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EVERYBODY’S DANISH – High school football
By fred | August 4, 2009
I have my doubts about many of you enjoying my l0ok back at high school football. Oh, there are still a number of you that played with me back then - in the 1940’s, and there is a number of wifes of buddies long gone, a few sons and daughters of my teammates, friends for life that may want to read about their Dad’s, and so forth. For the rest of you, if you don’t care for football, you may be excused – hey, everyone will not enjoy reading an old fart’s memories of so many years back.
I included all of the football part, it is quite long, but I did not want to drag it out for those that could care less about the game, much less about a bunch of kids playing it well over 60 years ago.
In the next few days we shall have another ‘Humor & Stuff from buddies, that may be more to your liking.
Till them, Love ya all, Uncle Fred
FOOTBALL AND THE FOURTEEN YEAR OLD FRESHMAN
Back to football, the time is my first freshman year – the beginning was a form to fill out. The whole idea was to figure out if you were a ‘B’ or Varsity. The form had all sorts of stuff to fill out, your age, weight, height, and so forth. I could see I had a problem, I was too young. I was only fourteen years old. I found out later that I was about the youngest member of my class. The football insurance would not apply to anyone under the age of fifteen.
I remember being very embarrassed over the whole thing. All through high school I sort of kept my age a deep dark secret, most of my friends were at least a year older. I did not want to be thought of as the ‘kid’ in the group. I was six feet two inches, and almost two hundred pounds, I was as strong as a bull, figured I was tough enough and sure wanted to play that game called football.
Fortunately my birthday was the thirtieth of October. Practice started early September I had two months before I would be fifteen and qualify for the insurance. The likely hood that I could get in a game as green as I was, had to be extremely slim, anyway, the coaches decided that I could practice with the rest of the team so all was well. Even with the negative of being so young, with my size I immediately qualified for the Varsity.
I do not know how in the hell Mom got me in school so early. Of course, when she put me in kindergarten she was not planning my whole education around me playing football. The doctor told me a number of times that the reason I kept dislocating my arm and thumb – had water on the knee, and so many injuries, was that I had grown too fast. My muscles were certainly strong, but not rock solid, and my bones really needed another couple years to properly knit before going into a violent sport like football. The smaller, shorter guys did not have this problem.
The doctor also said I had a bad habit of throwing my body around, fearless but not smart football – not leaving my feet on the ground caused too many bad things to happen. I guess in the excitement of playing I never did get it right.
It was really weird, I could run the 100 yard dash in less than 10 and a half seconds. The 220 yard dash in less than 25 seconds, and was darn strong. Johnny (Brewer), Ed Bravo and I would meet after work at the YMCA and work out, we had our own little training program, which included weight lifting.
Johnny was in my class, he was also almost as young as I was, Ed Bravo was two years older. I do not remember what the exact weight we could bench press, but it was a lot. As young as I was, I never remember J. B. or Ed being able to bench press more than I could.
It was the first day of football practice, my freshman year – all the top players from the year before got the first pick of the football gear. All of us new guys got second pick. Everything felt so funny, the heavy shoulder pads, the hip pads, the pads in your pants. I had purchased a pair of new football shoes with cleats. If you have not had a pair on, then you cannot understand this. Those darn cleats sticking out of the bottom of the shoes, how do you walk in them, much less run? I was wondering how in the heck you could play football in all this junk. Run fast in these stupid shoes, my first steps with football shoes and those cleats sticking out was a disaster, I almost fell on my face.
Practice started the coach said, “Gather around. Line up for different positions, guards here, tackles over there,” He kept on until all the positions were mentioned. I really had no idea where I wanted to play. All I wanted to do is play football. The only football I had ever played before was touch football, and you did darn near everything playing that.
Since my new buddies took off for the tackle line. What the hell, I did not want to stand here alone – I will go out for tackle too!
It was a good choice, I loved it, even at fourteen – no one was going to push me around. I was fast enough to elude blocks, and also fast enough to many times get in the backfield on defense and make a sack. Sometimes I would even run down a back as he was trying to get around the other end – it was a ball!
MY TEACHER, THE HERO OF MY YOUTH WAS ED BRAVO
Poly High was a three year deal. The first year I had paid my dues like most freshmen, learned to block at my tackle position. The coaches cannot be credited with this. My buddy, Ed Bravo taught me how. Big Ed spent hours showing Johnny and me the moves, knocking us around until we could do it right. The next year Johnny and I figured to have a lot of playing time, and Ed was going to make sure we could do the job. I really loved to play that position, especially on defense. In 1946 and 7 the T-formation was just coming in. Playing tackle on the T-formation was a lot more fun than the old single wing.
High school football in Texas, according to my buddy Ed was big time. He was from a school called Brackenridge. He said they had coaches for almost every position. They took each player and spent hours teaching that one guy blocking, and all the fundamentals. Ed was so far ahead of all of us it was silly. It was like a professional with a bunch of kids.
At Poly high we had one coach, and sometimes an assistant, plus the student coach. How do you coach each position properly? The answer is you do not. Ed was our teacher, and I will always thank that big, proud, quiet, son of a gun for it. A real friend, he did not have to take John and me under his wing.
THE BIG SCARE
Our junior year had arrived I was going to be get a lot of playing time. A few days before football practice started Joe decided to try out for tackle. Joe was a weight lifter at Poly high. We are talking very big muscles. T-shirt stretching muscles. Joe was a big boy. He would slowly walk across the campus, flexing a little here and there just to let the girls know that Joe was around.
We all figured the earth trembled when he walked. Joe could lift more weight than anyone in school. Lift weights he did, hour after hour. One of my buddies said, “Maybe he will break a leg or something.”
