UMPIRE AND REFEREE

There is a group of individuals connected with football to whom the football public pays little attention, until at a most inopportune time in the game, a whistle is blown, or a horn is tooted and you see a presumptuous individual stepping off a damaging five yard penalty against your favorite team. At such a time you arise in your wrath and demand: "Who is that guy anyway? Where did he come from? Why did he give that penalty?" Other muffled tributes are paid him.

In calmer moments you realize that the officials are the caretakers of football. They see to it that the game is preserved to us year after year.

An official is generally a man who has served his time as a player. Those days over, he enters the arena as Umpire, Referee or Linesman.

One who has a keen desire to succeed in this line of work ought to train himself properly for the season's work. In anticipation of the afternoon's work, he must get his proper sleep; no night cafÉs or late hours should be his before a big contest.

The workings of football minds towards an official are most narrow and critical at times. The really wise official will remain away from both teams until just before the game, lest some one accuse him of being too familiar with the other side. He can offer no opinion upon the game before the contest.

Each college has its preferred list of officials. Much time is given to the selection of officials for the different games. Before a man can be chosen for any game it must be shown that he has had no ancestors at either of the colleges in whose game he will act and that he is always unprejudiced. At the same time the fact that a man has been approved as a football official by three of four big colleges is about as fine a football diploma as any one would wish.

For the larger games an official receives one hundred dollars and expenses. This seems a lot of money for an afternoon's work just for sport's sake, but there are many officials on the discarded list to-day who would gladly return all the money they ever received, if they could but regain their former popularity and prestige in the game. Certainly an official is not an over-paid man.

The wise official arrives at the field only a scant half hour before the game. Generally the head coach sends for you, and as he takes you to a secluded spot he describes in his most serious way an important play he will use in the game. He tells you that it is within the rules, but for some curious reason, anxiously asks your opinion. He informs you that the opposing team has a certain play which is clearly illegal and wants you to watch for it constantly. He furthermore warns you solemnly that the other team is going to try to put one of his best players out of the game and beseeches you to anticipate this cowardly action, and you smile inwardly. Football seriousness is oftentimes amusing. Some of our best Umpires always have a little talk with the team before the game.

I often remember the old days when Paul Dashiell, the famous Umpire, used to come into our dressing room. Standing in the center of the room, he would make an appeal to us in his earnest, inimitable way, not to play off-side. He would explain just how he interpreted holding and the use of arms in the game. He would urge us to be thoroughbreds and to play the game fair; to make it a clean game, so that it might be unnecessary to inflict penalties. "Football," he would say, "is a game for the players, not for the officials." Then he would depart, leaving behind him a very clear conviction with us that he meant business. If we broke the rules our team would unquestionably suffer.

Some of my most pleasant football recollections are those gained as an official in the game. I count it a rare privilege to have worked in many games year after year where I came in close contact with the players on different college teams; there to catch their spirit and to see the working out of victories and defeats at close range.

Here it is that one comes in close touch with the great power of leadership, that "do or die" spirit, which makes a player ready to go in a little harder with each play. Knocked over, he comes up with a grin and sets his jaw a little stiffer for next time.

As an official you are often thrilled as you see a man making a great play; you long to pat him on the back and say, "Well done!" If you see an undiscovered fumbled ball you yearn to yell out—"Here it is!" But all this you realize cannot be done unless one momentarily forgets himself like John Bell.

"My recollection is that I acted as an official in but one game," says he. "I was too intense a partisan. Nevertheless, I was pressed into service in a Lehigh-Penn game in the late '80's. I recall that Duncan Spaeth, now Professor of English at Princeton and coach of the Princeton crew, was playing on Pennsylvania's team. He made a long run with the ball; was thrown about the 20-yard line; rose, pushed on and was thrown again between the 5- and 10-yard line. Refusing to be downed, he continued to roll over a number of times, with several Lehigh players hanging on to him, until finally he was stopped, within about a foot of the goal line. Forgetting his official duties, in the excitement of the moment, it is alleged that the referee (myself) jumped up and down excitedly, calling out: 'Roll over, Spaethy, just once more!' And Spaethy did. A touchdown resulted. But the Referee's fate after the game was like that of St. Stephen—he was stoned."

