# 51 :: Football 1963 and 1964

 

Blackman Rebuilding at Dartmouth; Only Three Starters Return From 1963 Ivy Co‐Champions

Sept. 8, 1964

HANOVER, N. H., Sept. 7—A winning football team has become a tradition at Dartmouth College since Bob Blackman became coach 10 years ago.

During that span the Indians won the Ivy League title outright in 1958 and 1962 and shared the championship with Princeton last season. The record is a strong testimonial to Blackman's dedication and perseverance: In nine previous seasons Dartmouth has won 54 games, lost 24 and tied three. The Indians have never finished lower than third in the league.

But this season it looks as if Blackmail's problems are real ones, and it will take all his concentation to solve them.

There are but three starters among the 16 letter‐men returning from 1963. Five linemen and three‐quarters of the backfield of that winning combination have been graduated.

So Blackman faces an almost complete rebuilding job with the second and third stringers of last year. The particular problems are at fullback, center and right guard.

The mainstays of the first unit are Ted Bracken and Ed Keible at left guard; Bob Komives at center; Tom Clarke of Ridgewood, N. J., at right end, and Capt. John McLean at right halfback.

These four gained valuable experience a year ago, but the other candidates on the 77-man squad are short on playing time. The other leading line candidates are Jaan Lumi of Port Washington, L. I., Jerry LaMontagne, Pete Sapione of Port Chester, N. Y., and Pete Frederick.

The backfield will be manned by Bob O'Brien at left halfback, Bruce Gottschall at quarterback and Mike Urbanic at fullback. Urbanic, a 200-pound junior, has been converted from right half to replace Dick Horton. Horton, a major league baseball prospect, has given up football to concentrate on the diamond.

Gottschall earned his letter last season mainly as a defensive back. Blackman says he is head and shoulders above any of the other quarterbacks right now. But Gottschall is a question mark as a passer, a department where Dartmouth's aerialists have been the league yardage leaders in four of the last six seasons.

Sapione's severe knee unjury, suffered a year ago, makes the right guard situation precarious. The 240-pound senior is unable to take part in any contact work, but if his knee heals quickly, Sapione will fill the line's trouble spot amply.

There's no question of Komives's ability. He is the anchor of the line. The problem is lack of depth behind him, and Blackman may have to do some switching to shore up the spot.

Despite limited varsity experience, Dartmouth's three platoons will be in the thick of the Ivy League race, Blackman believes. Captain McLean expressed it this way: “Maybe that inexperience will be our strong point. For two years most of us sat on the bench. We have no laurels to rest upon. The fellows who won the championships are gone. Now its our turn.”

 (c) from NYTimes

https://www.nytimes.com/1964/09/08/archives/blackman-rebuilding-at-dartmouth-only-three-starters-return-from.html

 

 

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Kick in the Butt

Trauma to triumph in three minutes!

A Kick in the Butt

This high-school football story involves no stadium nor game. It happened on the practice field at the south edge of the two-block Cretin Campus.

Likely I was a senior--possibly a junior. We were running plays in a minimal contact scrimmage. (Note: While coach Warner often showed anger and cursed us out, our practices were free of the senseless, get-tough drills that typified high-school football.) On one play that day a defender got to the runner behind or at the line of scrimmage. Coach Warner ignited in anger. He had both offense and defense line up again to identify who had missed his assignment. I, at center, knew I had carried out my assignment. As I crouched over the ball I waited to see who to my right or left would get the coach's wrath. In that frame of mind, I felt a sudden, heavy blow to my rear end that sent me sprawling forward onto the grass. It was a mighty kick from the shoe of Coach Warner.

I knew I was unjustly accused, but it was not my personality to confront the coach and tell him so. His point apparently made, Warner said little more. I lined back up with the others, we ran that play and many more without incident.

I can only guess that the assistant coaches behind us whispered to each other and then to Warner, because it was few plays and fewer minutes later that Warner announced loud enough for all to hear. “I apologize, Komives, that was not your blocking mistake.” Facing away from the coach I could risk a smile. I could see everybody else also had a surreptitious smirk on his face. I looked back briefly to catch a glimpse of assistant coaches smiling behind their pretend coughs. After all, this was an historic occasion. I doubt anybody before or after heard Coach Tom Warner utter an apology. My minimal humiliation of a kick in the butt gave me the unique honor to receive that historic apology.

Trauma to triumph in three minutes!

(c) from date of posting, by Bob Komives, Fort Collins

Concussion

My senior football season we had bad helmets. They had been used by Notre Dame for one season before they decided they were no good. How could any Catholic high school pass up the chance to wear Notre Dame helmets? I admit they looked cool. They were an attempt in plastic to imitate the iconic Notre Dame leather helmet. Because such a deal could not be passed up I got two concussions that season. 

The first concussion I don't remember much. I vaguely remember that somebody escorted me to the hallway where seniors had lockers. I found mine but could not remember the combination. Next, I remember being in a hospital room with, by coincidence, a classmate, Bob Moosbrugger. Apparently I became newly aware of this coincidence several times. Each time I asked Bob how I got there, what time it was, and why he was there. Of course, I did-not-do-not remember his answers. I remember only, his quite definite “yes” in response to my question, “Did I ask you that before?” I think the concussion took me out of practice for some days until I got a doctor's approval to play. The contact avoidance was not so long, however, to make me miss playing the next game.

The second concussion I remember as a walking, talking, running, afternoon nightmare. I remember coming part way to my senses on the sidelines when they stuck smelling salts under my nose. I answered their necessary questions about my name, and birthday and such; then they put me back into the game. I know we were playing Stanley of Fargo North Dakota. We had beaten them there the year before. (arriving in a train that arrived so late that we got into our uniforms on board, and still arrived at the game late.)

I had my senses together enough that on defense I knew my assignments. On offense, as the center, I had to remember the snap count and my blocking assignment. I must have done that well enough to stay in the game. However, I was in a timeless hell. After each play was over, I could not remember what had happened. I could not remember if we were winning or losing, though, in anguish, I kept looking to the scoreboard. When we walked off the field, I desperately hoped we had not broken our four year winning streak. Nor did I know if the game was over or if it was halftime until we went into the locker room and the Coach Warner gave a halftime talk—which, of course, I heard but remember nothing . If he was angry with the team and upset with my play, his swearing and kicking of chairs were lost on me.

Again, when the game was over I just followed the other players and kept looking up at the scoreboard to see who won and immediately forget. I suffered this all in silence. I guess I was too confused to express my confusion.

Somehow I got home. Perhaps, I got out of my uniform and went home with my parents. The Central High School stadium was only about ten blocks from my home. My parents were there. More likely I went with the team the longer distance to our own locker room and made it home by some other means. I believe I was crafty enough to coax information about the game out of my family without revealing my mindlessness and raising their concern. In any case, by the next morning I could read the newspaper to see and remember that we had won. Of course, I had no recollection of the game itself other than the seemingly endless nightmare. These were the longest couple of hours of my life; they felt eternal.

School, and football went on as normal. As I write, life has gone on as normal for six decades. If the concussions of my senior year in high school had ill effects, they stay hidden among my many idiosyncrasies. 

 



(c) from date of posting, by Bob Komives, Fort Collins