Embedded Files
Bönnigheim, Deutschland
Sometime in the late Fall of 1963 or early Winter of 1964, Don Cadle made the difficult decision to relocate his family back to Bönnigheim, Germany where Inge’s family had their business. A year earlier Inge’s older brother had died in an auto accident and Don felt a strong sense of loyalty and responsibility to help her father and younger brothers manage affairs in the aftermath of their loss.[1] The relocation might have been welcome news for the family and their business, but it created a crisis for the crew he had shaped into a championship program.
For the men of the crew the impending departure of their coach and patron posed problems both spiritual and material. Spiritually, Don was their Guru, the coach whose personal charisma, as much as his expertise, had so impressed the crew for four seasons; he was the only coach these guys knew, the source of their confidence and strength and success. It seemed impossible to imagine the program without Don at the helm. But besides his leadership, there was the financial support that he and Inge contributed, funding that provided the means of their success: the boats, oars, the launches and outboards, even their shirts; not to mention all the incidental expenses involved in the day to day operations of a successful crew. Despite their raffles, dues and ad hoc solicitations, the oarsmen knew that without the Cadles’ support the Crew’s very survival was in peril. Even the meager subsidy from the University might be withdrawn if the program began to falter in his absence.
When Don broached the subject of the Crew’s future with his assistants, Frank Barrett, Al DiFiore, and Bob Remuzzi, he gave them some dispiriting but realistic advice. The facts he marshaled were both obvious and irrefutable. To begin with, these three young men were just two years out of college. Al was going into his third year at Georgetown Law, and Goose was essentially repeating his first year at the med school.[2] Frank was fresh out of the Army and starting his career. None of them was in circumstances that would permit them the time, much less the money, to assume the responsibilities of leading the Crew. The demands on their time would prove professionally prohibitive, even personally disastrous. Then there was the issue of competence. These alumni had their rowing experiences as “Originals of ’61,” and taking nothing away from their unquestionable loyalty, spirit, and dedication to their crew, they lacked the expertise necessary to command the respect of guys who were virtually their peers. All things considered, Don Cadle gave them some sound but discouraging advice: it would be best to let the Georgetown Crew come to its end quickly and with as much dignity as possible.
Bönnigheim
Coat of Arms
Tribute to Don Cadle in the 1964 Domesday Book
Was Don simply speaking his mind or, as could be his wont, was he also playing “mind games” with his young protégés? Recall that Don had spent these last years teaching them more than just how to row. He had taught his crew the OxBridge paradigm of a strong student-run organization coached by volunteers but governed by a President and Captain of Boats with the constitutional authority to choose coaches and determine its own destiny. It might have been only an ideal then, but this was now, and the impending crisis made it very real. This would be their trial of faith, of faith in themselves and in what they had built together. The best teacher is one who enables his students to learn to stand, and even to teach on their own.[3] My own hopeful surmise is that Don Cadle was that sort of teacher and that his advice was actually intended as an implicit challenge; that as a mentor he wanted them to understand the prima facie case for closure, but somehow to rise to the challenge of rebuttal. The facts said that the post-Cadle survival of the crew was clearly improbable, but Cadle’s own spirit and his example had taught them that the improbable is not impossible. For what is faith but the dedication and determination that something worthwhile shall not perish for want of trying? I’d prefer to believe this was Cadle’s ultimate lesson to his Hoyas.[4]
In the days and weeks that followed the three young men took their own counsel.[5] They certainly felt the force of Cadle’s advice, and were quite conscious of their own limitations. Yet allowing the crew to die was something they would not countenance. They remembered the departure of Fred Maletz and how they had survived that crisis; and although the stakes were much higher now, they knew that they must do it again. Somehow the Georgetown University Rowing Association would endure even without Don and Inge Cadle. Goose especially refused to envision the end, and so he decided that Crew would survive; and his determination ensured that it did.
