THE FAMILY IN FOOTBALL

It is almost possible, I think, to divide football men into two distinct classes—those who are made into players (and often very good ones) by the coaches and those who are born with the football instinct. Just how to define football instinct is a puzzle, but it is very easy to discern it in a candidate, even if he never saw a football till he set foot on the campus. By and large, it will be read first in a natural aptitude for following the ball. After that, in the general way he has of handling himself, from falling on the ball to dodging and straight arm. Watch the head coach grin when some green six-foot freshman dives for a rolling ball and instinctively clutches it into the soft part of his body as he falls on it. Nobody told him to do it just that way, or to keep his long arms and legs under control so as to avoid accident, but he does it nevertheless and thus shows his football instinct.

There is still another kind of football instinct, and that is the kind that is passed down from father to son and from brother to brother. They say that the lacemakers of Nottingham don't have to be taught how to make lace because, as children, they somehow absorb most of the necessary knowledge in the bosom of their family, and I think the same thing is true of sons and brothers of football players. Generally, they pick up the essentials of the game from "Pop" long before they get to school or college or else are properly educated by an argus-eyed brother.

But the matter of getting football knowledge—of developing the instinct—isn't always left to the boy. Unless I'm grievously mistaken it's more often the fond father who takes the first step. In fact, some fathers I've known have, with a commendable eye to future victories, even dated the preparation of their offspring from the hour when he was first shown them by the nurse: "Let me take a squint at the little rascal," says the beaming father and expertly examines the young hopeful's legs. "Ah, hah, bully! We'll make a real football player out of him!"

And so, some day when Dick or Ken is six or seven, Father produces a strange looking, leather-cased bladder out of a trunk where Mother hasn't discovered it and blows it up out on the front porch under the youngster's inquisitive eye and tucks in the neck and laces it up.

"What is it, Pop? What you going to do with it?"

"That's what men call a football, Son. And right now I'm going to kick it." And kick it he does—all around the lot—until after a particularly good lift he chuckles to himself, the old war horse, and with the smell of ancient battles in his nostrils sits down to give the boy his first lesson in the manliest and best game on earth. And this first lesson is tackling. Perhaps the picture on the opposite page will remind you of the time you taught your boys the good old game.

This particular kind of football instinct has produced many of the finest players the colleges have ever seen. In a real football family there isn't much bluffing as to what you can do nor are there many excuses for a fumble or a missed tackle. With your big brothers' ears open and their tongues ready with a caustic remark, it doesn't need "Pop's" keen eye to keep you within the realms of truth as to the length of your run or why you missed that catch.

Quite often, as it happens, "Pop" is thinking of a certain big game he once played in and remembering a play—Ah! if only he could forget that play!—in which he fumbled and missed the chance of a life-time. Like some inexorable motion picture film that refuses to throw anything but one fatal scene on the screen, his recollections make the actors take their well-remembered positions and the play begins. For the thousandth time he gnashes his teeth as he sees the ball slip from his grasp. "Dog-gone it," he mutters, "if my boy doesn't do better in the big game than I did, I'll whale the hide off him!"

Strangely enough not all brothers of a football family follow one another to the same college, and there have been several cases where brother played against brother. But for the only son of a great player to go anywhere else than to his father's college would be rank heresy. I daresay even the other college wouldn't like it.

Of famous fathers whose football instinct descended without dilution into their sons perhaps the easiest remembered have been Walter Camp, who captained the Elis in '78 and '79 and whose son, Walter, Jr., played fullback in 1911—Alfred T. Baker, one of the Princeton backs in '83, and '84, whose son Hobey captained his team in 1914—Snake Ames, who played in four championship games for Princeton against both Yale and Harvard, and whose son, Knowlton Ames, Jr., played on the Princeton teams of '12, '13 and '14—and that sterling Yale tackle of '91 and '92, "Wallie" Winter, whose son, Wallace, Jr., played on his Freshman team in 1915.

When we come to enumerating the brothers who have played, it is the Poe family which comes first to mind. Laying aside friendship or natural bias, I feel that my readers will agree with me in the belief that it would be hard to find six football players ranking higher than the six Poe brothers. Altogether, Princeton has seen some twenty-two years of Poes, during at least thirteen of which there was a Poe on the Varsity team. Johnson Poe, '84, came first, to be followed by Edgar Allen, twice captain, then by Johnny, now in his last resting place "somewhere in France," then by Nelson, then Arthur, twice the fly in Yale's ointment, and lastly by Gresham Poe. I haven't a doubt but that after due lapse of time this wonderful family will produce other Poes, sons and cousins, to carry on the precious tradition.

Next in point of numbers probably comes the Riggs family of five brothers, of whom three, Lawrence, Jesse and Dudley, played on Princeton teams, while Harry and Frank were substitutes. The Hodge family were four who played at Princeton—Jack, Hugh, Dick and Sam.

After the Riggs family comes the Young family of Cornell—Ed., Charles, George and Will—all of whom played tremendously for the Carnelian and White in the nineties. Charles Young later studied at the Theological Seminary at Princeton and played wonderful football on the scrub in my time from sheer love of sport, since as he is, at this writing, physical director at Cornell. Amherst boasts of the wonderful Pratt brothers, who did much for Amherst football.

