Chapter 9: The Summer of 64

Black Velvet: stout & champagne

With the Black Velvet toasts that rainy Sunday afternoon, the rowing season came to an end. For everyone but the varsity that is. They still had to prepare for a challenging schedule of racing that summer. For the Varsity Heavies and the guys who chose to row along with them, that summer would be a continuation of the rigorous training in preparation for the IRA in late June, the Independence Day Regatta, then the Olympic Eights trials in July, and the Nationals and Olympic Small Boat Trials in August.[1]

These summer races had been part of the plans laid by coach Don Cadle back in the spring of ’63 when he set the goals for the next year; winning the Vail was only the first leg of the hoped-for trifecta that included the IRA and the Olympics. To accommodate his crew Goose had arranged for a block of dorm rooms in New North for the varsity and any others who wanted to stay for the summer season; he also managed to talk the Physical Plant Office into providing us with campus jobs to help support ourselves.

So in the weeks after the Dad Vail the talk among the freshmen concerned whether we wanted to remain on campus to row the river rather than return home for a summer of more conventional “R & R.” I recall sitting with President Mike Mullin by the Stump one Saturday morning after the Dad Vail, explaining that I didn’t think my parents would allow me to stay the summer. He listened, and then said something I remember to this day. “Your parents want you to be happy. They will let you do what you want.” His prediction proved to be accurate. When I explained to Mom and Dad that this was something that I really wanted to do, that I could live on campus at no cost, and that I’d have a job working for the university, they were surprised, but they did agree. Actually, I think they were secretly proud that I had become so dedicated and so independent.

Aside from the providing valuable experience that would be an advantage in the competition for a seat in next year’s varsity boat, there were the stories of the legendary Summer of ’63.[2] Ironically, these “horror stories” didn’t deter us freshmen in the slightest; quite the contrary. So after a short vacation at home, many of us decided to return to campus to enjoy our own “summer in the dorms.”

New North

Working for the University

Ryan Hall

Returning to campus in mid-June, I found I was rooming with Zack Quincy on the second floor of New North, a typical dorm room on the southern (hot) side of the building. The next morning after our workout, I reported for work at the Physical Plant Office, located in the lower level of Ryan Hall, on the driveway opposite New South. At that time the Physical Plant was domain of Fr. T. Byron Collins, SJ, but the actual day to day operations were run by Messrs. Phillips & Weldon who had the challenge of finding things for us to do to earn our hourly wage of $1.75. In my case it turned out to be window washing.

That morning I was given a bucket and a squeegee and told to begin washing the windows in Healy. “Which windows?” I asked. “All of them,” they replied. My job, they explained, was to wash all the windows on the campus. My impression was not that the windows needed to be washed, but that a job needed to be found. Phillips and Weldon were good guys who understood the nature of summer jobs of this sort; with regard to us, their management style seemed to be “out of sight, out of mind.” Supervision was negligible.

Thus began my summer as a window washer.

Eventually I finished Healy, the Reiss Science building, and the windows in the public areas of New South. Since no one individual had ever done this before, no one in the office had any idea of how long washing these windows should take, so I was working at my own pace, with practically no supervision from about 8am to 4pm. I did do a good job, but I certainly was in no particular hurry. And I soon lost any fear of heights while doing the windows on the front of Reiss Science Building. I had to climb out of the tilt-in windows and stand (with no safety belt) on a seven inch ledge six floors up wielding my sponge and squeegee. For amusement, I’d wring out my sponge and count the seconds ‘til the water splattered on the sidewalk below. You can get used to this after a few days, and it then becomes routine, and despite the risk, even perversely enjoyable.[3]

Other guys had more glamorous jobs. Bill McNeill drove a truck but sometimes served as chauffer for the university President, and Darro Angelini worked in the Medical School where he would sometimes transport cadavers to the refrigerated storage room in the anatomy lab; literally, a very cool job. (See Darro’s account in Chapter 5.)

Reiss Science Building

Workouts

The daily routine that summer was exhausting: up at 5:30am, run down to the boat house, workout on the river from 6 ‘til after 7, grab something for breakfast at the Hoya Carryout on M St[4]., get back to the room, change, and report for work by 8:30. Comparatively, washing windows was recuperative. At 5pm we gathered on the upper field for workouts, running laps and wind-sprints until 6 o’clock. Then back to the dorm for a quick cold shower, and off to supper at Teehan’s or the Tombs.

