by Dave Revsine
But O’Dea did far more than just attend games. In 1950 he was elected president of the Big Ten Club of San Francisco, and the next year he was the first inductee into the state of Wisconsin’s Athletic Hall of Fame. He joined Bob Hope on his TV show as a celebrity guest when the famed comedian introduced his All-American team. He was a frequent presence at banquets, sharing the spotlight with the likes of Pop Warner and Wisconsin’s old nemesis, Amos Alonzo Stagg—whom he hadn’t seen since their memorable 1899 battle before the two were honored together at a gathering in 1957.
Whenever O’Dea’s name was brought up in the press, a recounting of the legend inevitably followed. To one writer, he was “the patron saint of all kickers.” Another called him “the most versatile kicker that the game of football has ever known.” While still another saw him as the man who “not only did the impossible, but did it under the most trying of circumstances.”
O’Dea held a variety of jobs after leaving Westwood, retiring in May of 1958 from his final position at Gerhardt’s, a men’s clothing store. His wife had passed away in 1956, and with some time now on his hands, O’Dea wrote to a friend in Madison telling him that he had begun work on his autobiography. Though some publishing companies reportedly expressed interest in telling O’Dea’s story, it was never completed, and no traces of it have ever been located.
O’Dea’s health began to decline in 1960. He was hit by a taxicab late that year. In a letter to Wisconsin football coach Milt Bruhn, the 88-year-old O’Dea reported that he was recovering well. Later in 1961, he traveled to Idaho to vacation with his daughter, Teresa, and her family—having finally established a relationship with the child he abandoned before her birth so many years before.
By early 1962, though, O’Dea was back in the hospital, diagnosed with cancer. In late March, just after his ninetieth birthday, while lying ill at the University of California Medical Center, the former superstar received a rather extraordinary message. No fewer than five nurses arrived at room 912 to deliver it. In their possession was a note from President John F. Kennedy. “As a fellow son of Erin and a longtime admirer of your fine sports record, I wanted to wish you a belated but a very sincere happy birthday,” the president wrote. “I was sorry to hear of your illness and hope you will be on your feet again.” O’Dea requested that the letter be saved—not for him, but “for the children.” He was concerned, apparently, with more pressing matters, telling his son-in-law to “get the phone numbers of all the pretty girls” who might call to wish him well.
On April 3, 1962, Pat O’Dea’s election to the College Football Hall of Fame was made public, though he had learned of the honor some time before, and friends said the news “brightened his final days.” The day after his Hall of Fame election was officially announced, Pat O’Dea died at the age of ninety.
In the days after the star’s death, Bruhn recalled trying to track down O’Dea a few years before on a visit to San Francisco. All of the letters that he got from his friend had the same return address, so the Wisconsin coach figured it would be an easy enough task. He went to the building indicated on the envelopes. When he arrived, he found an old, locked, abandoned warehouse. In an observation laced with understatement, Bruhn said of O’Dea, “he was hard to find.” Hard to figure out, too.
Afterword
The date was January 4, 2006. The number two Texas Longhorns trailed number one USC 38–33 late in the fourth quarter of the ninety-second Rose Bowl Game, which was doubling as the Bowl Championship Series National Championship.
It was a dream matchup. The Trojans were riding a thirty-four-game winning streak, the longest in college football in more than three decades. Texas had won nineteen straight games. USC had been ranked number one in the AP Poll every week of the season. The Longhorns were second in every poll. USC boasted Heisman Trophy–winner Reggie Bush. Texas had Heisman runner-up Vince Young. Each team had a high-profile coach. USC was led by the dynamic Pete Carroll, who was in search of his third straight national title. Texas’s Mack Brown was looking for his first championship—trying to shed the reputation of a fabulous recruiter who couldn’t win the big one. The two teams’ fan bases, among the most passionate in the country, were packed into the historic stadium, with the San Gabriel Mountains providing arguably the most beautiful backdrop in all of sports. Those who weren’t fortunate enough to have a ticket were glued to their TV sets, helping make it the highest-rated BCS championship game in history.
