A DARTMOUTH ODYSSEY

In a recent address to the senior class President Hopkins, telling of some of his latest travels., said the alumni of the college are vitally interested in athletics, and for two reasons. First, he said, because athletics are worth being interested in, and secondly because it is on the field of sport for the most part that the College is dramatized for them, however remotely they are separated from the college. I liked the word "dramatized" in this connection.

For in an Odyssey of four years' duration, taking me to every section of the country, embracing a total of about 35,000 miles, I know that any who have represented Dartmouth on the stage of athletic drama have always realized that it was not for personal gain that we strove, but rather to play our parts as representatives of Dartmouth. And it has been a rare privilege, for always, from pit to gallery there has been support and encouragement, lusty, masculine support regardless of victory or defeat, regardless of majority or minority. I hope I will not be accused of being too sentimental when I say that there was a lump in my throat as I stood on the gridiron out in San Francisco in the game between East and West and heard a loyal band of Dartmouth alumni, numbering certainly not more than twenty-five, making their wah-hoo-wahs heard among all the thousands present, the minute I took the field. Thus it has been on every field, for Dartmouth alumni are without a doubt the most loyal group of college men in the world, and I think that I have some reason to know whereof I speak. It was thrilling to find the Dartmouth alumni group at San Francisco which greeted me, the single representative of the College, larger than any other welcoming college group, and I do not except the Yale alumni group who so far outnumber us, and who had three such representatives as Caldwell, Scott and Fishwick to receive. It made one wonder what spell the little college up in the foothills of the White Mountains cast upon its sons that alumni should leave everything to come from as far as Montana and Oregon to greet such an unworthy representative as myself.

Long before I came to Dartmouth I had heard of the "spirit" of Dartmouth men. I did not know exactly what it was then. Ido now. In four years of travel to the south, to the" middle west, to the far west, to Canada and throughout New England, it has always been the same enthusiasm, which was love for "the college on the hill" I found undiminished everywhere. I will be very proud to receive a degree from such an institution, but I will not be one whit more proud than I was when my fellow team-mates, even, on the trip to the coast, began to query about this Dartmouth "spirit." I shall never forget Herb Joesting of Minnesota, perhaps the greatest football player on the team, firing questions at me about "this Dartmouth of yours" in the presence of all the rest of the boys. He told a story of "Fat" Spears which illustrates all that 'I have been trying to say. In the middle of a most important conference game, said Joesting, the famous "Fat" anxiously called one of the heelers aside and told him to hurry out and ascertain how the Dartmouth Cornell game of the clay was going.. Dartmouth and its destines were quite as important to "Fat" as the doings of his own Minnesota warriors. I think that epitomizes the whole idea, and Herb Joesting was quite as anxious to know what the secret was as I am.

I do not know why men love Dartmouth as they do that is I cannot lay my finger on the reason but I know that they do love Dartmouth fervently, even anxiously. This, too, was particularly noticeable in California, because it was so far from Hanover. Business men, professional men, and men in public life were all grouped about the table at the luncheon tendered me in San Francisco, all supremely interested in one thing, Dartmouth, and all that concerned her welfare. I think their breathless interest in even the most trivial anecdote which I had to relate to them of the College lent ease and sureness to my awkward talk. They wanted to know what the campus looked like, the new buildings, the personnel of the student body, of this course, or that course, of this professor, or that professor, but above all, "Will you have a good football team next year?" Perhaps it was because my field was that of athletics, but that was the question most often asked me in my 35,000 mile Odyssey. But there is one other note which is always sounded when I have been present among alumni groups, the final note usually, after all the anxious questions are over, and the Dartmouth dream is in every mind, the note of unlimited faith in Dartmouth's leader, in Prexy, and we know it is a faith wellfounded.

So it is my personal gratitude as well as that of all the boys who have played on Dartmouth teams with me, for all the kindness and encouragement shown us by the alumni that prompted me most of all to take this opportunity to give expression to it. It has been a rare privilege, this Odyssey in the name of a great college; this attempting to do something, even the small things one can do on the field of sport, Tor Dartmouth. And so I am glad to tell the alumni some of the interesting little things which have come to my attention in all this traveling, if anybody should be interested. But before this, I had to say that I am enormously proud of Dartmouth, and that we all should be.

