Oarsmen naturally congregated in various apartments throughout the Georgetown neighborhood, thus creating de facto fraternity houses that became the bases for our social lives then, and for the friendships that have endured through the decades. Even for the minority of rowers like myself who continued to room on campus, these houses served as rallying spots for our parties, proms, and impromptu adventures. And since they all shared much the same gamey ambiance, we all felt at home whether we were on the lease or not.

As with so much of the Crew’s culture in those years, we must credit our coach and patron, Don Cadle for fostering this fraternal ethos. As a former Yale Rhodes scholar and Balliol College oarsman, Don impressed upon his crews the moral values of friendship and teamwork required for success on the river and in life itself.

First of all, there was what might be called “the St. Crispin’s Day factor.” Recall that Don took over a crew that was hardly more than a loose bunch of guys who had been rowing “on a lark” with little supervision, much less support, by the University’s Athletic Department. But as their new coach, Don turned their financial straits into a moral virtue; the crew should be proud to stand on their own feet (with the generous support of the Cadles, of course.) The spirit of St. Crispin’s Day was pervasive, and Don played his role as Henry V with understated relish. Since its revival in 1958 the crew had been “on its own,” but now it would take deep pride in that independence and autonomy. The feeling of shared adversity reinforced their fraternal bonds, and under Cadle’s charismatic leadership oarsmen thought of themselves as “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”

Secondly, for Don and his assistant coach, fellow Oxford veteran Thor Hansen, a rowing club was the epitome of fraternity, and they were able to implement their own OxBridge-inspired constitution for the Georgetown University Rowing Association, GURA, without interference. What Don created the University soon accepted under the advice of College Dean Fr. Sellinger, the Crew moderator. Despite administrators’ initial skepticism about the viability of such an exotic (and non-revenue-producing) sport, they did recognize a good thing when they saw it, and under Cadle’s leadership, “GURA” was proving to be a very good thing indeed, and a bargain to boot!

And then there were the coaching innovations that fostered the crew’s fraternal bonding. As Frank Barrett points out, it was Don who initiated a Fall rowing season to recruit and train freshmen, followed by winter workouts in McDonough gymnasium. And then, following the Ratzeburg race in ’63, Don set his sights on the Olympic Trials in’64, inviting his varsity oarsmen to train throughout the following Summers. The GU Crew thus became a year-round sport; we were working-out on the river or in the gym six days a week from late September through early November, and from early January through mid-May; and some of us from early June ‘til mid- August. Under this regime, rowing became something like a religion, and an addiction.

Fred was the spark-plug who drove most of the off-beat events that gave the place its notoriety. He and Dan often egged each other on. I became the cook since I hated to clean-up. Fred had a car, a ’57 yellow Chevy, “the yellow canary with chrome ankles” we used to call it, and we used it to go grocery shopping in Virginia, and often stop off at Gifford’s for the “Big Top Challenge.” One time it fell on the floor so Fred and Dan proceeded to take their spoons and got down on the floor to eat the ice-cream. (Art Charles may have been there, I am not sure.) According to the waitress “You guys are animals.” Unbeknownst to her that was a compliment indeed. Another time coming back, we were stopped by the police because we were shooting squirt-guns out the window at people. They searched the car for our weapons.

Another police stop occurred at Key Bridge one night. We had gone to a diner in Arlington that had advertised “all you can eat fish fry” – a mistake when it came to crew members. In any case the manager cut us off after 3 servings, so needless to say we got upset and paid with a pile of pennies that Fred had in his car and left. The manager put out an APB and we were escorted back to the diner and had to explain ourselves to the police. We got off and, I think, paid another dollar or two that we were short. The policeman was on our side.

We never really had parties, people would just drop by or bring dates over. It was a constant stream. There was a lot of interchange with Darro (Angelini) and Bill McNeill’s apartment since Darro and Fred were both Juniors (’66) and close. I ended up at Linc Hoffman’s place more often. Fred, Dan, and I played rugby with the local Washington club team and would often practice on the Ellipse outside the White House, at least until I cracked my ribs that fall and had to quit.

At one point around Easter, Missy (Fred’s girlfriend) had the bright idea of giving Fred a rabbit – without a cage. That did not go over well what with the rabbit pellets all over the floor. Fred got the idea to put it out in the backyard. It disappeared and we never saw it again. . .

Jack, Fred, and Dan were lightweights, but we all had the same practice schedules so it meant our daily schedules were basically the same and synchronized. The people who dropped by Chez Bear and the other houses were almost always crew since we could all relate to each other. We shared cars, went on double dates together, ate together, and suffered together on the water.