In the old days one official used to handle the entire game. A man would even officiate in a game where his own college was a contestant. This was true in the case of Walter Camp, Tracy Harris, and other heroes of the past. Later the number of officials was increased. Such a list records Wyllys Terry, Alex Moffat, Pa Corbin, Ray Tompkins, S.V. Coffin, Appleton and other men who protected the game in the early stages.

Within my recollection, for many years the two most prominent, as well as most efficient officials, whose names were always coupled, were McClung, Referee, and Dashiell, Umpire. No two better officials ever worked together and there is as much necessity for team work in officiating as there is in playing. Both graduated from Lehigh, and the prominent position that they took in football was a source of great satisfaction to their university.

Officials come and go. These men have had their day, but no two ever contributed better work. The game of Football was safe in their hands.

Paul Dashiell and Walter Camp are the only two survivors of the original Rules Committee.

Dashiell's Reminiscences

"As an official, the first big game I umpired was in 1894 between Yale and Princeton, following this with nine consecutive years of umpiring the match," writes Dashiell. "After Harvard and Yale resumed relations, I umpired their games for six years running. I officiated in practically all the Harvard-Penn' games and Penn'-Cornell games during those years, as well as many of the minor games, having had practically every Saturday taken each fall during those twelve years, so I saw about all the football there was. When I look back on those years and what they taught me I feel that I'd not be without them for the world. They showed so much human nature, so many hundreds of plucky things, mingled with a lot of mean ones; such a show of manhood under pressure. I learned to know so many wonderful chaps and some of my most valued friendships were formed at those times. I liked the responsibility, too; although I knew that from one game to another I was walking on ice so thin that one bad mistake, however unintended, would break it.

"The rules were so incomplete that common sense was needed and, frequently, interpretation was simply by mutual consent. Bitterness of feeling between the big colleges made my duties all the harder. But it was an untold satisfaction when I could feel that I had done well, and as I said, the responsibility had its fascination and, in the main, was a great satisfaction.

"And then came the inevitable, a foul seen only by me, which called for an immediate penalty. This led to scathing criticism and accusations of unfairness by many that did not understand the incident, altogether leaving a sting that will go down with me to my grave in spite of my happy recollections of the game. I had always taken a great pride in the job, and in what the confidence of the big universities from one year to another meant. I knew a little better than anybody else how conscientiously I had tried to be fair and to use sense and judgment, and the end of it all hurt a lot.

"One friendship was made in these years that has been worth more than words can tell. I refer to that of Matthew McClung. To be known as a co-official with McClung was a privilege that only those who knew him can appreciate. I had known him before at Lehigh in his undergraduate days, and had played on the same teams with him. In after years we were officials together in a great many of the big games where feeling ran high and manliness and fairness, as well as judgment, were often put to a pretty severe test at short notice. Never was there a squarer sportsman, or a fairer, more conscientious and efficient official; nor a truer, more gallant type of real man than he. His early death took out of the game a man of the kind we can ill afford to lose and no tribute that I could pay him would be high enough.

"One night after a Yale-Harvard game at Cambridge, I was boarding the midnight train for New York. The porter had my bag, and as we entered the car, he confided in me, in an almost awestruck tone, that: 'Dad dere gentlemin in de smokin' compartment am John L. Sullivan.'

"I crept into my berth, but next morning, in the washroom, I recognized John L. as the only man left. He emerged from his basin and asked:

"'Were you at that football game yesterday?' and then 'Who won?'

"I told him, and by way of making conversation, asked him if he was interested in all those outdoor games. But his voice dropped to the sepulchral and confidential, as he said:

"'There's murder in that game!'

"I answered: 'Well! How about the fighting game?'

"He came back with: 'Sparring! It doesn't compare in roughness, or danger, with football. In sparring you know what you are doing. You know what your opponent is trying to do, and he's right there in front of you, and, there's only one! But in football! Say, there's twenty-two people trying to do you!'

