1938 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ Football Champions: Never to be forgotten
By TOM HAWTHORN
(reproduced courtesy of the authoir)
Special to The Globe and Mail
Nov. 11, 2004
The day was cold and windy, the turf muddy and slippery.A brisk
November afternoon in Montreal did not dissuade an eager crowd of
13,000 fans, some in raccoon coats and waving pennants, from
sitting in the grandstand to see a championship football game. The
91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ Redmen, representing a school more noted for hitting the
books than for hitting halfbacks, had won nothing but condolences
for 10 years. Now they were one victory away from claiming the 1938
title in senior intercollegiate football. Most of the Redmen had
played together for years. Some had grown up on the same street.
"We had a team spirit that was ferocious," said Alex Hamilton, 86,
who was acting captain that day. Hamilton and his teammates snagged
a small piece of sporting history on that chilly day, yet none on
the squad knew they were soon to be broken up. Events half a world
away would forever alter the plans of these bright young men.
The 5-foot-10, 195-pound Hamilton played flying wing as part of a
razzle-dazzle 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ backfield.
At right outside wing was Joey Jacobson, his boyhood chum from
Lansdowne Street in Westmount. In the backfield were Massey
Beveridge, Russ Merifield, Ben Stevenson and quarterback Ron
Perowne, who ran the show. Among those on the line was 165-pound
medical student Eddie Tabah, the son of a Lebanese immigrant. The
snapper was Presty Robb, whose uncanny talent it was to flick a
ball between his legs into the breadbasket of a runner in
motion.
91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ faced the Western Mustangs in the Yates Cup championship
game on Nov. 19, 1938. The Mustangs had beaten the Redmen 16-6 the
previous weekend in London, Ont., the only blemish on the 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ
record all season. At 7-1, the stellar season would be squandered
if they could not avenge their defeat. The conditions were so poor
that 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ threw only three passes with one completion for 10
yards. (Western completed five of 17 passes for 97 yards.) 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ's
chief weapon was the punt. Herb Westman kicked the ball even on
first and second down during the game, trying to pin an
unsuspecting Western team downfield. The strategy was a success, as
Westman kicked nine singles for all the points in a 9-0
victory.
At the final whistle, elated fans poured onto the field at Percival
Molson Stadium to mob the Redmen, many of whom were carried off on
the shoulders of fans. The players, exhausted after playing both
ways, collapsed in the dressing room, where not so much as a beer
was served.
"We weren't the greatest athletes," Russell Merifield said many
years later, "but we survived." Â
91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ had its first football title in 10 years. Another 22 seasons
would pass before a 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ team would celebrate again. The football
championship was matched the following February by a hockey title,
as slick-skating captain Russ McConnell, a former member of the
football squad, led the league in scoring. In just a few months,
the do-or-die urgency of university sports would seem terribly
innocent. The coming of war interrupted many careers. By the fall
of 1941, the football team to a man had enlisted. Seven did not
come home. Those who did have never forgotten.
Almost three years after the championship game, on Oct. 8, 1941,
Sergeant Ben Stevenson was killed on his last training flight as an
air observer for the Royal Canadian Air Force. Stevenson was buried
at Brookwood Military Cemetery, part of a sprawling necropolis 48
kilometres west of London. He was 22. A Handley-Page Hampden bomber
took off from RAF Coningsby in Lincolnshire late in the evening on
Jan. 28, 1942. Visibility was poor. The only Canadian among three
Englishman was Flight Sergeant Joey Jacobson, a 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ commerce
graduate. Their target was Munster, a medieval German city known as
a canal port with railway marshalling yards. Jacobson's bomber
belonged to a raid by 55 Wellingtons and 28 other Hampdens, an
unwieldy, twin-engine aircraft known as the Flying Suitcase.
Jacobson's plane crashed on Dutch territory at Lichtenvoorde near
the German border. All four men were killed. Jacobson, a substitute
lineman in the championship game, was 24.
Perry Foster, who was born in New Britain, Conn., was an RCAF pilot
officer with No.418 intruder squadron. While others flew in
protective swarms, the intruders adopted the daring but risky
tactic of harassing enemy airfields alone at night. Foster's Boston
III light bomber crashed in France on June 18, 1942. He was buried
at the Canadian War Cemetery at Leubringhen, a village 14
kilometres from Calais. Foster was 24. At 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ, he was a flying
wing and belonged to Phi Epsilon Alpha, the honorary engineering
society.
