“Those Who Stay: The 50th Anniversary” is a historical fiction series based on a true story and draws on first-hand interviews with the players and coaches of the 1969 Michigan Football program. It will be ongoing through the 2019 Michigan/Ohio State game.
“Those Who Stay: The 50th Anniversary”
Episode 8
(READ EPISODES 1-3 HERE, READ EPISODE 4 HERE, READ EPISODE 5 HERE, READ EPISODE 6 HERE, READ EPISODE 7 HERE
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THOSE WHO STAY – Fall Camp – Ep. 8
“Say (expletive),” Bo said.
It was the end of the fourth day of Fall Camp and Bo had been running three-a-days. One practice at 9AM, one at 2PM and one at 7PM. Three-a-days. It was mid-way through the evening practice and the guys were exhausted – especially Bobby Baumgartner, who still had not passed the Mile Test despite five attempts in a row at 6AM.
But no one was going to let Bo know their legs felt like cement columns or their forearms were black and blue, hell no. For one, they’d learned some things in Winter Conditioning and Spring Ball. When Bo inevitably yelled, “Run it again!!” the only thing to do was run the damn thing again.
Plus, after the very first practice, Jim Mandich, Garvie Craw, Dick Caldarazzo, Tom Curtis and the rest of the Seniors had gathered the team in the locker room and, in no uncertain terms, told the guys what they expected this season.
“I don’t give a (expletive) if Bo asks you to drag a goddamned boxcar end zone to end zone, you do it!” Mandich said, his dark, expressive eyes flooding with anger, “Remember what it felt like in Columbus last year. Remember what it felt like to those Seniors – Ron Johnson, Dennis Brown, Goss, Broadnax, Stincic! I was embarrassed coming off that field. They kicked our (expletive). Fifty points!!! “Because I couldn’t go for three” – that’s what Woody told ‘em!”
Mandich looked down the line at each and every guy. Not a single one looked away. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because there wasn’t a (expletive) bone in Mandich’s body. This was no grand-standing attempt at “look-at-me” leadership. Not a chance. Mandich backed it up and every guy knew it.
“That’s not happening this year.” he continued, “This is our senior year and there is no way in hell that is happening! If you want to quit – if you’re not going to stay – then get out now!”
Nobody moved a muscle. Even if a guy wasn’t sure about staying, he sure as (expletive) wasn’t walking past Jim Mandich in order to quit.
That was four days ago. It felt like four weeks. Three-a-days in the thick air of August will do that to a young man.
And now here was Bo, all fired up, telling QB Don Moorhead to, “Say ‘(expletive)’”.
Moorhead blinks a few times in confusion so Bo repeats himself.
“Say ‘(expletive)’, Moorhead.”
“Excuse me, Coach?”
“'(Expletive).’ Go on, say it.”
Moorhead didn’t swear. Everybody knew that. He was intelligent, a bit soft-spoken, a quiet confidence – the kind you want in your quarterback – and, as Dierdorf had pointed out, he was nicknamed The Warbler. Words didn’t exactly come out of his mouth fully-formed.
Moorhead obliges, “(Expletive).”
“Come on, Moorhead! You’re the leader of this offense – say it like you got a pair!!”
“(Expletive)!” Moorhead shouts.
“Louder!”
“(Expletive)!!!”
“Hot damn! You do have some fire in your goddamn belly!!” Bo says, “Now, knock it off. The only one that swears on my field is me.”
BED REST
“Twenty-four hours a day?” Jane Pilcher asks.
That morning, Jane had popped in on Millie and the boys. Her new friend was eight months pregnant, Bo was in the middle of Fall Camp and only home to sleep for five or six hours and Millie had mentioned she wasn’t feeling great. Jane was popping in.
“This house needs an air conditioner or two! It’s like an oven in here.”
“Bo says he’s getting one,” Millie replied, laying on her side in bed, eyes closed.
“When? The man is holding three practices a day.”
“Yes, he is. He says this team needs it.”
“Well, that may be true but what about you? What about his wife? How are you feeling?” Jane asked.
