BRINGING HOME THE BACON

Happy is the thought of victory, and while we realize that there should always be eleven men in every play, each man doing his duty, there frequently comes a time in a game, when some one man earns the credit for winning the game, and brings home the bacon. Maybe he has been the captain of the team, with a wonderful power of leadership which had held the Eleven together all season and made his team a winning one. From the recollections of some of the victories, from the experiences of the men who participated in them and made victory possible, let us play some of those games over with some of the heroes of past years.

Billy Bull

One of the truly great bacon-getters of the past is Yale's Billy Bull. Football history is full of his exploits when he played on the Yale team in '85, '86, '87 and '88. Old-time players can sit up all night telling stories of the games in which he scored for Yale. His kicking proved a winning card and in happy recollection the old-timers tell of Bull, the hero of many a game, being carried off the field on the shoulders of an admiring crowd of Yale men after a big victory.

"In the course of my years at Yale, six big games were played," says Bull, "four with Princeton and two with Harvard. I was fortunate in being able to go through all of them, sustaining no injury whatsoever, except in the last game with Princeton. In this game, Channing came through to me in the fullback position and in tackling him I received a scalp wound which did not, however, necessitate my removal from the game.

"Of the six games played, only one was lost, and that was the Lamar game in the fall of '85. In the five games won I was the regular kicker in the last three, and, in two of these, kicking proved to be the deciding factor. Thus in '87—Yale 17, Harvard 8—two place kicks and one drop kick were scored in the three attempts, totaling nine points. Considering the punting I did that day, and the fact that both place-kicks were scored from close to the side lines, I feel that that game represents my best work.

"The third year of my play was undoubtedly my best year; in fact the only year in which I might lay claim to being anything of a kicker. Thus in the Rutgers game of '87 I kicked twelve straight goals from placement. Counting the two goals from touchdowns against Princeton I had a batting average of 1000 in three games.

"Through the last year I was handicapped with a lame kicking leg and was out of form, for in the final game with Princeton that year, '88, I tried at least four times before scoring the first field goal of the game. In the second half I had but one chance and that was successful. This was the 10-0 game, in which all the points were scored by kicking, although the ground was wet and slippery.

"It is of interest to note, in connection with drop-kicking in the old days, that the proposition was not the simple matter it is to-day. Then, the ball had to go through the quarter's hands, and the kicker in consequence had so little time in which to get the ball away that he was really forced to kick in his tracks and immediately on receipt of the ball. Fortunately I was able to do both, and I never had a try for a drop blocked, and only one punt, the latter due to the fact that the ball was down by the side line, and I could not run to the left (which would have taken me out of bounds) before kicking.

"Perhaps one of the greatest sources of satisfaction to me, speaking of punting in particular, was the fact that I was never blocked by Princeton. And yet it was extremely fortunate for me that I was a left-footed kicker and thus could run away from Cowan, who played a left tackle before kicking. If I had had to use my right foot I doubt if I could have got away with anything, for Cowan was certainly a wonderful player and could get through the Yale line as though it were paper. He always brought me down, but always after the ball had left my foot. I know that it has been thought at Princeton that I stood twelve yards back from the line when kicking. This was not so. Ten yards was the regular distance, always. But, I either kicked in my tracks or directly after running to the left."

THE DAY COLUMBIA BEAT YALE

Columbia men enthusiastically recall the day Columbia beat Yale. A Columbia man who is always on hand for the big games of the year is Charles Halstead Mapes, the ever reliable, loyal rooter for the game. He has told the tale of this victory so wonderfully well that football enthusiasts cannot but enjoy this enthusiastic Columbia version.

"Fifteen years ago Yale was supreme in football," runs Mapes' story. "Occasionally, but only very occasionally, one of their great rivals, Princeton or Harvard, would win a game from them, but for any outsider, anybody except one of the 'Eternal Triangle,' to beat Yale was out of the question—an utter impossibility. And, by the way, that Triangle at times got almost as much on the nerves of the outside public as the Frenchmen's celebrated three—wife, husband, lover—the foundation of their plays.

"The psychological effect of Yale's past prestige was all-powerful in every game. The blue-jerseyed figures with the white Y would tumble through the gate and spread out on the field; the stands would rise to them with a roar of joyous welcome that would raise the very skies—Y-a-l-e! Y-a-l-e! Y—A—L—E!