You start thinking about the other positions on the team, who was going out for what. What the chances were for playing the other tackle, my buddy Johnny was there. Damn, I was worried, with Ed ahead of me, and if Joe beats me out I am going to see very little playing time at all.
The workouts started. The very first day we wore pads, the hitting started. Guards paired up against guards, tackles paired up against tackles. “Let’s see who wants to be first string,” the coach yelled. Sure as hell the first guy I had to go against was Joe.
Now Joe in pads was something to behold. Hey, I’m big, but Joe! I guess I was as taller than Joe, but in a football outfit with those big shoulder pads, Joe looked like the wall of a big building, just standing there looking tough. Down we go in our crouch, with both watching the ball the coach was holding. When he moved the ball – that was the signal to go for each other “Hey Joe, get down lower” the coach yelled. Joe tried, and got down a couple of inches further, but that’s all. “Damn it Joe, ya gotta get under a guy to move him,” the coach said.
Holy mackerel, the guy can’t bend down. I remember thinking if I can only get under him, and stand him up, maybe I have a chance. Joe was so muscle bound he couldn’t bend down far enough to get in a proper crouch. Joe was getting pissed. He said “I can play, let’s do it!” Our coach didn’t say another word except “Ready.” He moved the ball!
If you let a 190 pound young man, with legs driving, get under and in your gut, you are out of it! It doesn’t matter how strong you are, if he is under you he is in control. I drove Joe almost twenty yards down the field before he screamed “OK, OK, stop it, damn it!” It was like a 500 pound weight had been taken off me. Poor old Joe, he left the team a week later. We really felt sorry for him. Joe was not the big tough man on campus anymore!
After Joe left, our head coach, coach Brennen called the team together. We got a big lecture on conditioning, in particular weight lifting. “Fellows, weights are just a part of your training to build strength. You saw what Nielsen did. I’m sure Joe could bench press a lot more than Nielsen, but what good did it do him. Too many muscles and you can’t move. You use weight lifting only as a small part of the training.”
FORMATIONS, THE OLD AND THE NEW
Sometimes teams would shift into the old single wing. I won’t try and describe the single wing, except to say we are talking real football. An extra lineman would be on the wing side. If the four guys in the backfield were not enough they may pull a guard to lead the blocking. They would almost look at you and say “Here we come, and we are going to kick hell out of you!”
If you were on defense and they came at you, it was not just one blocking back, it seemed as if the whole team would be ahead of the ball carrier. If you were in the way, two, three, or even four guys would come at you. They could peel off and stomp all over you. The intention of the single wing formation was not to go for a touchdown on every play, but to grind out gains of five or ten yards.
‘Ass kicking football,’ they call it. Grind it out a few yards at a time. Ball control football, not this modern day long pass, chicken kind of stuff we have today. If a couple of passes were thrown all day it was highly unusual. A slow grind of yard by yard kind of football, as an offensive and defensive tackle I sure liked the new ‘T’ formation a whole lot better than that old blood and guts stuff.
With the T-Formation, and most of the stuff like the ‘I’ formations the ‘Pros’ use in this day and age, you use a lot of quick blocks on the line of scrimmage. Often you just brush the opposing lineman for a few seconds until your halfback, or running back (they have so many funny names for ball carriers now) gets through the line. After the back gets through the line, you run down field and throw another block.
The ‘T’ is designed so that technically every play will go for a touchdown. It certainly does not happen often, but that is the way the plays should work, not just a few yards per play like the single wing.
A fast defensive tackle can have a ball on defense against the ‘T’ formation. I could get through and tackle the ball carrier before they started into the line. If they were coming around our side, let the end take care of the outside. Just brush off the offensive line man’s block and hit the ball carrier. The blocking backs were in the process of stomping all over our left side defensive end, but I had the tackle on the ball carrier.
We used a six, two, two, one, defensive, and never changed it, no matter what the situation, run, pass, it was all the same. I do not think our coach knew any other defense. That means six men on the line of scrimmage. Two guards, usually one on each side on the outside of the offensive guards. Their job was to prevent runs in the middle of the line. Playing guard is a tough, very rough dirty job. The defensive tackles played outside the offensive tackles. The defensive ends lined up outside the offensive ends.
Defensive end is a rotten job, if the play is going to the other side of the line, usually you cannot get to the ball carrier and make a play. Coming your way, it’s eat dirt time for the defensive end, as two or three blockers were in his face. The defensive end’s job was to eliminate all the guys blocking ahead of the ball carrier. Create a big pile up, to free the ball carrier of his protection so the linebacker or defensive half can come up and whack him.
Behind the defensive line men, about five feet back on each side were the linebackers. About ten yards behind them on each side were the defensive halfbacks – in back of them is the ‘safety.’ He is the very last line of defense.
In the beginning of my junior year I enjoyed at least a part season of real fun, as an offensive and defensive tackle when Big Ed needed a break, I got to play – usually it was on defense, fun time for a fast lineman. Those few games were real fun!
Soon a disaster happened in my young career. One day at practice Ed Bravo and I were just practicing line blocks, and somehow he hit my left arm. I could feel it pop out of the shoulder socket. Damn it hurt, I will never forget the look on big Ed’s face – he would not have hurt me for a million dollars. In fact fifty years later he was still telling me how sorry he was about it.
Anyway, I was taken to the doctors office given some gas, and don’t remember a thing except it being all bandaged up and in a sling. I also remember the dread in having to go home and face my mother. She was very much opposed to football, this ‘sport’ that was sending her son home with black eyes, and other assorted aches and pains.
For the second or third time I was told, “No more, you don’t play football any more, what kind of sport is that, it’s awful.” My Dad would have to step in and calm things down for me, or I never would have been able to play again.