As the pregame, halftime, and postgame host for ESPN Radio’s national broadcast of the game, I was seated in the radio booth right at the 50-yard line. Moments earlier Young had scrambled 17 yards for a touchdown to pull Texas within five. Now, after USC had turned the ball over on downs near midfield, the brilliant Longhorns quarterback was trying to lead his team to the go-ahead touchdown.
After Young ran out of bounds on a beautifully improvised quarterback draw, the game’s color commentator, Bob Davie, who was seated directly in front of me, turned around and handed me a scrap of paper. On it he had written three simple words: “best game ever.” It was tough to debate that assertion. As an obsessive college football fan, I had spent weeks looking forward to this game, relishing the opportunity to be a part of a fabulous matchup. Bob’s note only crystallized what I was thinking. This was sports at its best—a game those of us who were fortunate enough to attend will never forget. Moments later, on an all-or-nothing fourth and goal, Young, seeing his receivers covered, scrambled right and raced into the end zone. The Horns held on for the 41–38 win.
College football had done it again. It had captivated the nation, providing a thrilling, dramatic, and supremely satisfying spectacle. It had done so at one of the most majestic venues in all of sport. The battle in Pasadena was the most highly anticipated college football game in years, and it had lived up to the hype, perfectly exemplifying everything Americans had loved about the game for more than a century. But it was also a contest that highlighted many of the same ills that had challenged college football a hundred years earlier.
Taken as a group, neither team’s players were overly successful in the classroom. USC’s graduation rate for football at the end of the 2005–2006 season stood at 55 percent—certainly not appalling, but well below the mark for the student body as a whole. Quarterback Matt Leinart, the 2004 Heisman winner, had taken some flack a few months earlier after it was revealed that he was enrolled in just one class during the football season: ballroom dancing. Although, to his credit, it was the only class Leinart needed to get his degree. Texas, meanwhile, graduated just 40 percent of its football team.
Soon after the Rose Bowl game, allegations began to swirl that, while at USC, Bush had received illegal gifts from sports marketers, hoping to cash in on his impending professional fortune. The payments included the use of a Southern California home for his family. In 2010 USC was slapped with significant penalties by the NCAA for violations related to Bush’s time on campus. Amid rumors that he was going to be stripped of the award, Bush voluntarily returned his Heisman Trophy. Carroll eventually fled Los Angeles for the NFL, just months before the NCAA slapped the program with wide-ranging sanctions.
Texas played in the BCS Championship Game again four years later before suffering several below-average seasons. The program remained as popular as ever, though. So popular, in fact, that in 2010 the university and ESPN agreed to a joint venture called the Longhorn Network, a 24-hour-a-day station devoted to Texas sports. The deal was worth $300 million to the school over twenty years, but the windfall came with plenty of controversy.
Texas’s quest for more cash led to a further destabilization of the already fracturing college football landscape. Within months, incensed by the inequities in the conference revenue structure brought on by the Longhorns’ new deal, Texas A&M announced it was leaving the Big 12 Conference, essentially ending its more than 100-year-old rivalry with the Longhorns. It was one in a series of realignment moves brought on by
the chase for larger chunks of TV cash.
Tragedy visited the programs as well. In May of 2012, much-beloved former Trojan star Junior Seau, an All-American in his final season at USC and a twelve-time Pro Bowler, shot himself in the chest. Examinations of Seau’s brain showed that he suffered from CTE, a degenerative brain disorder that can lead to memory loss, early onset dementia, and depression. While football has essentially eradicated deaths on the field, Seau’s suicide shed light on the game’s biggest injury crisis since 1909.
On its surface, the USC–Texas spectacle bore little resemblance to the Princeton–Yale Thanksgiving Day battle in 1893—a game of carriage rides, dropkicks, and chrysanthemum hairstyles. And yet, in many ways, very little had changed.