"'Small wonder that each man was right on his toes, felt as though he were made of steel springs. All other Yale teams had won, 'We will win, of course.'

"But the poor other side—they might just as well throw their canvas jackets and mole-skin trousers in the old suit-case at once and go home. 'Beat Yale! boys, we're crazy, but every man must try his damnedest to keep the score low,' and so the game was won and lost before the referee even blew his starting whistle.

"This was the general rule, but every rule needs an exception to prove it, and on a certain November afternoon in 1899 we gave them their belly-full of exception. We had a very strong team that year, with some truly great players, Harold Weekes and Bill Morley (there never were two better men behind the line), and Jack Wright, old Jack Wright, playing equally well guard or center, as fine a linesman as I have ever seen. Weekes, Morley, and Wright were on the All-American team of that year, and Walter Camp in selecting his All-American team for All Time several years ago picked Harold Weekes as his first halfback.

"I can see the game now; there was no scoring in the first half. To the outsider the teams seemed evenly matched, but we, who knew our men, thought we saw that the power was there; and if they could but realize their strength and that they had it in them to lay low at last that armor-plated old rhinoceros, the terror of the college jungle—Yale,—with an even break of luck, the game must be ours.

"In the second half our opportunity came. By one of the shifting chances of the game we got the ball on about their 25-yard line; one yard, three yards, two yards, four yards, we went through them; there was no stopping us, and at last—over, well over, for a touchdown.

"Through some technicality in the last rush the officials, instead of allowing the touchdown, took the ball away from us and gave it to Yale. They were right, probably quite right, but how could we think so? Yale at once kicked the ball to the middle of the field well out of danger. The teams lined up.

"On the very next play, with every man of that splendidly trained Eleven doing his allotted work, Harold Weekes swept around the end, aided by the magnificent interference of Jack Wright, which gave him his start. He ran half the length of the field, through the entire Yale team, and planted the ball squarely behind the goal posts for the touchdown which won the game. If we had ever had any doubt that cruel wrong is righted, that truth and justice must prevail, it was swept away that moment in a great wave of thanksgiving.

"I shall never forget it—Columbia had beaten Yale! Tears running down my cheeks, shaken by emotion, I couldn't speak, let alone cheer. My best girl was with me. She gave one quick half-frightened glance and I believe almost realized all I felt. She was all gold. I feel now the timid little pressure on my arm as she tried to help me regain control of myself. God! why has life so few such moments!"

BEHIND THE SCENES

Let us go into the dressing room of a victorious team, which defeated Yale at Manhattan Field a good many years ago and let us read with that great lover of football, the late Richard Harding Davis, as he describes so wonderfully well some of the unique things that happened in the celebration of victory.

"People who live far away from New York and who cannot understand from the faint echoes they receive how great is the enthusiasm that this contest arouses, may possibly get some idea of what it means to the contestants themselves through the story of a remarkable incident, that occurred after the game in the Princeton dressing room. The team were being rubbed down for the last time and after their three months of self-denial and anxiety and the hardest and roughest sort of work that young men are called upon to do, and outside in the semi-darkness thousands of Princeton followers were jumping up and down and hugging each other and shrieking themselves hoarse. One of the Princeton coaches came into the room out of this mob, and holding up his arm for silence said,

"'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 rÉgime. 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":—

"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.

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."

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.

"Big Eddie Glass was a wonderful help in interference. I used to play left half and Eddie left guard. On plays where I would take the ball around the end, or skirting tackle, Eddie would either run in the interference or break through the line and meet me some yards beyond. We had a great pulling and hauling team that year, and the greatest puller and hauler was Eddie Glass. Perry Hale, who played fullback my sophomore year, was a great interferer. He was big, and strong and fast. On a straight buck through tackle, when he would be behind me, if there was not a hole in the proper place, he would whirl me all the way round and shoot me through a hole somewhere else. It would, of course, act as an impromptu delayed play. In one game I remember making a forty yard run to a touchdown on such a manoeuver."

Arthur Poe

There never was as much real football ability concealed in a small package as there was in that great player, Arthur Poe. He was always using his head, following the ball, strong in emergency. He was endowed with a wonderful personality, and a man who always got a lot of fun out of the game and made fun for others, but yet was on the job every minute. He always inspired his team mates to play a little harder. Rather than write anything more about this great player, let us read with him the part he so ably played in some of Princeton's football games.

