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.
I had occasion to send something to my Dixie chick (South Carolina) friend Donna today. I’ve mentioned her before in a few posts. One has a nice picture of her https://wordpress.com/post/theviewfromharbal.com/1101. She was my old chief’s secretary (er, administrative assistant). We always got along and had fun at work, and have become very good friends since we both retired. She’s agreed to help me with a couple illustrations for a manuscript I’m writing. The email was going to be a reminder that I still wanted her help, but didn’t wish to address it on a Sunday. But once I told her that, I had a few thoughts on the upcoming holiday to share, particularly the situation in my little town. Here’s how it went:
Good morning, dear Looks like you’ve got a nice one down in Clinton today. You’re cooling, we’re warming. Might reach 69 today. Was 38 when I got up, justifying a fire, which is still burning. I haven’t forgotten about your little artist gig for me. I’m so happy you’re going to take a stab at it. But I’m not attaching the figures I’d like you to reproduce, as it’s Sunday and that would be “work”. I’ve been making a point to stay away from anything that looks like work on the sabbath, mainly my manuscripts, and it feels pretty good. I’ll get them to you Tuesday, same time I’ll gladly pay you for that hamburger. We’re having a nice quiet Memorial Day weekend. We got our graves in Grandville decorated Wednesday, a trip that had us on the back roads out in the sunshine with the top down on our Jeep for about 6 hours. We were looking forward to our usual Memorial Day neighborhood get-together. Most of the occupants of the 13 houses on our little cul-de-sac show up, along with a few folks from Broadway. Everyone brings a dish to pass and something to drink, and a good time is had by all. Just about everyone on the street has gone COVID crazy, so Kathy and I were kinda surprised when the usual organizers of the event, our neighbors down the street announced it was going to happen this year. I don’t think we had it last year. But the kicker came a couple days ago when the organizer sent out an e-mail stating that, out of concern for everyone’s safety, only those who have been fully vaccinated may attend. We’ve been vocal about our disinterest in getting that science fiction crap stuck into our bodies, so she surely knows who she’s excluding. But I don’t know if she recalls that Kathy and I have 7 science degrees between us, including 2 doctorates, 34 years on faculty of a major medical school (44 if you count Kathy’s 10 years as a research scientist in Anatomy and Cell Biology) plus several years experience doing bench research in virology. You can count Kathy there, too, as it was a virology project that brought us together. Might we know what we are doing? As you might imagine, the street is pretty blue, with lots of “Black lives matter”, “shut down line 5”, “love is love etc”, and of course Biden/Harris, which mercifully have been taken down. The organizer’s yard is densest. She had trouble understanding our sign – “Yard Sign – We cre” – which we still proudly display. Our best friends on the street, our best friends, are the only ones who lean right. He’s not a rabid Trumpista like me, but has a small business and supported him out of self interest. He just told us this one. He and the organizer were having some sort of discussion with political overtones when he paused and said to her “You know, I lean right” to which she responded “Don’t know her”. So I think her yard isn’t the only thing that’s dense. Come Memorial Day, I’m gonna smoke me some ribs and make sure the smoke wafts at least 2 doors down the street so the 5-Fs* can smell what they’re missing. Our friends said they might have something separate.** Since they’re right across the street from the organizers we can throw beer cans at them. I’ll make sure to have a few coughing fits. So I hope you have as much fun this long weekend as we intend to.
** Kathy says they’re having us over today. I may still toss a few beer cans over and try to cough a lot. Maybe I’ll wear my MAGA hat. If it gets warm enough, I can wear my “Deplorable Lives Matter” t-shirt.
The contagion of applying today’s morals to great men of the past and hanging them by it has come to Ann Arbor. A committee of eight historians, one of them my friend and fellow U of C classmate Joel Howell, has examined the evidence and judged that Fielding H. Yost’s name should be removed from the field house, now ice arena, that was the first thing he built as athletic director, finalized in ’23 and named after him shortly thereafter. The recommendation has to go to the regents and Dr. Schlissel, but hard to believe they won’t approve. The great coach is dead 75 years in August and I doubt there are many to speak up for him. I’ve linked to their 6 page report in case you wish to examine their case (1).
