I don’t mean to be a tease, but I’m so excited about an entry I’ll be posting later this week or early next, that I had to tender a preliminary. Below is an e-mail I sent to my friend Ana, an attorney in Santa Fe, friend of my brother-in-law Bob. After a very successful career suing doctors, she turned her considerable legal talents to the rights of those bruised by the COVID nazis, and boy are there a bunch of them in Santa Fe. She’s started a foundation www.nmstandup.org and assures me there are similar efforts in most states. Lawyers do save us from things from time to time and maybe this will be one of those instances.
So here’s what I wrote:
Hey Ana
I hope you and Guy are well and enjoying life. I write to update you on a couple things on the COVID front here in AA. Right now, I’m as excited as I used to get when I admitted a patient with a rare autoimmune disease. It came about like this. Last Friday, Kathy’s Dean announced the equivalent of a vaccine passport for the school, making it clear that life would be miserable for those faculty who did not comply. We talked it over and decided to cave, knuckle under, roll up our sleeves, and join the sheeple. We’d been getting concerned about our ability to travel abroad unvaccinated, too. I had an artist friend lined up to gin us up some counterfeit CDC vaccine cards, but those wouldn’t get us past Kathy’s Dean. The recent reports of myocarditis in young men who’d received an mRNA vaccine* had me real concerned, and spurned the digging that’s got me so excited. A PubMed search of “COVID myocarditis” nets 734 citations. I pulled 37 from these, and they sit in a one inch stack to my left waiting to get read. My skimming so far has me reassured that my senescent sexagenarian immune system isn’t going to respond as vigorously to that science fair spike protein as it did in those boys with their vigorous everything, so my ticker will probably survive these shots. But I’m concerned with the subclinical stuff, like low grade heart inflammation that produces no symptoms now but leaves a flabby failing heart in 10 years. COVID affects the heart in many different ways, most immune mediated, meaning a vaccine can potentially kick up the same stuff. I hope to emerge from a dive into those 37 papers with a clearer understanding of just what those possibilities might be. This’ll be a blog for sure, but maybe even a manuscript. Rheumatologists have had a big role in understanding and management of COVID, what’s one more owning up?
I don’t know if you’re integrating this stuff into your legal work. Surely, if I come up with a scary enough array of potential cardiac complications of COVID vaccination, that would be pretty good ammunition for any client of yours wishing to avoid. If you like, I can let you know what I find out.
As the masks come off and normalcy begins to pervade, the issue of vaccination persists. With the common trope at stores that masks are optional for the vaccinated, Kathy and I leave ours off as we’ve been vaccinated plenty over the years: polio, smallpox, measles, mumps, etc. We continue to avoid these COVID science fair experiments out of concern for reactions and autoimmune diseases. I spent a career taking care of folks with those things and have no desire for one of my own. Reports of myocarditis in vaccinated young adults are hardly reassuring.* But the real world intrudes. We love to travel and it’s looking more and more that some sort of proof of vaccination will be a requirement, at least for entry into Europe. We’ve seriously looked into acquiring a counterfeit version of the CDC vaccine record card. Then close to home comes the hammer of the big U. Kathy received an e-mail from her Dean Friday cheerily announcing the school’s version of a vaccine passport plus the existence of safety officers that will check into such things. The unvaccinated must remained masked and distanced, including in class. So we’ve decided to tuck tail, wear the star, and submit. That was the motivation for me to finally review the vaccines. I’d been looking at scientific papers, with descriptions of up to 60 vaccine candidates, including such scary things as adenovirus DNA vectors. Turns out there are only 3 vaccines out there for us Yanks. It’s a pretty simple choice. Do you want some test tube RNA encapsulated in anti freeze or a bit of hair of the dog itself, safely (we hope) disabled but capable of delivering the information to make your cells make spike protein? One shot or 2. Here ya go. Read ‘em and weep.