"The story of my run in 1898 is very simple. Yale tried a mass play on Doc Hillebrand, which, as usual, was very unsuccessful in that quarter. He broke through and tackled the man with the ball. While the Yale men were trying to push him forward, I grabbed the ball from his arms and had a clear field and about ten yards start for the goal line. I don't believe I was ever happier in my life than on this day when I made the Princeton team and scored this touchdown against Yale.

"In the second half McBride tried a center drive on Booth and Edwards. The line held and I rushed in, and grabbed the ball, but before I got very far the Referee blew his whistle, and after I had run across the goal line I realized that the touchdown was not going to be allowed.

"Lew Palmer and I were tried at end simply to endeavor to provide a defense against the return runs of de Saulles on punts. He, by the way, was the greatest open field runner I have ever seen.

"My senior year started auspiciously and the prospects for a victorious eleven appeared especially bright, as only two of the regular players of the year before had graduated. The first hard game was against Columbia, coached by Foster Sanford, who had a wealth of material drawn from the four corners of the earth. In the latter part of the game my opponent by way of showing his disapproval of my features attempted to change them, but was immediately assisted to the ground by my running mate and was undergoing an unpleasant few moments, when Sanford, reinforced by several dozen substitutes, ran to his rescue and bestowed some unkind compliments on different parts of my pal's anatomy. With the arrival of Burr McIntosh and several old grads, however, we were released from their clutches, and the game proceeded.

"After the Cornell game the Yale game was close at hand. We were confident of our ability to win, though we expected a bitter hard struggle, in which we were not disappointed. Through a well developed interference on an end run, Reiter was sent around the end for several long gains, resulting in a touchdown, but Yale retaliated by blocking a kick and falling on the ball for a touchdown. Sharpe, a few minutes later, kicked a beautiful goal, so that the score was 10 to 6 in Yale's favor. The wind was blowing a gale all through the first half and as Yale had the wind at their backs we were forced to play a rushing game, but shortly after the second half began the wind died down considerably so that McBride's long, low kicks were not effective to any great extent.

"Yale was on the defensive and we were unable to break through for the coveted touchdown, though we were able to gain ground consistently for long advances. In the shadow of their goal line Yale held us mainly through the wonderful defensive playing of McBride. I never saw a finer display of backing up the rush line than that of McBride during the second half. So strenuous was the play that eight substitutions had been made on our team, but with less than five minutes to play we started a furious drive for the goal line from the middle of the field, and with McClave, Mattis and Lathrope carrying the ball we went to Yale's 25-yard line in quick time.

"With only about a minute to play it was decided to try a goal from the field. I was selected as the one to make the attempt. I was standing on the 34-yard line, about ten yards to the left of centre when I kicked; the ball started straight for the far goal post, but apparently was deflected by air currents and curved in not more than a yard from the post. I turned to the Referee, saw his arms raised and heard him say 'Goal' and then everything broke loose.

"I saw members of the team turning somersaults, and all I remember after that was being seized by a crowd of alumni who rushed out upon the field, and hearing my brother Ned shout, 'You damned lucky kid, you have licked them again.' I kicked the ball with my instep, having learned this from Charlie Young of Cornell, who was then at Princeton Seminary and was playing on the scrub team. The reason I did this was because Lew Palmer and myself wore light running shoes with light toes, not kicking shoes at all.

"After the crowd had been cleared off the field there were only 29 seconds left to play, and after Yale had kicked off we held the ball without risking a play until the whistle blew, when I started full speed for the gate, followed by Bert Wheeler. I recall knocking down several men as we were bursting through and making our way to the bus. It was the first, last and only goal from the field I ever attempted, and the most plausible explanation for its success was probably predestination."

Arthur Poe was a big factor in football, even when he wasn't running or kicking Yale down to defeat.

"Bill Church's roughness, in my freshman year, had the scrub bluffed," continues Arthur. "When Lew Palmer volunteered to play halfback and take care of Bill on punts, Bill was surprised on the first kick he attempted to block to feel Lew's fist on his jaw and immediately shouted:

"'I like you for that, you damn freshman.'