"There being only twenty-one other than the player concerned, I could not but infer that he meant to indicate the umpire as the twenty-second."

My Personal Experiences

In my experience as an official I recall the fact that I began officiating as a Referee, and had been engaged and notified in the regular way to referee the Penn'-Harvard game on Franklin Field in 1905. When I arrived at the field, McClung was the other official. He had never umpired but had always acted as a Referee. In my opinion a man should be either Referee or Umpire. Each position requires a different kind of experience and I do not believe officials can successfully interchange these positions. Those who have officiated can appreciate the predicament I was in, especially just at that time when there was so much talk of football reform, by means of changing the rules, changing the style of the game, stopping mass plays. However, I consented; for appreciating that McClung was sincere in his statement that he would do nothing but referee, I was forced to accept the Umpire's task.

It was a game full of intense rivalry. The desire to win was carrying the men beyond the bounds of an ordinarily spirited contest, and the Umpire's job proved a most severe task. It was in this game that either four or five men were disqualified.

I continued several years after this in the capacity of Umpire. One unfortunate experience as Umpire came as a result of a penalty inflicted upon Wauseka, an Indian player who had tackled too vigorously a Penn' player who was out of bounds. Much wrangling ensued and a policeman was called upon the field. It was the quickest way to keep the game from getting out of hand.

Washington and Jefferson played the Indians at Pittsburgh some years ago. I acted as Umpire. The game was played in a driving rain storm and a muddier field I never saw. The players, as well as the officials, were covered with mud. In fact my sweater was saturated, the players having used it as a sort of towel to dry their hands. A kicked ball had been fumbled on the goal line and there was a battle royal on the part of the players to get the coveted ball. I dived into the scramble of wriggling, mud-covered players to detect the man who might have the ball. The stockings and jerseys of the players were so covered with mud that you could not tell them apart. As I was forcing my way down into the mass of players I heard a man shouting for dear life: "I'm an Indian! I'm an Indian! It's my ball!"

When I finally got hold of the fellow with the ball I could not for the life of me tell whether he was an Indian or not. However, I held up the decision until some one got a bucket and sponge and the player's face was mopped off, whereupon I saw that he was an Indian all right. He had scored a touchdown for his team.

An official in the game is subject to all sorts of criticisms and abuse. Sometimes they are humorous and others have a sting which is not readily forgotten.

I admit, on account of my size, there were times in a game when I would get in a player's way; sometimes in the spectators' way. During a Yale-Harvard game, in which I was acting as an official, the play came close to the side line, and I had taken my position directly between the players and the spectators, when some kind friend from the bleachers yelled out:

"Get off the field, how do you expect us to see the game?"

I shall never forget one poor little fellow who had recovered a fumbled ball, while on top of him was a wriggling mass of players trying to get the ball. As I slowly, but surely, forced my way down through the pile of players I finally landed on top of him. I shall never forget how he grunted and yelled, "Six or seven of you fellows get off of me."

It was in the same game that some man from the bleachers called out as I was running up the field: "Here comes the Beef Trust."

There was a coach of a Southern college who tried to put over a new one on me, when I caught him coaching from the side lines in a game with Pennsylvania on Franklin Field. I first warned him, and when he persisted in the offense, I put him behind the ropes, on a bench, besides imposing the regular penalty. It was not long after this, that I discovered he had left the bench. I found him again on the side line, wearing a heavy ulster and change of hat to disguise himself, but this quick change artist promptly got the gate.

I knew a player who had an opportunity to get back at an official, but there was no rule to meet the situation. A penalty had been imposed, because the player had used improper language. A heated argument followed, and I am afraid the Umpire was guilty of a like offense, when the player exclaimed:

"Well! Well! Why don't you penalize yourself?"

He surely was right. I should have been penalized.