manufacturer
mechanism
regimen
Moderna
PEG encapsulated mRNA
2 shots, 28 days apart
Pfizer
PEG encapsulated mRNA
2 shots, 21 days apart
Johnson & Johnson
Viral vector (disabled virus which still delivers info to cell on how to make spike protein)
1 shot
The Oxford/AstraZeneca vaccine is not approved for use in the U.S. It has an even scarier mechanism of action. To get your cells to make spike protein, you’re injected with an adenovirus – a DNA virus that is one of the causes of the common cold – into which DNA that codes for the RNA that makes spike protein has been spliced. Once in the cell, the cell’s DNA transcribing enzyme makes spike protein RNA that is translated on the cell’s ribosomes into spike protein, just like the COVID virus has. Unlike RNA, which is rapidly degraded in the cell, DNA hangs around. AstraZeneca scientists say the viral DNA won’t integrate into the cell’s chromosomes as the virus doesn’t carry in the enzyme – integrase – it would need to do that. But I think the whole system is just asking for trouble. One spot of trouble that’s emerged already is an increased incidence of blot clots among those receiving the vaccine. Blot clots are a known and sometimes fatal complication of COVID-19 infection. But, hey, AZ is just one shot! Not for me, thanks. The goal for all these vaccines.is always to get your own cells to make coronavirus spike protein, the action arm of the virus that attaches to lung cells and gets things going. When your own cells present newly made spike protein to your immune system, all arms are activated, as opposed to just the antibody response which would occur if you ground up virus and injected it, as all previous vaccines across the ages have been designed. It is for sure a molecular biology tour de force and the labs that designed it are in for multiple Nobels. I’m still a little wary of having my ribosomes hijacked to produce something they never were meant to make, to which a slightly too vigorous immune response might end up attacking my own organs. We’re all part of a huge scientific experiment here and I hope that 5 years hence we’re just telling each other stories about the silly lockdowns and not comparing notes on our new ailments. Time will tell.
On the coffee table of Tony’s beach house, where we’ve been staying in South Haven, is Richard Applegate’s very entertaining pictorial history of the area Photographic Memories Grand Rapids: Josten’s Printing and Publishing, 1996. In the section on sports, of which SH has a proud tradition (they always beat our asses), is a picture of 6 SH footballers sometime around 1900, before and after the game, p188. I think Jim Harbaugh could use it for motivation
Mr. Applegate identified the combatants as C.O. Monroe, Harold French, Arthur Ryall, Howard Webster, Harold Webster, Calvin Donahue, and Arch Haven. I’m sure their descendants are proud of them.
What could be better on a rainy Saturday morning than buttermilk pancakes, slathered with butter and drowned with maple syrup? Add some bacon on the side and a big glass of cold milk to wash it down with and you’ve got breakfast heaven. My late Grandpa Slater – Grand Rapids fireman who liked to entertain his #10 station mates with his cooking – was the first to present me with these wonders. Standing by the griddle, all 6’4”of him smiling, he knew his charges were happy. Of course, I wanted to make them myself, even at that young age, but he insisted his recipe was secret. After he passed, I in my teens found a recipe for “sour milk pancakes” in my mom’s Joy of Cooking, which tasted pretty similar. Ever since, whenever I’m looking for a breakfast crowd pleaser, I turn to that recipe.
This Saturday was one of those days. We are sharing this luxurious beach house in South Haven for the week with Jeff and Deb, our doctor friends from St. Louis. Jeff and I both love to cook, so we’ve been doing way more farmer’s market, butcher shop, and Meijer’s than local restaurants, although we did hit Captain Lou’s for perch. I drew the straw for today’s breakfast. Now Tony, the 747 pilot for Kalitta Air http://www.kalittaair.com/ who owns this place and rents it out when not in town, has a pretty well-appointed kitchen, he did not have some of the ingredients stocked that I would need in my pancake recipe. Specifically, buttermilk, baking powder, and plain vegetable oil (he had olive oil, but that won’t do). Getting those items at Meijer’s was on yesterday’s agenda, but between the wine/cider tour, a nap, the wooden speedboat ride, and tomahawk steak with morels and asparagus dinner, the window did not open. Fine, I said. I’m the earliest riser of the bunch, and Meijer’s opens at 6. Seemed like a plan. But gang aft agley, as we woke around 5:30 to the sound of pouring rain, realizing instantly that our top-down Wrangler was out in the driveway taking a bath in it. Jeff and Deb did not leave their Prius keys in easy reach, so it was time to improvise. I’ve had to improvise with this recipe before, but this would be the biggest yet. Thanks to the internet, solutions are just a keystroke away, and they were here.