"That was the first accident that attracted attention to Lew. Palmer was one of the gamest men and he won a Varsity place by the hardest kind of work.

"Well do I recall the indignation meeting of the scrub to talk over plans of curbing Johnny Baird and Fred Smith in their endeavor to kill the scrub."

John DeWitt

Big John DeWitt was the man who brought home the Yale bacon for the Tigers in 1903. To be exact he not only carried, but also kicked it home. Two surprise parties by a single player in so hard a game are rare indeed. Whenever I think of DeWitt I think of his great power of leadership. He was an ideal captain. He thought things out for himself. He was the spirit of his team.

This great Princeton captain was one of the most versatile football men known to fame. Playing so remarkably in the guard position, he also did the kicking for his team and was a great power in running with the ball.

DeWitt thought things out almost instantly and took advantage of every possible point. The picture on the opposite page illustrates wonderfully well how he exerted and extended himself. This man put his whole soul into his work and was never found wanting. His achievements will hold a conspicuous place in football history. Nothing got by John DeWitt.

DeWitt's team in 1903 was the first to bring victory over Yale to Princeton since 1899. On that day John DeWitt scored a touchdown and kicked a placement goal, which will long be remembered. Let us go back and play a part of that game over with John himself.

"Whenever I think of football my recollections go back to the Yale game of 1903," says DeWitt. "My most vivid recollections are of my loyal team mates whose wonderful spirit and good fellowship meant so much to the success of that Eleven. Without their combined effort Princeton could not have won that day.

"We had a fine optimistic spirit before the game and the fact that Jim Hogan scored a touchdown for Yale in the first part of the game seemed to put us on our mettle and we came back with the spirit that I have always been proud of. Hogan was almost irresistible. You could hardly stop him when he had the ball. He scored between Harold Short and myself and jammed through for about 12 yards to a touchdown. If you tackled Jim Hogan head on he would pull you right over backwards. He was the strongest tackle I ever saw. He seemed to have overpowering strength in his legs. He was a regular player. He never gave up until the whistle blew, but after the Princeton team got its scoring machine at work, the Princeton line outplayed the Yale line.

"I think Yale had as good a team as we had, if not better, that day. The personnel of the team was far superior to ours, but we had our spirit in the game. We were going through Yale to beat the band the last part of the game."

DeWitt, describing the run that made him famous, says:

"Towards the end of the first half, with the score 6 to 0 against Princeton, Yale was rushing us down the field. Roraback, the Yale center, was not able to pass the ball the full distance back for the punter. Rockwell took the ball from quarterback position and passed it to Mitchell, the fullback. On this particular play our whole line went through on the Yale kick formation. No written account that I have ever seen has accurately described just what happened. Ralph Davis was the first man through, and he blocked Mitchell's kick. Ridge Hart, who was coming along behind him, kicked the loose ball forward and the oval was about fifteen to twenty yards from where it started. I was coming through all the time.

"As the bouncing ball went behind Mitchell it bobbed up right in front of me. I probably broke all rules of football by picking it up, but the chances looked good and I took advantage of them. I really was wondering then whether to pick it up or fall on it, but figured that it was harder to fall on it than to pick it up, so I put on all the steam I had and started for the goal. Howard Henry was right behind me until I got near the goal post. After I had kicked the goal the score was 6 to 6. Never can I forget the fierce playing on the part of both teams that now took place.

"Shortly after this in the second half I punted down into Yale's territory. Mitchell fumbled and Ralph Davis fell on the ball on the 30-yard line. We tried to gain, but could not. Bowman fell on the ball after the ensuing kick, which was blocked. It had rolled to the 5-yard line. Yale tried to gain once; then Bowman went back to kick. I can never pay enough tribute to Vetterlein, to the rare judgment that he displayed at this point in the game. When he caught that punt and heeled it, he used fine judgment; but for his good head work we never would have won that game. I kicked my goal from the field from the 43-yard line.

"As Ralph Davis was holding the ball before I kicked it, the Yale players, who were standing ten yards away were not trying to make it any the easier for us. I remember in particular Tom Shevlin was kidding Ralph Davis, who replied: 'Well, Tom, you might as well give it to us now—the score is going to be 11-6,' and just then what Davis had said came through.

