by Sam Hatcher
“We’re doing this because of a contract. We don’t have to win. We don’t even have to score. We just want to fulfill our obligation and get off the field without injury.”
George had designated Morris Gouger and Leon McDonald as quarterbacks as both had played the position in high school. They knew the essentials of the game and could fill in the blanks for some of the rookies, who were picking it up as they went along.
Third team meeting
At the third and final meeting George explained, “Guys this is it: our final practice before we reconvene Friday morning to board the train. Let’s concentrate on our plays and what responsibilities each of you have at your respective positions.”
Morris Gouger directed four basic running plays and also threw several short passes to both ends.
One play George had drawn up required Gouger to lateral the football to McDonald, and then McDonald would throw a long pass down field to the end. The play had been tagged “the Cumberland shuffle.” The student manager thought if they could complete several passes, it could cut down on potential injuries.
Some of the plays conceived by George were given vegetable names like “green lettuce sweep” or “broccoli bash” to help players remember their individual assignments and to be able to recall which side of the line the play would be directed and who would be responsible for carrying the ball.
The team completed their final workout in two hours, retired to the dressing room and took off their equipment. The next time they dressed out, they would be facing Heisman and his horde of giants.
One last party
A final party was planned, a going-away celebration to be held at Horn Springs Thursday night. There’d be girls, dancing, alcoholic beverages and plenty of opportunities for members of the team to be led astray.
George couldn’t afford to lose one player, but he didn’t really have the wherewithal to keep his tribe in check. They were volunteers. George had absolutely nothing to hold them to their commitment, no leverage whatsoever. If they chose to not show up on Friday morning, there was really nothing he could do.
He awoke early Thursday morning and sat down at the frat house kitchen table for a big cup of hot coffee and to gather his thoughts for the day.
At eight a.m. he left for his first class. After finishing his last class at two o’clock he returned to the Kappa Sigma fraternity house.
Catching up with Gentry, he invited him to join him in the boiler room and coal storage area beneath Memorial Hall where the team equipment was stored.
Together they counted and recounted helmets, pants, jerseys, and pads to insure all were in place. Then, taking fourteen burlap potato sacks contributed by Eskew’s Grocery, a local, family-owned store located only a few blocks off campus, they packed each sack with a complete ensemble, labeling each with the appropriate player’s name.
An hour past sundown a number of students had already made their way to Horn Springs. A bonfire lay in wait for the heroes of the hour to arrive.
A small dance band with a decent vocalist played the popular tunes with a good blend of jazz singer Al Jolson’s hits. Most of the evening the music proved festive, but as the night wore on, the songs took a turn toward the melancholy with some of the tunes proving patriotic in nature reflecting love of country. They easily could have been translated into love of Cumberland.
One such current popular hit was “The Star Spangled Banner.” Written by Francis Scott Key one-hundred-and-two years earlier in 1814, the song, which would become the National Anthem in 1931, was being played by bands everywhere.
As the party roared on, more and more students arrived. The drum roll moment came when the fourteen football heroes exited their vehicles and began winding their way in single file through the crowd.
Shrieks, yells and cheers filled the air as the maddening celebration unfolded. The athletes ambled to the bonfire, where they were encircled by several hundred party-goers, and hurrahs were shouted by all as the fire was lit and the flames quickly brightened the dark steel blue night sky.
TOP MUSIC SELECTIONS OF THE DAY
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Billboard’s top music selections in 1916 included “America,” by the Columbia Mixed Quartet; “The Star Spangled Banner,” by Prince’s Orchestra; “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” by the Columbia Mixed Quartet; “Yaaka Hula Hickey Dula,” by Al Jolson, “Good-bye, Good Luck, God Bless You,” by Henry Burr; “The Sunshine of Your Smile,” by John McCormack; “My Old Kentucky Home,” by Adam Gluck; “O Sole Mio,” by Enrico Caruso; “I Sent My Wife to the Thousand Isles,” by Al Jolson; and in December the most popular tune was “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing,” by The Columbia Mixed Quartet.
