That winter proved to be unusually cold in Washington and the icy conditions on the Potomac delayed the start of rowing until the first of March. But once on the water, the coaches wasted no time preparing for the season’s opening race against Marietta on the Muskingum, March 30^th.

The Dawn of the Lightweight Crew

The Marietta race would be the first time Georgetown would boat a lightweight crew, and despite the fact that they would still have to row alongside the heavyweights this first year, the spirit of the “skinnies” was high. They were finally going to get a fair shot at making their own varsity; and they eagerly embraced their new identity as lightweights, despite the added hardship inherent in that status: the constant concern with their weight as individuals and as a crew. The new squad epitomized the mental toughness that had been ingrained in the Hoya Crew from the beginning. Throughout the March workouts, Coach Al DiFiore[4] kept a sharp eye on his lightweight squad trying to identify the best combination to boat for their maiden race, and when the day came to pack the shells on the trailer, he had his nine:

Just as the Georgetown Crew honors the original founders of ’61, so must we all honor these nine as our first “Skinnies” of ’63. [6]

No races were scheduled for the next two weeks, April 6, and Holy Saturday, April 13, but at some point during that interim there occurred an exchange between Coach Cadle and his varsity that deserves retelling by Tiger Sergeant:

It came to pass in the relatively calm waters in the lee of Roosevelt Island that the Coach had me let ‘er run and asked us to count down from bow with our grade point averages. 3.7 for Vollbrecht and on to Mietus with a 3.9 then 4.0, 3.2, 3.6, 3.9 and 4.0. The count paused a bit at stroke and Casey said “2.2.” And then there was a longer pause, and a prompting “Tiger?” from the Coach, and I finally responded “1.8.” There was polite laughter from the crew and the Coach knowingly addressed Casey and me: “Ah, the brains of the outfit.”[13] (11/14/12)

The Ratzeburg Race

One of the most significant events of the first decade of the “Modern Era” of Georgetown rowing occurred on April 20th, 1963 when Georgetown hosted the visiting Olympic and World Champion Ratzeburg Rowing Club from Kiel, W. Germany. The diplomacy and logistics that went into the invitation to race on the Potomac are another story in the legendary career of Coach Don Cadle. Suffice it to say here that Cadle had friends in high places both in the US State Department and among the rowing fraternity in general. So along with his connections in Germany, he was able to ensure that Georgetown would be the first stop on Ratzeburg’s US tour that Spring.

As Pete Blyberg recites the tale:

We started out at a high stroke[21] since Don knew that was what the Germans did, and it surprised them. We were with them for the first quarter, and maybe a half a boat length behind. By Key Bridge they had pulled out to a length, but we were holding our own and they were having to fight to keep their lead. We were right with them. It was about a hundred meters later that the crab happened . . . We lost by 1-1/2 to 2 lengths of open water. . . We were really disappointed, but were proud of the fact that we led the Germans at the start and pushed them into a real race and were right with them until the crab.

In writing this part of our history, I have been acutely aware of the significance of this race in the memory of each person involved. The mosaic of memories centers on the closeness of the race until at one moment during the extraordinary tension of the race a man’s arm cramped and as a result he caught a crab and was unable to recover the rhythm and his crew came in a bit farther behind the world champions than they might have otherwise. To lose this way was a disappointment and something that no one forgets when he remembers that day. But it is well to remind ourselves that it was Ratzeburg’s maturity, experience, skill, and power quite as much as Georgetown’s crab that explain the loss which, as everyone concedes, was virtually inevitable coming out of the bridge.[24] Frank Barrett’s words recall the SI verdict on Harvard’s loss to Vesper a year later, “these were boys rowing against men,” and in those last eight hundred meters the differences became clear in the distance between the boats.

The Singing Boat

By this time they had already passed the JV and were nearing the final 500; the launch drew along-side, and Cadle began to talk to the crew as they continued to row. Pat Doyle recalls the moment:

Very calmly he asked us to close our eyes and listen to the boat, and we would hear it make a singing sound. . . On the recovery the hissing of the boat was almost melodic. It was fascinating and definitely something you could hear. Then he asked us to keep on rowing past the finish line which was fast approaching. He wanted us to enjoy the moment and keep it going. He explained what it meant to make a boat sing. It was the perfect rhythm, all eight in sync, producing unbeatable speed through the water. . .To this day I remember that moment as if it just happened. Cadle told us that the boat was traveling at its ultimate speed which is why it sang.

