No. 42

(See Cover)

The score was 6-6 and the first half had only three minutes left. The ball was Princeton's, on Harvard's 31-yard line. Fourth down, nine to go.

As the orange & black huddle broke up, the Princeton team trotted into its single-wing formation. The quarterback barked, the ball shot back from the center. The slim tailback with No. 42 on his jersey took the pass, waist high; with practiced ease he threw a screen pass. It was good for a first down on the Harvard ten. On the next play, pivoting as precisely as a ballet dancer, No. 42 ran--he didn't seem to be running very fast--toward the right sideline. Harvard tacklers closed in. Just before they were on him, and with hardly a break in his stride, No. 42 cocked his right arm, and threw. A Princeton end, running toward the goal line--but he didn't seem to be going very fast either--caught the ball on the one-yard line. The fullback bucked it over. Princeton 12; Harvard 6. In the 70 seconds of playing time before the half was over, Princeton scored again--this time on an intercepted Harvard pass.

On the Princeton side of the stadium, the cheerleaders' megaphones bellowed. As the half ended, the Princeton stands rose, applauding. They were mostly applauding No. 42--Halfback Dick Kazmaier.

Before the afternoon was out, they had even more cause to cheer. Thanks mainly to Kazmaier's passing (for 222 yards--12 out of 16 completed, for three touchdowns), Harvard went down to its worst defeat ever inflicted by a Princeton team: 54 to 13. Princeton had broken its old record of 19 straight games, and stretched the nation's longest winning streak to 20 games. With two more to go (Yale and Dartmouth), Kazmaier has already gained 1,470 yards running and passing this year, is topped nationally only by Drake's Johnny Bright (see PEOPLE).

Richard William Kazmaier is one of the nation's best football players. He is also a refreshing reminder, in the somewhat fetid atmosphere that has gathered around the pseudo-amateurs of U.S. sports, that winning football is not the monopoly of huge hired hands taking snap courses at football foundries. In a day when most back-fields average 180 lbs., he is a slender 5 ft. 11 in., 171 lbs. He is a senior at a small university (3,000) that does not buy its football teams. At Princeton he has a scholarship, just as 42% of his teammates have (and 40% of all Princeton undergraduates). He is an above-average student majoring in psychology. He has no intention of using football as a passport to a professional athletic career.

Great, Greater, Greatest? When Princeton's varsity assembled for its first practice this fall, Kazmaier himself was the only holdover from the offensive platoon of Princeton's 1950 champions. Only five veterans were left in the defensive platoon. Coach Charlie Caldwell, like most other Princeton alumni, glumly figured that 1951 would be "rebuilding year." Even after Princeton rolled impressively over New York University, Navy, Pennsylvania and Lafayette, Caldwell was still stubbornly insisting: "This team hasn't the authority of last year's."

But after Princeton's 53-15 drubbing of Cornell, even cautious Charlie Caldwell had to admit that it looked as if he were heading for another perfect season. In a spectacular one-man show, Kazmaier ripped through the undefeated Cornell line, averaging seven yards a crack, completed a phenomenal 15 out of 17 passes and personally accounted for 360 yards gained--70% of Princeton's total and more--by half as much again--than the entire Cornell backfield.

Reporting that game, the New York Times's Allison Danzig called Kazmaier's performance "one of the greatest passing exhibitions ever seen on any gridiron since the introduction of the pass in 1906." The Herald Tribune decided that "Princeton's all-around operations on offense and defense and Dick Kazmaier's transcendent solo deeds against Cornell were the peak performances, team and individual, of a football coach's lifetime." Cornell's veteran coach, Lefty James, said simply, with the disarming candor of the defeated: "The greatest back I've ever seen."

By last week Princeton grads were earnestly stacking Kazmaier up against Old Nassau's football immortals--Garry LeVan, Jake Slagle, San White, Hector Cowan and Edgar Allan Poe, quarterback on the '89 team.- Undergraduates, howling gleefully in the stands, were comparing Kazmaier to players they had never seen--Tommy Harmon, Red Grange, Chris Cagle. On the record, Kaz ranks with the best of today's amateurs: Tennessee's Hank Lauricella, Illinois' Johnny Karras, Southern California's Frank Gifford. And on the record, for the second year in a row, he is an inevitable choice for All-America honors.

Practice for Perfection. The object of this superheated, though ephemeral, acclaim is a 20-year-old senior from Maumee (pop. 5,500), Ohio, who hardly looks the part of a triple-threat halfback. Off the football field, he is undistinguished and indistinguishable from hundreds of other Princeton undergraduates with their crew cuts and carefully sloppy clothes. He does not feel that he must die for dear old Princeton. A serious youth, he rates his serious interests in this order: 1) friends, 2) studies, 3) football. He plays the game because he likes it;/- he plays superlatively well because, starting with a good share of natural ability, he also has a burning zeal to excel, which has made him a meticulous attender to details. At practice, he wants to know the reason for every split-second step in every play; once he is convinced, he practices until he has it, muscle-perfect.