Their main gripe is racism, allegedly demonstrated by Mr. Yost when as AD he supposedly ordered coach Harry Kipke to bench star end Willis Ward for the Georgia Tech game that was to be played at Michigan Stadium (which Mr. Yost had designed and built) (2). The contest with Georgia Tech, slated for October 22, 1934, which would have marked the second anniversary of Willis Ward seeing the field in a Michigan uniform. This would be the first meeting with a school from the deep south that Michigan had ever scheduled in its then 55 year history. Yost had actively sought out a game with a southern school, working through his former player and brother-in-law, Dan McGugin, then head coach at Vanderbilt. McGugin was good friends with Georgia Tech coach Bill Alexander and on November 11, 1933, less than a year from kickoff, a deal was made. Since their 1928 undefeated season when the Yellow Jackets won the Rose Bowl against Cal, Tech was pretty mediocre, their best season being ‘33”s 5-5. Seems that that scheduling would have been a big deal, a ground breaking thing, but I can find no mention of it in my digital forays. The Tech athletic board began to push back less than two months later, seeking guarantees that the first black player at Michigan since George Jewett (later Dr. Jewett) ran all over everybody in 1892 would not take the field in the upcoming October contest. Willis Ward was a speedy game-changing end, so his loss would be felt. Pressure ramped up with threats (from GT) to cancel the game if it could not get assurances that Ward would not play. Fever of the communiques from Atlanta ramped up through May, then died down, leading most to believe that some kind of assurance was communicated, almost certainly originating with Yost. Once this arrangement became public knowledge l’affaire Ward became a cause celebré (3). Petitions were circulated, letters written to editors, editorials, placards, and demonstrations, including a 6 mile march over to the Georgia Tech players’ hotel in Ypsilanti. Yost caught wind of plans of a sit down strike on the field by students during the game and hired Pinkerton guards to investigate the Ward United Front Committee, out of concern they would disrupt the game. Several of the investigated leaders were later expelled from school. As the weekend of the game rolled around, there were bonfires across campus, and a rally at Natural Science Auditorium, in the building which now houses my wife’s office, which featured Ward’s “friends” shouting down any attendant with a different point of view. These opponents weren’t raging racists by any means. Arguments for keeping Ward on the bench ranged from the “gracious host” theory, citing that a host respects the feelings of the guest, to sincere concerns for Ward’s safety, worried that GT’s players would intentionally injure him. Or worse. Arthur Miller was a student at the time, and a vocal proponent of Ward’s right to play. Through a friend in Arkansas, he arranged a meeting with some of the Georgia Tech players. His pleas for peace and understanding were coarsely and profanely rebuffed, and he was told by the players “we will kill him” if he takes the field. The evening before the game, Yost and Alexander (who were friends) hashed out the situation over a bottle of whiskey. They reached a compromise. Ward would sit but so would Tech’s star end “Hoot” Gibson. Both players would request to be benched for the dignity of their teams and the game. The game was played on a muddy field in pouring rain. Michigan won 9-2, in what would be their only win that miserable season. The Wolverines scored only 12 total points in the rest of their games, all by Willis Ward. Georgia Tech’s fans insisted the compromise had hurt them more, as Gibson was a better player than Ward, thus blaming coach Alexander for the loss. Alexander lasted 10 more years, making it to 4 bowls, which his team split.
Ward graduated and went to work for Henry Ford, as he had done in college. It was Harry Bennett, Ford’s strong man, who earlier had sat young Mr. Ward down and explained to him the reasons to sit out the GT game. He went to night school and got a law degree in ’39, eventually becoming a judge. Although he was a spectacular track athlete, considered by Jesse Owens as his fiercest competitor, he sat out the ’36 Olympics in protest of Herr Hitler’s anti-semitism.