One sometimes unconsciously fails to deal out a kindness for a courtesy done. That was my experience in a Harvard-Yale game at Cambridge one year. On the morning before the game, while I was at the Hotel Touraine, I was making an earnest effort to get, what seemed almost impossible, a seat for a friend of mine. I had finally purchased one for ten dollars, and so made known the fact to two or three of my friends in the corridor. About this time a tall, athletic, chap, who had heard that I wanted an extra ticket, volunteered to get me one at the regular price, which he succeeded in doing. I had no difficulty in returning my speculator's ticket. I thanked the fellow cordially for getting me the ticket. I did not see him again until late that afternoon when the game was nearly over. Some rough work in one of the scrimmages compelled me to withdraw one of the Harvard players from the game. As I walked with him to the side lines, I glanced at his face, only to recognize my friend—the ticket producer. The umpire's task then became harder than ever, as I gave him a seat on the side line. That player was Vic Kennard.

Evarts Wrenn, one of our foremost officials a few years ago, has had some interesting experiences of his own.

"While umpiring a game between Michigan and Ohio State, at Columbus," he says, "Heston, Michigan's fullback, carrying the ball, broke through the line, was tackled and thrown; recovered his feet, started again, was tackled and thrown again, threw off his tacklers only to be thrown again. Again he broke away. All this time I was backing up in front of the play. As Heston broke away from the last tacklers, I backed suddenly into the outstretched arms of the Ohio State fullback, who, it appears, had been backing up step by step with me. Heston ran thirty yards for a touchdown. You can imagine how unpopular I was with the home team, and how ridiculous my plight appeared.

"Another instance occurred in a Chicago-Cornell game at Marshall Field," Wrenn goes on to say. "You know it always seems good to an official to get through a game without having to make any disagreeable decisions. I was congratulating myself on having got through this game so fortunately. As I was hurrying off the field, I was stopped by the little Cornell trainer, who had been very much in evidence on the side lines during the game. He called to me.

"'Mr. Wrenn' (and I straightened, chucking out my chest and getting my hand ready for congratulations). 'That was the —— —— piece of umpiring I ever saw in my life.' I cannot describe my feelings. I was standing there with my mouth open when he had got yards away."

Dan Hurley, who was captain of the 1904 Harvard team, writes me, as follows:

"Football rules are changed from year to year. The causes of these changes are usually new points which have arisen the year previous during football games. A good many rules are interpreted according to the judgment of each individual official. I remember two points that arose in the Harvard-Penn' game in 1904, at Soldiers' Field. In this year there was great rivalry between the players representing Harvard and Pennsylvania. The contest was sharp and bitterly fought all the way through. Both teams had complained frequently to Edwards, the Umpire. Finally he caught two men red-handed, so to speak. There was no argument. Both men admitted it. It so happened that both men were very valuable to their respective teams. The loss of either man would be greatly felt. Both captains cornered Edwards and both agreed that he was perfectly right in his contention that both men should have to leave the field, but—and it was this that caused the new rule to be enforced the next year. Both captains suggested that they were perfectly willing for both men to remain in the game despite the penalty, and with eager faces both captains watched Edwards' face as he pondered whether he should or should not permit them to remain in the game. He did, however, allow both to play. Of course, this ruling was establishing a dangerous precedent; therefore, the next year the Rules Committee incorporated a new rule to the effect that two captains of opposing teams could not by mutual agreement permit a player who ought to be removed for committing a foul to remain in the game."

Bill Crowell of Swarthmore, later a coach at Lafayette, is another official who has had curious experiences.

"In a Lehigh-Indian game a few years ago at South Bethlehem, in which I was acting as referee," he says, "in the early part of the game Lehigh held Carlisle for four downs inside of the three-yard line, and when on the last try, Powell, the Indian back, failed to take it over, contrary to the opinion of Warner, their coach. I called out, 'Lehigh's ball,' and moved behind the Lehigh team which was forming to take the ball out of danger. Just before the ball was snapped, and everything was quiet in the stands, Warner called across the field:

"'Hey! Crowell! you're the best defensive man Lehigh's got.'"

Phil Draper, famous in Williams football, and without doubt one of the greatest halfbacks that ever played, also served his time as an official. He says:

"From my experience as an official, I believe that most of their troubles come from the coaches. If things are not going as well with their team as they ought to go, they have a tendency to blame it on the officials in order to protect themselves."