Millie doesn’t respond.
“Millie, now is not the time for your Mississippi charm – tell me the truth.”
“Not well.”
Jane had known Millie for four months and never – not once – heard her complain about a thing. Or say anything that approached “not well.”
“Let’s go.”
“Where?” Millie asked.
“I’m calling my Jamie and she can watch the boys. We’re going to see your doctor.”
“I’m fine, I just need a nap.”
“Millie, you’re a registered nurse. What would you tell a friend who was in your spot?”
Millie sighs. “Help me up.”
And a half hour later, they are in the doctor’s office.
“You should be off your feet as much as possible,” the doctor says, “Avoid stairs and lifting anything besides a cup of coffee.”
“Doctor, I know I’m forty but –”
“I am concerned, Mrs. Schembechler,” the doctor continues, “Yes, you’re forty but, also–”
“She does everything at home, Doctor,” Jane says. “She needs to rest.”
“That’s what I am advising,” he says.
“I will set up care for the boys and we’ll have meals brought over, Millie, don’t you worry.”
Millie looks to the doctor, “How concerned are you?”
“Your due date is in four weeks. I am strongly advising you go on bed rest until then.”
Millie nods, not what she wanted to hear.
“The Vanderbilt game is the season opener. I’ll save up my vertical hours until then because I am not going to miss Bo’s first game in Michigan Stadium.”
DAY SEVEN: 6:00 AM
Bo stood on the starting line, stopwatch in hand. Bobby Baumgartner and two other poor sonsabitches stood in shorts and t-shirts, already sweating in the thick August humidity on top of the anxiety over having to run the Mile Test for the fifth day in a row.
Bo started the countdown, “Five…four…three…two…one – GO!”
He clicked the button on top of the watch and it started to run. The three young men once more entered the fray. A lonely race now – their one hundred teammates already having passed muster.
Bobby Baumgartner had fallen asleep extra early the night before, exhausted from the multiple mile tests plus three-a-days. At 5:30AM, he literally had to lift his own legs off the bed in order to get up and get moving. He’d slept in his workout clothes and shoes so he didn’t have to worry about getting dressed. He trudged down to the track, moving a bit faster with every step. He began to get his mind right.
He knew he couldn’t take another day of this – his he had to pass this test. Yes, to be done with the torture – the aching legs and swollen feet – but also to show Bo and his teammates that he could. This was the last day for this. It had to be.
Exactly six minutes later – the longest six minutes in Bobby Baumgartner’s life – Bo clicked the button on top of the watch again.
And Bobby Baumgartner was now, by twenty-three seconds, the only Michigan Wolverine who had not passed the Mile Test.
THE CAPTAIN AND THE SUN GOD
The team gathered around Bo and took a knee before the afternoon practice. Hot. Muggy. The dog days. Caldo’s shoulder was aching. Billy Taylor had separated the day before which hurt, sure, but the worst part was he fumbled the ball. You could hear Bo screaming all the way on North Campus. A host of other guys were banged up, courtesy of Three-A-Days as well at this new, unforgiving Tartan Turf.
Bo looked over his battered team. Vanderbilt was just two weeks away. They were hanging in but it wasn’t going to be good enough – not for Vandy and certainly not for Ohio State.
“Gentlemen. We have a long way to go. Defense you gotta pick it up! You’re getting’ your asses handed to you! One practice at a time, one drill at a time, one rep at a time. Seniors, you must lead the way. Make no mistake about it: the fate of this team is in your hands! Now, speaking of seniors, I have a very important announcement. In last night’s team meeting you all voted to elect your team captain. It was anonymous and damn near unanimous. From the day we arrived in Ann Arbor, it was clear to myself and the staff that this individual understands and exemplifies what it means to be a champion. And the fact that you knuckleheads recognize it in him too gives me great hope! The relentless hard work, the attention to detail, the toughness! Gentlemen…I am happy to announce that your captain for the 1969 season, as voted by you, his teammates…is Jim Mandich.