Buttermilk. The stuff got its name as the sour stuff that rises to the top as milk is churned into butter. With butter-making an industrial process now, the stuff is made by bacterial fermentation these days, slightly curdling the milk proteins and lowering the pH, hence the sour flavor. With its live bacteria, it’s a wonderful drink to keep your microbiome happy, just like they love yogurt. In pancakes, the lower pH promotes the reactions by the baking soda and baking power that make gas, which makes the flapjacks fluffy. Buttermilk can be approximated by adding a tablespoon of plain vinegar to a cup of milk. The curdling begins quickly, and the pH drop is instantaneous. No bacteria are added, so you miss out on the health benefits, but that is not why you use buttermilk to make pancakes.
Baking powder is composed of sodium bicarbonate, which is known in chemistry as a base, paired with an acid, such as cream of tartar, which is a dry, powdery, acidic byproduct of fermenting grapes into wine. Its scientific name is potassium bitartrate, aka potassium hydrogen tartrate or tartaric acid. When combined with water, the acid reacts with the sodium bicarbonate in an acid-base reaction and releases carbon dioxide gas. This leads to the formation of bubbles, causing the mixture to expand, which adds volume to cakes, breads baked goods, and pancakes. Baking powder is often confused with baking soda, which consists only of sodium bicarbonate and is missing the acid component. Therefore, it must be combined with an acid to have the same leavening effect as baking powder. Omit this ingredient, and your flapjacks will be flat as a pancake. Fortunately, there are at least 10 ways to substitute for this ingredient https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/10-baking-powder-substitutes#TOC_TITLE_HDR_2. Some seek to address the chemical action. I chose one that simply seeks to restore the fluffiness: whipped egg whites, white of one egg per 1 C flour.
A bland lipid is necessary to hold everything together. Lacking anything but olive oil, which has too much of its own flavor, I turned to the jar of bacon grease I’d been saving. I’m so used to the hard consistency the saved stuff turns in the refrigerator; I’d forgotten the stuff is pretty liquid at room temperature. As I’d been keeping the jar from this trip on the counter, I was reminded of that right away. Hardly a flavorless lipid, but we were going to eat bacon with the pancakes, of course, and my eaters loved the flavor. Maybe that’s why we had four strips left over from the two pounds of bacon I fried up for the 4 of us.
So, the product wasn’t quite as wonderful as the fluffy ‘cakes I whip up at home on my griddle using all the called-for ingredients. But very passable, and still a good breakfast for our rainy Saturday morning. Here’s how you can do it, both with and lacking the proper ingredients:
Can there be anything better than a bowl of fresh strawberries in June, bright red flecked with their little seeds like freckles, sparkling in a glass bowl? And that smell! Like taking in all the wonder of a pretty girl. The only thing better than that wonder is imagining the pleasure that will be yours when you can take advantage, which happens with the berries when you coax a bit of juice out of them, pour them over a hot shortcake, and squirt ‘em with some whipped cream. Mmmmm. Yep, strawberry shortcake! One of life’s supreme pleasures.
Getting there got to be a problem for my own pretty girl a couple years ago. Since she started going a little keto (not whole hog, as it were), she totally lost her sweet tooth. And this was a girl with a world class sweet tooth. Nobody I’d rather take out for ice cream. But no more, alas. And how do you get the juice out of those berries? Why, sugar, of course. Might there be another way? As we brainstormed this problem, we knew it was a simple chemistry problem. An osmotic thing. The juices moved out of the berry to sidle up to the sucrose molecules to make their concentration approximate that inside the berry itself. There must be another compound with which we could accomplish that. My girl with her 4 science degrees, 4 years as NASA’s chief scientist, and 22 years promoting knowledge at U of M went at it and quickly came up with something. In the classroom she’s Dr.C, in homage to Mr. C – the late Joe Carpenito – family friend who died young of lung cancer after many years as a superstar junior high science teacher in Orlando. The replacing agent was … balsamic vinegar! And the results were terrific! The slight tart of the vinegar complemented the natural sweet of the berries, and the juice was plentiful. Here’s the recipe we used:
And the new astringent bath did not affect their looks.
You don’t need to serve them from a Mr. Coffee pot. That’s the only glass vesseI could find in this South Haven beach house we’re renting. But not a bad look, if I do say so. Easy pouring over the shortcake.