After a few weeks I was almost over it. The doctor has suggested a brace that would wrap around your chest under your jersey like a harness. There would also be a leather strap around my left arm above the elbow and a chain would be attached from the chest brace to the arm. The whole idea was that the arm could not be raised only so high, this would prevent it from dislocating again.
Well, I sure wasn’t enchanted with this brace, but at least I could play. Sometimes I would unhook the brace, and eventually it got me in trouble, but that is ahead of the story.
I have deep regrets about my junior year. My buddy John Brewer played a lot, I was out for almost a month. A good a friend as John is, I think even he will admit that I was a better tackle at that stage of our careers. Of the tackles and guards on our first string that year, only two did I feel were as good, one was Ed Bravo, my teacher and adopted big brother. The other was a classmate, Rolf Fromme, Rolf played guard.
One day before I dislocated my shoulder Coach Brennen just happened to pick Rolf and me for some line blocking. I came in low and hard, driving as hard as I could. Rolf and I met at the supposed line of scrimmage. I couldn’t move that son of a gun, and Rolf couldn’t move me. I may have been able to beat the hell out of old Rolf in a 50 or 100 yard dash. But, for the few yards that it takes to win games in the line, Rolf was fast as greased lightning. That day, I appreciated just how good he was, and I think Rolf found out I was no patsy.
I was looking forward to our senior year, no more hurting, there was no one on the team I couldn’t beat for my tackle spot, I knew I was the best and so did the coach.
Our senior season, it was to be our rebuilding year, not much was expected of us. The year before we missed the league title by one game, most of that team were gone, Ed Bravo, Ray Lopez, Dick Dankworth, Dick Alderate, Ken Garrison, Frank Higgins, Jim Burton, and Herb Temple our tough skinny center had all his eligibility used up – so all Herb could do is help out as a student coach. The only seniors on the first string, besides me, were J. B. at right tackle and Fromme at right guard, and Cookie Higgins at fullback and linebacker, all the rest were freshmen or juniors.
I was really ready for a big year – we had trained all summer after work at a summer church camp in Idyllwild, California that our coach was general manager of. He got many of us jobs for the summer, and while he was not allowed to coach us, he would comment after watching us work out in a meadow, after our daily jobs. I can’t remember looking forward to anything so much. I was going to be number one, the arm felt fine and I was ready to go.
Then is when Coach Brennan decided to really screw things up for me. I was too fast to just play tackle and his defensive left end was not doing the job, so he decided I would play there on defense. On offense the coach decided I could play left end on a few plays, especially short passes, but my main job would be playing left half. The coach called it a ‘power back.’ He said there was no way he could have the fastest man on this football team play in the line, he needed me to carry the ball.
I remember having tears in my eyes asking him if I could just play tackle, in fact I begged him to let me play tackle, pleaded with him. No way, his mind was made up. We had a young kid, a freshman by the name of Al Massiello that was not as good yet, but he could hold his own, I would be needed as a utility man, he would switch around. From this time forward I have no fond memories of football.
The couple of years after I left the teams were a lot better. My best buddy Hugo was a freshman when I was a senior and he got to play on some far better teams than what we are talking about here. During that senior year I got to be close friends of many of those junior and freshman guys, guys we had to play, as inexperienced as they were. Guys like Masiello, Bighead, Rickords, Nakasako, Gonzales, Hampton, Wilson, just to name a few. They also got some great help from guys that played B football their freshman year, like DeCrona, and my future brother in law Jack Anderson, one hell of a quarterback.
What started out as my having to play two positions, left end on defense and offense, and left half the so called power back on offense, ended up not quite as planned. In my senior year I played the following positions: Left end offense, left end defense, left tackle offense, left tackle defense, and mostly left half offense. In one game the darn coach had me play defensive left half for a while. Oh, I almost forgot, he also made me play defensive guard – that was in a practice game, that I will never forget as long as I live. Still about ninety percent of my offensive playing was at left half, a position I dreaded to play, I dreaded having to carry or catch that dreaded football. Never did fumble or drop it as I remember but that did not lessen the fear of what could happen.
For a player that has developed a lineman’s mentality about football, playing in the backfield on offense was a nightmare. Oddly enough this was not so during a game. The nightmare was before a game the dread of dropping the ball was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat just to think about it, once the game started that was all forgotten.
A ONE DAY CAREER AT GUARD
That practice game was against Fremont High School, last years Southern League champions. Coach Brennen made me play defensive guard because the Fremont team was making a lot of yards up the middle.
We could not seem to get a guard to match up with Rolf Fromme – no other guard that year was even half as good. Eventually my future best buddy Hugo Velasquez took over, but he was just a freshman, just learning then. I had never played guard in my life. Rolf Fromme and I did stop those plays up the middle all right. My memory of that afternoon is very vague, and for a good reason. The sweat, the dirt, guys piled on top of me on every play.
I got down in a crouch at the defensive guard position. When the ball snapped, this little compacted Fremont High guard got under me and just stood me straight up and dropped me right on my can. He just moved me right out of the play. They must ran ten yards on that play. I do not think this was what the coach had in mind when he wanted the hole plugged, and getting old Rolf some help. I figured there was no way a guy as big as I was could get under that squat tough little SOB guard of Fremont.
The only thing I could think of was to aim for his shoe laces. Actually just dive for his shoe laces before he could get under me. That is exactly what I did. Without feet he did not go anywhere. Neither did I, after all, I was on the bottom of the pile. No back could make yardage over that spot because of all the bodies. They had to run outside, so I did the job, I will always remember it was not pleasant, spitting out dirt all the time. I had never played guard before or since. I have since that time had a lot of respect for players in that down and dirty spot. Buddies like Hugo and Rolf, play after play, fighting that little war, so crucial to the team, the spot where inches count.