A ROAR from the team!! They loved Mandich and, indeed, it was nearly unanimous. And some secretly, desperately, hoped that maybe now they’d have a formal voice that could get Bo to back off just a little. Of course, that wouldn’t happen. Those were guys that didn’t know Mandich very well.
As the guys settled down, Bo took off his cap, spread his arms out wide, tilted his head back, closed his eyes…and called to the ball of fire high up in the blue sky.
“Ohhhhhhhh, heavenly sun god, may you beat down upon us as we take the field this afternoon!! Keep it scorching hot so that we may better learn how to play through adversity!!”
Dierdorf looked to Moorhead – a “this man is nuts” look. Then they all hustled to get their helmets on and catch up to Mandich, who was already leading the warm-up lap.
CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD
Bo slowly walked around the well-finished basement, studying the cleanly framed memories of a long and distinguished career. An early version of Michigan’s winged helmet mounted on the wall. An article describing (and lambasting) the invention of the two-platoon system in college football. But the one that Bo kept coming back to, the one he leaned in close to study, was a plaque commemorating the 1948 Rose Bowl which Michigan won 49-0 over USC.
“That was a fantastic season. An excellent group of football players, with character to match their achievement,” Fritz Crisler said as he descended the basement stairs. “That was the first Rose Bowl ever played.”
A tall, handsome, at times rigid man, Crisler could be intimidating to some. He’d coached that National Championship 1947 Michigan team, dubbed the “Mad Magicians” for their backfield sleight of hand. Crisler himself had a moniker The Godfather would covet: “Chairman of the Board.” Because, well, he was the Chairman of the Board in Control of Intercollegiate Athletics from 1941-1968. He was a living legend, not just at Michigan but also throughout the land of NCAA football.
“I remember it well,” Bo says. “Bump had a helluva game.”
“He did, indeed.”
The two men consider each other for a moment. The past and the present.
“Thank you for taking some time,” Bo says.
“Of course,“ Fritz replies. “You’re a Michigan man. I always have time for a Michigan man. Now: what can I do for you?”
One of the only people a head coach can turn to with concerns is another head coach. Or, in this case, a former head coach. Bo was passionate, opinionated and could be stubborn as hell. But he also held a deep respect for those who came before him and was smart and humble enough to know that, like his players, he could use some coaching too.
“I’m worried about our defense.”
Crisler nods slowly. “Go on.”
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
“5:56…5:57…5:58…5:59…Six minutes!!” Bo yelled.
He had to yell because Bobby Baumgartner was still forty yards from the finish line. Baum didn’t stop though. He kept plodding along until he passed Bo.
“Get some breakfast in you,” Bo said with only a tinge of gruffness. “We’ll try again tomorrow.“
Jim Mandich and Tom Curtis stood on the sidewalk at the end of the track, peering through the fence.
“He’s never going to make it,” Mandich says.
“No, he’s not. Not now. It’s been three weeks of this.”
The captain nods…wheels spinning.
BO AND PETE MEET
Pete Newell didn’t like this at all. He’d been pulled out of breakfast to go meet with Bo before the morning practice. He couldn’t remember what he’d done but Bo must’ve found out something. Maybe it was the couple of protests and marches Pete participated in over the summer? Or maybe it was Timothy Leary burning draft cards on the field in July?? Pete hadn’t been there for that but had yelled at him about it anyway. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have been entirely out of character. Or maybe he was just playing poorly.
“Newell! Get in here,” Bo barked from inside his office.
Pete went in and took a chair.
“Close the door.”
Pete got up and closed the door. Bo leaned back in his chair as he did and dove right in, “What the hell is going on with the defense?”
Bo had been concerned about the defense. A defense that had been lights out in Spring Ball and now seemed to be slow and tentative. Lacking aggression. He’d talked to Fritz Crisler about it and Fritz suggested he speak to his players about it. Thus, Bo and Pete meet.
“The defense is (expletive) right now. Why?”
“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” Newell replied.
“Anything you say stays in this room,” Bo says.