Chez Bear Redux by Art Charles

There were four of us who inhabited Chez Bear during our senior year of 1965-66. Nick Carlucci and I occupied the upstairs bedroom, where there was at least a window; veterans Dan and Fred were in the dark downstairs bedroom, closer to the kitchen. Fred and Dan were definitely the Lotharios of our group. Nick’s girlfriend, Ruth, was up in New York and I was a scrawny coxswain. There was our second-floor neighbor, Pat, a government official in her 30s, who occasionally entertained Fred and Dan. Then there were some co-eds from U Maryland, affectionately named “Twiggy” and “Froggy” whose weekend visits to the downstairs bedroom lasted almost a semester before they flunked out. We had our quirks. I discovered the Byrds, bought their album, and played it non-stop for about six weeks until it suddenly disappeared, not to re-emerge until a couple days before graduation. For about two months later in the year, Nick decided he was an artist, set up his easel in our miniscule living room and splattered a rainbow of oil colors on his canvas and our shag carpet. One of the advantages of our location was its proximity the liquor store around the corner that sold six packs of Schmidt’s for only 99 cents for the occasional pre- or post-season party. No drinking during the season, of course, all in anticipation of Black Velvets to celebrate at the end. We were not the only “animals” to inhabit the apartment. The kitchen suffered from a serious infestation of cockroaches, the numbers of which never seemed to diminish no matter how many we managed to kill. The patriarch of the tribe, whom we called “Big Red”, would occasionally peer out from its lair below the refrigerator to snarl at us. The combination of cockroach guts on the floor and marinara sauce on our pasta was almost enough to diminish our appetites. But at least the cockroaches kept mice and rats at bay. Then there was the time Fred arrived with a white duck he can captured on a run along the towpath and decided he would cook up as soon as we had plucked it. I’ve since eaten better duck. There were two other “beasts” that never crossed the threshold – the Blue Whale, a hulking 40s Plymouth that Dan had driven down from New Jersey, and the Yellow Snowcat, a sleeker Chevy sedan with a Louisiana license plate in back and Confederate flag plate up front. One weekend Fred graciously allowed me the use of the Snowcat to take my date from the Web dancing at The Spa on the corner of 14 th and T, not far from Wings ‘n Things. When I parked the Chevy on the dark street, I jokingly inquired whether I should park it with the Confederate flag showing or for a “quick getaway.” We were the only white folks in the place but shared an illegal bottle with a couple across the table. When Meg and I got back from dancing we discovered that her suede jacket was missing. Our new drinking mate and the club manager tracked down the thief who reluctantly surrendered the jacket. On our way out, the thief was standing at the exit with some friends and offered to shake friends – “No hard feelings, man.” I puffed up all my 5’8” /130 pound frame and blurted “I don’t shake hands with thieves,” before hustling Meg around the corner. We soon heard the pounding of feet and I sent Meg running. Five minutes later, we were back in the Snowcat, me sporting a huge back eye and some very sore ribs.

During our sophomore year (1963-64) Bill McNeill and I lived in an apartment owned by Jim Lehigh’s mother near Dumbarton’s Oaks. In late April ’64 while walking to classes on the main campus, I saw a ‘for rent’ sign at 3535 O Street, first floor apartment. (The second-floor apartment was occupied by four young women and would be until Spring ’65.) Darro Angelini, Bill McNeill, Tom Walker and I had been talking about getting together and finding an apartment off campus for the next two years. This was just a case of “right time – right place” or “dumb luck,” take your pick. The location, one block from the main gates, was ideal. The management company wanted a two-year lease beginning June ’64 which worked out well for us since Angelini and McNeill were planning to stay in town for the Summer, and they were confident they could find two roommates for the Summers of both ’64 and ’65. Darro could not remember who those were for either Summer. (Tom Walker ?) Then when we heard the upstairs apartment was going to become available in May ’65, I contacted Ned Moran and he put together three other roommates: Zack Quincy, John Barry, and Tom Struthers (non-crew.)

Just around the corner from the 1789, on the north side of Prospect St. between 36^th and 35^th Streets, Linc Hoffman had an apartment that he shared with another guy who was not on the crew; so technically this was not a “crew house” as were the others.

But because of its proximity to campus, and its location midway between Chez Bear and 3535 O St, Linc’s house deserves honorable mention. A typical Georgetown townhouse of white painted brick, this place was another rallying point before proms and other social soirees.

With his Vespa motor scooter parked at the curb, one always knew when Linc was home, usually with his fiancée Muffin.

One personal memory: it was in this house that I first saw a copy of T.E. Lawrence’s SEVEN PILLARS OF WISDOM, a book that I have read and taught in the years since; I never see that title without remembering Linc, Muffin, and the house of Prospect St.

The house had three stories. Bert Mason and Charlie Duffy had small rooms on the second floor where Ned Moran and I also shared a room, while Zak Quincy and Jay Forster lived in the finished basement. The main floor was our shared living space where we hung out, ate meals, and sometimes read. On Sundays The Post and maybe the NY Times carpeted the floor. We took turns cooking dinner, and most days we all ate together. My memory says that Quincy was the organizer and keeper of the chore schedule.

There was a black metal front porch and a metal staircase that led up to the porch from the street. Three doors down, towards Wisconsin Ave. was a basement apartment where Mike Vespoli, Dave Hildt and Tim Valentine lived.