And so it was that principal responsibility for the future of rowing at Georgetown had been taken by a twenty-four year old medical student who would prove himself to be the worthy heir of the Cadle legacy. Robert “The Goose” Remuzzi had made up his mind, and vindicated Don’s tacit hope. Thus began the transition from Cadle to Remuzzi and from one era to another.[6]
Coach “Sandy” Sanborn
Coach “Sandy” Sanborn
To prepare for the transition and ensure that his crew would have a “credible” Head Coach as his successor, Cadle used his persuasive powers to lure Lt. Commander Vincent G. “Sandy” Sanborn, USN (Ret.) an investigator for the FAA, from his job coaching the George Washington Crew.[7] But as Frank Barrett recalls:
“(he) was a very nice man who let Don Cadle manipulate him into taking over as a figurehead at GU. In hindsight Sandy was a victim as he was almost guaranteed to fail one way or another.”
In fact, Frank is probably understating the difficulties of the new coach. Sanborn suffered from two disadvantages during his brief tenure at Georgetown. In the first place, compared to his alumni assistants, he didn’t have the rapport, affection or the implicit trust of his crew; and second, he could not match Cadle’s charisma and coaching expertise. He was “Head Coach” in name only. Relations with his assistants were always cordial and respectful,[8] but the real authority was “The Goose.” As Pete Blyberg wrote:
“It was always Goose who was there to hold it together. He was the one we listened to, the one who struggled along with us. . . We trusted and believed in him.”
Given the facts of the situation it is hardly surprising that – fair or not – Sandy Sanborn’s stint as Georgetown’s Coach was brief; after “winning” the Dad Vail that May, his job was relocated and he had to leave Washington and coaching.
For the next two years, the crew was in the hands of its volunteer alumni, Frank Barrett and Bob “the Goose” Remuzzi, assisted by Pat Doyle.
Sandy Sanborn fixes oar
(1964 Crew booklet)
The Cadles Depart
The Cadles Depart
“On March 14th after four years under his expert coaching, the Georgetown University Crew bade a sad farewell to Mr. Don D. Cadle, who guided the crew to the national small college championship and personally engendered much of the esprit de corps which is the trademark of Georgetown rowing.” [10]
In characteristic understatement, Frank Barrett wrote: “The Cadle legacy was absolute.”[11] Indeed it ever remains, Absolute.[12]
The Washington Post reports on the
Cadle farewell party on Mar 16, 1964
Engraved invitation to farewell dinner
honoring Don D. Cadle at the 1789
Getting on the Water
Getting on the Water
Hoya notes delayed
crew debut, 4Mar1964
Washington’s Birthday was the date traditionally set for getting into the boats [13] and “on the water.” At 6 am in late February, the Potomac River is a dark, bitterly cold, sometimes icy, and usually windswept place to be. Typically, after a workout ice covered sweats would crunch, and once removed, could stand up on their own like a suit of armor. Nevertheless, given the choice between calisthenics in McDonough, or the rigor of rowing on the frigid Potomac, even against the winds and current, the true oarsman always chooses the river over the gym. As February passed into March, and the approach of spring brought earlier sunrises, the cold winds abated, and we settled into the run-up to the racing season.
Challenge races were run and the boatings began to stabilize as the coaches decided who belonged where. March 26th, Holy Thursday, I lost my six-seat in the first freshman boat in a morning challenge, and then won it back that afternoon. In the second race of the morning challenge,[14] Terry Manning (who was rowing seven) caught a horrendous crab and was almost thrown out of the boat. Despite the mishap, I still lost only by the requisite minimum four seconds. Frank Barrett was coaching that day and must have had some doubt about making the change. Luckily for me, he staged a second challenge that I won by seven seconds to reclaim my seat in the first boat. Although John Barry had also challenged me for the six-seat, the coaches evidently had other plans for Jack because that challenge never happened. By Good Friday, the boatings were set for the first race.
The First Race of the Freshman Heavies
That Spring (of ’64) the racing season began at home during Easter week on Tuesday March 31st against Fordham, followed the next day against St. John’s. For the freshman heavyweights this would be our maiden race and Goose had us well-prepared. Since getting on the water in February, he’d kept our boat together with few changes in seats so we had a good esprit as a crew. We’d practiced our starts, the settle, and sprints, and were familiar with the characteristics of the course, the currents under Key Bridge, and the land-marks on the approach to the finish line. We had the advantage of rowing our own course and were ready and eager for our first experience of racing for Georgetown. Jay Weldon was our cox, Jim Woods rowed stroke with John Soisson 7, Ed Witman 6, Mike Ryan 5, Tom Carney 4, Chuck Daily 3, Henry Sherr 2, and Jim Mockler in the bow.