They did perform superbly between their shortcake bed and whipped cream covers. Bisquick no longer prints the shortcake recipe on their boxes, so here’s the recipe we used:
Easy peasy, and oh so good. Hurry up, those berries won’t be with us much longer!
Of 169 graduates of Vicksburg High School in 1970, 4 went to the University of Michigan, a haul that has yet to be surpassed. We all experienced Ann Arbor differently, but we shared football, sitting in the yet-to-be-filled stadium and watching Bo’s early teams grind out boring football, but winning, winning, winning, going 9-1, 11-1 (losing to Jim Plunkett’s Stanford in the Rose Bowl), 10-1 (deprived of a Rose bowl by Mike Lantry’s 2 field goal misses) , 10-0-1 (deprived of a Rose Bowl by a vote of the Big10’s ADs judging QB Dennis Franklin’s broken leg rendered us uncompetitive), and 10-1, shut out from Pasadena by a squeaker at the horseshoe. The Boone’s Farm helped to dull the boredom, and we all still enjoyed singing “Hail to the Victors”. Ross enjoyed the special perspective of the marching band. Of course, we all were huge fans of Bo, who had slain Woody’s mighty Buckeyes the year before we got there, and had brought glory back to Michigan. We have taken different paths since graduation: Con right back to VHS to teach for 30 years, Ross taking his dad’s Ford dealership west to South Haven, and Darai much farther west, taking her Natural Resources degree to seek her fortunes in the Golden State, ending up in school administration in sunny Southern California with two beautiful daughters and a burly husband whom I hope I never cross. Oh, yeah, me to medical school and the training stops that followed. We’ve of course stayed friends and have kept in touch, especially over matters Michigan.
So when Fielding Yost’s crucifixion came up, I had to tell them. Responses were surprisingly mute, other than the comment to the effect that I in my elderly unemployed state might be the one with sufficient time to tilt at such windmills. When the mob turned to Bo, even earlier than I predicted, I had to pass that on, too. This did elicit a response, at least from Darai, who may love Bo as much as I do. See us here posed at his statue a day before her birthday in ’19.
Still a pretty girl, eh?
She doesn’t read my blog, finding my torrent of words overwhelming. So she didn’t see my post when I got into the medical details of Dr. Anderson’s practicing, putting them pretty much in line with standard practices of the day https://wordpress.com/post/theviewfromharbal.com/1611. So I sent her an e-mail with the meat of that post, warning her first that it contained gross medical details (it did).
She wrote me back, asking “So wouldn’t one of the 3.2 million doctors at U of M medical school get the word the stick up for Bo for crying out loud?”
So I wrote back:
Regarding docs at the U stepping up: it’s no longer standard practice to do rectal exams on everyone. I doubt any doc below the age of 60 does them anymore. The two main reasons for a rectal are to check the prostate and obtain a stool sample to check for occult blood, meaning something is bleeding from higher up, anything from an ulcer to colon cancer. The PSA test has replaced the doctor’s finger as the way to screen for prostate cancer and for an occult stool blood test you just ask the patient to poop into a cup, take a popsicle stick and smear some on a card that goes in the mail if done at home or to the lab if done in the clinic. The ball squeeze has been replaced by instruction in self-examination, like you ladies are taught to check out your own precious parts. Trouble is, young guys don’t go to doctors much and seldom listen to anything when there anyway. “Hands on” medicine has been dying for decades, the doctor’s touch replaced by reliance on tests. It’s all horrible for the doctor-patient relationship IMHO, as a bond and trust can grow out of those physical interactions, not to mention gathering of information far cheaper to get than that from an expensive test. Today’s young doctors seem happy to stare at a screen, type into an electronic medical record, and order tests, much to the approval of their masters. COVID only accelerated the process, as those “virtual” visits were the only way many could get care. Docs could see a slate of patients – and bill for their services – sitting in an easy chair in their living rooms with a laptop, like I am now. Nice work if you can get it. I have an old girlfriend who went and got a DO from MSU after we broke up who now lives comfortably in Albuquerque tending to the big screen in her living room doing primary care. Not how I’d care to do it that way.
