CHAPTER 3
A LATE ADDITION
Excitement ran high on Tuesday, but it wasn’t for football. Most of the thoughts were centered on the classes which marked the beginning of a new school year. There was a lot to be done the first day. Each student had to get his schedule, find his classes, meet their new teachers, get their textbooks and find out who else was in their classes.
Everyone seemed happy to be back “at the old grind” or “back to the workhouse” again. Smiles and happy greetings were heard everywhere. Backslapping and friendly poking were seen frequently, as students greeted schoolmates they hadn’t seen all summer.
Little thought was given to football by the coaches either; they had their teaching duties to perform. Mr. Miller looked twice at one of the boys as he came into his sixth hour economics class and took a chair near the rear of the room. The boy had all the physical characteristics necessary for a football player.
Mr. Miller walked back to where the boy was sitting and asked him his name.
“Gutsberg,” he replied slowly, “Why, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just wondered who you were.”
Feeling more relaxed he said, “My name’s Dean Gutsberg but my friends call me Guts”.
“Should I call you Guts too?” Mr. Miller asked. This drew laughter from the class which was trying to decide what to make of the newcomer.
“That’s up to you, Mister,” was the answer reflecting an uneasy feeling over the laughter.
“Are you new here?”
“Yeah, I’m from Chicago. I’m livin’ with my uncle on a farm out here,” he said as he nodded his head.
“Ever play football?”
“Nope.”
“Would you like to try? We have a good team but could use some more good players.”
“I don’t know. What would I hafta do?”
“Will you stay a minute after class? We can talk more about it then.”
“O.K.”
For the teacher, the rest of the class went much like any other class, but from time to time he found himself looking over the prospective player. He looked like a fire plug in the seat, rather than a seventeen year old boy.
“He must weigh at least 200 pounds,” the coach thought to himself as he looked at Guts, “and he isn’t over five feet ten inches tall either. He just has to be a football player.”
Gutsberg sat through the period but was very uneasy. He felt everyone watching him and he didn’t know whether he liked the attention or not. Making the decision to play football – or not to play – also was giving him some uneasy moments.
Dean Gutsberg had come from Chicago to live on a farm near Foxville early in the summer. More accurately, he had been sent there by a juvenile court judge after having been brought to the court several times. The judge considered sending him to the state’s school for boys; however, on the advice of a social worker, the farm was chosen instead.
Guts, as he liked to be called, had been a good boy in his youth, and had made good marks in school. Two years ago his father died leaving Dean, his two brothers and three sisters dependent upon their mother. His mother worked to support the family, but it became increasingly more difficult for her to control her children.
Dean had done poorly in school last year. Worse than that – the gang which he had been associating with was constantly in trouble. The principal, the caseworker and others who knew him spoke well of his ability. They pleaded with the judge to find some other way of handling him than to send him to the reformatory.
It was at this point in the proceedings that Mrs. Gutsberg’s sister offered to take the boy to their farm for the summer. The farm life could be a good treatment for the troubled boy.
Life on a farm was different from that of the city. The hard work he did willingly was harder work than he had ever done in his life. Almost every night for the first few weeks he had seriously considered running away and returning home. In the midst of his thinking about leaving, he would sit down to a real country dinner and his plans would change.
What the average American boy took for granted in the way of meals was a new treat to the city lad. He had never had meals like his aunt prepared: a big piece of roast beef, a juicy slice of ham with candied sweet potatoes, a big plate of fried chicken and always second helpings – more if he felt like it. Following the main course was always a big piece of cake or pie with ice cream on it. These things were the persuaders which kept him from leaving.
After a couple of weeks, all thoughts of returning to the Chicago apartment and to his gang were pushed to the back of his mind, and he began to enjoy his new life.
He did miss his family, though. In his spare time he played games with his cousins. Although he was older and bigger, he soon realized that they were better at throwing a ball and putting the basketball through the hoop on the barn. He realized he had a lot to learn.