Georgetown was boating five crews that Tuesday afternoon: the new Lightweight Freshmen and Varsity crews were also rowing, along with the heavyweight freshmen, JV, and Varsity. The other local universities, American, Howard and George Washington were also racing their varsities against the visitors from Fordham and St. John’s. Managing the transitions of boats and crews on the dock would be critical to the success of the regatta, so punctuality and cooperation were the order of the day. Our freshman race was scheduled first so after a late breakfast of poached eggs, toast, honey, and tea, we gathered in Copley Lounge at 11am for the pre-race meeting.
Freshman 1st Hwt Frosh Crew in 1964 crew booklet:
L to R: Bow-Jim Mockler; 2-Jim Woods; 3-Chuck Dailey
4-Henry Scherr; 5-Mike Ryan; 6-Ed Witman; 7-John
Soisson; Stroke-John Barry; Cox-Ned Moran
19th century Balliol College crew
uniform. Balliol was Cadle's college
at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar
When Goose arrived he passed out our uniform racing jerseys. Don Cadle had purchased these rowing shirts from England to give his Georgetown boats the authentic look of the Ox-Bridge college crews of that era. The shirts were heavy wool, white with horizontal navy blue pinstripes and a six inch vertical button dickey at the neck; they were the envy of every school we rowed against. But what was really special at this prerace meeting was that Goose gave each of us a package of new crew socks. It may seem odd, but this simple gesture with the new socks thereafter became a prerace ritual that bonded us together as a boat and to him personally. I suppose he wanted us to look sharp because we were his crew; but on our side, it reaffirmed that he was our coach. Once in uniform we came to order to listen to Goose explain the plan for the race.
The previous year the Fordham freshmen had beaten Georgetown in the Dad Vail, so this race would be a bit of a grudge match.[15] The two sophomores in the varsity boat, Darro Angelini and Bill McNeill, remembered that defeat and urged us to avenge their loss. (They got their own revenge later that day when the Varsity Heavies outraced Fordham by open water.) There were other reasons for the ill-will against Fordham, but more of that later.
According to the scuttlebutt, the Fordham stroke had rowed in high school; but the good news was that he was the nervous type who tended to panic if his crew didn’t have the lead after the first quarter mile.[16] So our plan was to row a solid start and thirty at about 40 spm, then settle to a moderate 34, and see where we were at the quarter mile mark. After that point we’d just have to row it out and rely on our conditioning and training to get us to the finish first. Goose pronounced us ready to row, and with that we left Copley and climbed into the back of the GURA pickup truck for the ride down to the boathouse.[17]
It was a seasonably chilly, “partly sunny” noontime and Goose wanted us to stay off our feet and out of the sun, so we sat in the shade on the east side of the boathouse nervously awaiting Jay’s call “ALL EIGHT ON THE BOAT!” When the command came we lined up on our usual eight, The Spirit of ‘61, and counted down. There was a thrill of excitement as we carried the boat out through the crowd and down to the dock, and I recall the water being cold on my bare feet as we carefully placed The Spirit into Potomac and walked her up to the top of the dock. As insurance against anyone lifting off his seat while straining at the oar at the start, Goose had placed two loops of adhesive tape on each seat, and another thin strip to use to tape the keeper closed on the oar locks; since equipment breakage was a frequent cause of recalled starts and lost races, these precautions were well-taken. We locked our oars, shoved off smartly, tied in, taped our locks, and began our row up to the starting line, alone together for the first time in uniform as a Georgetown crew.
They say “you always remember your first time,” and even after fifty years certain details of that race remain clearly etched in memory. At such moments in life the mind concentrates and the senses become exquisitely acute, the sights and sounds and feel of the occasion are vividly crisp and one feels intensely alive; time slows and the mind takes in every sensuous detail: the feel of the oar in the hands, the sounds of rolling slides and the oars turning in the locks, the water splashing off the blades, the hiss of the bow-wake running along the hull, the color of the new grass greening on the banks, cloud shadows sweeping across the water, and the river-smell on the breeze in early Spring. Given the proper Zen-like attitude, rowing the Potomac can be an aesthetic rhapsody, and I would argue that it is the beauty as much as the glory of the sport that accounts for its profound affect on those who row. I have never felt more intensely alive than in those seconds waiting at the ready just before the start of a race.
