Dick Lovering’s selection to mold the destinies of the Clearfield High School Football Team did not meet with universal approbation. It would have been strange if it had. Dick, handicapped as he was by his physical disability and far too busy a youth to mix in many of the school interests, had, after all, but a limited circle of personal acquaintances, and those who knew him only by sight and reputation were inclined to be dissatisfied. There was no animosity toward Dick, but it was felt that to put a boy who had never played the game and had had no practical experience at the head of football affairs was, to say the least, a hazardous experiment. Some fellows went farther and declared that it was idiotic.
“Dick Lovering’s all right,” they said, “but he’s a cripple, and even if he knew how to coach the team, he couldn’t do it on crutches! Wait till you hear Springdale laugh at us when they hear it!”
Those who really knew Dick, on the other hand, hailed his choice with satisfaction. Perhaps Tom Haley voiced the general sentiment of this faction as well as anyone. “I don’t care a bit,” he said, “whether Dick knows a football from a baked potato. If Dick undertakes to coach the team he’ll do it and do it well. I never saw the thing yet that Dick couldn’t do when he made up his mind to it. And there isn’t a fellow in school who can make what he says go as Dick can. We may not beat Springdale this year, but if we don’t it won’t be Dick’s fault!”
But whether the school in general approved or disapproved, the matter was already beyond them by the time they heard of it officially, which was the noon following George Cotner’s announcement on the steps. For Lanny had begged speedy action by the Athletic Committee and a hurried meeting had been held in Mr. Grayson’s office at eleven o’clock. Curtis Wayland, who at Lanny’s solicitation had risked the doctor’s displeasure and attended as one of the three undergraduate members, informed Lanny afterwards that there had not been a dissenting voice and that Mr. Grayson had been highly pleased. “The selection of one of your own kind, an undergraduate, a—a fellow with no taint of professionalism,” he declared, “is right in line with my theory that schoolboy sports and athletics should be conducted by schoolboys and not by hired mentors. I approve heartily, and I congratulate White and the others on the good sense they have displayed. And I wish Richard Lovering and the team all success.”
The news was received with incredulous surprise and at first the authenticity of it was doubted by those not in the secret. Succeeding surprise, came amusement, approbation or disapproval according to the conviction of the person. At all events, the matter created an excited interest that drove practically the whole student body to the field that Tuesday afternoon. Those who went to scoff, however, found little opportunity. They saw Dick’s blue auto standing at the end of the grandstand near the big gate and discovered Dick himself, wearing his honors very modestly, swinging about on his crutches in a quiet and businesslike way, for all the world as if he had been coaching football teams all his short life.
But there was plenty of matter for surprise, however. Instead of the usual spectacle of three squads practicing independently of each other, they found all the candidates, new and old, experienced and inexperienced, democratically jumbled together and performing the most elementary tasks!
Clearfield on the side lines was amused, to say the least, at the spectacle of fellows like Haley, Cottrell, Cable and even Lanny White himself, fellows who had played for one, two and even three years on the First Team as regulars or substitutes, passing the ball to each other, falling on it, and practicing starts and performing similar kindergarten feats! Had it not been for this humorous aspect, the spectators would have found practice that afternoon distinctly uninteresting. There was no punting, no line work, not even dummy practice. For a solid hour and a half Clearfield’s football heroes, proved and incipient, went through the veriest drudgery and, on the whole, did it cheerfully. Those of the audience who most disapproved of the new coach had to acknowledge grudgingly that, at least, Lovering had the courage of his convictions. And many marveled that the regulars accepted the afternoon’s duties so uncomplainingly. But those who marveled had not, of course, been present in the dressing-room when Dick had made his short speech to the assembled players.
His appearance had been greeted with a welcome that must have pleased him, although if it did he failed to show it. He was very quiet, very businesslike, very terse. “First of all, fellows,” he announced without preliminary rhetoric, “it must be understood that you and I are here for just one thing. That’s to get together a team that will beat Springdale. If we can win other battles, well and good. If we can’t, well and good. In order to beat Springdale we’ve got to play regular football, fellows, and in order to do that we’ve got to learn how. Some of you know more football than others, but I’m not going to take your words for it. To-day you are all on the same level and we are going to start all over, just as if this was the first day of practice and you hadn’t already played one contest. There’s no First Squad, no Scrub Team, no Third Squad yet. Every fellow has got to show me what he can do and for the next two or three days you will all have to go back to elementary work. Those of you who aren’t willing to do that had better tell me now and empty your lockers. There’s going to be plenty of hard work for some time, perhaps all the season; drudging work that isn’t exciting or spectacular but that you’ve got to go through with if you expect to face Springdale. I’d like every one of you who goes on the field presently to do it with your mind made up to do what you’re told without question and to do it cheerfully. That’s the only way you and I can work together to any sort of success.”
Dick nodded to Lanny and swung himself toward the door, but paused there, for Lanny was talking.