THE RELUCTANT UTILITY MAN
I could tell you what every guy on the team was supposed to do on each play, I could never tell when Coach Brennan would decide if I was going to play there. About the only position I did not play was quarterback and fullback. Even the coach was smart enough not to try to make me throw the ball. Funny, except for that one stupid practice game that I played right guard for awhile, all the line positions, end, tackle were on the left side, even in the backfield it was left half, never on the right
That final senior year we were certainly not a great team. We had a few top players, the few of us that were seniors, Bighead, at end was just a freshman, as was Hugo, Al Massiello and so many others, all tough guys, but green as can be. We did win some games that we were never pegged t win, it was a tough rag tailed bunch of never quit kids, super kids just most never played before.
If there was one guy we really needed was my future brother in law, Jack Anderson. On a football field Jack could do it all. Fast, maybe not quite fast enough for the sprints, but with tricky football feet. The son of a gun could give you a little move and when you were tackling air he would be past you and long gone. I played some so called ‘sand lot’ ball with him. If I wanted to tackle him, I would have to wait for him to come to me. If you committed yourself too fast he would be around you with those tricky feet.
Jack could kick the football as far as any professional, kick field goals, seldom missed, throw a football very accurately. If he had any fault, it was he had too much ‘steam’ on the ball. He would throw the darn thing too hard for many high school kids to catch. He ended his career, second string All City, second best of hundreds of quarterbacks. I don’t know who was number one, all I do know is for desire to win, you couldn’t beat Jack Anderson, you have to kill him first.
His greatest asset was his desire to win. Through life, in business, tennis, golf, fishing, he always had this intense desire. If he lost, OK, he would shake your hand, and maybe have a sick little grin on his face, but you knew he did not like it. This kind of guy in a football suit is hard to beat. As a quarterback and in control of every play he is even harder to beat. We sure as hell needed him my senior year, but unfortunately he was playing ‘B’ ball that year. Hey, we had Les Wilson as quarterback, we called him the ‘Flamingo’ cause he was so tall and skinny. Les was damn good, but even he would admit that he was no Jack Anderson.
THE BAPTISM OF J. B.
I distinctly remember the day my buddy, old J. B., really had his baptism to hard nosed football. One day we found out how tough my buddy John Brewer was. It was in a game our junior year. I was out with my dislocated shoulder, standing on the sidelines watching the game
That day old JB got really tough, realized that in the game of football it is better to give, than receive, was at the then all black Jefferson High. In his junior year in a game against Jefferson High School they damn near killed him. Jeff had a very strong, very fast backfield, and they loved to run right at you.
For some reason they loved to run to the right side of the line. They kept pounding the right side of our defensive line. Johnny would be hit by the opposing tackle, guard or end, next would come a halfback, then a fullback, then the ball carrier, one after the other, all taking their shots at him and our right end. I remember them taking him out for a break and old John was a mess. Dirt, and blood dripping down his nose, his face, he looked awful.
It really stands out in my mind that game. Johnny standing there the sweat pouring down his face, blood trickling from his several scrapes on his face. His uniform was a filthy mess. A combination of dirt and sweat, certainly no where near the way old John usually looked. Gulping air, he was just struggling to get his breath back. When he got his breath, back he went. Finally we seemed to figure out what they were doing and got some linebackers and backs up to help him faster. I will never ever forget the guts he showed us in that game. He never quit.
Why did this stand out in my mine. As much as I like Johnny, I didn’t know if he could take it. In practice I remember hitting him and he said, “Fred, its only practice!” Johnny just didn’t figure we should make a war out of it, try and beat the other guy in practice anyway . When I drove him out of a play, he was pissed. It was him not being motivated enough to play his best.
Johnny may have had the attitude that it is only a game before we played Jefferson, but after that game he became a mean son of a gun. I think after that game old John got the ‘kill or be killed attitude’ and figured it was better to ‘give’ the punishment than to receive it.
My old buddy JB went on to play semi pro football, he graduated from USC with honors. John retired as a Battalion Commander of the Los Angeles Fire Department. After retiring, he and his wife Loraine have had some misery in their lives. They lost a beloved son, to a heart attack before he was forty. Johnny had a quadruple heart by pass in the same year. This on top of having had both hips replaced in year’s past. Loraine, his spouse is a grammar school principal. They had to raise their sons two children at only a few years short of the age of seventy. I do not know how they did it, where in the heck did they get the energy? J. B. is gone now.
A TOUCHDOWN OVER BIG AL
Alfred Masiello, was another freshman, on our team my senior year, if you did not like Al then something was wrong. A huge, heavy set guy, a huge square block of a body, a heavy face with eyes that had a lot of expression in them. You may say he looked fat, and maybe there was some. He was strong as a bull. Al as a freshman took over my beloved left tackle spot.
He was from an Italian American background. His brothers owned a very fine Italian bakery, and Al worked in it on weekends. I used to think that only the Danes could make good pastry, cakes and stuff. I found out that the Germans, French, and many other countries have some great stuff too. Nothing, I mean nothing, could compare with the pastry old Al would bring in to share with his buddies. Pastry that would flake in your mouth, with whipped cream, chocolate, anyway it was no wonder Al was big.
The thing that really drove me nuts was when coach Brennan had the idea of making me his ‘power’ back. I could run like heck in a straight line, the problem is that football is not run in straight lines. As for me eluding anyone in an open field, forget it. I had the least tricky feet of any back born, and he knew it. He kept saying for me not to get ‘cute’ and try to dodge a guy coming up to tackle me. He told me to put my head down and go right at the opposing back and drag him another three to five yards with my size and weight.
Coach even dreamed up a practice, just for me. He would have several of our guards or tackles line up about twenty yards down the field and I would have to try to go right through them. No fair dodging, I had to go straight ahead. It was to teach me to ‘lower the boom.’ As I remember Hugo, J.B., Masiello, Fromme, and the rest of the line men had a ball, just knocking the heck out of me in those drills. They would just stand there waiting for their old buddy to come running right at them. I can still see them grinning like crazy, waiting to whack me.