Aesthetic Interludes

Rowing at dawn on the Potomac

One of the restorative aspects of rowing during the summer was the beauty of the river at dawn. Whether we rowed upstream beyond the Three Sisters to the Hens and Chickens[5] where the river narrows, the current quickens and cool shadows linger, or down to Memorial Bridge where the rising sun looms low and ruddy behind the Capitol dome and aligns with Washington’s obelisk and Lincoln’s Doric temple, the river was always a setting of great natural beauty.

Despite the exhaustion, humidity, and relentless heat, dawn on the river was aesthetically a balm to the spirit. Whether pausing for a moment’s respite, or merely turning about to row back to the boathouse, one could always look out across the water and take in a view that by itself made all the sweat, thirst, and fatigue slip away momentarily as one became absorbed in the quiet splendor of the morning. And even on sweltering afternoons, on the way down from running wind sprints up the road to Observatory Hill there were hibiscus trees whose fragrant flowers lightened the spirits of even the most exhausted rower.

Then in late fall when the first chilly night had settled down on the warm water of the river, a low-lying mist would cover the Potomac; on these rare mornings an eight could disappear into the mist so that only the nine disembodied heads would be seen gliding along above the blanket of fog. Whatever the season, rowing the river provided moments of surpassing beauty for those who had the wit to see what grace Nature has to offer.

But let’s return to the racing that Summer.

The IRA, Onondaga Lake, Syracuse, NY

Washington Post 17Jun1964

Although the Intercollegiate Rowing Association brought together the best heavyweight crews throughout the country,[6] the absence of Harvard and Yale from the mix prevented it from being a true National Championship race.[7] Having earned the trip to the IRA by winning the Dad Vail, the GU Heavyweight Varsity followed their “Skinnies” into the big time that Summer, but unfortunately for the heavies there was no consolation race to afford them a second chance to improve on their performance in the qualifying heat.

The varsity had lost Dan Ebert to the Army and Vietnam after graduation, and so Mike Mullin had to switch from seven to stroke, while Bill Allen ‘67 came up from the JV to take his place at seven. But despite the changes, they had a solid month of hard workouts to get ready for their debut in the ranks of the nation’s elite crews.

On Friday, June 19^th, the Hoyas found themselves in the second of three heats, rowing against Rutgers (lane 2; there were no boats assigned to lane 1), M.I.T., California, and Dartmouth, and Georgetown (in lane 6.) The competition took its toll on the hopeful Hoyas as the eventual champion California crew rowed away by open water in 6:05.4, over MIT 6:13.9, Rutgers 6:16.6, Dartmouth 6:22.9. GU trailed in 6:25.2.

With no consolation race on the program, the Hoyas could only pack their boat on the trailer[8] and watch the next day as the “Golden Bears” of California easily out-rowed the final field in 6:31.1 with Washington 6:37.8 second followed by Cornell, Princeton, MIT, and Navy. California’s victory in the IRA set the stage for an epochal confrontation with their absent Ivy League rivals, Harvard and Yale at the Olympic Trials a few weeks later.

Washington Post 20Jun1964

The Independence Day Regatta, July 4^th, 1964

The Senior 4 comprised Bill McNeill, Mark Pisano

Mike Mullin and Darro Angelini. Tiger coxed this four at

the Independence Day and National Regattas.

The record[9] shows that Georgetown entered two coxed fours in the Independence Day Regatta in Philadelphia, in the senior and intermediate events. In the senior race the unnamed Hoyas[10] came in behind St. Catherine’s, Potomac, and Vesper; while in the intermediate race the competition was different, the result was the same: GU again placed fourth behind Union BC, West Side, and Vesper.[11]

The Olympic Trials, July ‘64

The trials for eights and singles were held July 8^th to the 11^th, at the New York Athletic Club’s facilities at Travers Island in Pelham, close by the NYC park at Orchard Beach.

The Parks Department had dredged the “lagoon” and set out a 2000 meter race course complete with lane markers. It was hardly the best venue for a major regatta because the narrow width of the course allowed for only four lanes.[12]

The Georgetown Eight fared no better at Orchard Beach than it had on Lake Onondaga. Whether it was the loss of Dan Ebert or the level of competition (U. of Washington, Harvard, and Detroit B.C.) the GU eight was eliminated in the first heat, coming in fourth 16.2 seconds behind third place Washington, the IRA runner-up.

