The Crimson Fumbles

Yesterday's 40-word statement from the Corporation announcing Lloyd Jordan's dismissal as football coach probably received, both before and after the fact, more publicity, than any administrative decision in recent years. Its subject was of popular interest, because all Americans love football; but the outcry it raised was multiplied many more times over by understandable confusion in the public mind over just what sort of football the Crimson wants to play. Before a new coach accepts Jordan's position, he will want to know the rules of the game here; so do we fans. It is up to the Corporation to tell both him and us.

L'affaire Jordan confused everybody, including the deposed coach, because anyone in a position to explain was, in the words of Boston journalists, "mum." Somehow the story first worked its way onto The Boston Herald's front page on the day after New Year's, and since Jordan seemed to be the only person who wasn't maternally "mum", some suspected that it was he who confessed.

Jordan had reason to be upset, and even good and mad. He had had no indication that his departure from Soldiers Field was imminent; he had losing seasons, goodness knows, before, and had scarcely changed his coaching ways for the worse of late. Some observers now feel that he precipitated his early departure, which is going to cost the people of the community $20,000, by saying that what Harvard football needed was "some tough-nosed kids" up on the line. Jordan was wrong in entering on admissions policy; but at least he wasn't a hypocrite. If he wasn't observing the spirit of the Ivy League, which, when Massachusetts Hall signed the agreement, amounted to a recreational association, he was being painfully frank.

In unofficial statements, Lloyd Jordan has been accused by members of the Faculty Committee on Athletics of "poor teaching." If any place needs good teaching, all surely agree, it is a university community. But what, in terms of Harvard football, is "good teaching"? If it means that Jordan was not a good moral leader, or his attitude toward emphasis of the game was not attuned to that of the College, it should say so. By buying off Jordan at $25,000, the Corporation is making football seem like a very important activity in Harvard life. Does the Committee's accusation reflect on Jordan's ability to teach his players how to win games? The natural reaction, when a football coach is fired at the end of a losing season, is that he didn't know how to win games. If the Faculty Committee doesn't mean that Jordan taught his players poorly in how to win, it should clarify its position.

Confusion over Jordan's dismissal, while aggravated by the conflicting pressures of publicity and secrecy, largely seemed to stem from the lack of real definition of the College's role within the Ivy League. Football, as a sport designed to prove the superiority of eleven men over eleven other men, must be played by people who want to win. But the Ivy League, as constituted in theory, is a group of colleges interested in friendly, healthful competition which will be a source of recreation to those qualified to play. In view of obvious attempts by alumni of the institutions to send the best players of their home area to their own Alma Mater, one wonders whether they believe in the original, "superior," Ivy League "way". Last November 24th, 40,000 people at the Stadium paid about five dollars a head to see eleven Blue shirts prove their superiority over eleven Crimson ones. This was $200,000 worth of recreation, which is real, non-Ivy fun.

Many of 40,000 people sitting in the Stadium contributing their five dollarses were Harvard alumni, who maintain a folk custom of keeping in touch with the old place by returning on Fall weekend pilgrimages. It's probably better to have them come than not come, for they are encouraged to give money when they taste the dust of Harvard Square on their tongues once again. They can hope for a Crimson victory; but we wish that they wouldn't expect it. Even the suggestion that Harvard alumni would consider a winning football eleven as continuing assurance that all is as fine as it ever was on the banks of the Charles is most discouraging. And the Boston newspapermen, in their wisdom, are sure that alumni were behind Jordan's dismissal.

Alumni traditionally hold banquet meetings, to which they invite all the promising, prospective Harvardmen. Lloyd Jordan felt bluntly that money many of these should promise to play ball if they wanted to be prospective Harvardmen. He was wrong. If Harvard is an educational institution, it must make education its only aim; football, as University Hall has stated it, is a complement to education because, as everyone knows, "A healthy body means a healthy mind." But to say, "Charlie, my boy, you'll have time for ball and studies, too," is to say that football to some people can be just as important as all the rest of the intellectual life at Harvard. It isn't.

The only tragedy which has arisen from L'Affaire Jordan is that the man's feelings are probably hurt. Publicly, he has had no word of the reason for his dismissal. It is unfortunate but necessary now that that the Corporation tell him, and us, why he has been fired. He said rather bravely, in his St. Louis hotel room last night, that there were a lot of nice people at Harvard and he like working here. Whether he believes this doesn't matter; but it is important that this successor believe it. Rumors that Josh Williams will get the post seem to imply that Harvard wants to keep its football small-time and doesn't mind if it loses a game now and then. If Williams gets the post, it will be going to a home-trained man, not an imported professional, and that would be a good thing. What Harvard football needs most, however, is a careful statement of what it is trying to do. Jordan's successor will want to know. And so will the sportswriters, the public, and even the students. Perhaps the duty should fall to an Overseers' Committee on Harvard Athletics.