I was a rotten faker. When I was to fake a run into the line I always had my head up to see what was going on around me. Now this was not bad enough, but when I actually had the ball going into the line I had my head up too. I wanted to see where I was going, instead of worrying about that later, and getting through the line first. Very bad football manners, and when we played a team from Lincoln High they had a linebacker that taught me how to play. Taught me to fake, put my head down, or be killed!
After our team had gotten the ball, I noticed their right side linebacker had white tape all up and down his right arm. Even the guy’s fist had heavy tape wrapped around it. I remember thinking he must have hurt it somehow. About the second play I was to go between guard and tackle. Our quarterback Wilson handed me the ball, and off I went. I hit the line with my usual ‘heads up’ and whack, that so and so, hit me right across the nose with his taped up right fist. I saw stars. He had broken my nose, and blood was streaming down my face.
On the sidelines, after the doctor had gotten the bleeding stopped, coach Brennan gave me hell. “I told you to keep your head down when you hit the line.” “Now you know why!” Back in I went and I will tell you my head was down when I got to the line of scrimmage after that.
We were down on Lincoln’s five yard line. Our spark plug fullback ‘Cookie’ Higgins had hit the line three times and could not get through, he was really beat. The team we were playing was tough that close to the end zone. Normally Cookie with his powerful little legs could drive it in the end zone with no sweat. Jack Bighead, our right end, said, “Give it to Fred - let him try!” The last thing I wanted then was the damn ball, but what could you say when all the guys are looking at you. I was the designated ‘power back.’
Big Al Masiello, our freshman tackle said, “Go over me, if I am down, just keep going, run right over me.” I looked at Al, and that happy go lucky guy had a very hard look on his face. He meant it.
The bad part was that Al’s side of the line was where that damn linebacker was. The guy that earlier had broken my nose, the guy with the taped up arm. The one with that taped up arm and fist. After coming in from that first encounter we had gone over his side a few times, and made a few yards, mainly because I kept my head down and drove like crazy. Probably out of sheer fear, I sure did not want another fist in the face.
The ball was snapped, Wilson gave me the handoff, it looked to me like big Al had just dove into the opposing linemen, a big mess of bodies. The only lane open was right over Al’s back. There was no choice – I just took off as fast as I could running right up his back and using Al as springboard to dive in for the touchdown. Now this can not feel so good when you have a two hundred pound guy with cleats on his shoes running up your back. I remember diving from the top of him into one big mess of players. When the referees finally pulled everybody off, we had scored, big Al was at the bottom. The ball was about a foot into the end zone. Well, we made it, just barely.
Later in the locker room, I was getting my nose attended to by the school doctor when I got to thinking of Al. I asked around and the guys said he was still in the shower. I walked back to the showers and said, “Al, turnaround so I can see your back.” He said, “It’s OK Fred, just a little stiff.”
I remember saying words to the effect of, “Turn around you crazy bastard, I want to see your back!” It was a mess, long welts of dried blood, not deep, looked like his whole back was black and blue – it looked awful. I ran and got the doctor quick.
This particular buddy, this big lovable guy, in the next couple of years went on to be first team All Northern league, and second string on the All Los Angles City Team. This is one very big honor. To be considered the second best tackle out of hundreds of tackles is really something. A big heart, a big smile, and lot of grit, all bundled up in one very great guy.
After high school Al went overseas and fought in the Korean war. He received a wound in the lower back. He finally got home to the states. He recuperated at the Presido in San Francisco. While he was there I went to see him at the hospital there, he said he just could not get his big butt down in the ground far enough and one of the North Koreans shot off a piece of it.
After that he got out of the hospital he went back to Chicago. A lot of Al’s family still lived in the Chicago area. He opened a highly successful Italian bakery. He found a wonderful girl and soon after was married. Less than a year later, Al was crossing a street in downtown Chicago when a car hit him, and took his life. The life of one of the nicest guys I ever knew. Who said life was fair?
BIG INDIAN, BIG HEART
Jack Bighead, what a name, if you think maybe he was Indian you have it right. I have to say that if every Indian in the United States was like Jack the so called white men would not have had a chance. One reason is the Pilgrim ladies all would have deserted their men for them. He was truly an eye full.
Jack was at least six foot two or three, with a perfect ‘V’ shape. He was well over two hundred pounds, big shoulders, a very narrow waist, all muscle, not one ounce of fat. His skin was a beautiful bronze color. Black hair, a fair sized nose, not a fat one, a sharp one. What the girls would call ‘a hunk,’ a very, very, good looking guy. Jack had no ‘ego’ he was just a super person. Very easy going, not the kind of guy to ever get too excited about anything, he knew he was a good athletic, so what’s the big deal about that? That was his attitude.
As an athlete he could do it all. Anything a big man could do he could do, and better! I was faster – but Jack was plenty fast enough, and he had those same tricky feet that Jack Anderson, my “to be,” brother in law had. The only problem with Jack Bighead as a football player was emotion. He could play, and do everything with almost a complete lack of emotion. The rest of us could get that ‘football high’ that feeling that the game is everything, not Jack. On the other hand the few times he did get mad, or get what I think of as a football ‘hi’ he was really something to behold.
I remember in one game he got really pissed off at the other team for some unknown reason. The play was around his end. I was the halfback. Now on a round end play, I had two guys in front of me blocking, so running behind my team mates blocking I could see what was happening. Jack completely took out the opposing defensive end and linebacker with one flying body block. He rolled over and ran down and just flattened the defensive half. One guy knocking three players out of action on one play, you have to be a hell of a player to do that. He had gotten ‘pissed off’ for some reason and was hell on wheels for a while. We made forty-two yards on that play, my third longest run on a football field.