Because this was a relatively large regatta with six schools competing, there were stake-boats anchored on the starting line at the Three Sisters. We paddled past the stake-boats on our way farther up river to practice our starts off by ourselves. Since we hadn’t rowed a hard workout during the three day “taper” leading up to the race, our energy level was high and the starts alleviated some of our pent-up tension. Although the weather was still cold, in the low 40’s, forsythias were blooming on the Virginia shore and the sun was shining through the clouds when Goose arrived and maneuvered the launch close-in by our stern. We stripped off our sweatshirts and passed them back to Jay, our cox, who tossed them into the launch as Goose wished us luck one last time. We then paused momentarily to link hands in a quick prayer. Our Lady of Victory, Pray for us. Amen.
Ed Witman, Spring 1964
New York Times
April 1, 1964
When the Fordham eight came up and turned about, we paddled back down on the line. The Referee arrived in his launch and took control of the start. Both crews backed water toward the stake-boats, and the stake-boys took hold of the sterns. As we waited, Jay asked the Fordham cox if they were betting shirts, but he declined; since they weren’t wearing uniforms, my guess is they had no shirts to bet. I took that unwillingness to be a good sign for us.
The luck of the draw gave us lane three to the portside of the Fordham boat in lane two, although with only two boats racing the lanes didn’t matter very much. Because the third pier of Key Bridge stands in the middle of the race course, all the lanes diverge as they pass under the third and fourth arches, so both the start and finish lines are staggered to compensate for the wider swing-out required of crews on the left or DC side of the course. This meant that as the boat on the left, we lined up slightly ahead of Fordham to our starboard side, giving us the psychological advantage of an apparent one seat lead. Another good omen.
The Ref explained the starting procedure: coxswains were to hold their hands up until their bows were pointed at their bright orange lane markers up on Key Bridge half a mile away; once pointed they should lower their hands. When both coxes’ hands went down, the Ref would call out the commands: “Are you ready? Ready all, ROW!” and the stake-boys would release the boats.
We now were sitting ready at the “X position” – at half-slide - with our oars resting flat on the water while both coxswains had their bow or 2 man taking short light strokes up to get pointed. Then Jay’s arm went down, and the Ref’s commands – his voice deepened and amplified by his megaphone – came booming across the water: “ - - ROW !” Instantly, sixteen oars ripped the river and the two eights surged forward and gathered speed as the crews took their first strokes. [18]
We went off at about 39 or 40spm and held that for the first thirty strokes until we heard Jay’s command “SLIDE!” ordering us to drop the stroke to a more sustainable 34. This is always a critical point in a race as the crew gathers itself for that first stroke at the lower beat. Given the extra second between the thirtieth (high) and thirty-first (lower) stroke the crew usually drives that next catch all the harder which can either give the boat a momentary surge, or result in somebody catching a crab that brings the boat to a stop. Luckily, we got the happy surge.
Although racing crews are supposed to “keep eyes in the boat,” who could resist glancing off to the left to check our position? The start had been good, just as we’d practiced it, no one crabbed and the keel was steady, and so when I checked on the Fordham eight I noted that we had about a two seat lead. Jim Woods, our stroke called for a “power ten” passing the quarter-mile marker and we moved up another seat. The boat was moving well now and we were swinging as comfortably as could be expected for freshmen in the early phases of their first race. I remember that I was breathing in rhythm with the stroke and without any distress; my hands gripped the oar lightly on the recovery, and the timing felt solid despite the chop we encountered as we moved into the wider, more windswept part of the river around the half-mile mark just before Key Bridge. I was actually beginning to enjoy the race. From my vantage point in the six-seat I could catch glimpses of their bowman which meant that we were holding a three-quarter length lead. Approaching the center arch of the bridge, Jay was beginning to apply the rudder, and I could see the stern moving slightly to port as he called “hard on port” to swing the bow into a starboard turn going under the bridge. It was a tricky bit of coxing for a novice, but Jay deftly got us pointed toward the finish line. Woods called for another “power ten” and we began to open water on Fordham.