Pete was a Philosophy major. He was intelligent and, like a lot of college students in that era, he had a healthy skepticism of authority and believed in questioning it. He decided to take Bo at his word so question he did. Bo and Pete talked for over an hour. Pete questioned damn near everything Bo and defensive coordinator Jim Young and the entire staff were doing.
He wanted to know why they ran so much? Answer: Bo wanted to know who would quit and who would stay.
Why do we hit so much? Answer: Bo wanted to know who was tough and who wasn’t. And who would quit and who would stay.
Why is Coach Young so damn worried about every single detail? Answer: The Football God is in the details. You cannot achieve big things – i.e., Big Ten and Rose Bowl Championships – without attending to the small things.
And on it went. Bo repeatedly dismissed important phone calls because “I’m talking to a player, Lynn, I’ll call them back.” And that may have been the biggest thing Pete Newell got from that meeting with Bo. Yes, Bo answered all his questions with well-thought out answers – he wasn’t just making rules to make rules – but, also, Pete realized how much Bo cared about him. About his players. On the field he may rip your ass – sometimes you deserved it, sometimes you didn’t – but there was a method to his madness. And he really did care about his players.
Pete walked out of that meeting with energy. Buoyed. Ready to fight. And so did the other defensive players with whom Bo met. The Wolverine defense began to find itself again.
BABIES AND THE AIR CONDITIONER
“Sonofabitch!! CRAW!!” Bo screamed. “What the hell are you doing, son?!”
Garvie Craw had just missed his second block of practice, a rarity for him. In fact, on the play Bo was screaming about, he didn’t miss a block – he just went the wrong way.
An assistant whispered in Bo’s ear, “He’s got a baby coming in a few weeks, Bo, go easy.”
“How come nobody told me that?” Bo asked.
“I just found out this morning myself.“ the assistant replied.
“Sonofabitch.” Bo said, then, “Craw! Get your head on straight, son!”
Bo knew the best thing for Garvie Craw was to focus on football. The baby stuff would take care of itself. Millie was due in a few weeks as well and Bo was concentrating just fine. At least on football.
Red, the team manager, ran up, “Bo, you have an urgent phone call.”
“What the hell – urgent?? We’re in the middle of practice, Red. I don’t care if it’s President Nixon on the line, tell ‘em I’ll call ‘em back!”
Red whispered in Bo’s ear. Bo shook his head, slammed his clipboard on the ground, “Sonofabitch! Hanlon! I’ll be right back. Call the offense for now and don’t screw it up!!”
Bo jogged off the field toward Yost Fieldhouse. Lynn Koch was waiting for him inside, handing him the phone receiver, a stern look on her face.
“Millie?” Bo said into the phone.
“It’s ninety-three degrees and humid, Bo.”
“I know, I –”
“I am on bedrest –”
“Millie, I know –”
“But I can’t rest when I’m sweating through the gosh darn sheets!!”
Millie was hot. Royally pissed off. And she had a right to be. Bo had promised her weeks ago that he’d get air conditioners for the house.
“I don’t ask for much, Bo, but so help me God, if you don’t get an air conditioner in this house, right now – not after practice, not later on – right now!! – then I am taking the boys and we are going to a hotel and I don’t know when I’m coming back!”
Bo could see the practice fields out the windows. He watched as the defense intercepted a pass.
“Bo! Do you hear me?”
He did. He heard her. And he knew he’d messed up.
“I’m going to the store right now, right this minute – I’m going to miss the rest of practice –”
“I don’t care.”
“- and I will have an air conditioning unit installed in an hour.”
The line went dead. She’d hung up. Bo handed the receiver back to Lynn.
“I’ve already called Sears,” she said. “They have one waiting for you on the loading dock. Take Red with you.”
An hour later, Millie Schembechler was resting comfortably in her cooled down bedroom.
6:00 AM, August 31st, 1969
“On your mark…get set…go!” Bo called.
And Bobby took off. Well, he put one foot in front of the other and began to move himself forward. Slowly. More than a walk but less than a jog.
Bo watched him go, filled with both a true admiration of Baum’s tenacity and a real desire for this to be over. They had Vanderbilt in the season/home opener in a few weeks. He needed Baum fresh.