Plus, speaking up is not encouraged at the MECCA, particularly when it flies in the face of the overriding PC mindset. And believe you me, that midset is already convinced that Bo was a horrible man for letting all those boys get “abused” and then doing nothing. So don’t expect any champions to emerge from my former colleagues. Shame.
Kathy points out there may be some hope from one or some of Bo’s many previous doctors. His main cardiologist, Kim Eagle, wrote a book about Bo’s medical struggles, and he had many, that came out in 2008, two years after Bo died The heart of a champion. Kim saw the way Bo attacked his health problems and thought it could be an inspiration to others. It is. They were giving ’em away at the medical center for a while, so I have more than one copy. It was free because Medtronic, a pacemaker company, paid for a bunch of copies. I’d be happy to mail you one of my extras if you’re interested.
On the back of the book there’s a composite picture of the 12 doctors who took care of him plus co-author Fritz Seyferth and two women not wearing a white coat: Bo’s widow Cathy and his last secretary. I scanned the picture, compiled a legend, and attach it here for your interest. Maybe one or a few of those guys (and girl) will step up.
Left to right
Fritz Seyferth, fullback for Bo in his first 3 years (you and I saw him play in the less than full stadium), who rose high up in the athletic department. Retired in 2000 as executive associate athletic director (#2 guy) to start his own consulting company. Co-author. Still around town. Always a staunch Bo defender.
Dr. Eric Good, cardiologist. Electrophysiologist specializing in sorting out heart rhythm disorders, of which Bo had several. Still at the U. Never met him.
Dr. Eva Feldman, neurologist (Bo had neuropathy from his diabetes). She’s been a good friend of Kathy’s and was a valued colleague of mine, as we worked on some of the same nerve and muscle stuff. Highly successful researcher and accomplished fundraiser. Great lady. Still around
Mary Passink, Bo’s assistant in the athletic department his last years (‘98-’06)
Dr. Fred Morady, cardiologist. Fred’s an electrical guy, so he looked after Bo’s pacemaker and defibrillator. I worked side by side with Fred for years in a small multispecialty clinic called the “Faculty Diagnostic Unit” since disbanded because some looked on it as elitist. Fred’s very bright, kind of aloof (?shy) with a passion for flying. We were always kinda buddies and grew closer when he heard about Kathy getting her pilot’s license.
Dr. Otto Gago, cardiac surgeon at St. Joes (the enemy!), where Bo went after his first heart attack. Dr. Gago did his first bypass. He’s a god at St. Joe’s. Very successful
Dr. Jeff Sanfield, endocrinologist, helped Bo look after his diabetes. Split for St Joes from the U early on, but a contemporary of mine and I got to know him a bit before he left. Nice guy. Still in practice in town.
Cathy Schembechler. She’s still around, although I think she lives in Florida now. Imagine what she thinks about all this!
Dr. Kim Eagle, cardiologist. The closest Bo had to a “primary doctor”. Kim’s a fantastic doctor, excellent teacher, well loved by medical students and housestaff, with many celebrity patients. He was the impetus behind this book as he saw that the way Bo handled his struggles could be an inspiration to others. Still around. If any of these docs steps up to defend Bo, it’ll be him.
Dr. Rudy Reichart, another St. Joe’s guy. He was Bo’s cardiologist before decided to come over to the U. Died 2014.
Dr. Dennis Wahr, interventional cardiologist. Places some stents in Bo’s heart. Left the U in 2000 for industry, now president and CEO of Nuvaira, a medical device company in Minneapolis
Dr. Jim Stanley, vascular surgeon. Bo had blockage of circulation to his legs, likely from his diabetes, that required bypass grafting. Retired
Dr. Jim Carpenter, orthopedic surgeon. Until recently, chief of orthopedic surgery department. Replaced Larry Matthews, who helped me get going with arthroscopy, to the dismay of many of his charges.
Dr. David Fox, rheumatologist. David was my chief for a long time, ’90-’18. Kind of a nerdy guy from MIT and Harvard, very smart, but not much of a sports guy. But he loved to tell people about his association with Bo, particularly their first encounter when he diagnosed Bo’s gout, then showed him under the special microscope the diagnostic material obtained from his elbow. Gout is diagnosed by seeing the urate crystals in the joint material, which appear yellow and blue under polarized light. Bo got a kick out of that.