The Georgetown 8 at Orchard Beach: Vollbrecht bow

Mark Pisano 2, Bill McNeill 3, Darro Angelini 4

Jack Hoeschler 5, Pete Blyberg 6, Bill Allen 7

Tiger Sergeant, cox

The next day in the repechage, GU again trailed 6.3 seconds behind the “A” and “B” crews from the Laconia Boat Club. It was, as they say, a learning experience for us all.

With Georgetown eliminated, the main interest in the trials was focused on Harry Parker and his undefeated Crimson Cantabs of Harvard, the boat SPORTS ILLUSTRATED had recently compared to a Rolls Royce[13], and which a Navy coach said was “flawless, every move they make is perfection.”

Having lead all the way in defeating Cornell at the Eastern Sprints, and then easily beating Yale in their 99^th annual race on the Thames, the ’64 Harvard varsity[14] was considered certain to win the trials and represent the USA in Tokyo. Like his fellow American coaches Parker had seen the future of crew the previous summer when the Ratzeburg Olympic and World Champs toured the US and introduced the new higher stroke and their tulip blades. He immediately ordered the new oars for his crew and as soon as the ice melted on the Charles he set them to interval training.

The regimen must have worked some special magic because I have never seen any crew row as beautifully as Harvard did in the final on the July11^th. Looking up the course through binoculars I could clearly see the six white splashes as other boats took each catch, but in Harvard’s lane I saw only the oars square up and disappear – no splashes - their blade-work was flawless. As they went past me in the last 100 meters they did indeed look like the rowing equivalent of a Rolls Royce motoring down the course: perfect swing, perfect finishes, everything exactly as it should be, except for one thing. They were in second place.

Hoya 1Oct1964

Vesper beats Harvard at the Olympic Trials

Unfortunately for the Cantabs, a race is not a beauty contest; no points are awarded for style. Although aesthetically, they had rowed a splendid race with absolutely perfect form, they were decisively beaten by the not-so-pretty but considerably faster crew from Philadelphia’s venerable Vesper Boat Club.[15] California and Yale trailed.

In October, Vesper went to Tokyo and won back the Olympic Gold for the United States with a decisive victory over the mighty Ratzeburg crew: 6:18.23 over 6:23.29.

Art Charles coxed the Senior 4 (McNeill, Pisano

Angelini, Mullin) at the Aug '64 Olympic Trials

Disappointed but undaunted, Goose pressed ahead with Cadle’s plans and split the eight into fours and sent the faster boat[16] to the Nationals, and the second round of Olympic Trials in late August.

That summer the GU Heavy Varsity finished last: in the IRA, the Independence Day Regatta, the and now the Olympic Eights Trials; the dismal string continued in the four-with at the Nationals, and the August 27 - 28th Trials for small boats. [17]

At the President’s Cup Regatta, August 15^th, the results were a little better. Georgetown entered the senior coxed four and came in second behind Vesper, but ahead of Potomac, and Penn AC. In the intermediate eight race, Potomac won, and GU came in second.[18] In the senior eight event, Vesper (not the Olympic crew) placed first, but again GU came in second ahead of Potomac and Penn AC.

We could not foresee it then, but the Dad Vail Championship of 1964 would prove to be the high-point for Georgetown Crew for the next three long, agonizing years. As Frank Barrett plaintively observed, “We used to win and now we come in last.”[19] That might have been overstating the situation but it is indicative of a shift in mood among the heavies, and more ominously, among their coaches. Competitively, ’64 turned out to be “the Summer of our discontent.”

But despite the disappointing race results, the Summer of ’64 did produce some funny stories that still provide some laughs even after fifty years. For example, there was the epic adventure of the Naval Academy’s barge.

Art Charles coxed the Senior 4 (McNeill, Pisano

Angelini, Mullin) at the Aug '64 Olympic Trials

Murphy’s Law

US Naval Academy on the Severn River, Annapolis

One of the happy consequences of the Ratzeberg race in April ’63, was the renewed interest taken in Georgetown’s crews by the US Naval Academy. As a major rowing power, Navy would row against Ratzeberg later that Spring in the Eastern Sprints and they wanted to try the new higher stroke with (rather than against) a non-competing crew that had proven itself by going stroke for stroke with the Germans. Add to that the performance of the new GU Lightweight squad at the Eastern Sprints,[20] and you can understand why Navy became GU’s new best friend. Almost immediately after hearing of how well the GU Heavies did against the Germans, Navy invited the varsity over to the Severn to row a workout at the traditional “long and low” stroke, and then at the higher German rate.