Sitting in the classroom waiting for the bell to ring when he would again be asked to go out for football, Guts found it difficult to make up his mind. He had never played football; in fact, he had never really seen a football game. Oh, he had gone to games his school had played. He had gone with his gang, but only “squares” sat in the stands and watched the game. He and his pals used the time to walk around and find some girls or get into a fight. Some real scrapes resulted from arguments stirred up at football games - - and now, Mr. Miller wanted him to PLAY football.
He had not thought of much else that hour, but when the bell rang he still had not made up his mind what he should say. Maybe he should have gone home to Chicago instead of coming to school here, after all; then he wouldn’t have been faced with a problem like this. It seemed difficult for him to decide.
His uncle had given him the opportunity to stay, not really expecting that he would do it.
“Dean,” his uncle said to him one day during a break while they were working on the corn picker, “We’ll be using this machine in a couple of months. How would you like to stay here and help us?”
“Do you mean it, Uncle Charley?” was his immediate, excited reaction. “Oh! But I couldn’t,” he thoughtfully added after a pause, “I gotta’ go back home so I can finish school. You know what the judge would do to me if I didn’t.”
“Well, would you like to stay if I could fix it up for you? I think maybe I could get the judge to agree to let you stay here and go to school here if you want to.” Actually Mr. Wise had been writing to the judge regularly. The judge had been told of the change which had come over Dean since he had come to the farm. Now, if Dean wanted to stay and his uncle was willing to have him, the judge would probably agree.
“I don’t know,” was Dean’s studied answer. “Let me think about it.”
“All right, Dean, but you will have to decide soon because school starts in two weeks. If you’re going home we’ll have to get someone else to take your place. I can’t do all this work alone.” This was not quite accurate as Uncle Charley was well aware. He had done it alone before Guts came, and he could do it alone again. The boy, however, had been a great help and Guts liked the idea of being wanted and needed.
The summer on the farm had done wonders for the person and personality of the big city boy. As he pondered his decision to stay on the farm or return to Chicago many thoughts ran through his mind. He had never enjoyed such wonderful food as his aunt fed him, nor so much of it. Patting his stomach, Dean thought, “I must have added 20 pounds. Boy, I could really be rough in a rumble now!”
“Rumble - - street war - -gang fight,” he thought. “It’s funny; it’s been weeks since I thought of the gang. What’s more, I haven’t missed them nearly as much as I thought I would.”
“Sure is funny,” he said out loud but still talking to himself, “Who would’ve thought that I - - Guts - - would’ve turned out to be such a square.”
He didn’t say it, but it was foremost in his mind; the thing he feared he would miss the most was the authority of h
is uncle. A boy needs to have a man who stands by him and helps him to learn the ways of life. What he missed the most about his own father was having someone to tell him what he should do or to correct him when he did wrong, someone to talk to man-to-man.
Dean and his uncle hadn’t had any man-to-man talks like they tell about in books. Many times they had talked together while cleaning the barn, repairing machinery, or doing other chores around the farm. That was the man-to-man relationship he feared he would miss the most, just to be with a man who would talk friendly to him.
He had given up smoking, too. He hadn’t had any beer for a couple of months either and he didn’t miss it. To his gang these were signs of toughness. He recalled how his pals placed so much importance on smoking and drinking because by doing these things they felt they were grown up. It seemed silly to Guts now, to think that such habits were signs of being grown up.
“Sure is funny how a guy can change,” he said to himself. No one told him he couldn’t smoke or drink. He soon noticed that his uncle and aunt didn’t smoke, nor did their friends. They didn’t drink beer either. It didn’t seem right for him to smoke in the house or around them, so he didn’t do it. The first couple of weeks he was on the farm, he would take a walk out behind the barn or machine shed and puff on his cigarettes, but even then he felt a little guilty.
Guts decided to quit that, too, one day when his cousin followed him and stood at the corner of the barn watching him. He couldn’t explain the odd feeling which overcame him, but it was enough to make him give it up altogether. That happened several weeks ago. Now, he no longer had any desire to smoke.
One day while riding home from the mill with his uncle, Dean asked, “Why don’t you smoke? Most men do.”
“Is there a good reason why I should?”
Guts hadn’t thought about it that way before. After thinking some minutes he said, “No, I guess not.” Then after a few more moments of thought he asked, “Wouldn’t it help when you’re nervous?”