Dr. Hakan Oral, cardiologist. Electrophysiologist. Esteemed researcher with 318 publications to date. Bo sure needed a lot of electricians to keep his poor heart beating!
Conspicuously absent from this composite picture is one Dr. Robert Anderson, who probably was Bo’s first doctor here mainly by virtue of being team physician. Dr. Anderson was at Bo’s bedside in Pasadena when he had his first heart attack on New Year’s Eve ’69. Once Bo started having health problems, Dr. Anderson sort of dropped out of the picture. He’s only mentioned in this book in the first few pages, in the description of the events surrounding Bo’s first heart attack. Dr. Anderson died 5 years before this book was written.
This nonsense has to stop. With the scalp of Fielding Yost not totally yanked off, they’re coming after Bo, starting with an affront led by his step son https://www.freep.com/story/sports/college/university-michigan/2021/06/09/michigan-football-matt-bo-schembechler-sexual-assault-1969/7627659002/. Soon the whole Anderson affair, quashed successfully by some of Bo’s old boys during last football season when it should be by all rights have been the leading sports story of the time, especially given the absence of a football season. The University had released its findings on Dr. Anderson long before, and established a victim’s fund which it actively promoted. But no major press till this, conveniently on the heels of l’affaire Yost. So what did the “abuser” Dr. Anderson actually do? He did rectal exams on all comers as well as testicular exams. Sure, some guys might have been taken aback by having the doc stick his finger up their ass and squeeze their balls, but this was standard practice at the time. I was taught, and I went through med school 10 years after Dr. Anderson, that all patients got a rectal exam, regardless of complaint, as so much could be learned from that. Plus the ball squeeze: guess what the leading cause of death is in young men? Testicular cancer! Remember how it almost got Lance Armstrong? Young men spend a lot of time in that area, but they don’t know what they’re looking for like a doctor would. Maybe Dr. Anderson took a little too much relish in these exams, but what he was doing is no different from what any other doc might have done at the time. And this is abuse? Bo likely had gone through many similar exams at his tender age of 38 – think of all those football physicals – so you can understand his advice to the “victims”, including his own stepson, to “toughen up”. Probably explains his continued acceptance of whining from so-called abused players, for which he is about to be hanged, as so nonchalant. Dr. Anderson was at Bo’s bedside when he had his heart attack prior to the ’70 Rose Bowl. So there must have been something about the guy he trusted. Sure, open up the coffers for all those who weren’t pleased that Dr. Anderson squeezed their nuts. But please leave my dear Bo out of it.
I’ve got a new book out. This one’s a lot more fun than the first one I published https://wordpress.com/post/theviewfromharbal.com/1417. It’s about another youthful obsession I haven’t been able to shake 50 years on, only this time I don’t want to. That’s Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen and all the paths they’ve taken since their ’76 breakup. The Kindle of this one will set you back two-and-a-half times more than my first. But there’s way more to it. Accompanying the 5,116 words, there’s 22 pictures (all but two in color) and 25 music links, including one to their show-stealing 3 song set at the December ’71 Free John Sinclair rally (organized and filmed by John & Yoko) and another to a full radio concert from ’75.
The blurb I wrote for Jeff describes it pretty well:
This is a rollicking reminiscence about the most fun band ever: Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen. Conceived in mid-60s Ann Arbor and broken up in late 70s Berkeley, members play on in various guises, with the same joyous enthusiasm that made their concerts the most fun things I’ve ever done. Whether you sample their recordings, or hear them live, Commander’s music is good for you, even if it does not inspire the most responsible behavior.
You can get it at https://www.amazon.com/Lost-Ozone-Again-Commander-counting-ebook/dp/B096KY4Z4D/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Lost+in+the+ozone+again&qid=1623164811&sr=8-1. If you type “Bob Ike” into the Amazon search bar, you’ll get a page of stuff that includes the book on the second line (when I do it). If you type in the first line of the title – “Lost in the Ozone Again” – the book will pop right up. “Lost in the Ozone” gets their terrific first album, which closes with a live version of their namesake signature song recorded at the very Hill Auditorium concert where if first saw them 50 years and 2 months ago. You can get a used CD version for less than the cost of my book. A good place to start if you’re new to CC&LPA
Last week I posted about actions on the U of M campus that may lead to Fielding H. Yost’s name being removed from the first building he erected as athletic director in 1923, then Yost Field House (the first multipurpose athletic building of its kind), now Yost Ice Arena. I refer you to that blog for details https://wordpress.com/post/theviewfromharbal.com/1569.