Fred Vollbrecht also remembers that day.

The single thing that I have never forgotten was hearing our shell ‘sing’ during one of our practices. . . It was an amazing feeling as the shell rocketed ahead every time the bow settled back into the water after the finish with a kind of low volume whistle (whoosh.) I had been rowing since I was a freshman and had never even heard of a boat singing. For the first time I felt we were a really unbeatable crew. But alas, it was short-lived. We never again achieved whatever it took to make our shell do this.

This event became legendary in the years thereafter, and I can recall Goose exhorting us on our better days to make the boat “sing.” Of course none of us (except Pete Blyberg[27]) could know what that actually meant, and sadly, we never would.

Nevertheless, their boat “sang” that warm Spring day, and the incident may have convinced Cadle that he could not do much to improve the varsity,[28] so he turned the boat over to his assistant coach Jack Galloway for the interim and dedicated his attention to the freshmen in their preparation for the Dad Vail.

The Run-up to the Dad Vail

Jack Galloway[29] was a third year law student with his own ideas of how best to move boats and motivate men, and he believed that the varsity would benefit from a reversion to the “long and low” stroke of the pre-Ratzeburg era. So for the better part of those two weeks between the Ratzeburg race and the taper before the Dad Vail the varsity rowed long distances at 18 spm. For oarsmen of any era, 18spm is an extremely low stroke; at that rate each stroke takes three and one-third seconds. Such a regimen might have been appropriate had they been preparing for a four miler on the Thames, but the Dad Vail course is the Henley distance of a mile and five/sixteenths, just slightly longer than the Olympic 2000 meters As a temporary drill or as a respite, such a rate can serve to regain focus on fundamentals and finesse, but to spend days rowing at 18 seemed insane to a crew that had been training to row at 38 spm and above. As Jack Hoeschler succinctly explains, “It was frustrating.” Galloway’s rationale was that the crew would benefit from the grueling distances and thus be better prepared to “maintain their technique” for the shorter sprint races.

1.The LaSalle Race

The week after the Ratzeburg race, April 27^th, LaSalle came to visit, and the varsity easily dispatched the Explorers, leading from start to finish by sprinting off the line at a brisk 45spm, settling down to 36, and then closing it out at 42; their margin of victory over the “puffing and straining Philadelphians” was two and a half lengths in the time of 6:08.6, ahead of 6:17.1

The hitherto undefeated Hoya JV suffered their first (and only) loss of the year when the Explorer second boat came across the line a length and a half ahead in 6:13.2. This would prove to be an especially painful loss as LaSalle’s JV failed to even qualify for the Dad Vail final two weeks later. In the freshman race, both the Hoya first and second boats led the way while LaSalle’s frosh trailed; the winning time was 6:27.0.[30]

2. The DC Area Regatta

The Dad Vail, May 10^th & 11^th, 1963

1. The Varsity Races

Finally alert to their peril, Georgetown now knew that they were caught up in the race of their lives: two lengths down, with only about six hundred yards to go. Casey took the stroke up to 42, and the crew responded, and quickly began closing the gap, gaining about a seat every couple of strokes. As Pat Doyle recalls,

When we came through the bridge I thought we were leading by about 2 or 3 lengths. We could see the boat behind us. Only Tiger and Casey knew that Marietta in the far lane was actually leading. I believe if we had started our sprint at the bridge, we could have run them down. As it was we didn’t start our sprint until there was perhaps 700 meters left. Anyway, they told us we were behind, raised the rate and we pounded it to the finish. (7/18/12)

But to be quite honest and fair, we need to credit Coach Ralph Lindamood and his Marietta crew. Having had their own eleven race undefeated string broken by the Hoyas in their season opener, on their own course, the Pioneer varsity went to work with a will to prepare their comeback and after that initial loss they won every regular race in the ‘63 season. So they came to the Dad Vail well-prepared to win. Whatever might have been the tactical errors in the Georgetown boat Marietta seized a substantial lead at the start, built on it during the body of the race, and resisted the closing sprint of the on-rushing Hoyas to win their race. They proved they were better than “good;” they closed their season as Dad Vail Champions.