Of threes there are quite a number. Prominent among them have been the Wilsons of both Yale and Princeton, Tom being a guard on the Princeton teams of 1911 and 1912, while Alex captained Yale in 1915 and saw another brother in orange and black waiting on the side lines across the field. Situations like this are always productive of thrills. Let the brother who has been waiting longingly throw off his blanket and rush across the field into his position and instantly the news flashes through the stands. "Brother against brother!" goes the thrilling whisper—and every heart gives an extra throb as it hungers in an unholy but perfectly human way for a clash between the two. There were three Harlan brothers who played at Princeton in '81, '83, '84.

At Harvard Lothrope, Paul and Ted Withington; Percy, Jack and Sam Wendell.

In Cornell a redoubtable trio were the Taussigs. Of these J. Hawley Taussig played end for four years ending with the '96 team. Charles followed in the same position in '99, '00 and '01 and Joseph K., later Lieutenant Commander of the torpedoboat destroyer Wadsworth played quarter on the Naval Academy team in '97 and '98.

A third trio of brothers were the Greenways of Yale. Of these, John and Gil Greenway played both football and baseball while Jim Greenway rowed on the crew. Another Princeton family, well known, has been the Moffats. The first of these to play football was Henry, who played on the '73 team which was the first to beat Yale. He was followed by the redoubtable Alex, who kicked goals from all over the field in '82, '83, and '84, by Will Moffat who was a Varsity first baseman and by Ned Moffat who played with me at Lawrenceville. Equally well known have been the Hallowells of Harvard—F. W. Hallowell, '93, R.H. Hallowell, '96, and J.W. Hallowell, '01. Another Hallowell—Penrose—was on the track team, while Colonel Hallowell, the father, was always a power in Harvard athletics.

When we come to cite the pairs of brothers who have played, the list seems endless. The first to come to mind are Laurie Bliss of the Yale teams of '90, '91 and '92 and "Pop" Bliss of the '92 team, principally, I think, because of Laurie's wonderful end running behind interference and because "Pop" Bliss, at a crucial moment in a Harvard-Yale game deliberately disobeyed the signal to plunge through centre on Harvard's 2-yard line and ingeniously ran around the end for a touchdown. Tommy Baker and Alfred Baker were brothers.

Continuing the Yale list, there have been the Hinkeys, Frank and Louis, who need no praise as wonderful players—Charlie and Johnny de Saulles—Sherman and "Ted" Coy—W.O. Hickok, the famous guard of '92, '93 and '94 and his brother Ross—Herbert and Malcolm McBride, both of whom played fullback—Tad Jones and his brother Howard—the Philbins, Steve and Holliday—Charlie Chadwick and his younger brother, George, who captained his team in 1902. Their father before them was an athlete.

In Harvard there have been the Traffords, Perry and Bernie—Arthur Brewer and Charley the fleet of foot, who ran ninety yards in the Harvard-Princeton game of 1895 and caught Suter from behind—the two Shaws,—Evarts Wrenn, '92 and his famous cousin Bob who played tennis quite as well as he played football.

Princeton, too, has seen many pairs of brothers—"Beef" Wheeler, the famous guard of '92, '93 and '94 and Bert Wheeler, the splendid fullback of '98 and '99 whose cool-headed playing helped us win from Yale both in Princeton and at New Haven—the Rosengartens, Albert and his cousin Fritz and Albert's brother who played for Pennsylvania—the Tibbotts, Dave and Fred—J.R. Church, '88, and Bill Church, the roaring, stamping tackle of '95 and '96—Ross and Steve McClave—Harry and George Lathrope—Jarvis Geer and Marshall Geer who played with me on teams at both school and college—Billy Bannard and Horace Bannard—Fred Kafer and Dana Kafer, the first named being also the very best amateur catcher I have ever seen. Fred Kafer, by the way, furnished an interesting anachronism in that while he was one of the ablest mathematicians of his time in college he found it wellnigh impossible to remember his football signals! Let us not forget, too, Bal Ballin, who was a Princeton captain, and his brother Cyril.

In other colleges, the instances of football skill developed by brotherly emulation have been nearly as well marked. Dartmouth, for instance, produced the Bankhart brothers—Cornell, the Starbucks—one of them, Raymond, captaining his team—the Cools, Frank and Gib—the latter being picked by good judges as the All-America center in 1915—and the Warners, Bill and Glenn.

The greatest three players from any one family that ever played the backfield would probably be the three Draper brothers—Louis, Phil and Fred. All went to Williams and all were stars; heavy, fast backs, who were good both on defense and offense, capable of doing an immense amount of work and never getting hurt.

At Pennsylvania, there have been the Folwells, Nate and R.C. Folwell and the Woodruffs, George and Wiley, although George Woodruff, originator of the celebrated "guards back," was a Yale man long before he coached at Pennsylvania. It is impossible for any one who saw Jack Minds play to forget this great back of '94, '95, '96 and '97, whose brother also wore the Red and Blue a few years later.

Doubtless there have been many more fathers, brothers and sons who have been equally famous and I ask indulgence for my sins of omission, for the list is long. Principally, I have recalled their names for the reason that I knew or now know many of these great players intimately and so have learned the curious longing—perhaps "passion"—for the game which is passed from one to the other of a football family. In a way this might be compared with the military spirit which allows a family to state proudly that "we have always been Army (or Navy) people." And who shall say that the clash and conflict of this game, invented and played only by thoroughly virile men, are not productive of precisely those qualities of which the race may, some day, well stand in need. If by the passing down from father to son and from brother to brother of a spirit of cheerful self-denial throughout the hard fall months—of grim doggedness under imminent defeat and of fair play at all times, whether victor or vanquished—a finer, truer sense of what a man may be and do is forged out of the raw material, then football may feel that it has served a purpose even nobler than that of being simply America's greatest college game.