As Pat Doyle ‘63, GU’s four-man recalls, at the lower stroke that was Navy’s forté(<32spm), the Admirals walked away from the Hoyas; but at the higher rates (>40,) the Hoyas moved out in front. Granted, this was simply a workout and not a race, but it did impress the coaches of both schools, and solidified a growing relationship. That November (’63) the novice freshman heavies were invited to row with Navy’s freshman, but the choppy conditions on the Severn that Saturday (11/2) forced the cancellation of our meeting. The lightweights also rowed both with, and against their Navy competitors the following Spring of ’64. And so naturally the relationship between the two crews and their coaches grew closer.

Training barge: a modern version

Hubbard Hall boathouse

Now it happened that Navy had an old and long unused training barge parked at the dock alongside the Hubbard boathouse, and in a gesture of good will their coach offered it to the Hoyas. So shortly after the Olympic Trials, Goose laid plans to bring the Navy barge back to Georgetown. Given the sheer size and weight of the thing it was impossible to lift it out of the water and load it on a trailer, so the only alternative was to tow it out onto the Severn, down the Chesapeake, and up the Potomac. A quick check of a map shows that this would mean a voyage of epic proportions, approximately 180 miles, in small open boats, and at something less than 10 mph. Nevertheless, the plans proceeded as Goose recruited Mike Mullin ’64, along with Paul Barbian, nominally a freshman class of ‘67, but somewhat older than a typical freshman, and experienced with mechanics and engines, just in case anything went wrong with the outboards. But what could possibly go wrong with a plan like this?

And so it came to pass that on July 18, 1964, after our morning workout on the Potomac, we hauled our two launches out of the water, removed the outboard motors, and packed them all on the crew trailer, along with a fifty gallon drum of gasoline and provisions for the three intrepid voyagers. Then the small caravan set off for Annapolis. Arriving shortly before noon, Goose supervised the unloading of the two launches and their motors, and the securing of the drum filled with gas. With everything securely tied down, and the water, tool kit, and provisions stowed away, we wished the intrepid trio “bon voyage” and returned to Georgetown.

Meanwhile, out on the treacherous Severn River, things were getting hairy. In the first place, a wooden boat like the barge, when left too long in a well-protected mooring such as the Naval Academy’s dock, begins to dry out above the waterline; the gunwales shrink, opening small seams that admit water once exposed to the choppy conditions on the river; and of course there were always choppy conditions out on the Severn. Then it started to rain as a squall swept in off the Chesapeake. Between the rain coming down, the water seeping through, and the waves washing over the gunwales, the barge began to take on water at an alarming rate, much faster than bailing could keep up with. Given the minimal freeboard of the barge any excess water could, and indeed did, prove disastrous. The barge began to sink – rapidly. As Paul Barbian recounts,

When the barge began to fill and it became obvious that the tow project was doomed, the obvious course of action was to cut the barge loose from the boats and find a way home. Goose ordered Mike and me into one of the boats and we headed for shore. He stayed alone in the boat that was tied to the sinking barge. The rope was of course sodden and pulled very tight. So just cut the rope, right? Murphy strikes again! Goose did not have a knife, and spent at least 30 minutes struggling with the rope. Mike and I watched from the shore anxiously shouting encouragement and offering to come back out to help. Somehow Goose finally freed the wreck and made for shore.[21]

We gathered some drift wood and poured gasoline on it. I took the precaution of moving the gas can down the beach about 20 yards before Goose lit the blaze which whooshed across the sand but stopped short of the gas can.

It seemed like hours later that the rescue party arrived in force and gave the shipwrecked crew a good skulk from behind the truck and trees.