Naturally most of the little anecdotes which come most quickly to my mind are connected with football, for behind all the glamour and pageantry of the '"big games" there is a great deal of interesting and very human by-play, which those who attend the spectacle never suspect. Thus, when in the game with'. Harvard at the stadium in 1925,. Bob MacPhail was forced to pause in his signals with the ball on the five yard, line and over fifty thousand people waiting breathlessly, all becauseone of the backs insisted on calling "signals,"" most onlookers were out of patience with the stupid player. They never suspected that one of Ji m Campion's best Dobb's hats had held up the game. Yet that was exactly the case. Previous to the game Jim had offered a hat to every back who scored. In the periods which preceded both Jim Oberlander and myself had secured hats for ourselves. But McPhail had been modest enough not to attempt to cross the line himself for a score. In fact I think he had entirely forgotten Jim Campion andl Dobbs and hats in general. So it was with a fierce scowl that he accosted me for delaying the game with calling "signals" at this crucial moment. While fifty-two thousand waited I whispered in his. ear that he might as. well have a new hat. The frown disappeared, and with a light in his face which became almost a grin he changed the signal, carried the ball over and won himself a beautiful, pearl-gray Dobbs fedora. But the public at large never knew.

Something in the same vein happened at Chicago, on that victorious trip of the same year, and had to do with George Tully, football end extraordinary. And by the way I think that much of the wizardry of both George and Heinie Sage in teaming up either on forward passes or tackles was due to this same by-play. There was great friendly rivalry between them. When, once in a great while, George missed a tackle, Heinie must call to him whether it be at the Harvard stadium or the Yale bowl, and ask him why he didn't give up football altogether. Likewise if Heinie made an excusable slip, George would wave his big hand deprecatingly at him, grinning broadly the while. But to get back to the Chicago trip; it was while we lay resting in the locker room just previous to that memorable game that it all started. By some chance I caught sight of the day's newspaper on a nearby chair. Glancing through it I saw an advertisement telling of the offer of a suit by a Chicago merchant to him who scored first for either team. I guarded the paper jealously, deciding it would be a great joke on the team if I could manage to score first, and then tell them about it. But such was not to be the case. For although earlier in the season I had been on the receiving end of the forward passes, for this particular day Coach Jess had decided to cross up the strategy of the Chicagoans by having me throw some of the passes. So it was that early in the game we were well up the field toward our opponents' goal when Bob gave the signal for a pass, with me on the passing end. The ball having been snapped back, far down the field I saw George, clear of everybody, and with a sinking heart I heaved the suit of clothes,—for it was no longer a ball to me—straight into those magic hands of Tully's. And I needed a suit of clothes so badly! When I told George of the prize a few minutes later, there were a few suppressed snickers, for it was a good joke—but it was on me.

A little incident of that trip to Chicago —we went by the northern route through Canada—made us realize that although the fame of Dartmouth is great and growing, and the destinies of its football team of importance to thousands of people, there are those who know as little about Dartmouth as most of us know about the theory of relativity. It was in London, Ontario, where we made a short stop that one of the natives asked us if we had come all the way from Dartmouth, England. We assured him that we had! However, lam sure that a few years will take care of all such shameful situations as this one.

Mention of Jess Hawley above has brought to mind a story I shall always like to tell of him. It happened at Canaan, N. H., the night before the Cornell game of 1925 in Hanover, whither we had gone to rest before the contest. Of course everyone knows that one of the things which has made him the great coach which he is consists of the way in which he makes the boys not only like him with all their hearts, but respect him absolutely. He is not really stern or haughty with his men, but there is a very valuable reserve of his which does much for the psychological attitude of the fellows he works with. That night at Canaan there was a spirit of modulated geniality and informality, all tempered by the big thought of the game the next day. All the boys were in their shirtsleeves, without ties, and with shirts open at the neck. And thus we all went to dinner. Harry Hillman was the first of the coaching staff to enter. The boys good-naturedly asked him to take his necktie off, which he very genially did. Likewise did Larry Bankhart, who came next, and all the Other coaches in turn. Lastly came Head Coach Jess, smoking his usual fat cigar. Nobody uttered a word, but all eyes were on him. Sitting down he noticed Larry dressed faultlessly, but without a necktie. Then he noticed all the others. Still nobody spoke, and everybody watched. Slowly the color mounted in Jess's neck, and while one could hear a pin drop, he slowly laid down his cigar, and quickly removed his necktie. Immediately everyone laughed; the tension was no more. Coaches and team were in complete harmony; spirit ran high. And next day the game was won as games are rarely won from Cornell. And who is to say that Jess and his necktie didn't have a lot to do with it?