Acknowledgments
I have mixed emotions as I write this. It means the book is done. There have been many times over the last few years when I’ve wondered if I’d manage to get it to this point, so there’s obviously a part of me that feels relieved. On the other hand, this has been an absolute labor of love. It is a topic that has proven unendingly fascinating for me. I’m sad to see it go.
Significance of the moment aside, one thing is clear: I could have never arrived here without the help of many people.
Thanks first to my colleagues at the Big Ten Network—particularly President Mark Silverman. From the moment I first mentioned this endeavor to him in 2010, he has been incredibly supportive—trusting me not to let it get in the way of my “real” job. Thanks too to Mark Hulsey, Quentin Carter, and Marc Carman, who never batted an eye when I told them what I was up to. I’m also thankful to Big Ten commissioner Jim Delany, who not only approved the project, but also proved to have great insight into the early history of college athletics. His perspective, as always, was invaluable.
I spent more time researching this book than I did writing it, and many people helped me along the way, though one did so unknowingly. Michael D. Shutko was a freelance photojournalist who stumbled upon the story of Pat O’Dea in the early 1980s and became determined to tell it. He worked on it on and off for 25 years before passing away unexpectedly in 2007. He did some fine work, particularly in the area of genealogy. His son Mike and daughter-in-law Shannon were kind enough to share his papers with me. Though he never got to present the story to a widespread audience, I am pleased to acknowledge his contributions to this work.
University of Wisconsin archivist David Null was extraordinarily helpful. David was the first to pull O’Dea’s file for me back in 2010 and has aided me innumerable times since then. I appreciate his diligence. Northwestern University archivist Kevin Leonard has also been a huge help.
Others who assisted me in research included: Melba biographer Ann Blainey, O’Dea descendant Wendy Bolz, Phil King descendant Ken Luchs, Kent Stephens from the College Football Hall of Fame, Wendy Kramer of the San Francisco Public Library, Sue Braden of the Hedberg Public Library, Westwood authority Tim Purdy, Kilmore historian Grahame Thom, Frank Merriwell expert Ryan Anderson, Bill Bushong at the White House, Mark Rudner at the Big Ten, Jenni Wilson of Alexander Street Press, and Wisconsin football historian Dave Vitale.
I also employed three paid researchers, who were all fantastic: Stephen Morgan at Notre Dame, David Allen at Columbia, and Ally Brantley at Yale. Ally, in particular, did a fabulous job finding each and every note, telegram, and letter that I requested in the vast Walter Camp papers.
Several others provided guidance along the way. Eric Hagerman, Joseph Crespino, John U. Bacon, Sean Cassidy, Ellis Henican, and Christine Brennan helped me navigate the unfamiliar world of book publishing. Though many friends read bits and pieces of the work, I am particularly grateful to Michael Diesenhof, Hunter Smith, David Lloyd, Mike Decourcy, and Professor Ronald A. Smith, who each went through the full manuscript and contributed valuable feedback.
I am fortunate to have two incredible agents. Chris Park of Foundry Literary has been an absolute joy to work with. She “got” this story from the get-go, but constantly pushed me to make it better. When Chris told me it was good, I knew it was—because there were many times when she said just the opposite. I feel very fortunate to have found her.
Steve Herz of IF Management has represented me in the television business since 1996, and I sometimes think he believes in me more than I believe in myself. He has always been my champion, and this project was no exception. In addition to reading the manuscript at several different stages, he has been a great sounding board and resource throughout. Josh Santry in the IF office also provided valuable help.
I could not have asked for a better editor than Keith Wallman at Lyons Press. From the first time we started to discuss this book, it felt like a true partnership. His insights were unfailingly dead on, his commentary was always sharp, and his attention to detail was remarkable. I also greatly appreciate his willingness to alter his traditional editorial schedule to fit my unusual professional life. Thanks too to Lyons project editor Meredith Dias, designer Bret Kerr, and publicist Sharon Kunz.