The other Ford in this story, future president Gerald R, quietly joined the senior honor society Michiguama, two weeks after the game, one in which legend has he threatened to quit if Willis Ward did not play. Ford played. Michiguama was comprised of Michigan athletes and featured native American trappings. A group of them – the Michiguama Fighting Braves – attended the natural Sciences meetings, ostensibly at the urging of Yost, a big supporter. The group issued a strong statement in favor of withholding Ward from the Tech game. A single blackball from one of their members and Ford doesn’t get into the club. Guess he was an able politician even then.
Ah, the tyranny of retroactively applied moral standards. I thought ex post facto laws were prohibited by Article 1, § 9 1.1.and Article 1 § 10. 2. of the U.S. Constitution. The words of the M historian document’s “The Principle of Historical and Institutional Context” ring true and are quite stirring, and I wish were heeded by others engaging in such retroactive moral blacklisting.
“The Principle of Historical and Institutional Context: ‘It is easy to blame those in the past for lacking the knowledge, wisdom and values that we seem to possess. Keeping in mind that we will likely suffer the same fate at the hands of those who come after us, it behooves us to understand that it is impossible to hold someone accountable for failing to share our contemporary ideas and values. Instead, the question must be what ideas, values, and actions were possible in a particular historical context.’”
Should be broadcast by bullhorn to any crowd gathered around a statue of an evil dead person, aiming to pull it down.
Yost was Michigan’s head coach from 1901-23 and 1925-26. In his first 5 seasons his “Point-a-Minute” squads went 55–1–1, outscoring their opponents by a margin of 2,821 to 42, winning 4 National Championships and the first ever Rose Bowl, defeating Stanford, his previous school, 49-0. His teams won six national titles while compiling a whopping 165-29-10 record. His teams were undefeated in 8 seasons, won 10 Western Conference (precursor to Big 10) championships, and weren’t even in the conference for 10 seasons (’07-’16). His teams had their way with the Buckeyes (not even in the conference then: 14-4-1) and the Irish (2-1; they stopped playing us in the aughts). The Spartoons, then Michigan Agricultural College, did come around after their first meeting with a Yost team in ’02, in which the “point-a-minute” boys almost doubled their output, sending the boys in green back to East Lansing with 119 points on their behind to their goose egg. Over the ensuing Yost years, the teams would play 18 more times, with the Spartans eeking out 2 victories and a scoreless tie. They managed a touchdown or more in 3 of those games, and were shut out in 13 contests. But the great man from Fairfew West Virginia was probably proudest of his records against those fearsome Monsters of the Midway, the University of Chicago Maroons, coached by the equally legendary Amos Alonzo Stagg. Somebody wrote a book about their battles (4). Hate to call Bo and Woody small potatoes, but these were truly clashes of titans. They stopped playing in ’06 when Yost pulled Michigan out of the conference for a decade, but resumed in ’18 to have 4 more contests in the Yost era, Stagg losing them all. Final record 6-2. Although the Maroons resumed football in 1969, 3 decades after U of C president Robert Maynard Hutchins abolished the football program in 1939, 4 years after Maroon star Jay Berwanger won the first Heisman, I don’t see them venturing to Michigan Stadium anytime soon.