I laugh about it now, but one time on the sidelines Bighead was looking down at our little Irish coach, Voyle Brennan, with his usual calm, stoic look. The coach was looking up, standing on tip toes, and just pounding the hell out of Jacks big shoulder pads. Our tough as hell little Irish Coach Brennan was yelling at him, “Get mad Jack, damn it, get mad!” Coach Brennan knew if he just got him mad enough we might win the ball game.
After college at Occidental Jack went on to play one year on the reserves for the then Los Angeles Rams. The only reason he did not make the team, in my opinion, was this lack of emotion thing. If he could have gotten himself all fired up emotionally during practice and games like most football players, he did play for several U. S. Pro teams. Jack had the body and all of the natural athletic ability in the world. Jack just could not become excited enough over the game of football. It was not life and death to him.
The Chief played professional football in Canada for several years. I would not see Jack for months and then he would show up at my business or house for a hello.
One day he showed up and said, “Come out and see my new car, Fred.” Hell, I do not remember what kind it was, but it cost a lot of bucks. “Where in the heck did you get the dough Jack?” I asked him. “Played in a movie,” he said.
If any of you remembers the movie of years ago ‘Jim Thorpe, All American’ that was it. The movie was about an Indian (Jim Thorpe) that became an All American playing football. His buddy, the guy that ran interference for him in the movie, was Jack Bighead. If you ever see it on the late, late, shows he is the one called ‘Little Big Boy.’
Jack married an extrovert, just goes to show that opposites attract. They had several children, two wonderful girls, one Diane has been a close buddy of mine for years. Bighead went on to coach at a high school in Orange County, California. He taught winning football. At a get together we asked him how he did it. He said, “Remember how many plays we used to have?” “I don’t do that, we keep it simple, about six running plays, and a couple of pass plays, that’s all.” “Then we teach fundamentals, blocking, blocking, and more blocking.” “My kids can run the plays in their sleep.” “If my kids can knock the other kids down first, we win.” Win he did, year after year.
Jack was just getting ready to retire and lead the good life when he had a heart attack. Again, who said life was fair?
A SPARK PLUG NAMED ‘COOKIE’ AND THE PAY BACK
‘Cookie’ Higgins was our fullback and left linebacker. Cookie was short, very stocky. I do not believe he was more than five and a half foot tall. Every inch of him was solid. Cookie looked like a fireplug with two legs, when I think of a real hard nosed high school football player, I always think of Cookie. Like a rock, I do believe his calves were bigger than my thigh. For ten yards he was faster than greased lightning.
In particular I remember him bouncing around behind the line of scrimmage waiting for someone to hit. My very intelligent son, Richard, has often said, “You have to be crazy to play any sport where you have to wear a helmet.” Richard is a football nut, he loves to ‘watch’ the game, but his remarks are true. Of all the ‘crazy’ guys that wear a football helmet the linebackers have to be the craziest of them all.
Have you seen pictures of professional football linebackers on TV, just look at their eyes, they all seem to have crazy eyes, as if they are on some kind of dope. A linebacker hits someone on every play, we are not talking about some kind of brush block, this is real hitting. Your eyes might be a little funny looking to, if that’s all you did all day.
Higgins could sure hit, it was beautiful to behold, he looked like a yo-yo bouncing around to a hole where a back was coming into the line. He would then bounce down in a crouch and then, just like a spring coming up, would hit the ball carrier. I can tell you he could give quite a whack.
One day I had the ball and gained a first down over Big Al Masiello, the play was dead, the whistle had blown. After the play was over the defensive linebacker gave me a knee in the stomach. It was the ‘reproductive area of a man’s stomach, an area that you want to protect.’ God, it hurt. I was lying on the ground trying not to grab that area, just rolling around in a lot of pain. Now he may have gotten away with it except Cookie saw him do it. Then to compound it, the stupid guy, leaned over me and said, “See if you like coming over my side again!”
Cookie said, “The SOB did it to Fred on purpose, I saw him.” Masiello said, “I heard what that bastard said.” Bighead was yelling, “I will kill him!” After a time I was able to get up, and the guys helped me off the field.
The guys were in a huddle for an awful long time. They actually got a penalty for taking to much time. I found out later that they told our freshman quarterback ‘Flamingo’ Wilson to forget calling any plays. Cookie, Bighead, Masiello, Fromme, Hugo, Brewer and the guys were taking over the play calling for a while.
I should feel sorry for that linebacker, but he certainly deserved what he got. They ran play after play over that same side, right at the guy. The poor tackle, guard, and end on that side of the defensive line took a real beating, but nothing like the punishment that linebacker took. They just smacked that linebacker, again and again.
There are ways to block and ways to block. This was elbow in you ribs and mouth time. When he was down Cookie ran right over him, he actually stood on him, stomping on him with his cleats. Bighead would get over from his right end position to get in his licks. That big Indian could give some awful licks, we got three penalties and two warnings that the game would be stopped.
Coach Brennan knew what was going on and was really getting mad, “What the hell is that a war?” He was yelling at Wilson our quarterback, “Who is calling that stuff?” Wilson just raised his hands in a hopeless shrug. He wanted the coach to know it was not him. A few plays later, the linebacker could not get on his feet. Oh, finally he did, very slowly, with a couple of guys holding him up. Later, I remember seeing his coach talking to him on the side lines, the coach was pointing his finger in the guys face – he never came in again. I hope the coach was telling him that he got what he deserved for playing dirty football.
Play hard, play clean, our rag tailed bunch of guys may not have been the greatest in the world but we sure did not take any crap from anyone. I cannot tell you how good it felt to stand there hurting but watching those wonderful guys stand up for me, getting even. I do not ever remember football as a game where you ‘turn the other cheek.’