I suppose it would help settle a nervousness which you wouldn’t have if you didn’t smoke,” answered his uncle. “Or, I might put it this way: It would help to satisfy a craving which it caused in the first place.”
The subject was dropped and nothing more was said about it.
While he was thinking about staying on the farm or going back to Chicago, another train of thought came to his mind. If his gang could only see him on Sundays now they would really be chuckling. He was what he and his gang called “a Sunday School boy.” Yes, on Sundays he put on his white shirt and necktie and went to church with his aunt and uncle. Although he felt very uneasy at first, in the strange surroundings, he had become accustomed to it, and he even enjoyed going now. But, he wouldn’t tell anyone. That was another thing tough guys didn’t do.
At supper that evening Dean announced that he had decided. He would like to stay and go to school here, if he could. He was a little surprised to hear himself say it because he realized life was going to be different now. The changes made were to be permanent. He felt a wave of relief when he made his decision.
“Fine,” said Uncle Charley, “I’ll write to the judge tonight and ask him for his approval.”
“Would it help if I wrote too?” asked Dean.
“I’m sure he would like to hear from you. That’s a good idea.”
That evening both letters were written and put in the mailbox for the mailman.
A few days later, the much awaited letter arrived from the judge. The judge approved the plan with some suggestions for Dean to follow during the year. The letter had been written in longhand and addressed to the boy.
“Gee, look at the letter he wrote to me,” called Guts as he brought the mail in to his aunt, “He’s an alright guy; you can tell that. He says I can stay here if I go to school.”
The last week of summer had been a long week because Guts was waiting to see what the small town school would be like. He had found little differences in the school so far, but now that the economics class was ending, he had to decide whether he would go out for football. The judge had suggested that he take part in as many school activities as he could to broaden his education and meet more people.
“Well,” asked Mr. Miller after the bell rang, “wouldn’t you like to try out for football?”
“What will I have to do?”
“Just fill out a card, get a physical examination and report.”
“No, I mean after I get out there. I don’t know how to play.”
“Oh! Don’t worry, I’ll find some place to use you. When we decide what you can do, we’ll teach you all you need to know. That’s the great thing about football. If you really want to play, there is a place for you.”
Dean was a little hesitant because this was so different from anything he had ever done before. It didn’t seem right for him to say “No” to Mr. Miller, so he said, “Yes.”
“Meet me in the gym after school. I’ll take care of the details for you,” Mr. Miller said.
After school was dismissed, Miller met Guts and introduced him to Coach Andrews. A couple of quick phone calls and he received approval from his uncle and arranged for a doctor to give him a physical examination.
When Gutsberg returned from his physical exam, he was outfitted with his equipment and reported to the field just as the team finished their running. He arrived in time to hear the coach review the practice plans for the week ahead.
Practice after a few days vacation is usually sloppy and sluggish. It seems to take a day or two to get back into the swing of things again. The practice on Tuesday evening was poor - -as expected - - with one very notable exception. That exception was the new prospect.
“Hamburgers on the menu for tonight,” Coach Andrews announced. Coach Miller took Guts to one side to show him some fundamentals of football while Andrews ran the drill. “Hamburger” was the name applied to any drill where “live bait” was used; this was in contrast to working on blocking dummies.
The one-on-one drill used tonight was one of the coach’s favorite drills. A lineman set himself between two blocking dummies laid on the ground about six feet apart while a back ran straight at him. By sidestepping, pivoting, stiff arming or some other trick the back tried to get past the lineman without being tackled.
After a three-day lay-off the linemen were not doing very well; the backs were running all over them. Mr. Andrews watched disgustedly for a short time, and then called to Guts, “Come on over here and see if you can stop these backs.”
Mr. Miller had only worked with Dean for about fifteen minutes. He had shown him a defensive stance and had him tackle the dummy a few times.
When Guts arrived where the drill was being held, Coach Andrews told him, “That ball carrier is going to try to get past you. See if you can tackle him.”
“O.K., Coach,” said Guts as he assumed his position. The fellows on the team snickered and laughed at the awkwardness of the new player when he tried to get his hands and feet in position. He looked much like a frog about to leap.