And speaking of that game reminds me of an unconscious commentary on Coach Hawley's forward pass which became so famous that season, uttered by a Cornell player. The captain had quietly chided him for not stopping the passing game and he testily remonstrated "Hell, you can't stop what you can't reach." And that was surely the gist of the matter.

It would be very easy to go on with stories galore of the psychology of Coach Hawley, as so beautifully illustrated last season in the defeat of Temple University. I should like to tell some of the little intimate things I know about the valor and good-nature of big Jim Oberlander, or the eccentricities of Ail-American Dutch Diehl, who was quite as playful as he was powerful. But he never would go near the electric heating apparatus at the gymnasium after it had burnt his leg. Then of course there is Bob McPhail, and many others, not only in football but in hockey, and in baseball, colorful personalities who have won interest and admiration for themselves and for Dartmouth. And of course, chief among these is Eddie Dooley. There is only one Dooley, football-player, poet, basketball player, track star, conversationalist, Benedict, wit and intellectual, but most of all, individualist. I shall never forget him at the Brown game in Hanover in 1926, when he was not going to start the game as quarterback. Attired in his football togs he came walking onto the field carrying a huge sofa pillow, for, as he said, "One might as well be comfortable." Then there were those two hairraising tackles at Harvard, which have gone down in history with all great football stories. I can remember him at the Brown game of 1926, when he did go in, stopping his calling of signals at a very important moment to watch an airplane soaring far above his head, and then quite as casually resuming them. Having punted at the polo grounds he stood in midfield and counted the white chalk lines off from five to sixty-five, then turning to the Cornell coach he shouted, "How'd you like that one, Gil?" Down at Yale in 1926, with the ball on the Dartmouth five-yard line, some students jokingly were calling him "Honeymoon." Very graciously at that important time, Eddie danced a few rather intricate and undeniably appropriate steps for the boys. Certainly he was the greatest character of them all.

I am sorry that I cannot do honor as well to many other fine boys with whom I have played for Dartmouth, as well as to coaches who have helped, encouraged, and inspired. I should like to adequately thank the alumni for countless kindnesses but mine must be no personal note. All has been done and all must continue to be done, in the name of Dartmouth, something far greater than a name, or a campus, or any single athletic team, a something great and fascinating, a something which we all love.

Varsity Haltback Leading Scorer of the East

Captain of Hockey Al!-American for Three Seasons

EDITOR'S NOTE: Myles Lane '28 completes this month one of the most extensive, if not the most extensive, records of athletic achievement ever recorded in Dartmouth history. Over the four-year period of his participation in Dartmouth athletics he has traveled more than 35,000 miles as a representative of Dartmouth, and has combined to a remarkable degree qualities of unusual athletic skill in three sports and a thorough-going good sportsmanship which have won for him the respect and admiration of Dartmouth men and opponents alike. Lane prepared at Melrose (Mass.) high school and Huntington. He starred on his freshman football and baseball teams and was captain of the 1928 hockey team. His sophomore year he won a regular position as left halfback on the championship 1925 football team and he played that position in 1926 and 1927. Last season he was the leading scorer of the east. His greatest athletic accomplishments have been in hockey. Lane captained the team during the past season. He has been chosen as a member of ail-American hockey teams for the past three years. He won a varsity baseball letter his sophomore year and is this season playing center field and is the most reliable hitter on the squad. He is a member of the Phi Gamma Delta fraternity, the Sphinx senior society, and the Green Key.