Given I could barely leave the house in the days after my father died, I was somewhat surprised to see Frank Lampard back to work for Chelsea so soon after his mother’s death.
This picture was taken after Lampard scored the winning goal by a penalty kick against Liverpool in the Champions League semi-final on Wednesday.
The photograph and this article by Simon Barnes on grief and football are extremely moving; they explain why I’m a fan.
Too bad my Dad isn’t around to see this. I think he would have gotten a kick out of the wig.
Due to popular demand (well, one reader in Minnesota!) the following are two more letters from my father to my grandparents while he was a freshman at St Olaf College, long before my time: - (As for me, no time for high jinx at the moment, I’m still in study mode.)
Dear Folks,
Thank you very much for the blanket, the cigarettes, and the ten dollars. All were well appreciated. Also thanks for the hat.
Since it is the policy of St. Olaf and Carleton to burn each other’s bonfire the night before it is scheduled to be burned, it was the Carl’s turn to try to burn ours. For a spy system, Oles were spread out at various points on the Carl campus with flashlights, with one Ole located in the chapel tower. If we saw any Carls leave the campus to go to St. Olaf, we were to signal to the one in the tower. Then he would flash a signal to Old Main, because there is a clear view over there Dave Olsen, who is from Northfield and who stays off campus, was with me in the Laird Stadium press-box for the whole night (man-o-re-bob it was cold). We saw activity about 2 AM, and were all set to signal up to the tower, but the Ole in the tower had already spotted them. He was already signalling to Old Main. We then withdrew and went back up on the hill.
Since there were several Carls near the bridges, it was necessary to cross the river through the Carleton Arboretum, which was very scary. We didn’t dare use flashlights for fear we would get spotted. A squirrel jumped off a tree and I almost dropped a load. When we were crossing their practice football field, we thought we saw people running to the “Arb”. We hit the dirt, and discovered that the sprinkling system was on.
Although 50 Carls met at the bridge, only five reached our campus. Their strategy was to infiltrate into our defense, which almost worked. Every once in a while somebody would try to throw a gas bomb into the fire. Luckily nothing went off except the Carl’s hair. Four or five were clipped.
My hair is growing out rapidly. In about a week, I’ll go across the hall to Al’s Barber shop to square it into a heinie. From there, I’ll grow it out so that I shouldn’t look too bad when I come home for Christmas.
We creamed Lawrence, the Conference favorite, 35-13 for our Homecoming. We are the nation’s second highest scorers, and still un-defeated. If the Oles get by Mormouth next week, St. Olaf will win the Conference football championship.
About three of us frosh got wind of an Ole upperclassmen homecoming dance down at Melody Mill in Faribault. Bob Hansen, of Janesville, Wisc., Paul Jacobson of Litchfield, and I hopped into Bob’s brother’s car and went down there. Frank didn’t join us because he went over to the Carleton dance. We got down to Faribault about 10PM and to the Melody Mill. It was more of a drunken brawl instead of a dance… people swinging from chandeliers, playing toreador in the middle of the dance floor, half of the members of Men’s senate (the discipline committee) under the table…
Say, Dad, was it as wild at St. Olaf when you went there? There were quite a few people that I never expected touched a drop that were feeling pretty high.
I would rather you say nothing about this… it’s just between us and the fencepost… I just want to tell you what really happens here. I just don’t feel that I should give you false impressions.
I’m mailing home several things this week. Please save them for me.
I guess I had better close now. I have to hit the books pretty hard. Two tests next
week.
Dear Folks,
I guess that I forgot to tell you how I do my personal laundry. I usually send my white and ROTC shirts to the laundry. My underclothes are thrown into the automatic washer in the basement of Ytterboe Hall. It takes about an hour, and costs .15
Say, I sure would appreciate it if you would send me one of those army fatigue caps (size 7). It seems that my head is a little bald from the Carleton raid the other night.
There is an age-old custom for each frosh class of the two colleges in town to try to set fire to each other’s homecoming bonfire the night before it is scheduled to be burned. Since Carleton’s homecoming was first this year, we staged the first raid.
We were felling pretty nutty about 9:00 at night, so Johnny Bernow and I went up to Carleton. The raid wasn’t until 4:00 in the morning, but we thought we would survey the situation, anyway.