Postscript: The Summer of ‘63

1. The 1963 National Championships

2. Postscript: The Romance of Raunch

But that Summer was memorable for more than grueling workouts and disappointing races. There were other more enjoyable opportunities waiting the boys of summer when they weren’t rowing, running or working. While it is true that Summer in DC was a series of days that began with sunrise workouts on the Potomac, and ended in sweat-damp sheets in a stifling dorm room, it is also true that in between there were impromptu parties, road trips, pig-outs at “all you can eat” buffet tables in Waldorff, MD, ice cream sundaes at Gifford’s, and evenings spent with college and working girls looking for male companionship or even a Summer romance. All this without any need to write term papers, study for tests, or visit a library. In short, staying down for the summer promised all the fun of college with none of the academic burdens.

And then there was the undeniable romance of raunchiness itself. According to the survivors of that summer of ‘63, there was nothing like the squalid ambiance of the rooms on the second floor of McDonough Gymnasium. (That summer the crew was granted the rooms above the gym; for reasons to be described, no one else would be interested in occupying them. [44])

The gym lay in the open sunshine on the western edge of the lower field and lacked air-conditioning to deal with the cumulating summer heat. By noon on a sunny June day the temperature in the eastern facing rooms could average in the mid-nineties, and the roof over the gym absorbed and retained the day’s heat throughout the muggy night.

For readers who’ve grown up in air-conditioned homes, schools, shopping malls and cars, the madding effects of such relentless heat are difficult to appreciate. Of course there is the constant sweat, the clothes that cannot dry, and so are never fresh; the resulting thirst, and the continual quest for cold drink in a landscape devoid of water coolers. On those too frequent days when the temperature was matched by Washington’s notorious humidity the atmosphere in those rooms can hardly be imagined unless you can picture the infamous “black hole of Calcutta” with the lights on. Let a few details from those who endured[45] suffice to set the mood.

First, there was the plumbing. As Bill McNeill explains, the water main supplying McDonough was not only set at a relatively shallow depth but ran under the old parking lot and adjacent athletic fields to the west of New South (in the area now occupied by the Jesuit residence and the Southwest Quadrangle.) Since there was minimal demand for water in the deserted gym during the summer months, the volume in this main moved only sluggishly, if at all; and being covered by the superheated asphalt of the lot and the dry grass of the field, the line delivered water to the “cold” taps that was well above 100°. This meant that the denizens of the dorm could not even enjoy the momentary relief of a cool shower. And remember that this was years before the Yates Field House and its Olympic pool were opened.

Then there were the insects that owned the night, the pedestrian cock-roaches and the flying swarms that dotted the walls and ceilings of lighted rooms.

So adding the heat, humidity, the warm water, and the bugs to the close living conditions of young athletes never noted for being fastidious, one begins to understand the collective madness that permeated the dorm that summer.

Was it disgusting? Certainly; but that is probably the wrong question to ask. More interesting is why would well-educated and well-bred young men allow themselves to live like this? Aside from the mitigating fact that they didn’t actually chose this particular dorm, there is the consideration that left to their own devices and absent any civilizing feminine (ie. maternal) influence or externally imposed discipline, young men will tend to sink to their lowest common threshold of raunch and at some point they accommodate to it, more or less. It is as if their tolerance and comfort levels are on a sliding scale, and past a certain point, they take perverse pride in discovering what those nether levels might be. Dostoevsky wrote that “man is the animal that can get used to anything,” and that summer in McDonough would support his view. Hence the familiar term “animal house.”

[1] “Georgetown’s Little Known Champions,” an article in THE COURIER, (April/May, 1963) by Bob Valerian & Tom Timberman:

“After starting the season with 150 men the crew is now composed of 54 members divided into three heavyweight boats: the varsity, junior varsity, and third varsity, one lightweight varsity boat, and two freshman boats.”