On the practice field, under the orange & black helmet that adds an anonymizing grimness to his features, Kazmaier shows more of the fussiness of the perfectionist than the jet-flaming drive of a great halfback. But the flame is building up: it appears on Saturdays. On the first play from scrimmage he is so tense that Quarterback Stevens has standing instructions not to let him handle the ball.* Once the warmup of the first play is over, Kazmaier takes off.

Poised in his tailback spot, Kazmaier provides the explosive charge that makes the Princeton attack the fearsome weapon it is. The defending team is never sure what Kazmaier is going to do: run, pass or quick kick. He is effective at all three. His running has no pounding power, no blinding speed. But a trail of sprawling, frustrated tacklers attests to a swivel-hipped shiftiness, a ball-bearing glide that enable him to change pace or direction without losing stride. Judd Timm, the Princeton backfield coach, an ex-trackman at Illinois, describes Kazmaier's running style: "He runs 'light,' with a nice forward lean; if he wants to slow down to pick up a blocker, he just straightens up a bit."

Unstoppable Play. When the opposing defense tightens to stop the running attack, Kazmaier is even more dangerous. He is a sharpshooting passer, and he has the rare ability of throwing on the dead run. His jump passes (i.e., short gainers) are thrown "hard," of necessity: he has to get them off fast. The deeper ones, depending on the situation, are sometimes floaters. His biggest asset is accuracy. "Kaz always hits 'em on the back of the head," says, admiring Coach Caldwell.

Kazmaier's kicking is also a source of satisfaction to Caldwell: "We have boys who can kick the ball farther--though Kaz can boot it 60 yards--but none so dependable. We want high, accurate kicks so our tacklers can get underneath the ball." And here again Kazmaier gets them off fast, and has to: for "protection" time he is allowed only 1.5 seconds.

On Caldwell's run-pass option play (see diagram), Kazmaier's triple talents come into full use. This is the key play, on which the success of the Princeton attack depends. Kazmaier starts to run laterally as the ball is snapped. He takes the pass from center while three possible receivers start downfield--each to different depths. A fourth receiver, the end on the weak side, keeps the safety man decoyed. The deep man is, of course, the primary target. But if all four receivers are blanketed, Kazmaier can just tuck the ball under his arm and take off through the thinly spread defense while his receivers turn into downfield blockers. Canny Coach Caldwell points out the simple beauty of the play: "The defense just can't cope with both the pass and the threat of the run, but only a player like Kazmaier makes it as unstoppable as it is."

Infantry Attack. In the days before the fast-breaking T formation, the single-wing offense was like a massed infantry attack. It was based on sheer power, with two-on-one blocking in the line to force short but sure gains. Caldwell's single-wing is still geared to the power block, but the whole attack is more like an armored spearhead, which concentrates its full weight for short spurts but always threatens to go the whole distance to the goal line.

The old-style muscleman would be completely befuddled by Caldwell's intricate offensive formations (24 in all) or the 36 spreads and shifts of the defense. Caldwell feels that agility is more important than size. Princeton's biggest regular defensive lineman is 198-lb. End Frank McPhee. Says Caldwell: "Most of our heavyweights are on the Jayvee. A slow reactor can't play for us. What we require is, first, speed and second, intelligence. Dumb football players can't play our game."

To keep his players nimble, Caldwell has borrowed one of the tortures of the academic Inquisition. Every Sunday afternoon, in a darkened room in Osborn Clubhouse, the coaching staff gathers before a movie screen. The film of the last game is run off, slow motion, and every player's every play is dissected and graded by the coaching staff. Later, the players get their marks individually--and for each one a spot on next week's lineup is at stake. The grades range from 1 "for superb effort like a triple block," to 7 "for a bonehead play or a costly fumble." A grade of 4 is average. Against Cornell, Kazmaier had a "perfect" game; he never slipped below 4, and got three of the five ones the coaching staff gave out.

The linemen are checked as meticulously as the backs. Under Caldwell's system, the unsung offensive lineman has to be almost as alert as the quarterback in diagnosing the defense. In fact, the offensive lineman is often a signal caller for his own particular area, calling for specialized blocks in cadence with the quarterback. This innovation of "line quarterbacking," according to Caldwell, insures efficient blocking for an opening, and counteracts any sudden defensive shift. And since the single-wing attack depends on the precision and effectiveness of two-on-one blocking, Princeton players are taught a bewildering variety, from the simple "shoulder" block to such ramifications as the cross-body, reverse cross-body and "peelback" blocks (i.e., blocks thrown behind the runner, "peeling" them off his back so that he has room to move laterally in his downfield progress).