The party ran full tilt.
At two a.m. George thought it best to wind it down. He suggested to the bandleader that he play a couple of tunes that would signal to attendees that the party was on its last leg.
But first he wanted to make a few comments.
The band stopped, and for a brief moment the crowd hushed itself long enough for George to stumble through a few unrehearsed remarks. Taking a post immediately at the front of the raised gazebo/bandstand, George began, “We’re here tonight celebrating, if you want to call it that, a selfless commitment that has been made by a few to benefit the many.
“These men didn’t have to volunteer for this duty. But they did. They are laying on their shoulders the long and glorious history of our beloved university.
“I know you all join with me in saying thank you to each of these men.
“As we conclude this festive event, I’m asking that the band play two songs. Both say much about our country, and truly, I think about our school, about ourselves and about the privileges we have to be free and to be a part of something so great as a simple football game to be played for the salvation of our University.”
George turned to the bandleader and requested “America,” followed by “The Star Spangled Banner.”
Day of departure
Friday morning made a grand entrance a mere few hours after the strains of “The Star Spangled Banner” had wound down. George did not have the luxury of getting a full eight hours of sleep.
He had his coffee and began knocking off a few last-minute details.
In the meantime, townspeople had been gathering at the train depot, a small wooden frame building a block off the Lebanon square and three or four blocks away from the campus. Merchants carried signs of support for the team. A group of students held a twenty-foot-long banner that read “Beat the Heck out of Georgia Tech.”
The mammoth crowd numbered well over a thousand as they stood on their toes to watch the players board the train.
George stood next to the passenger car, checking his list one final time. He and Gentry had already made sure the fourteen potato sacks containing the players’ equipment had been loaded.
He ticked off the last line on his lengthy check list and the final passenger boarded the train. The crowd cheered loudly as the train whistle gave a couple of blows, and slowly the Southern Railway iron horse chugged down the track.
DECISION NEAR IN 1915
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Cumberland was nearing the decision of giving up football in 1915 but still hadn’t quite pulled the trigger when it played Tennessee.
In the meantime a decision was made to play a limited four game schedule in 1915. If Cumberland hadn’t made a decision to give up football by the beginning of the 1915 season, the question was surely decided by the season’s end at least if winning or even being minimally competitive was a requirement. Cumberland lost all four games. Wofford beat the Bulldogs in Lebanon 2–0, but on the road Cumberland lost to Vanderbilt 60–0; South Carolina 68–0; and to the University of Tennessee in Knoxville 101–0. Cumberland played Tennessee one other time, in 1897 as the Vols squeaked by 6–0.
Cumberland in the early days did tackle a number of schools which now are members of the Southeastern Conference. In 1903 Cumberland beat Alabama 44–0, LSU 41�
��0, Vanderbilt 6–0, and tied Clemson 11–11 in a bowl game.
It was but fifty minutes by rail from Lebanon to Nashville. The route from there would turn south to Birmingham, Alabama, and then due east for Atlanta.
Many on the train had been present at Horn Springs the night before, and many of them were nursing headaches and hangovers. George was grateful for the quiet time. He had enjoyed the hoopla of the party but had abstained from the alcoholic drinks.
The gentle rocking motion of the train, swaying back and forth, combined with the clickity-clink rhythm of the wheels on the track made for an inviting lullaby that led to a slumber much deeper than napping. George was soon in dreamland, making up lost time for the sleep he had been deprived of over the past week.
As the train drew near to Birmingham, some of the Cumberland entourage reflected on the school’s glory days when they played the University of Alabama. By jingo, last year they had even matched up with the University of Tennessee.
As a few of the groggy athletes began to stir from their sleep, one could hear voices asking, “Where are we?” and “Are we there yet?”