180 mile route: Annapolis (yellow pin) down the

Chesapeake, around Lookout Point (blue pin)

and up the Potomac to Georgetown (pink pin)

The heroic attempt had proven to be heroic fiasco. After making their way back to the safety of the Naval Academy boat house, Goose called Ben Domenico to gather a crew and come back down with the trailer to pick up the launches and the three “survivors.” Word spread quickly down the hall in New North and about a half dozen of us gathered for the ride to Annapolis. When we arrived to retrieve our crew-mates and their gear, Goose managed to summarize the whole misadventure with Nelsonian brevity: “Murphy’s Law was in full effect.” [22]

When all added up, the failed attempt cost only about $80 and provided a story that’s still being told among those involved.[23]

Ben’s Hair-cut

A curly-locked but fierce Ben

One Saturday that same summer, our new President, Ben Domenico had a big date for a formal occasion. It was about five in the afternoon in New North when Ben looked in the mirror and commented that his curly locks needed a trim. Since it is always amusing to watch a fellow getting into formal attire there were a several of us hanging around critiquing the process, so when he mentioned the trim, Bert Mason ‘67 volunteered to play barber. Though Ben was initially somewhat wary, Bert assured him that he’d done this sort of thing many times, and immediately produced a pair of scissors with all the self-assurance of a professional. And of course the rest of us joined in encouraging both of them in what we intuitively knew would provide laughs until the “trim” grew back in. Acceding to this unanimity, Ben sat down and Bert expertly draped his shoulders in a nearly fresh towel.

Since Ben was particularly concerned that his hair not overhang his collar, Bert began to trim there at the back of his head. Without having a mirror to monitor the process, Ben patiently endured while Bert cut. At first it was pretty simple to cut away the overgrowth, but then the task became to taper and shape the trim upward and evenly side to side. Had Bert had an electric trimmer, this would have been easier, but wielding a pair of scissors the process became more problematic. As we sat around watching, it reminded me of the challenge of trimming the long leg on a wobbly table: one cut leads to another until all the legs are too short and still uneven. Each time Bert clipped his scissors, off came a little bit too much on one side that needed to be evened out by another cut. Under Bert’s barbering, Ben’s rear hairline was being raised quite a bit above his collar, but it was still just a tad uneven, and Bert needed to make just a few more snips. You can see where this is heading.

By the time Ben’s patience ran out, his hairline resembled a monk’s tonsure, only not as neat. Naturally we all laughingly reassured Ben that he looked great; and that it in any case it would eventually grow back. Fortunately for Bert, Ben was a good sport about it because as he recalls “the girls loved me anyway;” and it did grow in, eventually. Not so Bert’s reputation for barbering.

[1] The Trials for eights and single sculls were held July 8^th to 11^th, and for the small boats August 27^th - 29^th1964.

[2] See the Postscript to Chapter Five, “The Romance of Raunch”

[3] Edgar Allen Poe’s story “The Imp of the Perverse” provides an insightful account of this psychological aberration. One day that summer a co-worker, a self-proclaimed “roofer,” inveigled me into climbing up the groin of the slate roof over Gaston Hall, down through a hatch at the peak into the attic, and thence up into the Healy clock tower. The late morning trip up to the belfry was relatively easy since the sun had not yet come around to heat the slates on the back-side of Healy. But by the time we had to ease ourselves back down, the hot slate shingles were barely endurable and we burned our hands and butts trying to brake our slide down to the rain gutter and fire-ladder at the edge. This was one of the most stupid things I have ever done and I still shiver when I think of slipping off the roof to certain death on the bricks five stories below.

Several years earlier, John Carrol Clynes, one of the original Maletz oarsmen pulled off a nocturnal raid on Healy tower to remove the hands of the clock which he held “in escrow” until the pressure from the Jesuit’s made the situation too hot and the location of the missing hands was disclosed, no questions asked.

[4] The Hoya Carryout was a small eatery on the south side of M St. that served good hot food over the counter at very low prices. The place was run by Don, who did the cooking and his wife Rose who served as waitress. Both Don and Rose were physically impressive specimens: Don was large and looked like a very tough guy, and Rose resembled “Little Annie Fannie,” the PLAYBOY cartoon character of that era. For thirty five cents you could get two eggs, two pieces of buttered toast, jelly, and coffee; for another dime you got a side of ham, bacon, or sausage; and when Don was preoccupied, you got to marvel at Rose’s incredible proportions.

[5] The Hens and Chickens were rocky islands in the Potomac just southeast of Chain Bridge in the vicinity of Fletcher’s Boat House. This was as far up-river as we could safely row.

[6] These were (alphabetically) Brown, California, Columbia, Cornell, Dartmouth, M.I.T., Navy, Penn, Princeton, Rutgers, Syracuse, Washington, and Wisconsin. Seeded crews that year were Cornell, California, and Wisconsin.

