crowdis around the legs, trying to carry him back into the play. Church was very angry at my doing this, and told Crowdis to hit me, if I did it again, but Edwin was a good-natured, clean player; in fact, I doubt if he ever rough played any man. Finally, after several plays, Church said, "If you don't hit him, I will," and he sure made good his threat, for on the next play, when I was at the bottom of the heap in the scrimmage, Church handed me one of those stiff "Bill Church blows," emphasizing the tribute with his leather thumb protector. There was a lively mixup and the scrub and Varsity had an open fight. All was soon forgotten, but I still "wear an ear," the lobe of which is a constant reminder of Bill Church's spirited play. Nothing ever stood in Church's way; he was a hard player, and a powerful tackle.

Slowly but surely, Cochran's great team was perfecting itself into a machine. The victory against Harvard at Cambridge was the team's worthy reward for faithful service and attention given to the details of the game.

As a reward for service rendered, the second team with the Varsity substitutes were taken on the trip, and as we saw the great Princeton team winning, every man was happy and proud of the joy and knowledge of giving something material towards their winning. Sore legs, injuries and mistakes were at such a time forgotten. All that was felt was the keen sense of satisfaction that comes to men who have helped in the construction.

Billie Bannard, aided by superb interference of Fred Smith, was able to make himself the hero of that game by a forty-five yard run. Bill Church the great tackle broke through the Harvard line and blocked Brown's kick, and the ever-watchful end-rush, Howard Brokaw, fell on the ball for a touchdown. Cochran had been injured and removed from the game, but he was frantic with joy as he walked up and down the Princeton side lines, urging further touchdowns.

A happy crowd of Princetonians wended their way back to Princeton to put the finishing touches on the team before the Yale game. Those of you who recall that '96 game in New York will remember that 6 to 0 in favor of Yale was the score, at the end of the first five minutes. Jim Rodgers had blocked Johnnie Baird's punt and Bass, the alert end-rush, had pounced on the ball and was over for a touchdown in a moment. Great groans went up from the Princeton grandstand. Could it be that this great acknowledged champion team of Princeton was conceited, over-trained and about to be defeated? Certainly not, for there arose such a demonstration of team spirit and play as one seldom sees. On the next kick-off Johnnie Baird caught the ball, and when he was about to be tackled—in fact, was lying on the ground—he passed the ball to Fred Smith, that great all-round Princeton athlete, who made the most spectacular run of the day. Who will ever forget the wonderful line plunging of Ad Kelly, the brilliant end running of Bill Bannard and the great part all the other men of the team contributed towards Princeton's success, and the score grew and grew by touchdown after touchdown, until some one recalled that in this game, the team would say, "Well, we won't give any signals; we'll just try a play through Captain Murphy." Maybe this was the play that put Murphy out of the game. He played against Bill Church, and that was enough exercise for any one man to encounter in one afternoon. As Fred Murphy left the field everyone realized that it was only his poor physical condition that caused him to give up the game. Yale men recall, with great pride, how the year before Murphy had put it all over Bill Church. During that game, however, Church's physical condition was not what it should have been, and these two giant tackles never had a chance to play against each other when they were both in prime condition. Both these men were All American calibre.

Johnny Baird, Ad Kelly, Bannard, all made touchdowns and the two successful freshmen who had made the team, Hillebrand and Wheeler, both registered touchdowns against Yale. As the Yale team left the field, they felt the sting of defeat, but there were men who were to have revenge at New Haven the next year against Princeton, among whom were Chadwick, Rodgers and Chamberlain. They were eager enough to get back at us and the next year they surely did. But this was our year for victory and celebration, and laurels were bestowed upon the victors. Garry Cochran and his loyal team-mates were the lions of the day and hour.