“A minute thirty-four, Bobby, only four seconds off pace, pick it up,” Bo said as Bobby passed.
Really not bad for the first lap, considering. Bo knew Hanlon had stopped making Baum runs sprints with the rest of the Offensive Line after practices and they were down to just two-a-days so maybe Bobby would really pass this thing.
“Three minutes, seventeen seconds,” Bo called as Baum passed for the second lap, now seventeen seconds behind pace. Baum didn’t speed up but he also didn’t slow down. It was excruciating to watch.
“Let’s go, Bobby!”
Bo looked up from his stopwatch. Who was that?
“Come on, Baum!!”
And then he saw them. Led by Mandich and Curtis and Caldo and Craw and Hill – the entire team filed through the gates to the track. A hundred and seven guys who must’ve been skipping sleep to be here.
The chorus spread – “You got this, Bobby!!”
“Push, Baum!!”
“Last time, Bobby, let’s go!!” – the team spread out along the inside of the track and urged Baumgartner along.
Bobby, energized by his teammates, crossed for Lap 3.
“Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds!” Bo yelled.
Bobby had just eighty-three seconds to run his final lap. It’s doubtful he’d ever run a single lap in eighty-three seconds but that hardly seemed to matter right now.
The teams calls of encouragement turned to roars as Baum went into the first curve. Coming out of the second bend is when Mandich and Curtis joined him, one on either side, running with their big offensive guard friend.
Bo starting counting aloud when Bobby lumbered out of the final curve, just the last straight-away left to go.
“5:50…5:51…5:52…”
Baum’s face was contorted in anguish. His gait was twisted, as if a someone had stuck a spear in one side, and he was pumping his arms like he was wrestling on an ill-fitting sports coat.
The entire team had now gathered at the finish line and were screaming their support at the top of their lungs!
“5:56…5:57…5:58…5:59…”
And at 6:06 AM exactly, on the morning of August 31st, 1969, Bobby Baumgartner – with the support of his teammates – finally passed The Mile Test. Well, truthfully, the only person with a stopwatch that morning was Bo. But it didn’t matter if Bobby finished over six minutes. He’d clearly proven two things to Bo and the team: One, he wasn’t going to quit, ever. And, two, some people just aren’t built to run a mile in under six minutes. It’s may be physically impossible.
Regardless, it was always the first thing done in Fall Camp for decades after. Because, in the end, it wasn’t about whether you did it in under six minutes. It was about whether you gave it everything you had, every time you were asked.
VANDERBILT
On September 20th, 1969, 70,183 fans watched Michigan beat Vanderbilt, 48-14. Don Moorhead scored a couple of touchdowns in the 4th Quarter to put Vandy away.
Bo and the boys had their first win. Although attendance still wasn’t where it needed to be to hold off Rosenstein’s death wish, Canham’s new “tailgating” concept – which he’d been advertising in newspapers since August – seemed to be catching on a bit.
Ready-to-pop Millie, tough as ever, had gone to the game and sat in the stands. Nothing could keep her away from seeing her husband coach his first game at Michigan. Also, with the help of Jane Pilcher and friends, she threw a terrific post-game party for the staff at the their home. Bo came in from the game, said some very quick hellos, gave her a very quick peck on the cheek, grabbed the pot of chili off the stove and disappeared into the basement.
“The game film will be coming soon!” he crowed as Hanlon and Stobart, Moeller and Smith and the rest followed him down.
Don Canham shrugged apologetically at Millie, “He made me promise him I’d put a rush on processing the film. Believe me, I’d rather not. It’s expensive.”
The team – Mandich, Curtis, Henry Hill, Dierdorf, Craw and everyone else – celebrated with some beers, no doubt. They’d earned it after nine months of Schembechler hell and five weeks of a brutal Fall Camp. While the opponent wasn’t fierce or feared, it felt good to hit another team. This Vandy victory tasted extra sweet.
Little did they know that the next nine weeks what the next nine weeks would bring…
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