The remaining half-mile of the race was rowed with a comfortable lead. We continued to pull away from them, and our closing sprint was merely an exercise. We crossed the line more than two lengths ahead of the Fordham boat, Jay called out “Let ‘er run,” and we congratulated each other on our first victory. Goose had prepared us well and we didn’t forget his two rules of post-race etiquette: first, after the finish of the race maintain your dignity: sit-up, no collapsing in mock (or even real) exhaustion; and second, win or lose, always give three cheers for the other crew(s). Georgetown crews were supposed to show our class on and off the water, and as freshmen we were proud to have become part of that tradition. While we were waiting to be waved into the dock, Goose motored past us with Don Cadle who gave us his ultimate but understated accolade, “Well-Rowed, Georgetown!” This was the last time I ever saw him. From behind his sunglasses, Goose just grinned. The next day the Washington Post ran a photo of our freshman boat pulling away at the finish with the caption “Hoyas in a Hurry,” along with an article reporting the day’s race results.
Washington Post, April 1, 1964
That was a good day for Georgetown as the Hoyas swept their races in each division. The freshman light-weights won their first-ever race, the freshman heavies led Fordham over the line by two lengths, and our JV beat Fordham, American, and GW’s third varsity. Rowing a brisk 40spm, the GU Varsity heavies led the Rams all the way and sprinted over the line at 44spm in a time of 6:20.6, and the overpowered Hoya lightweight Varsity came in a close third.[19] To honor the sweep by the heavies, Goose ran a broom up the flag pole[20] when the first day of racing came to an end.
The next day was April Fools and might have produced a second GU sweep but for the skullduggery of Fordham’s Coach, Jack Sulger. The day started with the Fordham heavy frosh coming in ahead of the Hoya lightweight freshmen. Our freshman heavy eight[21] came in five lengths (6:41) ahead of St. John’s and American.
But now came the April Fools trick. Having watched his varsity soundly defeated the day before, Sulger decided to go for a cheap face-saving win by putting six of his varsity oarsmen in his “JV” for the rematch against the Hoya JV. And then he disappeared, hiding so as not to have to face Goose who knew of the switch and made sure his crews knew too. His “stacked” JV did eke out a one length win over the Hoyas in a remarkably fast time of 6:11.
But when the time came for the reconstituted Fordham “varsity” to race Howard, they won but in the remarkably slow time of 6:28. The 17 second difference between their “JV” and “varsity” times gave the lie to the excuse that the two crews were so evenly matched that their personnel were interchangeable; in fact two their “JV” oarsmen had competed the year before in the Pan American Games.[22]
After this folderol, the heavy varsity race was an anti-climactic run-away for the GU Heavies as they won over St. John’s, and GW’s heavies, and the GU lightweight varsity in 6:08.
As a coach and exemplar the kindest thing that can be said about Jack Sulger is that he was “The Anti-Cadle.” The Fordham oarsmen deserved better and I suspect they were deeply embarrassed by their coach’s unsportsmanlike conduct that day. Sadly, Sulger proved himself to be the exception to the rule, “I never met an oarsman I didn’t like.”
(Ironically, six years later I found myself coaching Fordham’s lightweight crew -- their only crew at the time -- and I came to understand and sympathize with the difficulties involved in transporting crews from the Rose Hill campus in the Bronx to the NY Athletic Club’s boathouse in Pelham, seven miles away. I came to appreciate what a great advantage Georgetown had in being able to schedule workouts six days a week and hold its members strictly liable for getting to the boathouse on their own, and on time. In terms of hours of preparation, we probably had a four to one advantage over Fordham’s crews, and even more over St. John’s.).
As freshmen we were now undefeated, and just a bit cocky. That was not to last, for the next Saturday, April 4th we travelled up to Philadelphia to row against LaSalle who did to us what we’d done to Fordham: they grabbed the lead at the start and held it all the way. The JV also lost, but the varsity won its race, so officially the trip was a success.
Rory Quirk describes Sulger
shenanigans Hoya April 10,1964
On the Road
The LaSalle race was our first road trip and our introduction to the logistics of traveling as a crew. After the Thursday afternoon workout we washed down the eights, loaded them on the trailer and proceeded to tie them down for the trip up to Philly. I recall Goose describing how unnerving it was while driving through the Baltimore Harbor tunnel to watch the eights begin to lift off the trailer due to the peculiar aerodynamics of the tunnel. He checked and secured each tie personally. Then after classes on Friday, we got in the cars of the upperclassmen and coaches for the three hour jaunt up the road, arriving at the Ben Franklyn Motel close by Kelly Drive and Boat House Row. We checked in quickly, and then headed down town to Tad’s Steakhouse for a $1.29 steak dinner.