Orange & Black & Blue. This kind of blocking, plus astute "line quarterbacking," rips open holes big enough for any back, and Kazmaier is the first to acknowledge his debt to the hard-charging Princeton line. He is also blessed with half a dozen agile, sure-fingered pass receivers like Quarterback George Stevens, Ends Len Lyons and McPhee, one of the few who plays on both the offensive and defensive platoons and himself a likely All-America candidate. And one of the big reasons for Princeton's success this year is the defensive platoon, "quarterbacked" by Captain Dave Hickock. "They are the players," says Caldwell, "who let us get our hands on that ball."

Kazmaier's attitude towards his teammates who play defense is deferential and slightly superstitious. When the defense is making a stand deep in Princeton territory, Kazmaier watches from the bench with his helmet off, so as not to put the "whammy" on them. Kazmaier himself has made no more than two or three tackles since his sophomore year. He is too valuable a property to risk on that jarring job. But he gets his share of lumps and bumps by enduring a series of smashing tackles and pile-ons whenever he runs, by getting knocked flat when he passes or kicks. The big white 42 on Kazmaier's chest and back marks the No. 1 target for every opposing player.

Boom! Boom! Boom! A fortnight ago, after a rugged game against Brown--a game which Kazmaier won, 12-0, with touchdown sprints of 13 and 61 yards on a field piebald with mud and snow--Trainer Eddie Zanfrini gave Caldwell the casualty report, ending with: "My gosh, Kaz is black and blue all over." But Dick is durable. In three years of varsity competition, he has missed only one sequence of plays (two minutes) when he was needed. That time he was knocked cold.

Princeton looks good this year--and last--but how good is it? Like most of the other little old uncles of the Ivy League, it plays only Eastern teams. How would Princeton stack up against the power-packed Big Ten in the Midwest, or the sun-kissed giants of the West Coast? Last week an Associated Press poll of sport-writers ranked Princeton right behind Tennessee, Illinois and Maryland--and ahead of Michigan State and U.S.C. Many Western sportwriters, contemptuous of Eastern football, think that rating much too high. Others, looking at what happened last week to two of Princeton's victims (Cornell, which beat Michigan, 20-7; Penn, which held Wisconsin to 16-7), would put undefeated Princeton even higher. Princeton's Charlie Caldwell, IQSO'S Coach of the Year, takes the middle, or Caldwell, view. He thinks that Princeton, on any given day, could hold its own with any team in the nation. But meeting powerhouse teams week after week would be another matter. Princeton is a small college, with a small squad--and only one Kazmaier. Says Caldwell: "Our schedule is easy, hard--easy, hard. In the Big Ten, for example, it's boom! boom! boom! We haven't the depth to stand that."

Princeton, like most of the Ivy League, is short of football material for the simple reason that it is not a competitive bidder in the football market. Under a "Big Three" agreement Harvard, Yale and Princeton exchange information on all their varsity football players. Competitive bidding, in the form of scholarship offers, is frowned on. Each athlete must fill out a form showing the source of his finances; if any extracurricular subsidy crops up, the player is declared ineligible. Dick Kazmaier is a good example of how well that system works.

Not Big Enough. Princeton's director of admissions recalls his first meeting with the 155-lb. youngster who was to write a new chapter of Princeton football history: "Kazmaier had been recommended as an all-round high school athlete, and I didn't know what to think when I saw that peanut walk in." He wrote a kindly comment on Dick's card: "Probably not big enough for college athletics." But Princeton was glad to have Kazmaier: it was interested in him for other reasons.

"The kind of boy we want," says Princeton's director of student aid, "is the one who's going to run the Community Chest in his home town some day ... We want him to be in the top 8% of his class, to be class president, editor of the school paper . . ." Kazmaier fits the pattern: his high school grades were mostly A's and he had been president of his class and of Hi-Y. He got his scholarship --a $400 grant, which falls $200 short of Princeton's tuition fee; he lost it for one term last year because his grades slipped during football season.

Even though Princeton was slow to appreciate him as an athlete, he had been a five-letter man at Maumee High School. He quarterbacked the football team, shortstopped the baseball team, was high scorer on the basketball team (23 points a game), the fastest man on the track team (10.3 seconds for the zoo-yard dash), No. 2 man on the golf team (middle 80s). Though he never made an All-State team, these feats did not pass unnoticed. In fact, 23 colleges approached him with offers.