[7] Harvard rowed Yale in their annual four mile race on the Thames June 20^th; Harvard won in 20:48.2 over Yale’s 21:06. Harvard also won the JV, but Yale won the freshman race.

[8] The trailer & boat arrived at Lake Onondaga courtesy of rigger and driver Joe Frederick who has his own story to tell of that weekend:

I remember driving through upper New York State on the way (to the IRA.) An oarsman (I can’t remember who,) was driving and I was navigating. As usual I was low on sleep and dozed off, awakening to see us make the wrong turn at a major Interstate split. A check of the map showed about 40 miles to the next exit so we resolved to make a Ue. We needed a cross over and no traffic and finally got the chance. I told him only one car was coming, so make it quick. After we turned and straightened out, he looked in the side mirror and said the good news was that we beat him but the bad news was that it was a NY State cop. I would have liked to have seen the expression on his face when he came over a small rise and saw the trailer perpendicular to the Interstate. After he pulled us over, he was more fascinated by the shell and the oars on board than our crime. After advising us not to do it again, he sent us on our way. (12/3/12)

[9] The NAAO Rowing Guide 1965, p. 246.

[10] The senior four that summer was from bow: Bill McNeill, Marc Pisano, Darro Angelini, and Mike Mullin as a starboard stroke, with Tiger Sergeant as cox.

[11] This was my first time stroking a race and I remember very clearly that it was quite hot that day. After crossing the finish line, we glided into the cool shade of the RR bridge just beyond the finish line, but instead of pausing there in the shade while we recovered a bit, we drifted out again into the brilliant sunshine that felt like a thousand watt heat-lamp beating down on the top of my head. It was a grueling race.

[12] This is merely my own amateur assessment and is contradicted in the NAAO ROWING GUIDE 1965: “this course is the only course in the United States built according to F.I.S.A. specifications. It was unanimously agreed by all rowing sages and competitors that there is no finer course in the country and is completely fair to all competitors.” William L. Henry, p. 53. This opinion was probably more reflective of the view of NAAO President and NYAC host Jack Sulger who had successfully lobbied to win the Trials for his home course.

[13] SI, May 25, 1964

[14] From bow: Bob Schwarz, Geoff Gratwick, Harry Pollock, Tom Pollock, Jim Tew, Paul Gunderson, Bob Whitney, str. Geoff Picard, cox Ted Washburn.

[15] The Vesper boat from bow: Stan Cwiklinski, Hugh Foley, Emory Clark, Boyce Budd, Joe Amlong, Tom Amlong, Bill Knecht, Str. Bill Stowe, and cox, Bob Zimonyi.

[16] McNeill, Pisano, Mullin, and Angelini, with Tiger Sergeant as cox.

[17] In both races GURA entered the same four with cox, but with different riggings. For the Nationals they rowed the conventional rigging with starboard bow: McNeill, Pisano, Mullin, str. Angelini, cox Sergeant. But as Mark Pisano recalls, in the Olympic trials, the rigging had a port bow: Pisano, McNeill, Angelini and Mullin as a starboard stroke. (1/7/13) Art Charles won the weight competition with Tiger Sergeant to cox the boat at the Trials. (Tiger, 1/8/13)

[18] This was my first race as stroke of an eight, a memorable moment in my life.

[19] 10/1/12

[20] Recall that GU’s Lightweights had won the consolation race at the ‘64 Sprints, out rowing Navy by 7:16.7 over 7:21.4.

[21] As Mike Mullin recalls, Goose (the future surgeon) had to use his car key to saw through the 5/8^th inch rope one strand at a time.

[22] Murphy’s Law states 1) No task is as simple as it seems, 2) anything that can go wrong, will, and 3) it will go wrong at the worst possible time. In WWII, GI’s had the abbreviation, “SNAFU” and the Iraq war contributed the synonymous “FUBAR.” Such was the situation on the Severn that July afternoon.

[23] Happily, the publication of this story on Cadle-era crew website inspired a successful search for our long lost Captain and President, Mike Mullin. During the summer of 2012, Linda and Jack Hoeschler were able to bring him back into the fold after being incommunicado for 49 years. Mike attended the April 12-14^th, 2013 reunion weekend, recounted his own version of the tale, and rowed stroke in the alumni row on that Sunday morning.