Eating at Tad’s was always a crap-shoot; the steaks varied in quality, some were pretty good (considering the price), but many were slabs of gristle and bone that were virtually inedible. So standing in line watching the grill-men cooking them, you would try to figure out which ones looked better so that you could grab a good one when they put them up on the counter. But the baked potato and the slice of garlic bread were consistently good and so that, plus the appeal of taking a chance on the steak, kept us coming back. With any luck one might run a winning streak of three, maybe even four decent steaks over the course of one’s rowing career in Philly. Tad’s was a crew tradition.
Washington Post
April 6, 1964
University Barge Club today--looking much better
In those years we rowed out of the University Barge Club, one of the more antiquated and decrepit structures on Boathouse Row along Kelly Drive. Here our etiquette had to be impeccable because we were quests. Goose laid down the rule that we should leave the place looking neater and cleaner than we found it, so before we left Saturday afternoon we’d always sweep through the house and grounds picking up litter we hadn’t dropped so that we’d leave a good impression of Georgetown’s Crew. We were always conscious of such appearances.
The LaSalle trip was memorable for two other minor details. The song “Chapel of Love" by the Dixie Cups played incessantly on every radio within ear shot, and I rode home to DC in the back seat of Jack Hoeschler’s VW at about ninety miles per hour (who knew a bug could fly that fast?) It wasn’t so much Jack’s speeding that I recall so vividly, nor even his considerable skill as a raconteur. What really impressed me was his penchant for trying to maintain eye contact with us in the back seat, while our own eyes were frozen on the road ahead. Somebody had to watch where we were going!
Jack Hoeschler's 1962 VW Bug convertible
(a look alike)
Perhaps as a result of the loss to LaSalle, Goose made some significant changes in our freshman boat.[23] The starboard side remained the same, but on the port, Jim Woods moved from stroke to two, Henry Scherr moved from two to four replacing Tom Carney, and John Barry came up from the second boat to row stroke, so his pending challenge for my six seat became moot. We kept this seating for the remainder of the season.[24]
A Digression: On Rowing Stroke [25]
The elevation of Jack Barry to stroke provides an opportunity to ask, what makes a good or better stroke? In my four years at Georgetown, I rowed behind two good strokes and one whom I think was better, but I cannot say with any assurance what makes the difference other than those intangibles: “personality” and “leadership,” and not least, good luck. Having rowed stroke myself in both JV and Varsity boats, I will candidly confess that I do not think I was a particularly good stroke; and I suppose I came to this realization even before Goose and Frank did. Therefore I believe that my comments are both informed and unbiased. (I am not a horse in this race.) So let’s try to explain the elements that go to make the ideal stroke.
The first requisite is excellent form. As the leader that the crew must follow, the 8-man must exemplify and model for them the particular style of stroke the crew is rowing, and must maintain this ideal form throughout the race and whatever the spm.
For those of us who never rowed...!!!
Dave Casey-a great stroke
Next, as the pacemaker for the boat, the stroke must have a reliable sense of timing and rhythm; he must know the difference between 34 and 36 spm and be able to hit and maintain any given rate without flagging for as long as necessary. I recall one guy who had an uncanny ability to hit exactly whatever rate a coach might demand; but despite this metronome precision, he was not a good stroke. Much more is needed.
Physically, it helps to be the proper stature relative to the others in the crew, particularly the stern section. For example, at 6’5” I was too tall and my reach too long in the water for the seven and six men to keep time with. Conversely, at 5’10 the late Linc Hoffman was a bit too short in the water for someone like Pete Blyberg (6’7”), although otherwise Linc was a very good stroke. In our freshman eight in ’64, John Barry came in at 6’1” had the height advantage over the former stroke Jim Woods (5’10”,) and was a better match with John Soisson (6’2”) at seven and me at six. But these physical comparisons are not what make the crucial difference.
