"This I know because no month passes, indeed it is almost safe to say, hardly a week, year in and year out, in which they are not insistently resurgent.
"Marshall Newell was born in Clifton, N. J., on April 2, 1871. His early life was spent largely on his father's farm in Great Barrington, Mass., that farm and countryside which seemed to mean so much to him in later years. He entered Phillips Exeter Academy in the fall of 1887, and was graduated in 1890. Almost at once he achieved, utterly without effort, a popularity rare in its quality. Because of his relation with his schoolmates and his unostentatious way of looking after the welfare of others, he soon came to be known as Ma Newell, and this affectionate sobriquet not only clung to him through all the years at Exeter and Harvard, but followed him after graduation whithersoever he went. While at school he took up athletics ardently as he always took up everything. Thus he came up to Harvard with an athletic reputation ready made.
"It was not long before the class of '94 began to feel that subtler influence of character that distinguished all his days. He was a member of the victorious football eleven of 1890, and of the winning crew of 1891, both in his freshman year. He also played on the freshman football team and on the university team of '91, '92, '93, and rowed on the Varsity crews of '92 and '93. In the meantime he was gaining not only the respect and friendship of his classmates, but those of the instructors as well. Socially, and despite the fact that he was little endowed with this world's goods, he enjoyed a remarkable popularity. He was a member of the Institute of 1770, Dickey, Hasty Pudding, and Signet. In addition, he was the unanimous choice of his class for Second Marshal on Class Day. Many other honors he might have had if he had cared to seek them. He accepted only those that were literally forced upon him.
"In the course of his college career he returned each summer to his home in Great Barrington and quietly resumed his work on the farm.
"After graduation he was a remarkably successful football coach at Cornell University, and was also a vast help in preparing Harvard elevens. His annual appearance in the fall at Cambridge was always the means of putting fresh heart and confidence in the Crimson players.
"He turned to railroading in the fall of 1896, acting as Assistant Superintendent of the Springfield Division of the Boston and Albany Railroad. Here, as at college, he made a profound personal impression on his associates. The end came on the evening of December 24th, in 1897.
"In a memorial from his classmates and friends, the following significant paragraph appears: 'Marshall Newell belonged to the whole University. He cannot be claimed by any clique or class. Let us, his classmates, simply express our gratitude that we have had the privilege of knowing him and of observing his simple, grand life. We rejoice in memories of his comradeship; we deeply mourn our loss. To those whose affliction has been even greater than our own, we extend our sympathy.' This memorial was signed by Bertram Gordon Waters, Lincoln Davis, and George C. Lee, Jr., for the class, men who knew him well.
"Harvard men, I feel sure, will forgive me if I like to believe that Newell belonged not merely to the whole Harvard University, but to every group of men that came under his influence, whether the football squad at Cornell or the humble track walkers of the Boston and Albany.
"Remains, I think, little more for me to say, and this can best be said in Newell's own words, selections from that diary of which I have already spoken, and which set the stamp on the character of the man for all time. This, for instance:
"'It is amusing to notice the expression in the faces of the horses on the street as you walk along; how much they resemble people, not in feature, but in spirit. Some are cross and snap at the men who pass; others asleep; and some will almost thank you for speaking to them or patting their noses.' And this, in more serious vein: 'Happened to think how there was a resemblance in water and our spirits, or rather in their sources. Some people are like springs, always bubbling over with freshness and life; others are wells and have to be pumped; while some are only reservoirs whose spirits are pumped in and there stagnate unless drawn off immediately. Most people are like the wells, but the pump handle is not always visible or may be broken off. Many of the springs are known only to their shady nooks and velvet marshes, but, once found, the path is soon worn to them, which constantly widens and deepens. It may be used only by animals, but it is a blessing and comfort if only to the flowers and grasses that grow on its edge.'