“Alright Smitty, come on through him.”
“Take it easy on him, Smitty,” called Joe Blaine, the fullback, who was waiting the next turn.
Smitty, in one of his less than brilliant moments, took the coach’s words literally. He tucked the ball under his arm, put his head down and tried to run “through” the waiting Guts.
CRACK - - THUD - - was the only sound heard. Smitty’s shoulder hit Gut’s chest. He bounced off him like a rubber ball. When Guts tried to put his arms around the runner’s legs to complete the tackle, nothing was there - - Smitty had bounced off and was lying in a heap on the ground.
A mixture of laughter and shock fell over the other teammates. For a few moments no one moved, and then the coaches rushed to Smitty, rolled him over and tried to talk to him.
“It was a big white truck that hit me,” moaned Smitty. “I saw it, but I couldn’t get out of his way. Oh
- - - - where am I?”
Jimmy, the manager was sent for the first aid kit. When smelling salts were held under his nose, the cobwebs began to clear from his head and he was soon back to normal again - - except for a good headache.
“Did you see that guy hit Smitty,” said Tom to his twin in very excited tones, “and, look at him, it hardly budged him.”
When the excitement over the injured boy died down, Smitty was assured that he was not hurt, only shaken a bit. He rose to his feet, shook his head and said to those gathered around him, “I’d rather run into a brick wall than do that again.”
Attention then shifted to Guts who had been standing around on the edge of the crowd not knowing what to do. To the coach who was now moving toward him he apologized, “Gee, I’m sorry, Coach, I didn’t mean to hurt him but - - “
“Never mind that Guts, are you alright? Do you think you could do that again?”
“You mean you aren’t sore at me? Everything’s alright?”
“You bet everything’s alright. That was the hardest any of our backs have ever been hit. Do you think you could do that again?”
Now Guts was feeling great. He had been able to use his strength and get a good compliment too. This was going to be fun. “I’ll try, Coach.”
“Tim,” called the coach, “Tim, you give Guts a try. See if you can get through him.”
Mr. Miller, standing next to Guts, was giving him some instruction. No one was laughing at his stance now. Coach Miller was saying, “Keep your eyes on his belly. Don’t look at his head. Drive your shoulder into his midsection just as I showed you on the dummy. Here he comes now!”
POW - - WHUMP and another back was on the ground. Tim had run at him and tried to use a stiff arm so he could slow his charge. His arm strength wasn’t nearly enough. Just as he thrust his arm forward Guts’ momentum hit him with a SMACK that sounded like a hard slap on a bare back. The tackle was not the neatest ever made, but it took Tim off his feet and put him to the ground with a thud; Guts landing on top of him.
“Are you all right, Guts?” asked Mr. Miller of the smiling tackler, completely ignoring the star back.
“Sure, Coach. Can I try it again?”
“Not tonight,” put in Coach Andrews, “We have other work to do. Our team defense needs work too.” Then turning to Mr. Miller he said, “Coach, let’s try Guts at defensive tackle and move Lake to linebacker. I think we have a big rock for the middle of our defensive wall.”
The remainder of the Tuesday practice was spent on defensive formations with the second team offense running plays against the first team defense. This was the first practice where the defense worked together as a team. A lot of work was still needed to learn the strategy and formations better. There was also room for improvement in sharpness and finesse, but that would come with practice.
Guts played his defensive position well. He allowed no one past him in the whole practice. Few even tried, but those who did, felt his hardened muscles clamp on them before they were thrown to the ground.
Playing defense gave Guts a lot of pleasure. “All I have to do is push aside anyone who ain’t got the ball. When I find the guy that has got it, I grab him and throw him down.” This was the way he explained his assignment to his uncle that evening. “It’s just as much fun as the gang fights we used to have but here they like to see me knock ‘em down. And we don’t have to worry about the cops,” he laughingly added.
Pat Olson, the junior center who played across the line from Guts, also told about the new player. He told his father how Guts had stopped Smitty and Tim, and how tough he was in the scrimmage; then he added, “You know, Dad, that guy is so tough that if he called me a dirty name, I’d pretend I didn’t hear him.”
Guts had made the team.