Over and above the timing and physical skills there is the crucial question of personality and the temperamental harmony between the stroke and the crew he must lead. For its part, the crew must have more than mere confidence in the stroke’s technical abilities; the other eight (cox included) must spontaneously confer the mantle of leadership on their stroke, and s/he must have the character to win and hold that authority. In this respect, strokes are like coxswains, technical proficiency is not enough for excellence. John Soisson who rowed seven seat behind virtually every stroke of that era (’64 through ’67, both lightweights and heavies) notes perceptively that:
There are ‘team’ qualities, especially the ability to merge mind and body with the seven seat. Some of that falls to the seven (man) certainly, but the stroke needs to have a personality disposed to that merging. A good stroke is a strong individual personality. But at the same time he must merge himself into the community of the boat. . . The stroke has to have the characteristics of a leader, to be able to stand alone, not waver, be goal oriented, self-sacrificial for the common good . . . be able to work harder and longer, and have the heart of a warrior.
Soisson’s point about “standing alone” may sound odd in the context of crew, but recall that the stroke rows his own ‘stroke’; everyone else is following his oar as the orchestra follows the baton of the conductor. At the same time he must respond to the tactical exigencies of the race with no loss of focus and concentration. That burden requires a mental and visceral toughness that gets communicated to the crew behind him, a spiritual strength that tells them he is not willing to lose a duel down the stretch. The rest of the crew looks (literally) to him; but he can look only to himself. No wonder then, that really good strokes are often cocky, even arrogant; but a bit of justified arrogance isn’t a vice because on the river as on the baseball diamond, “It ain’t braggin’ if you can do it.” And being convinced that you can do it is the key virtue that makes a good stroke.
Then there is the fact that while the bonds within a boat are extremely tight, this can sometimes magnify the tempers. Any spirited crew will include volatile members who are quick to express their emotions, and since their exertions are sometimes frustrating, and always exhausting, those emotions are often hot and negative, even nasty. The stroke must then be the stabilizing leader restoring calm discipline and reminding them all of their common purpose. As Soisson writes, the good stroke must possess the right temperamental spirit:
the evenness, the quality of steadiness of an upbeat personality. A good stroke doesn’t get down. Probably, if you tested the best strokes, you’d find they do not have the least tendency to depression. A stroke can’t wallow in self-pity or sorrow when there is a loss. That would destroy the emotional strength of the boat.
This is a daunting inventory of physical and psychological virtues, and helps to account for the rarity of truly great stroke oars; but it does remind us of what we should be looking for guys who aspire to row the 8-oar. From the coaching perspective, Frank Barrett summarizes the practical issue nicely:
It isn’t that complicated to know what you want. The trick is to take oarsmen who don’t have it all, (who does?) backfill and develop a winning crew behind a good but imperfect stroke. That’s called life.
And finally, as Napoleon remarked about choosing his generals, it helps to have good luck.
[1] Phone conversation with Inge Cadle, 1/3/13.
[2] This extra year for remediation was the price of the all the hours he’d spent with the crew and away from his medical studies.
[3] Somewhere in his political philosophy Nicolo Machiavelli writes that the true test of a statesman is to build his state on such a firm foundation that it will survive his passing. Cadle was that sort of statesman.
[4] Regarding my “hopeful” reading of Cadle’s advice, Pete Blyberg (Captain of Boats ’64 & ’65) demurs: “Knowing Don, I doubt that he was playing mind games. I think he gave them his honest assessment. . . it was not a question of competence, it was one of time.” 2/5/13
[5] It is ironic that as the moving force behind the GURA Constitution that empowered the President to hire and replace coaches, Don Cadle never discussed his impending departure with the student officers; nor did the alumni coaches, Al, Frank, and Goose. Such reticence is understandable given the foregone conclusion that the Crew would have endorsed both the decision to continue the crew, and Goose’s assumption of coaching responsibilities. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the future of the crew was (happily) decided by Goose without the “advice or consent” of the oarsmen.
[6] To assist in this endeavor, Robert Remuzzi, Francis W. Barrett, and Patrick A. Doyle, acting as incorporators, filed “Articles of Incorporation of The Society of The Golden Oar” on November 23, 1964.
Article Three: The particular aims and objects of the corporation are to encourage, foster, and promote, through independent means, the sport of rowing and the continuity and sustenance of the crew at Georgetown University as a student controlled, voluntarily supported and coached entity; to encourage the development of the sport at the University and at high schools throughout the Metropolitan Washington area; and to solicit moral and financial support for the sport from interested alumni of the University and from other individuals, organizations, corporations, societies, and groups.