The scenery was spectacular as the train crossed rolling hills leading into and out of small towns and past farm fields blanketed white with acres and acres of cotton bolls ripe for picking.
A happy voice from the back of the car hollered, “’Bout time for a beer!”
The frivolity began with beer, sandwiches, and pretzels and gathered speed with music via musicians with a guitar, fiddle and harmonica. There was dancing in the aisles.
George’s first thought was to quiet them down, but then he reasoned to himself, “Oh, let them have their fun. It wasn’t going to matter one whit of difference as to the outcome of the game. He knew they were like lambs being led to the slaughter, and he knew that he was responsible for the situation. He rationalized it was best that they enjoy themselves today, and tomorrow would take care of itself. He did not wish for his mind to linger on that scenario.
At about six o’clock the lights of Atlanta could be seen as the train approached from the northwest. The conductor alerted the riders, “We’re only about 20 miles out.”
That was his signal to his somewhat rowdy passengers that it was time for them to sober up, and collect their belongings. His announcement received cheers of joy from the unsuspecting lambs.
The Bulldog squad
George counted himself fortunate to have a final roster of 15 players, all Cumberland students except for a reporter, George Geiger, whom he had picked up from The Nashville Tennessean. One Cumberland athlete, Pete Gray, had actually played college football for a short while in Oklahoma.
The squad was dominated by members of the Kappa Sigma fraternity.
The Cumberland team and their respective hometowns were: T.N. (Morris) Gouger, Robstown, Texas; E.L. (Leon) McDonald, Bay City, Texas; G.T. (George) Murphy, Huntingdon, Tenn.; C.E. (Eddie) Edwards, Savannah, Ga.; C.W. (Charlie) Warwick, West Palm Beach, Fla.; D.R. (Dow) Cope, Yakima, Wash.; Gentry Dugat, Beeville, Texas; D.N. (David) Harsh, Gallatin, Tenn.; E.W. McCall, Hamshire, Texas; H.F. Carney, Cheatham County, Tenn.; R.E. (Pete) Gray, Fairfax, Okla.; B.F. (Bird) Patey, Tullahoma, Tenn.; J.D. (Dean) Gauldin, Dallas, Texas; P.V. (Porter) Hamblen, Mt. Juliet, Tenn.; and George Geiger, Nashville, Tenn. The coach was Ernest (Butch) McQueen of Lebanon, Tenn., and the manager was G.E. (George) Allen of Baldwyn, Miss.
Although formally listed as team manager, George also threw himself as a part of the Cumberland squad playing intermittently at fullback.
TERMINAL STATION
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This train depot opened in 1905 and was the larger of two rail stations in downtown Atlanta during the period. Union Station was the other. Served by Southern Railway, Seaboard Railroad, Central of Georgia, and the Atlanta and West Point, Terminal Station was convenient to downtown Atlanta hotels, the business district and other places of interests. The Atlanta Convention Bureau marketed Terminal Station as “the gateway to sunshine” because it was the center point in the southeast where many rail travelers from northern states in the fall and winter months would change trains on their way to the warmer climates of Florida and the Gulf Coast. Terminal Station survived long enough to see one refurbishing project in 1947 but closed in 1970 and was demolished two years later.
Terminal Station
As the train pulled into Terminal Station in downtown Atlanta, the shouting and cheering became louder. The decibel level inside the car was so high that the squealing of the iron wheels rubbing against the rails as the engineer applied the brakes couldn’t be heard.
Waiting for Cumberland’s arrival was a delegation from Georgia Tech. President Kenneth Matheson and Coach John Heisman were not among the greeters.
Patiently the group from the host school waited as the Cumberland players and their fellow passengers gathered their suitcases and burlap potato sacks. Once together with all their apparatus they stood in four uneven ranks. Despite the gentlemen wearing neckties and three-piece suits and the women adorned in long skirts, the group appeared unkempt and out-of-sorts.
George stood before his rumpled platoon and barked simple instructions.