Sub-Lieutenant Russ McConnell of the Royal Canadian Navy Volunteer
Reserve had an assignment that seemed posh, recalled Merifield, his
teammate. He was posted to a yacht in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
Poor guy. On the evening of Sept. 6-7, 1942, the armed yacht HMCS
Raccoon was escorting a convoy when a Greek merchant vessel was
struck by a torpedo. Raccoon pursued the German submarine. The
converted yacht was never seen again, believed to have been
obliterated by two torpedoes fired by U-165. Raccoon sank with all
hands. One month later, on Oct. 9, a body washed up at Ellis Bay on
the western end of Anticosti Island. McConnell was identified by a
school ring, teammates were later told. The body was taken aboard a
Canadian warship, wrapped in a weighted shroud and buried at sea
with full naval honours.
Jimmy Hall was flying his Mosquito over occupied France with three
other fighters when they were attacked by an overwhelming force of
enemy planes. Hall was unable to escape the deadly fire of an
estimated 90 German aircraft and was shot down and killed over
Caen. Hall is buried at the Bretteville-sur-Laize Canadian War
Cemetery. His grieving father, Oliver, later a member of the
Canadian Mining Hall of Fame, sponsored prizes and a scholarship in
engineering at 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ in his late son's name. Hall was an all-star
at outside wing for the football team.
Fighter pilot Massey Beveridge had a reputation for tenacity. He
shared in damaging three enemy aircraft in a single day, and later
was credited with three kills of his own, one of those coming after
an extended pursuit. He was promoted to wing commander and awarded
a Distinguished Flying Cross. On Aug. 7, 1944, Beveridge was
patrolling over the Normandy beachhead when attacked by German
fighters. The tail of his Mosquito was cut off by enemy fire. As
the aircraft fell from the sky, Beveridge found himself stuck in
the wreckage. John Peacock, the radio specialist and navigator
leader of No.409 Squadron, pushed his commanding officer from
behind. "My parachute opened just in time, as I hit the ground a
minute later," Beveridge later wrote. Peacock, a Montreal man who
had belonged to the officers' training corps at 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ, died in the
crash. Six weeks later, Beveridge was killed in a flying
accident while searching for a missing aircraft in fog on Sept. 20,
1944. He was 28. His is the only Canadian airman's grave in the
churchyard of the French village of Flavacourt.
The fierce resistance encountered by Canadian soldiers as they
ground into Germany did not ease even in the final days of the war.
German defenders in the town of Friesoythe offered a stiff defence.
Lieutenant-Colonel Fred Wigle, the popular commanding officer of
the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders of Canada, devised a plan
where soldiers would slip into the town on foot in the early hours
of April 14, 1945. Three companies successfully entered the town,
but German soldiers stumbled across tactical battalion headquarters
southeast of Friesoythe. The few troops at the headquarters
repulsed the German attack, during which Wigle was killed. Wigle,
who was awarded the Distinguished Service Order and the Order of
the British Empire, was buried at the Holten Canadian War Cemetery.
The football team's assistant coach had been responsible for
coaching the linemen. He was 31.
The seven lost men left brokenhearted mothers and fathers, grieving
widows, and children whose only memory of their father would be old
photographs and retold stories. Life went on. After three years of
mourning, Eunice McConnell, Russ McConnell's widow, married Ron
Perowne, her husband's old teammate. She died two years ago. For
surviving Redmen, whose hair is now grey, the lost players forever
remain the young men of memory. McConnell was the most promising
athlete of all. The great Lester Patrick had once called him one of
the outstanding natural hockey players in the world. He had scored
116 goals in four seasons for the Redmen, a record that would last
50 years. He had seemed destined to follow other 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ skaters
such as Russ Blinco, Jack 91Ë¿¹ÏÊÓƵ and Nels Crutchfield into the
National Hockey League.
After the war, the players tackled the professions for which they
had been educated. They added honorifics before their name, such as
doctor, and honours after their name, such as Queen's Counsel.
Hamilton rose to be president and chief executive officer of
Domtar; Perowne headed Dominion Textile; Merifield served as
general counsel for Victoria and Grey Trust; Dr. Robb, the snapper
with good hands, became a world-renowned neurologist; Dr. Tabah's
reputation as a cancer surgeon earned him the Order of
Canada.
Every five years, the players held a reunion in Montreal. Over
time, the amount of alcohol consumed grew smaller even as the
stories grew taller. They retold anecdotes about their comrades,
relived the glories of a brisk November afternoon decades earlier.
They knew the memory of some of their fallen teammates had been
preserved. Every year, the football team awarded the Fred Wigle
Memorial Trophy to the most sportsmanlike player. But they felt
more was needed to honour the sacrifice of the seven. In 1991, the
surviving members established the 1938 Champions Award, an annual
$2,000 bursary for students who display unselfishness, service,
dedication and teamwork.
The ranks of the 1938 team grow thinner each season. Dr. Robb died
at age 90 on Sept. 25 and now only a handful of veterans remain. To
them falls the duty of remembrance.