"If any one thinks that my entire football experience was a bed of roses, I want to assure him that it was not. I experienced the sadness of injury and of not making the team. The first day I lined up I broke three bones in one hand. Three weeks later, after they had healed I broke the bones in my other hand and so patiently waited until the following year to make the team.

"The next year I went through the bitter experience of defeat, and we were beaten good and plenty by Yale. Defeat came again in 1902. It was in that year that I met, as my opponent, the hardest man I ever played against, Eddie Glass. The Yale team came at me pretty hard the first fifteen minutes. Glass especially crashed into me. He was warned three times by Dashiell in the opening part of the game for strenuous work. Glass was a rough, hard player, but he was not an unfair player at that. I always liked good, rough football. He played the game for all it was worth and was a Gibraltar to the Yale team.

"Now that my playing days are over, I think there is one thing that young fellows never realize until they are through playing; that they might have helped more; that they might have given a few extra minutes to perfect a play. The thing that has always appealed to me most in football is to think of what might have been done by a little extra effort. It is very seldom you see a man come off the field absolutely used up. I have never seen but one or two cases where a man had to be helped to the dressing room. I have always thought such a man did not give as much as he should,—we're all guilty of this offense. A little extra punch might have made a touchdown."

Tichenor, of the University of Georgia, tells the following:

"In a Tech-Georgia game a peculiar thing happened. One of the goal lines was about seven yards from the fence which was twelve feet high and perfectly smooth. Tech had worked the ball down to within about three yards of Georgia's goal near the fence. Here the defense of the Red and Black stiffened and, taking the ball on downs, Ted Sullivan immediately dropped back for a kick. The pass was none too good and he swung his foot into the ball, which struck the cross bar, bounded high up in the air, over the fence, behind the goal post.

"Then began the mighty wall-scaling struggle to get over the fence and secure the coveted ball. As fast as one team would try to boost each other over, their opponents would pull them down. This contest continued for fully five minutes while the crowd roared with delight. In the meantime George Butler, the Referee, took advantage of the situation and, with the assistance of several spectators, was boosted over the fence where he waited for some player to come and fall on the ball, which was fairly hidden in a ditch covered over with branches. Butler tells to this day of the amusing sight as he beheld first one pair of hands grasping the top of the fence; one hand would loosen, then the other; then another set of hands would appear. Heads were bobbing up and down and disappearing one after the other. The crowd now became interested and showed their partiality, and with the assistance of some of the spectators a Tech player made his way over the fence and began his search for the ball, closely followed by a Georgia player. They rushed around frantically looking for the ball. Then Red Wilson joined in the search and quickly located it in the ditch; soon had it safely in his arms and Tech scored a touchdown.

"This was probably the only touchdown play in the history of the game which none of the spectators saw and which only the Referee and two other players saw at the time the player touched the ball down."

That Charlie Brickley was in the way of bringing home the bacon to Harvard is well known to all. There have been very few players who were as reliable as this star. It was in his senior year that he was captain of the team and when the announcement came at the start of the football season that Brickley had been operated upon for appendicitis the football world extended to him its deepest sympathy. During his illness he yearned to get out in time to play against Yale. This all came true. The applause which greeted him when Haughton sent this great player into the game—with the Doctor's approval—must have impressed him that one and all were glad to see him get into the game.

Let us hear what Brickley has to say about playing the game.

"I have often been asked how I felt when attempting a drop kick in a close game before a large crowd. During my first year I was a little nervous, but after that it didn't bother me any more than as if I were eating lunch. Constant practice for years gave me the feeling that I could kick the ball over every time I tried. If I was successful, those who have seen me play are the best judges. Confidence is a necessity in drop kicking. The three hardest games I ever played in were the Dartmouth 3 to 0 game in 1912, and Princeton 3 to 0 in 1913, and the Yale 15 to 5 game of the same year. The hardest field goal I ever had to kick was against Princeton in the mud in 1913.

"The most finished player in all around play I ever came across is Tack Hardwick. He could go through a game, or afternoon's practice and perform every fundamental function of the game in perfect fashion. The most interesting and remarkable player I ever came across was Eddie Mahan. He could do anything on the football field. He was so versatile, that no real defense could be built against him. He had a wonderful intuitive sense and always did just the right thing at the right time."

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