“We’re going to follow our genial hosts down the avenue a few blocks to the Georgian Terrace Hotel. The school has taken care of the team’s rooms, but the others of you are on your own.
“Tomorrow is going to be a long day. I want you players to get a good meal tonight at the hotel. Turn in early. Get a good night’s sleep, and be downstairs for breakfast at eight o’clock sharp.
“We’ll go over our plans for the game after supper,” he ended.
The Cumberland corps marched down the metropolitan sidewalk lit by gas lamps and ogled their surroundings. They were mesmerized.
Young George Allen, 20, mentor, father figure and disciplinarian, reckoned that despite his best efforts the words he had uttered likely had fallen on deaf ears. This bunch had not come to Atlanta to eat and sleep. He was just prayerful that all fifteen would show for breakfast before the drive to Grant Field.
Reporting for breakfast
One by one they came straggling in.
It was not a pretty sight, but they reported for breakfast as George had requested.
Heads bowed, eyes half shuttered, these guys, Cumberland’s football team for the day, didn’t appear in the least to be eligible to be on the stage against a Georgia Tech team playing for a national title.
They were hung-over from a long night of partying, had gotten only a couple of hours of sleep, and in a few hours would be facing their very own Goliath.
There was not much chatter at breakfast. There was muttering about passing the eggs, jam for the hotel’s famously held homemade biscuits and calls all across the dining room for Bayer aspirin, a product introduced in 1899 to help relieve headaches. Many listed on George’s roster were suffering from lingering hangover headaches contracted the night before from the consumption of too much of Atlanta’s best libations.
As the table was being cleared, George stood with clip board in hand and began making announcements.
“Georgia Tech will send transportation to pick us up at 1 o’clock. You and your equipment bags (potato sacks) should be waiting at the sidewalk in front of the hotel at that time. Do not be late. Grant Field is a few miles east of here and it’s a long walk.
“The game is scheduled to start at three. Drink lots of coffee, water and juice and try to get yourselves sober and ready as best you can. I will see you in front of the hotel in about three hours. Again, let me remind you, do not be late,” said George as he closed in his most persuasive commanding tone.
On the Georgia Tech campus Coach Heisman was taking care of business.
His players assembled for breakfast at six-thirty. They were not hung-over. Their eyes were not bloodshot. And they had reported to Coach Heisman, as instructed, following a full eight hours of sleep.
Honey-smothered buttermilk biscuits, fruit (with an emphasis on bananas for potassium),
eggs, beefsteaks, bottomless glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, an assortment of nuts and pastries, and a generous portion of sliced Georgia peaches for good measure comprised the Tech breakfast menu.
Coach Heisman prepared the same for this game as he did every game. He didn’t give a hoot in hell as to whether or not Cumberland fielded a genuine football team. But he did know the caliber of his athletes and that they were ready.
He preached his axioms for success on the gridiron to an attentive audience. He warned them about the possible what-ifs and trick plays. And he recanted to his players the events of the previous spring when Cumberland had humiliated his Georgia Tech baseball team.
John Heisman was not about to let a championship season slip through his hands because he was not prepared. He expected to win this game in a big way.
Those who played for Coach Heisman recognized him as a strict disciplinarian and a man who had strong objections to profanity and fumbling. He admonished his teams to play as hard on the practice field as they would on a game field.
His pre-game and halftime motivational talks were as natural to him as a politician speaking on the courthouse steps. He had trained as an actor. For years Heisman spent his summers working as an aspiring actor focusing his energies on plays by Shakespeare.
Among other peculiarities, he would make his athletes take cold showers after long practice sessions and rewarded them with hot water after a winning game day.
A Nice Day
More than an hour before the kickoff the first of what would amount to several hundred spectators began to arrive at Grant Field. The vast majority were Georgia Tech supporters. The only folks sitting in the bleachers cheering for Cumberland were the seventy-five or so who had accompanied the team on the train.