Some Carl guards thought that we were some of them. The “con” game was played when I found our that this one Carl from Milwaukee knew Larry Gross. So we volunteered to help them guard the SW entrance, while they went to have coffee. We had a perfect chance to light the fire, but of course, no matches, no gasoline, no nuttin’!
We kept up the act until the Oles attacked at 4:00 AM. We then started to tear down the barbed wire so that the Oles wouldn’t get hurt on it, and the Carls realized that we weren’t one of them. Three Carls jumped me before I could get away, and they carried me to the dorm. To my surprise, one of the barbers was, of all people, Ben Hanna!
Of course, with about thirty other Oles, I got clipped bald. I thought it was very funny that it took the Carls more than six hours to find out that we were not of their clan.
I had quite a chat with Ben and Steve. Steve thought it was pretty nervy of me to pull the wool over the Carl froshes eyes. I guess quite a few guys got clubbed with parts of the bonfire, and quite a few on my floor were really crippled up with broken noses, black eyes, etc. I’m just wondring what’s going to happen when they try to burn our fire Thursday night. I’m glad that those three guys didn’t decide to klobber me.
I feel pretty happy about two recent tests that I took. I got a B in a Political Science test, and an A in a Norwegian test. We still haven’t received the Spanish results as yet. These are the major tests, and they will be deciding factors in the mid-semesters.
Did you hear that St. Olaf’s football team is the highest scoring team in the nation? (That is, before they entered the Carleton game.) They still might be, for the Oles beat the Carls 34-0 Saturday. Next week will be a battle with Lawerence, who are also undefeated. The ROTC unit is marching in the parade.
All for now.
As it is Memorial Day, I thought I’d post this in memory of my father who died last year.
My sister recently had a rummage though some of his things and found this letter to my grandparents while he was a freshman (first year) at St Olaf College, Minnesota. My father went on to serve in Vietnam where he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and to suffer from PTSD. The second Flickr picture on right was taken while he was at college. The first is how I like to remember him. As for the letters, he sounds like he could have been friends with Holden Caulfield at Pencey Prep: -
Dear Folks,
SWAF (Sophomores welcome all Freshmen) Day came and went. This ends our beanie days, and were officially welcomed into the St. Olaf student body. We’re true Oles, now! The SWAF days were concluded with a bonfire last night, and we could throw our beanies in the fire if we wished. I saved mine, however. Tiny (250 lbs, all muscle), who was notorious for his hair clipping of the freshmen, permitted himself to be clipped at the fire to prove he isn’t such a bad joe.
I haven’t played any more tennis since I got here. Greg Jacobsen and I are going to try to get together one of these days. He is taking two sciences courses this year, and, consequently, has labs until 5:30 some days. He’s trying to learn how to budget his time so that he can fit some tennis into his afternoons.
The Spanish Club will meet for the second time this coming Thursday. About a week ago I got initiated into Idun Edda, an organization for Norwegian students. This organization is one of the most active on campus.
The Norwegian average took a sudden drop. On these short quizes that we’ve been having almost every day, I have an average of 90. However, in the meantime, we’ve had two assignments in which we had to think up 20 original sentences, and I got a C-plus for both of them. I have word order trouble there. I’m really going to have to really score on that mid-semester test coming up. We’ve already taken the Spanish major test. We haven’t got them back yet, but it seemed easy.
Everybody received a rude shock on the first ROTC test. I received a “D” on mine and felt pretty bad about it, and quite a few flunked it. Col. Horne says that the ROTC is no longer a farce here on campus, the tests aren’t going to be snaps as they have been in the past. He isn’t going to waste too much of the taxpayer’s money if he can help it, he says, and wanted to give us a rude enough shock so that we study for it just like any other subject. This test only counts as 1/6 of our semester grade, so maybe I can recover to pull out a decent grade in ROTC. We found out from Col Horne that the cooks have been putting salt-peter in the gravy here on campus. They must not trust us.
I got out of Phy. Ed. because of that archery shot and my tennis serves, so that I can devote my full time to intramurals in the afternoon.
I am certainly glad that you saw Rog. I know that he appreciated your visit. I would certainly appreciate it if you would send me an army blanket (minimum 6’-9’).
I guess that’s all for now. Got to hit the books.
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