[2] Casey, Haeger, Keating, Maloney, McGuire, Mietus, Risser, and Ritter rowed under Maletz for only a few weeks in March of ’60. Pat Doyle never even knew Maletz since he was recruited off the Basketball team in Fall of ’60 after Maletz’s departure.

[3] What is historically interesting about this flyer is Dean Conley’s (’64) illustrations at the top, sketches of both the Dad Vail Bowl, and the Callow Cup, as well as words “IRA?” and “Eastern Sprints?” The Callow Cup it is the trophy awarded to the winner of the Dad Vail Junior Varsity race; but it is also an annual race for lightweight crews of Navy and Penn where Rusty Callow was a legendary coach. So granted that the reference is ambiguous if not prophetic, was someone already thinking ahead to the formal establishment of GU’s Lightweight Crew? The almost instant success of the Hoya Skinnies at the Eastern Sprints in 1964 would soon vindicate our hopes.

[4] The creation of a Lightweight crew naturally meant that what had formerly been simply “the crew” now became two divisions: Heavyweights and Lightweights. Initially (in Spring of ’63) there was just the one lightweight eight coached by Al and Frank that raced “mostly as a JV entrant” against heavyweights (Frank Barrett, 12/8/12.) As for the heavyweights, Don handled the Varsity & JV, and Jack Galloway the freshman.

Vin Bova provides some interesting background on the formation of the lightweight crew out of the 3^rd varsity of 1962:

As luck would have it there were just enough bodies to make a third eight and even better we had some former prep school rowers, Kim Esteve and Carlos Sarmento, but also everybody was a lightweight except me. That changed in about a month!! That eight was the precursor to the lightweight program that developed soon after. (5/6/13)

[5] Jim Hergen was the first Captain of the Lightweights.

[6] In treating this as the first “Lightweight” crew, I acknowledge that I am risking controversy, so an explanation is called for. Whether this crew would actually have met the official weight requirements for a lightweight crew (150lb average, and no man >155lbs) is a moot point since there was no weigh-in. Because they were only competing against heavyweights there was no question of meeting the weight standard that first year (‘63.) So technically, the first crew to weigh-in as lightweights was the 1964 crew. Nevertheless, the ’63 crew bonded and identified itself as “skinnies” and rowed as such (see the race program for that date which lists them as “GEORGETOWN LIGHTWEIGHTS”) at Marietta in 1963. For that reason I submit that they deserve their honor as the “First” (or perhaps we should say “proto-“) GU Lightweight Crew. Rory Quirk argues to the same point:

The ’63 LW crew was the first. Because of our newness we didn’t get on established lightweight schedules. We rowed Marietta’s JV and we were going to scrimmage Navy’s LWs midweek (but that never happened.) Otherwise we got thrown into HW races where (as you would expect” we fared poorly. So our LW record in ’63 was 0-1, but it was a GU LW crew.

[7] The first GU freshman boat was, from bow: Bart Edelen, Tom Walker 2, Jim Conley 3, Jim Hanna 4, Bill McNeil 5, Darro Angelini 6, Fred King 7, Rocque Kramer str, and Art Charles cox.

[8] In essence, this “second” boat was the lightweight “first” freshman boat , from bow: Terry Sullivan, Dan McEvily 2, John Mahoney 3, Nick Carlucci 4, Glenn Farris 5, Jim Leahigh 6, Dave Weir 7, Bob Zack str, and Dave Feliciano cox

[9] The six second spread for a two and a half length lead is evidence of the speed of the current.

[10] The heavy JVs, from bow: Rick Reynolds, Dean Conley 2, Ben Domenico 3, Mark Pisano 4, Marc O’Brien 5, Dan Ebert 6, Carl Haeger 7, Linc Hoffman str, and Russ LaMantia cox.

[11] From bow: Fred Vollbrecht, Jim Mietus 2, Mike Mullin 3, Pat Doyle 4, Jack Hoeschler 5, Pete Blyberg 6, Bill Allen 7, Dave Casey str, and Tiger Sergeant cox.

[12] The GU varsity remained virtually the same as the prior year (only the cox and six-man graduated); by contrast, the Marietta boat retained only three men from their ’62 runner-up boat and even included two freshmen. GU definitely had the advantages in both size (averaging 6’2” and 185lbs to 6’1 and 180lbs) and experience over the younger Pioneers.