Yost quit coaching on ’21 after 23 seasons, becoming athletic director, a post he’d hold till ’41. He put himself back on the sidelines after a season away, perhaps disappointed with the 6-2 record his successor George Little compiled. He came back for a year, fielding a team that won another conference title in a season besmirched only my a mid season loss to Navy. The team was just mediocre under Tad Wieman for two seasons before Yost installed former star player Harry Kipke, who began a long string of long tenured Michigan coaches. Yost’s coaching legacy includes the 75 of his players that went on to become college head coaches themselves. But Yost’s performance as athletic director overshadows his considerable accomplishments as coach(6). In those days, athletics were not a cash cow for the University. Yost’s vision was for a campus where students could engage in the physical life, which Yost saw as calming, envigorating, and sustaining. In those days, football players were drawn from the student body, not recruited, so having as many participants in sports as possible increased the chances of finding a few players. To these ends, he intiated the first campus-wide intramural program. He established organized teams for women. He hired many excellent coaches and multiple teams flourished under his leadership. Yost’s first physical project was the grand field house that bears his name (the one they want to take down), the first multi-use sports facility in the nation. Less than 2 years after he started his tenure, it was up, adorned with his name as proposed by appreciative backers shortly thereafter. The really big project – a new football stadium – took a few more years to design and erect, but up it was in ’27. Yost’s design allows for expansion, which has happened 3 times thus far. His design allows for expansion to 150,000 seats, so we may not be done yet. He raised the hockey program to varsity status in late 1922, and in 1928 he purchased the Weinberg Coliseum they’d been renting, renovated it, and filled it with artificial ice, just before the Depression hit and ended all the building projects, which also included the university’s Alister McKenzie designed 18-hole championship golf course and the nation’s first Intramural Sports Building, where I played many a game of pickup basketball back in the day.
But what about Fielding Yost, the man? From humble beginnings on a farm in West Virginia, where all will report his father was a veteran of the Confederate Army, he excelled in the classroom and on the playing field. He earned a secondary school teaching certificate at the age of 17, and aimed for a career as a teacher. He attended Fairmont Normal School (now Fairmont State University) and while studying continued his teaching career at Patterson Creek, West Virginia. Upon graduation, he attended West Virginia University Law School, playing football – a tackle – while there. L.L.B. in hand, he was drawn to coaching and climbed a 4 year ladder – Ohio Wesleyan, Nebraska, Kansas, Stanford – that would lead to the job at Michigan. He only left Stanford because the school enacted a rule that only Stanford graduates would be allowed to coach sports there. Despite his credentials, he was looked on as a bit of a hick. Fellow West Virginian Rich Rodriguez would face the same over a century later. Yost never tried to hide his origins and won people over by strength of his intellect, personality, and boundless enthusiasm. He was a devout Christian and among the first coaches to allow Jewish players on his teams. However, some have dubbed him anti-Catholic, explaining his leadership role in keeping Notre Dame out of the Western Conference and not playing them after 1909. He adopted Michigan whole heartedly, and was forever professing his love for “Meechigan!”, an expression we can thank the late equally enthusiastic much missed sportscaster Bob Ufer for perpetuating. But Yost’s eloquent expression of his love for our university went beyond a hick’s mispronunciation of our state’s name. The panel below rests in a place of honor on my mantle, as it expresses my sentiments exactly. Yost died less than 7 years into his retirement after sustaining a series of strokes. He was 75. A year before he died, he refused to accept an honor offered by a large group of supporters: to rename his crowning project – Michigan Stadium – after him.
I’ve learned the University does not love you back, and right now the University is certainly not loving Mr. Yost back. Probably no one in the history of the athletic department has done more for this University. Should you wish to honor both Mr. Yost, our winningest coach ever and builder of Michigan Stadium, and your precious University, which he loved dearly, you could print out and hang this placard. The only hanging Mr. Yost deserves.
If you are a member of the University of Michigan community, “this Michigan of ours”, and have a umich.edu e-mail address, you have until June 7 to register your comments on-line (6).
re” – which we still proudly display. Our best friends on the street, our best friends, are the only ones who lean right. He’s not a rabid Trumpista like me, but has a small business and supported him out of self interest. He just told us this one. He and the organizer were having some sort of discussion with political overtones when he paused and said to her “You know, I lean right” to which she responded “Don’t know her”. So I think her yard isn’t the only thing that’s dense. Come Memorial Day, I’m gonna smoke me some ribs and make sure the smoke wafts at least 2 doors down the street so the 5-Fs* can smell what they’re missing. Our friends said they might have something separate.** Since they’re right across the street from the organizers we can throw beer cans at them. I’ll make sure to have a few coughing fits.
Bob Ike's blog 