The President’s advisory committee on University history, Yost name review, has offerred an on-line resource for members of the university community to post comments. Deadline is Monday, June 7. Yesterday, I figured I’d digested enough information to offer mine. Here they are:
I have read the committee’s materials, as well as some things I found on my own, and in none of them do I see portrayed the racist ogre Fielding Yost now at risk of having his named stripped from the first building he erected as athletic director. Indeed, I see instead a man who might be considered a racial champion for his times. Sure, his football teams for two decades were lily white, but he was recruiting from the student body, not nationwide as is the custom today. With fewer than 100 African-Americans in each class – and whose fault is that? – what are the chances he’ll pick one for the football team? No other Western Conference teams at the time had black players. As AD, he began to see the appeal of the highly talented African-American athlete. He was for whatever would bring Michigan greater glory. Talented trackster William Dehart Hubbard came on board Yost’s first year and eventually became the first African-American to win Olympic Gold. In Hubbard’s first year on the team, headed to Chicago to compete in the conference tournament, the Palmer House, where Michigan had stayed the previous 10 years, said it could not accommodate a colored athlete. Yost told them he’d look elsewhere, and they capitulated. Are these the actions of an inveterate racist? The next year, Rudolph Ash joined the baseball team, their first black player since 1883. Ash went on to a stellar career at Michigan and in the Negro leagues. Subsequently 4 more trackmen, and two tennis players joined. Then add Willis Ward, whose recruitment was pushed by some high level donors, but never actively opposed by Yost. The entire Georgia Tech ruse could be construed as Yost seeking his Jackie Robinson moment. GT was only a mediocre team at the time, so why play them? A victory does little to add to the glory of Michigan. Yet if they were to face up to, and overcome, their view of segregated football, what a coup that would be! Yost didn’t account for the degree of obstreperousness on the part of GT. The compromise necessary for the game to go on was awkward, but I don’t see the hands of Yost on it. The hands I see are those of Harry Bennet, Henry Ford’s enforcer, who sat Ward down and asked him to consider who his friends were. Shortly after that meeting, Ward asked coach Kipke to pull him from the game. Ward had employment at Ford for life, should he choose. Ward did fall apart after that game, but I submit it was his own doing, as he confronted the compromise he had made. Yost had other bona fides. He was the first coach to allow Jewish athletes to participate. It is said that his actions as athletic director did more for women’s sports than anything before title IX. His love for Michigan athletes extended far beyond the varsity playing field, as he saw participation in sports as important to the health of the entire student body and his efforts as AD, such as construction of the intramural building, where I played many a pickup basketball game back in the day, show this.
No member of our athletic department, in its long and storied history, has done more for our University than Fielding H. Yost. He deserves only much deserved honor, not the ignominy of cancellation.
This one woke me from my nap today as it rolled around on John Fogerty Spotify https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqYiHkx7ils. For me, it dates to my University of Chicago years (’75-9), particularly the first. I think it was the break up song for me and Mary Ann, a tall, buxom, sassy, social work student from New Hyde Park on Long Island. She was the spitting image of Bonnie Raitt – not a bad look – and was all I could handle. I took her to a concert at U of C featuring Ms. Raitt. There was no confrontation, but the glances back and forth were confirming. That first year, they’d parked a bunch of us in the Shoreland Hotel, near the lake but far from campus, which to that point was mainly a retiree’s residence. Hence my quote of Dylan about “the old folks’ home in the college”. There we were, a bunch of bright kids from all over facing promising careers provided we could negotiate a grueling U of C education. I just remember how much fun we managed to have. Those were the first days of Saturday Night Live and Monty Python, and we never missed an episode. It was also the time Michigan played for a national championship against the Hoosiers, and I still remember the game. Somehow, this all comes back to me every time I hear this Jackson Browne song. I’ve alluded before how much I appreciate Mr. Browne for keeping me in touch with my feelings and keeping things real https://wordpress.com/post/theviewfromharbal.com/1009. Here again he comes through.
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