NOTHING FANCY, SPEED BUT NOT TRICKY FEET
Cookie Higgins was our fullback, and we used several guys at the right half spot. Guys like Celaya, Gibbs, O’Leary, none seemed to quite suit our coach so my memories of that right half spot are vague, an always changing scene.
Cookie, our fullback, was short, very stocky and one hell of a football player, and a good friend, but only fast for a short distance, ten yards, maybe a bit more and that was it. So it seemed I was expected to do a lot of the longer stuff, like the off tackle, and runs around end and so forth.
My favorite play was me at left half running around right end. Bighead was there at the end to block and I could get up a good head of steam, so if I was tackled I could drag the defensive back a ways.
Wilson our quarterback would fake the ball to our right half and he would pretend he had it and hit the line. Then Cookie our fullback would take off around the right side to lead interference. The problem was that I would be crawling up Cookie’s backside within ten yards, either that or have to go around him, all a waste of time and yardage.
I didn’t know what to say to Cookie, he was a great ball player, but I had to tell him to move his ass faster or get out of the way. I figured even without him blocking in front of me, if I got up a head of steam I could drag a tackler, Cookie slowing me down was stopping me from getting to top speed. The funny thing is that Coach Brennan should have seen this and made some correction.
After practicing one day, thank God, Cookie came up to me in the locker room and said, “Hey Horse, I guess I can’t get my ass out of the way fast enough for you, what the hell are we going to do?” Well, we sort of worked our own play out, Cookie would slant through tackle and try to take out the linebacker, and Jack Bighead would brush block the end in so I could get around him, and take over as the blocking back. It worked most of the time. Again, Coach Brennan never said a word, I don’t know if he knew about our change or what. I guess as long as it worked he didn’t give a damn.
The big problem is we had no one that could run in a broken field, I was fast in a straight line, but the minute I would try something fancy it just did not work. Brennan knew it, and I knew it, the only way for me to run was right at a tackler. What we needed was a shifty little bastard with real fast tricky feet in our backfield. That would have complimented Cookie and I, and posed all sorts of threats.
SKINNY BIRD WITH A SWEET SOFT PASS
‘Flamingo’ Wilson, his first name was ‘Les’, maybe short for Lester, who knows! He was a tall skinny freshman. Very tall, very skinny and that is the reason for the nickname. Flamingo was the least looking football player you ever saw. He was not fast. He could handle the ball, and he could throw the sweetest short button hook passes you have ever seen. I never figured myself as a great receiver, but I never dropped one of his eight, ten, or fifteen yard button hooks.
A button hook is a pass where the end or half will run about ten yards down the field, then quick turn around and face the quarter back. The quarter back just gives it a short, quick throw. It is a pass play that is extremely hard to defense. The only thing is that you are almost standing still when you get the ball, and this gives the defense back time to hit you. The distance of the short pass from the line of scrimmage is about all the yardage you get, a lot of cheap easy first downs, at least for a while.
The coach first tried the freshman Jack Bighead as the quarterback. I do not remember Jack as much of a quarter back. We needed his speed, size, and ability more at right end. Another guy we all felt was a good quarterback but really did not get his day in court was George Haddad. Dale Martinusen I always felt would have been a good hard nosed quarterback, but after the ‘finger’ incident, Dale never did get a chance. I look back and have to say Coach Brennan was not always the best judge of football talent. He seemed to have his group of favorites and they were the ones that played.
The coach liked Wilson and I have to so who didn’t like the Flamingo? The freshman Wilson was it, on our so called rebuilding team. That was Wilson’s only year in the sun, so to speak. The next year he broke his arm at the beginning of the season and Jack Anderson took over quarterback and he could do it better than anyone.
We were going to play Lincoln High School my senior year, at Lincoln High. This was a school with a reputation of some very violent gangs, and a bit of dirty football thrown in. That did not worry us as we had played some so called dirty teams and had no problem giving it back. Los Angeles was tough town and we were all intercity kids that would never back down from anything.
When we played away from Poly we would all get into our uniforms get all taped up at Poly and then take a bus to the opposing school all dressed and ready to play.
During this particular day, we had just gotten off the bus and were trotting through the entrance to the stadium with a huge crowd of Lincoln High guys and gal on each side of us, there was just room for us to trot through single file. A guy stepped in front of me, before I could think what was happening he hit me in the stomach as hard as he could, then turned a ran away. I have no idea what that was all about, some of the guys said that he may have done it on a dare, or that they wanted to send that big number eleven, that so called power back, a message, to install some fear.
It made me mad as hell, so if the above was the objective it certainly did not work. Strange things can happen, on or near a football field.
THEY ALL DESERVED A LETTER
I think that guys, the thirty or more guys sitting on the bench most of the time, were the backbone of High School Football. Sure a lot of guys were good enough to be first string, but more of them had to sit on the bench game after game, just hoping for a chance to play. Some very terrific guys would maybe get to play only a few minutes of an actual game in their three years of high school football. Some would not even get a ‘Letter’ for playing, sweating their guts out, day after day, in practice – seems rotten to me. After three years they should have all gotten a ‘Letter.’ Just because some did not have as much natural ability, size, or catch the coach’s eye, they should have gotten recognition for giving it their all.
These guys sweat every day, practiced as the opposing team, took hits and did it all. The so called glory was for the coach’s favorites, they got the playing time.
I often think of that team. We won a lot more games than any one predicted we would win. We had some great younger players, as the next several years proved. With good solid coaching, not the hit and miss coaching we got, I think that players should have been shuffled in constantly, throwing fresh guys at the opposition, maybe not quite as good as a first stringer, but fresh, this approach, if used, in the later part of the games when the temperature was 90 degrees and we were dragging our ass could have won some more games for us. Coach Brennan used the so called ‘iron man’ approach – most of his first string played every play, offense and defense. Of course, looking back at what might have been – is always easy.