"There was, in my playing days, as now, the usual controversy in reference to the officials of the game," says Wyllys Terry, "and the same controversies arose in those days in regard to the decisions which were given. My sympathies have always been with the officials in the game in all decisions that they have rendered. It is impossible for them to see everything, but when they come to make a decision they are the only ones that are on the spot and simply have to decide on what they see at the moment.

"It is a difficult position. Thousands say you are right, thousands say you are wrong—but my belief has always been that nine times out of ten the official's decision is correct. It was my misfortune to officiate in but one large game; that between Harvard and Princeton in the fall of '87. This was the year that there was a great outcry regarding the rules, particularly in reference to tackling. It was decided that a tackle below the waist was a foul and the penalty was disqualification. I was appointed Umpire in the Harvard-Princeton game of that year. Before the game I called the teams together and told them what the representatives of the three colleges had agreed upon. They had authorized me to carry the rules out in strict accordance with their instructions and I proposed to do so. In the early part of the game there was a scrimmage on one side of the field and after the mass had been cleared away, I heard somebody call for me. On looking around I found that the call came from Holden, Captain of the Harvard team. He called my attention to the fact that he was still being tackled and that the man had both his arms around his knee, with his head resting on it. He demanded, under the agreed interpretation of the rules, that the tackle be decided a foul, and that the man be disqualified and sent from the field. The question of intent was not allowed me, for I had to decide on the facts as they presented themselves. The result was that Cowan, one of the most powerful, and one of the best linemen that ever stood on a football field, was disqualified. The Captain of the Princeton team remarked at the time, 'I would rather have any three men disqualified than Cowan.' As the game up to that time had been very close, and the Princeton sympathizers were sure of victory, I believe I was the most cordially hated ex-football player that ever existed. Shortly after this the Harvard men had the Princeton team near their goal line and in possession of the ball. Two linemen used their hands, which on the offense is illegal, and made a hole through which the Harvard halfback passed and crossed the line for a touchdown amid tremendous cheers from the Harvard contingent. This touchdown was not allowed by the Umpire. Again I was the most hated football man that lived, so far as Harvard was concerned. The result was I had no friends on either side of the field.

"After the game, in talking it over with Walter Camp, he assured me that the decisions had been correct, but that he was very glad he had not had to make them. In spite of these decisions, I was asked to umpire in a number of big games the next year: but that one experience had been enough for me. I never appeared again in that or any other official capacity. I have been trying for the last thirty-two years to get back the friends which, before that game, I had in both Princeton and Harvard circles, with only a fair amount of success."

I have always considered it a great privilege to have been associated as an official in the game with Pa Corbin. I know of no man that ever worked as earnestly and intelligently to carry out his official duties, and year after year he has kept up his interest in the game, not only as a coach, but as a thoroughly competent official.

As a favorite with all colleges his services were eagerly sought. He recollects the following:—

"The experience that made as much of an impression upon me as any, was the game with Penn-Lafayette which came just after the experience of the year before which developed so much rough play. The man agreed upon for Umpire, did not appear, and after waiting a while the two captains came to me and asked if I would umpire in addition to acting as referee. I accused them of conspiracy to put me entirely out of business, but they insisted and I reluctantly acquiesced. I told both teams that I would be so busy that I would have no time for arguments or even investigation and any move that seemed to me like roughness would be penalized to the full extent of the rules regardless of whom he was or of how many. The result was that it was one of the most decent games and in fact almost gentlemanly that I have ever experienced."

Joe Pendleton has been an official for twenty years. He is an alert, conscientious officer in the game. I have worked many times with Joe and he is a very interesting partner in the official end of the game.

In the fall of 1915 Joe had a very severe illness and his absence from the football field was deeply regretted.

Joe always wore his old Bowdoin sweater and when out upon the field, the big B on the chest of Joe's white sweater almost covered him up.

"A few years ago I had occasion to remove a player from a game for a foul play," says Joe, "and in a second the quarterback was telling me of my mistake. 'Why, you can't put that man out,' he said, and when I questioned him as to where he got such a mistaken idea, his reply was:

"'Why, he is our captain!'