[13] Humor and strict accuracy aside, I would be willing to bet that among the varsity sports at GU, the Crew had the highest GPA. It is certainly an interesting discussion topic among our high-achieving alumni/ae.

[14] For a comparison of the Pocock and Karlish oars see the appendix.

[15] In a Washington Star article leading up to the race, Cadle admitted candidly, “I’d say the odds are about 100 to 1 against us beating Ratzeburg.”

[16] The issue of the boats in this race is interesting. It is certain the Germans rowed The Inge, because that fact was reported in a Washington Post article (4/20/63) on the race, and reaffirmed by Frank above. The question of the Varsity’s boat is less certain, but Frank writes “I believe the varsity rowed the Duffy versus the Germans.” (11/30/12) This makes sense as The J.P.B. Duffy ’01 would have been brand new that April, and so presumably Georgetown’s best bet. Unfortunately however, Frank has also opined that the Duffy proved to be “a lousy boat – big, heavy, clunky.” See note 28 below for more about the unlucky Duffy.

[17] From bow: Glenn Farris, Darro Angelini 2, Bart Edelen 3, Bob Zack 4, Dave Weir 5, Rocque Kramer 6, Bill McNeill 7, Jim Hanna str, and Art Charles cox.

[18] From bow: Ben Domenico, Mark Pisano 2, Bob Valerian 3, Dan Ebert 4, Marc O’Brien 5, Terry Jerge 6, Carl Haeger 7, Linc Hoffman str, and Russ LaMantia cox.

[19] “Ironically (the varsity race) was the only race Georgetown lost all day. Georgetown’s third varsity and frosh ‘B’ eights swept American U in a morning regatta.” THE HOYA, 5/2/63

[20] One possible reason for these variations might be that the staggered starting and finish lines on the Potomac course give an apparent advantage to lanes on the DC side at both the start and the finish to compensate for the wider turns they must make passing under Key Bridge. All crews row the same 2000 meters, but a crew (GU) on an inside lane that appears to be rowing a half-length behind the crew on its port (DC) side is actually even with it. Conversely the staggered finish means that the inside (VA side) crew must be half a length ahead just to finish even with an outside (DC side) competitor. In the heat of a race the respective “leads” as viewed by the oarsmen can thus be quite different depending on whether they are factoring in the staggers at start and finish.

[21] The NY Times gave GU’s strokings as 44 spm at the start, settle to 40, and finished at 44.

[22] In Cadle’s usage “bloodymindedness” connoted the desperate resort to brute muscle-power to move the boat rather than power tamed by technique and “finesse.” Such unbridled aggressiveness is self-defeating in something as delicately balanced as an eight-oared shell.

[23] Literally, “Let’s make haste!” In essence, “Take the stroke up and let’s get away from these guys.”

[24] A photo taken from Key Bridge shows Ratzeberg with a lead of more than a length at or just before the crab.

[25] It is a point of pride that Georgetown’s colors, Blue and Gray, were originally worn by the crew of 1876 to symbolize the unity of oarsmen from Northern and Southern states after the Civil War.

[26] In the aftermath of the Ratzeburg race, Linc Hoffman ’65 challenged Jim Mietus and took the 2 seat in the Varsity, so the crew that “made the boat sing” was Vollbrecht, Hoffman, Mullin, Doyle, Hoeschler, Blyberg, Allen, Casey, and Sergeant at cox.

[27] Pete was the only member of that crew to row (as a senior) with the subsequent Varsity of ’65 that included your author.

[28] Frank Barrett: “Cadle wanted to coach the freshmen, (he) felt varsity couldn’t lose and hoped to speed up the frosh.” (8/10/12)

[29] “I graduated from LaSalle College in 1957, entered the Navy, and arrived at Georgetown Law School in mid-September of 1960. I was not involved with the Georgetown Crew until spring of 1962.” 1/2/13. Jack was a seasoned oarsman, having rowed for West Catholic H.S. and in LaSalle’s Dad Vail Champion eight of 1957. His four principles of coaching were technique, conditioning, equipment and enthusiasm. Cadle provided the equipment, and the oarsmen had to bring the enthusiasm, but the technique and conditioning came from lots of “miles . . . miles (were) the secret to maintain technique in the last quarter.”