U. S. C. ONLY A DREAM
When I graduated Coach Brennan got John Brewer and I scholarships at the University of Southern California, this was the real big time! The only joker in the deck was that USC said I would have to have the ligaments in my left shoulder operated on and tied together.
I went to Doctor Novotny our school doctor and asked him what he thought. He said that the operation would certainly repair the shoulder now, but that in later life I could have a lot of aches and pain from it. He felt it would be far better if I just let it heal naturally – his advice was to forget football.
I received another lecture from him about how my bones had not been ‘knitted’ strongly enough because I had grown so fast, started playing football at such a young age and the way I played throwing my body in harms way sometimes was a bit stupid.
Doctor Novatny was one heck of a guy. The tiny bit of money he made attending the games and watching over us was really peanuts. He did it for the sheer love of sports. He had a small racing boat he raced and just loved sports in general. He was also the kind of guy you could talk to about anything – Doc Novatny and I were well aquatinted as he must have used miles of tape on me for several years.
I was a little sick of hearing his lectures about being hurt so often because of the growing. A seventeen year old does not want to hear advice from anyone, especially something that does not agree with what he wants to do. I sure wanted to go to U. S. C., so I said, “Doctor, why did they let me play?” The Doc just laughed, “Fred, would you or any kid that young in high school, have listened to anyone telling them they could not play.”
He was right. What is it that makes young men want to play football? Makes them ‘have’ to play football. It is almost like some inbred compulsion, something that just has to be done. If a kid wants to play, you can’t stop him, especially if all his buddies are playing. He will hold it against you for his entire life.
I still liked the idea of playing at USC, and decided to go to a few spring practices.
These guys were so good. Most of them, even a few line men were as fast as I was. They could stop on a dime and reverse, dodge, and do all that fancy foot work I could never dream of doing. Stuff I knew I could not do. All I would be was a ‘red shirt’ for four years, a blocking dummy or worse for the first and second string. I decided to take the doctors advice and let the shoulder heal naturally. Let the muscles heal and grow strong by themselves. I never regretted that decision.
TO PLAY OR NOT TO PLAY
I am not an advocate of high school football. If your son does not want to play, respect that. You should probably even he thankful. There are a lot of sports less violent. Yes, I think it builds a certain amount of character. However a lot of young teenagers’ bones and muscles are not ready for a sport that violent. I really think, real football, tackle football, is a game for those that are eighteen or maybe even twenty years of age.
My body is that case in point. I was tall, very strong, and could run fast, but at the age of fourteen was still a baby. For a big guy my bones and muscles just had not fully developed. A kid that is growing so fast is not physically up to the violent stuff that was football, he may look like he is ready, be tough enough to take the pain, the hitting, but his bones and muscles really need more time. Some of the shorter more stocky built guys could better handle the game at an early age.
In that short three year period I dislocated my left shoulder three times, wearing a ‘brace’ to play. I dislocated my left thumb twice, had my nose broken twice. From slamming my knees to the turf, I developed ‘water on the knee.’ This the doctor drained sometimes with a needle. In a game my senior year I got a three inch tear in my calf. All this plus assorted sprained ankles, black eyes, and little stuff like cuts, scrapes, and bruises that do not count. I missed only one game in my senior year – that is probably why I remember the hurting so much all the time.
My mother would go nuts. I would come home with bandages all over, my shoulder all taped up, arm in a sling, bandages on my face. Mom would say, “That’s it, no more, Fred you do not play any more, that’s final!” It would take my mild mannered Dad to calm her. He would say, “Helga, it’s his decision, you can’t stop him, if he wants to play, let him. He will hold it against you all his life if you force him to stop.”
Our games were on Friday afternoons, a busy time for our small wholesale business. Dad was able to come to one game. I played as hard as I could in that game. Dad never did understand the so called American game of football. Thank God I scored in that game, but Dad knew nothing about it. “You hardly ever kick the ball, how come you call it football?” He said.
Dad never did understand what a huddle was, “What are you talking about when you get together in a bunch after every play?” He would ask. Hopeless, maybe, at least he did get to know that whatever that crazy game was, his son was at least good enough to be on the first team, so that counted.
Hugo Valesquez, my buddy was all excited one day because his Dad came to see the game. Now Hugo’s Dad was like my Dad, real football was soccer football, not this stuff where you carry a ball in your hands. Like my Dad he was willing to come and watch his son play. Well, Hugo played guard, on offense and defense. The opposing team was on the three yard line – they elected to go for a touchdown on fourth down. Hugo tackles the back before he gets anywhere near the goal line and during the play is knocked unconscious in the process.
Later his Dad asked him what the hell was going on, that big pile up, and then they carry his son off the field. Hugo looks at his Dad and knowing full well that he would never understand – just shook his head and said, “Gee, Dad I saved a touchdown.”
When you watch a major college game, think about the quality of play you are seeing. Out of dozens of high schools, many with several thousand students, only a fist full of players can make it to play in college. If you really want to watch some of the finest athletics in the world, then look at the professional football player. Many years some of our major Universities can not even produce one player that can make it to the National or American Football leagues. Those leaping catches you take for granted, are plays that hold me in awe. The stuff those guys do with their bodies is unbelievable.
High school sports, the wonderful guys, the memories of them will linger forever. The fun of playing football or running track, where did the word ‘fun’ come into it. I wish a coach or someone had told me it is fun! I will always remember the wonderful friends and teammate of Poly High – BUT – I never remember ‘fun’ being any part of the sports I participated in at John H. Francis Polytechnic High School.
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