[7] Jack Galloway recalls that like Fred Maletz before him, Sanborn had been a regular at Potomac Boat Club. (Phone conversation, 1/20/13.) In 1963 & ‘64 Sandborn was one of the founders and President of the Capitol Rowing Club, Annadale, VA.
[8] Again, to quote Frank, “Goose was working to keep all the moving parts under control (he was the man) and we were managing around Sandy Sanborn who was a nice man but not a real coach.” (6/18/12)
[9] Al DiFiore, having graduated from GU Law School in 1964, returned home to Rhode Island to begin practicing law.
[10] The Georgetown University CREW 1964 (brochure) p.13. Actually, Don attended the first home races on March 31 and April 1st, and didn’t leave for Germany until mid-April. See below.
[11] 7/10/12.
[12] One of my greatest pleasures in researching this history was my first phone contact with Drew Gerber (7/21/12.) Drew left GU after his sophomore year in the Summer of 1959, and remained incommunicado for 53 years so he had never even heard of Don D. Cadle. I had the pleasure of explaining to Drew, our student “founder,” who Cadle was and what “the Cadle legacy” meant to the Crew.
[13] By this time Georgetown had four eights: The Fred Maletz, The Spirit of ’61, the Inge, and the J.P.B Duffy ‘01; as well as two fours with-cox: The Goose and the Molly B. As the first freshmen heavyweights we usually rowed and raced in the Spirit. In late October of ‘64, we got two pairs, Lurk and Skulk. All were Pocock boats.
[14] See the explanation of challenge races in the Glossary.
[15] For the origin of the GU vs. FU rivalry (in which the 1959 GU freshmen drew “first blood,”) see Chapter One.
[16] Thinking back on this bit of intelligence I suspect that it was Goose using Cadle’s mind games to give his crew an edge. Since this was the first race for both crews, there was no record on which to base this assessment of their stroke’s tendencies.
[17] This truck was big gray ‘63 Dodge used to tow the crew’s boat trailer. Painted on the doors was the Georgetown “G” with crossed oars, nicely done. It was probably purchased by Don Cadle, one of many such things for which the Cadles were responsible.
[18] The Roman poet Virgil captured this moment perfectly in Book Five of his Aeneid, in what is probably the earliest description of a crew race
The oarsmen don their wreaths of poplar leaves,
Oil poured on their naked shoulders makes them glisten.
They crowd the thwarts, their arms tense at the oars,
Ears tense for the signal; hearts pounding, racing with nerves
High-strung and grasping lust for glory.
At last a piercing blare of the trumpet – suddenly all
The ships burst from the line, no stopping them now,
The shouts of the sailors hit the skies, the oarsmen’s arms
Pull back to their chest as they whip the swells to foam.
Still dead even, they plow their furrows, ripping the sea
Wide open with thrashing oars and cleaving beaks.
[19] NY Times, April 1, 1964
[20] This greatly annoyed “Sailor John” the irascible custodian of the Thompson Boathouse who always walked around grumbling to himself.
[21] The freshman coxswain for the St. John’s race was George McCloon.
[22] The HOYA, 4/10/64; byline Rory Quirk.
[23]The freshman coxswain for the LaSalle race was Ned Moran
[24] From bow: Jim Mockler, Jim Woods, Chuck Dailey, Henry Scherr, Mike Ryan, Ed Witman, John Soisson, str John Barry. The coxswains rotated during the season among Ned Moran, George McLoon, and Jay Weldon.
[25] No one writing on what makes a good stroke in the context of the Georgetown Crew could fail to pay respects to David Timothy Casey (1942 – 1963) the greatest GU stroke of that – or perhaps of any – era. Unfortunately for this history, I met Dave only once and then only very briefly; thus I cannot do justice to his character nor his influence on the crew. He was Captain of Boats in 1962, President in 1963, and stroked the undefeated Varsity of ’62. Tragically, he died in an auto accident returning to Quantico Marine base October 27, 1963. For those who rowed with him, he remains one of a kind as the “greatest” Georgetown stroke. See the tribute to Casey in the appendix.
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