"In another game after the umpire had disqualified a player for kicking an opponent, the offending player appealed to me, basing his claim on the ground that he had not kicked the man until after the whistle had been blown and the play was over. Another man on the same team claimed exemption from a penalty on the ground that he had slugged his opponent while out of bounds. He actually believed that we could not penalize for fouls off the playing field.

"The funniest appeal I ever had made to me was made by a player years ago who asked that time be taken out in order that he might change a perfectly good jersey for one of a different color. It seems he had lost his jersey and had borrowed one from a player on the home team. When I asked him why he wanted to change his jersey he replied:

"'Because my own team are kicking the stuffing out of me and I must get a different colored jersey. At times my team mates take me for an opponent.'

"In a game where it was necessary to caution the players against talking too much to their opponents one particularly curious incident occurred.

"One team, in order to give one of the larger college elevens a stiff practice game, had put in the field two or three ringers. The big college team men were rather suspicious that their opponents were not entirely made up of bona fide students. A big tackle on the larger team made the following remark to a supposed ringer:

"'I'll bet you five to one you cannot name the president of your college.' The answer came back, 'Well, old boy, perhaps I can't, but perhaps I can show you how to play tackle and that's all I'm here for.'"

The Princeton-Yale game of 1915 was one of the most bitterly contested in the history of football. Princeton was a strong favorite, but Yale forced the fighting and had their opponents on the defensive almost from the beginning. Princeton's chances were materially hurt by a number of severe penalties which cost her considerably in excess of one hundred yards. Each of the officials had a hand in the infliction of the penalties, but the Referee, who happened to be Nate Tufts of Brown, had, of course, to enforce them all by marking off the distance given to Yale and putting the ball in the proper place.

In the evening after the game, a number of football officials and others were dining in New York; in the party was a Princeton graduate, who was introduced to Mr. Tufts, the Referee of the game of the afternoon. At the introduction the Princeton man remarked that when he was a boy he had read of Jesse James, the McCoy brothers, and other noted bandits and train robbers, but that he took off his hat to Mr. Tufts as the king of them all.

Okeson, a star player of Lehigh and prominent official, recalls this game:

"In 1908 I umpired in a memorable game which took place at New Haven between Yale and Princeton, which resulted in a victory for Yale, 12-10. This was before any rule was inserted calling for the Referee to notify the teams to appear on the field at the beginning of the second half. At that time a ten-minute intermission was allowed between the halves. The first half closed with the score 10-0 in favor of Princeton. At the end of about seven minutes Mike Thompson, who was Referee, following the custom that had grown up, although no rule required it, left the field to notify the teams to return. When he came back I asked him if he had found them, for on the old Yale Field it was something of a job to locate the teams once they had passed through the gates. Mike said that they were in the Field House on the other side of the baseball field and that he had called in to them. The Princeton players appeared in a minute or two, but no sign of Yale. Finally, getting suspicious, Mike asked Bill Roper, who was head coach at Princeton that year, if the Yale team had been in the Field House. The answer was 'No,' and we suddenly woke up to the fact that although time for the intermission had ended three or four minutes before, the Yale team was not notified, and furthermore, no one knew where they were except that they were somewhere under the stands. There were many gates and to leave by one to search meant running a chance that the Yale team might appear almost immediately through another and then the game be further delayed by the absence of the Referee. This being the case, Mike had no choice but to do as he did, namely, send messengers through all gates. One of these messengers met the Yale team coming along under the stands. The coaches had decided that time must be up, although none of them had kept a record of it, and had started back finally without any notice. Eight minutes over the legal ten had been taken before they appeared on the field and Bill Roper was raging. As Yale won in the second half it was only natural that we officials were greatly censored by Princeton, and Yale did not escape criticism. Yet the whole thing came from the fact that a custom had grown up of depending on the Referee to find and bring the teams back to the field instead of each team either staying on the field, or failing that, taking the responsibility on themselves of getting back in time. Yale simply followed the usual custom and 'Mike' was misled due to being told that both teams had gone to the Field House by one of those ready volunteers who furnish information whether they know anything about the subject in hand or not."