Finally, none of this would have been possible without the support of my family. My mother, Barbara Revsine—an accomplished writer herself—was always there to lend an ear and a critical eye. My sister, Pam, a proud Badger, was kind enough to read the manuscript as well. My three wonderful daughters—Meredith, Abigail, and Caroline—all accepted the time I devoted to this project and even made occasional inquiries, such as, “Oh yeah, how’s that thing going?” and “Do you really think anyone’s going to read it?” Perhaps unknowingly, they provided the balance and perspective I needed. They are my inspiration.
As for my wife, Michele—what can I say? She was enthusiastic about this idea from the moment I told her about it, never wavering even when it proved to be a more formidable task than either of us could have ever imagined it would be. She shared my excitement when I regaled her with tales of small discoveries along the way and helped pick me up when the journey proved bumpy. Basically, she did what she does every day. I couldn’t ask for a better spouse—or friend, for that matter.
Sources and Notes
Preface
XIII. “scares me as a dad.”: Warner made the comments on The Dan Patrick Show, May 3, 2012.
XIII. over violence and concussions: Barney’s comments were made at a youth camp on June 14, 2013, and were widely quoted. See, for instance, http://tracking.si.com/2013/06/14/lem-barney-football-deadly.
XIII. “. . . worried about college players.”: Franklin Foer and Chris Hughes, “Barack Obama Is Not Pleased,” New Republic, January 27, 2013.
XIII. “shocking apathy of conscience.”: Charles Grosvenor Osgood, Lights in Nassan Hall: A Book of the Bicentennial, Princeton, 1746–1946 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1951), 31.
XIV. “. . . strain that football demands.”: John Sayle Watterson, College Football: History, Spectacle, Controversy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000), 76.
XIV. a list of Americans’ favorite sports: Michael McCarthy, “Look Out, Baseball. College Football Is Hot on Your Cleats,” Advertising Age, January 7, 2013; http://adage.com/article/news/baseball-college-football-hot-cleats/239014.
XIV. ESPN paid $5.64 billion: Rachel Bachman, “ESPN Strikes Deal for College Football Playoff,” Wall Street Journal, November 21, 2012; http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424127887324851704578133223970790516.html.
Chapter 1
1. largest in the nation: Descriptions of Edwards and Hoffman House are from Henry Collins Brown, Valentine’s Manual of Old New York (New York: Valentine’s Manual, 1922), 126–31.
1. in a championship match: New York Clipper Annual (New York: Frank Queen Publishing Company, 1893), 68.
2. “. . . don’t light your nose.”: This was a favorite quote of the Hoffman House employees, as documented in “Art: Tales of the Hoffman House,” Time, January 25, 1943. I cannot say definitively that Edwards uttered it on this particular night.
; 2. “sis boom bah” of Princeton: “Princeton’s Great Victory,” New York Herald, December 1, 1893.
2. best-known bookie: Richard Harding Davis, “The Thanksgiving Day Game,” Harper’s Weekly, December 9, 1893, 1170.
3. five times their face value: Michael Oriard, Reading Football: How the Popular Press Created an American Spectacle (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 90, and “Gross Receipts about $41,000,” New York Sun, December 1, 1893, 3.
3. “. . . over a whitewashed line.”: Richard Harding Davis, “The Thanksgiving Day Game,” Harper’s Weekly, December 9, 1893, 1170.
3. “. . . people bow down to him.”: “Princeton’s Great Victory,” New York Herald, December 1, 1893.
3. “. . . will not do.”: Editorial Article 1 (No Title), New York Times, December 1, 1893.
4. far more luxuriously: Descriptions of Tally-hos in next two paragraphs from “Some Went in Tally-hos,” New York Sun, December 1, 1893, 3; and Richard Harding Davis, “The Thanksgiving Day Game,” Harper’s Weekly, December 9, 1893, 1170.