The living room of our house is where the Friends of Georgetown Rowing was conceived. We were all very aware of the need for money and some sort of an organized fund-raising effort, and we talked about it a lot. The Golden Oar Society had a limited fund-raising base – not every alum was a Golden Oar and there was no other formal outreach to alums and parents and friends. With the “hiring” of Tony Johnson and the departure of Goose and Cadle, we were painfully aware of our limited operating money. Maybe one of the other guys will remember more of the details about the genesis of the Friends. Rusty (Duffy) began to refer to it as the “FROGs” – Friends Rowing of Georgetown – and I asked him to be the head of it. He and I were in the same house and could discuss and plan and execute more easily. (It was also a way to position Rusty for a future leadership role.) Tony’s dad was an amateur photographer and artist and he designed a logo and letterhead, and we had some letterhead printed and we were in business. Goose, and perhaps some others in the Golden Oar Society were not happy with this development and felt it was a snub of the Golden Oars and a competitor to their fund-raising. So there was a lot of time spent talking with people to reassure and calm things. I’m not sure that was ever fully accomplished. But it was in that N Street house that the real transition to student leadership and ownership of the crew took place. The crew had an “office” where files were kept and where meetings of the entire membership could take place – under the backstairs of New North. But the heavy lifting was done on N Street.

I don’t recall too much about N Street as a social center. I do remember a female friend of Quincy’s having a seizure in the living room one evening. And I remember a party at the end of the season in 1967. Tony was there, John King and others. Much alcohol was consumed.

Another vivid memory was the night when we were all sleeping and someone, maybe Quincy, woke us with urgency and we assembled in the living room. Jack Murray was there and he had a radio on and was bent close to it. An announcer was saying that the Chinese had launched nuclear missiles at the US and there had been a response. Missiles were expected to hit DC at any moment. The announcer took us to a NORAD site and a general verified the reports. I remember the sinking feeling I had and how I stood facing a wall and tapped my head against the wall over and over. Charlie (Duffy) rushed out of the house to tell Vespoli and his roommates. He passed a young woman on the street and almost stopped to kiss her but had second thoughts. And when he got to Vespoli’s apartment he decided to let them sleep, to face their doom undisturbed. When he returned to the house, we were all made aware that it was a ruse perpetrated by Murray and some friends in his dorm on campus. They had recorded a very realistic news broadcast and then played it through a radio. I can still recall the sense of hopelessness I felt that night.

It was a good house but there was little available street parking. I had a ’45 Ford that year (with an aoogah horn and a wolf-whistle) and got scores of tickets for illegal parking. One day I went out to my car and a cop was in it, rifling through my glove box and all the tickets stored there. That turned into an uncomfortable experience.

The way we divided ourselves in the house was really good and the people on each floor were compatible. And we had a good mix of lightweights and heavies. It helped affirm the “one for all, and all for one” ethos of the crew.

While I was at Georgetown and after, I have thought many times that the crew was something that took the place of a fraternity for me. I strove to succeed academically and to engage in some other extracurricular activities and also had many friends outside the crew. The thing that kept me in school and happy was the crew – even in the dark years of our sophomore and junior years (’65 & ’66). I formed strong friendships with many of my fellow oarsmen and there are some that I would trust with my life, then and now. Some fraternities have a bad name, as far as I can tell, for good reasons. But ours was one of a different sort of fraternal bond.

I lived on campus until my senior year when a group of us rented a place on 35^th Street across from Western High School. There were three of us on the crew: Roland Marcotte, Jim Keefe (Mgr.) and myself. Terry Manning was the fourth; Terry retired from the crew after his sophomore year but shows up at crew reunions from time to time.

I don’t think we held a candle to Chez Bear but we held our own.

Jim Keefe adds to Olin’s memories:

I did share digs at 1631 NW 35^th St. second semester senior year with Olin and Roland Marcotte and (memory fades) Terry Vaughn (?) Olin and Roland were on the crew and left early each morning for practice. My role was to have coffee and breakfast ready when they returned. I suppose you could call me a “crew groupie.” We had a wonderful semester apart from the crew, and enjoyed our downstairs neighbors (we were on the second floor) Vinny Roque, Sam McKnight, and Mike Dorris. I cherish memories of sitting on the front stoop on late spring afternoons sipping (well, not exactly sipping) gin and tonics and listening to Miles Davis, Ramsey Lewis, Leonard Cohen, Judy Collins, etc.

Interesting side note: Vin Roque had arranged with his sister, a sophomore at the College of New Rochelle to get dates for Olin and Tom Lydon for the weekend of November 19, the day Georgetown was to play Fordham at Rose Hill. Olin had to back out due to a crew commitment. I had been planning to go home to Long Island that weekend because my cousin Frank, the back-up quarterback for Fordham, was going to start in the game. So Vin asked me to stand-in for Olin. . . My blind date that day and evening is now my wife of fifty years (we celebrated last August 22.) Meeting Olin, Vinny, and Roland led me to the best decision of my life.