The Father of Dartmouth Football
DARTMOUTH OPENED the fall term August 31, 1880. It was then an old, old college. The buildings were old and looked it. In fact, they were sadly in need of paint. The houses of the village harmonized with the college plant. They were neatly kept but plainly well on in years. The town was old, most of the citizens seemed old, the fence around the campus, as well as those in front of the houses, was old. The whole made a set picture. Mode of living had crystallized and change was unthought of. The college curriculum was the old Classical Course, the same for a hundred years. The bearded faculty seemed far older than their years. Even the ways of thinking were along the old established lines. Dartmouth was an epitome of the old Puritan New England. It had the dignity of age. Nestled among the green-clad hills, far from the Maddening Crowd, it seemed secure in its aloofness and honored history. The only thing that marred the picture of serene old age was the little crowd of freshmen who pushed their way hesitatingly, half afraid, into the freshman seats in the old chapel while the bell chimed out its daily morning call, just as it had done for years. The upper classes, with from one to three years of association with that environment, had fallen into step and belonged. Thus, when the sophie, despite the supposed sanctity of the place, yelled hoarsely and with admitted superiority, "Oh Freshie!!!" what freshman could deny the implication of verdancy? But they had youth, physical stamina, keen intellects, bright eyes with here and there a devilish twinkle, just to add a bit of spice to college life. Withal a serious youth, drilled in the precepts of the day of which "There is no excellency without great labor" was a favorite. That bunch of new born college men meant to work and leave the results in the lap of the gods.
Among that seventy odd young hopefuls, who were to achieve greatly and leave its mark high on the honor roll of Dartmouth's loyal classes, was Clarence Howland. The freshman historian does not mention his name in recording that first gathering of the class. So it may be assumed that there was nothing particularly striking about him that would make him conspicuous among his fellows. He was one of the few who came from outside New England. He hailed from Catskill, N. Y., but had been for two years at Williston Seminary in Easthampton, Mass. He was therefore a near New Englander. He was a stocky lad of nineteen, well built, muscular. He was quicker on foot than his build would indicate. His face was round, with a square jaw, that bespoke tenacity of purpose. It was withal a pleasing face and his ready smile beamed with good nature and drew men to him. His was a potential personality both physically and mentally. So memory depicts the freshman Howland.
Routine life began the second day of the term. Classes, meals, exercise, study, sleep filled the day. Breakfast at 7.30, chapel at 8, classes till 12. Then for half an hour association football, when the chapel bell rang out the dinner hour. After dinner the mail and some more football till the bell rang in the study hour at 3. Classes from 4 to 6, when the old bell called the supper hour. Then a bit of visiting, then to our rooms for study. At 9 the bell again rang out a sort of curfew that nobody paid any attention to. The only break in this routine came on Wednesday afternoon followingsenior rhetoricals in the chapel and Saturday afternoon which was a half holiday. On these days class teams practiced or played baseball, the only organized team in the college. The fall athletic meet came about the middle of October. No preparation worth the name was made by the contestants. A bit of a try of one's wind, a few throws of the hammer or of putting the shot, constituted the training for the events. Such in brief were Dartmouth athletics when Howland entered college.
Howland had played rugby for two years at Williston and he loved the game. It was in his blood. So about two weeks after opening day we began to see a little group of men, most often in the northest corner of the campus, busy with a newfangled ball. They were tossing it to each other and now and then essaying to kick it. But that ball did eccentric things. It didn't go where the hurler meant and no one seemed able to kick it anywhere in particular. A curious passer-by might ask, "What is that ball?" but these activities did not command more than passing notice. After a few weeks it was bruited about that Howland '84 was teaching his men rugby. Then one day a few stragglers saw a scrimmage. That was unique, but aroused only mild amusement. They'd all line up in two opposing rows, with heads bowed and shoulders forward, Howland in the midst of them, leaning over with hands grasping the ball. Then someone shouted a lot of numbers and Howland would snap the ball between his legs to one of the other players. Then everybody would pile on the man with the ball and stay there till he called "DOWN." Of course he was. He was at the bottom of the pile.
Day in, day out these devotees kept at it, now covered with mud, now with clothes torn, for the first suits were cast-off clothing. Then they got a bunch of old suits from Princeton and football went up a notch. No game was played that first year and the game was generally forgotten during the winter. At the opening of the next Fall term, however, "Cap" as he now came to be known, had his cohorts out drilling hard and long. His smile, aided by Bucky Towle's broader one, led one to think they were having a bully time at the new game. Then came the game with Amherst which Dartmouth won. "Cap" and Bucky wore broader smiles arad football was looking up. Then came the defeat on a snow-covered field at Springfield, and football went into winter quarters for another hibernation. Another fall term and the same old routine, the Dartmouth victory over McGill, each team playing 13 men, raised a little flurry of hope to be smothered by Harvard's slaughter of the innocents, by 53 to o. The Dartmouth proclaimed in big letters, "RUGBY IS DEAD!!!" That was a mistake. It was only resting and the next Fall "Cap" had his team at it once more, with more and better men. Games were hard to get and only a late game with Williams was scheduled at Williamstown. This game Williams won 5 to 3, Dartmouth making a touchdown and Williams a goal from the field. A second touchdown by Dartmouth was not allowed, though stoutly claimed by "Cap's" men.
This was "Cap's" last game in a Dartmouth uniform. Not an impressive number of victories, but at heart "Cap" was happy. He visualized future Dartmouth teams that would bring honor to the old college. It is hard in these piping days of football to adequately estimate the qualities of leadership and the capacity for organizing that Howland had. In an institution with little chance to be athletically minded, he took up a game that no man in the college had seen played, and by his love for the game and a bulldog tenacity that knew not failure, he made a place for it and gave it such a momentum that it never died out. Deservedly his name will be carried longer in Dartmouth tradition than that of any man of his time. It is not on record how those early teams were financed. Baseball was under the baseball association and was supported by voluntary subscriptions. These were small and they just got by. Probably "Cap" and his friends financed those teams. Thus a double load was on his shoulders. Succeeding where others had failed, carrying the burden of supporting the team, instilling a love for game among the players and the student body he well deserved the honored title, "The Father of Dartmouth Football."
"Cap" Howland '84 From a photo taken by Lovell in 1883, during his college days.