Right by Instinct. Dick was originally steered to Princeton by an alert alumnus, a Toledo lawyer named Gilmore Flues ('26). Flues, watching Dick play in a losing football game, was impressed by the way the youngster "instinctively did the right thing." Flues enlisted the aid of another Princeton friend, Henry Dodge ('32), to get Dick interested in Princeton. As plant manager of Owens-Ford in Toledo, Dodge knew and liked Dick's father, Richard Sr., one of Libby-Owens' assistant plant superintendents. In the fall of his senior year at Maumee, Dick visited the Princeton campus and made up his mind then & there.

To get into Princeton, Dick had to pass the College Board exams. To stay there, he had to do odd jobs around the campus (waiting on table, driving laundry trucks) to supplement his scholarship. And since a year at Princeton costs a minimum of $1,700, he had to work every summer to get more money. Last summer, Dick combined business with business: he worked in the personnel department of Libby-Owens and, after hours, gathered data on labor-management relations for his 25,000-word senior thesis.

He went out for freshman football, of course; but as a 155-lb. freshman substitute, Dick got lost in the shuffle until the final game, when he earned a starting role. In spring training, when Caldwell first got a good look at him, he figured that Kaz was too light for varsity football. Not until the Rutgers* game, his sophomore year, did Kazmaier demonstrate that he was tough enough to stand the gaff. "From then on," recalls Coach Caldwell, "I knew we had something." And from then on, Dick was a starting regular.

One at a Time. Though Dick "intentionally and willingly" lets his studies slide during football season, he hopes to graduate with honors in psychology. He plans a business career in labor-management relations. After the football season is over, he will get after his studies again. But he likes "to do one thing at a time." At the moment, he is chiefly interested in the grades he gets from Coach Caldwell.

Dick credits his concentration on the job at hand to his father, "who cracked the whip on me if I got out of line." And he comes naturally by his concentration on football. His father was captain of the Toledo University football team, and both his uncles were football coaches. The three

Kazmaier brothers have followed and fostered Dick's athletic career with expert eyes, though neither they nor Dick's high-school coach ever dreamed they had an All-America performer in their backyard. Dick's father, his foremost fan, who constantly admonishes his son not "to get a swelled head," hops into the family's 1951 Chevrolet almost every weekend and drives the 600-odd miles from Maumee to watch his son play.

Dick's mother, who has recently been seriously ill, seldom makes the trip. She contributes to her son's career in another way: big batches of homemade cookies sent once a week. Her influence is also evident in Dick's room in 1903 ("Oughty-Three") Hall. The desk is neat as a pin, the bed made tight, the clothes hung up. Dick's roommate, Defensive Halfback John McGillicuddy, is more normally messy, and, as Dick points out, "you don't have any trouble telling our stuff apart."

Dick has eight other roommates in the suite. Only one of them is a football player (Quarterback Stevens); most of them are members of Princeton's Cottage Club, one of the 17 "eating" clubs established when Princeton abolished national fraternities in 1875. When Dick is not in training, he likes a couple of beers with his friends--"though I get stinko on four." As for girls, he has no "steady." "I haven't got time," he explains.

Five in a Row. One good reason he hasn't got time is football. Though Princeton is limited to only two hours' practice a day ("If they can't learn the stuff in that time, they're not bright enough for me," says Caldwell), for the next two weeks Kazmaier & Co. will be busy young men. With the Harvard game behind them, this week they go after another mark against Yale: Princeton's fifth straight "Big Three" title. If they win that one, they will break the record of four in a row that Percy Haughton's Harvard elevens made in 1912-15.

After the Dartmouth game, a week from Saturday, Kazmaier expects to give up football for good. Next season, somebody else may wear No. 42. Professional football? "Only if I get a pretty fabulous offer [i.e., $15,000 for four months'work]. But I've got the Army to think about after graduation. These are pretty uncertain times to be making plans far in advance." Young Mr. Kazmaier believes in touchdowns, and means to make them--but on any particular play he'll settle for his seven yards.

* And grandnephew of the author. /-A view that might have been considered heretical by Princeton's onetime (1919-30) Coach Bill Roper, who once exploded: "The people who think football is a game are crazy. Football is war!" * A ground rule that wily Coach Caldwell is always capable of breaking against an unwary opponent. * Sample (for the post and lead block), as Author Caldwell explains it in his Modern Single Wing Football: "The lead man takes his first step with his left foot, moving six inches to the right to get a better blocking position. As he does this, the post blocker takes a step laterally and slightly back with his right foot to put himself directly in front of the opponent's charge." * The Rutgers-Princeton game, in 1869, was the first football game in the U.S. Score: Rutgers, 6 goals; Princeton, 4.

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