[30] Results reported in the Hoya, May 2, 1963, and provided thanks to Dean Conley. 12/23/12, and Bill McNeill 12/26/12.

[31] This was the second year for this annual regatta among DC crews, and the first year it would have its own “Styron Trophy,” donated by M.J. Styron, a local boat dealer. It would later become “The Cadle Cup.”

[32] The HOYA, May 9^th, 1963.

[33] From bow: Bart Edelen, Bob Zack, Jim Conley, Darro Angelini, Bill McNeill, Rocque Kramer, Dave Weir, Jim Hanna at stroke and Art Charles as cox.

[34] From bow, Fred Vollbrecht, Linc Hoffman, Mike Mullin, Pat Doyle, Jack Hoeschler, Pete Blyberg, Bill Allen, and Dave Casey at stroke, and Tiger Sergeant as cox.

[35] Another reason for their good mood was that they would be racing in a brand new shell: The J.P.B. Duffy,’01. This was the fourth Pocock eight to arrive as many years, thanks in greatest part to the unstinting generosity of Don & Inge Cadle. See Art Charles story “Freshman Hi-Jinks” which tells of this new shell’s first tryout by the freshmen (class of ’66.)

[36] On Friday, the Varsity won their heat in 6:37 over Marist 6:44.4, and Purdue 6:44.8; in the Saturday morning semifinal they won in 6:14.4 over Drexel 6:18.4, and Amherst 6:24.7. The other qualifying finalists were: Marietta 6:14.3 over St. Joe’s 6:16.5, and Wayne State 6:18.9.

[37] One innovation that Coach Cadle introduced for the Dad Vail was a system of electric bells under the seats that enabled the coxswain to signal his crew non-verbally without alerting competitors.

[38] An example. One extremely foggy morning in the spring of ’65, Russ LaMantia was coxing our boat under Key Bridge and mistaking the second Virginia Arch, was steering blindly into the old aqueduct abutment. Had it not been for the “situational awareness” of the bow-man, Rick Reynolds, who ordered “HOLD ALL!” we might have run into the abutment, lost the shell and risked our lives in the still wintry waters of the Potomac. This is not to blame the Russ; the conditions were awful, and visibility was extremely limited; but it does make the point that under extraordinary conditions cox and stroke may need all the information the other seven guys can provide.

[39] The two who did make it into the boat that summer and Varsity the following Spring were Bill McNeill and Darro Angelini who rowed the 3 and 4 seats in 1964

[40] Assuming that this was the same trial, the time was indeed impressive: 5:48 for the 2000m (Mark Pisano, 6/21/12). which might well be the fastest time for any GU eight that entire decade.

[41] The first four, rowing in the second heat Friday at 6pm is listed as: from bow, John Harrington, Rocque Kraemer, Fred King, and str. Darro Angelini; the cox is not listed. The second four rowing in another heat Saturday afternoon is listed as: from bow, Bill Allen, Terry Jerge, Ben Domenico, str. Marc O’Brien; this second four was coxed by Art Charles according to the Washington Post report.

[42] It is likely that this intermediate eight was composed of the oarsmen from the two fours.

[43] It must have been a senior eight since under NAAO rules Vollbrecht, Hoeschler, Mullin, and Casey had become senior oarsmen when they won the Dad Vail in 1962. The boating for the eight was: from bow, Fred Vollbrecht, Linc Hoffman, Bill McNeill, Jack Hoeschler (?), Mike Mullin (?), Pete Blyberg, Bill Allen, str. Dave Casey, and cox Art Charles. The questions arise from that fact that both Hoeschler & Mullin are starboard oars. It is likely that Mullin rowed four and Hoeschler five.

[44] Supporting evidence for this underutilization comes from Fred King who recalls that there was a sizable plant growing out of the dirt that had accumulated in a corner of his room. Fred watched it grow all summer.

[45] Among them, Darro Angelini, Bill McNeill, Art Charles, and Fred King, all of the class of ’66.