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ROBERT L. ISON
The Ison Finance Company was a hand-me-down family business turning over half a million dollars in 1948, when Bob Ison got hold of it. Today it does $50 million worth of business, but do not look to Ison to tell you about that—or of the Silver Star he won in World War II as executive officer of the submarine U.S.S. Bergall. Bob Ison is equally reticent about his football-playing days, except, of course, about that one play against Kentucky when he took a hand-off after a fake. The fake worked so well that the opposing halfback ran beside Ison, yelling and pointing toward the other side of the field, all the way into the end zone.
ROBERT W. JAMPLIS
Grade-school friends called him Doc because his glasses were always falling off his tiny nose. Although he has kept the nickname, there is nothing undignified about Dr. Robert W. Jamplis, chief of the department of thoracic surgery at the Palo Alto Medical Clinic. Jamplis interned in such places as Guam and Nagasaki, later gained more experience at the Mayo Clinic and left with a dream—to match Mayo's excellence. As quarterback at Chicago, Jamplis learned to admire excellence in the person of Michigan's Forest Evashevski, who "kept knocking me down. Every time he picked me up he would say, 'Be right back, son.' "
The logical thing would have been to tear down the crumbling church in Roxbury. The roof had holes in it, and the connecting convent for a dozen nuns had been condemned by the building department. Instead, Cardinal Cushing sent in Father George Valentine Kerr, an ex-newspaper boy from the neighborhood who had once had the gall to try out for the Boston College football squad weighing exactly 155 pounds. Four years and two bowl trips later, Coach Frank Leahy called Kerr "the greatest guard I have ever coached." In two months $300,000 was raised, and Msgr. Kerr was on his way to building a showpiece in the Boston archdiocese.
DeLaney Kiphuth was 10 when his father trundled him off to Amsterdam in 1928 for the Olympic Games. Conceivably, such special treatment for the son of Yale's brilliant swimming coach, Robert Kiphuth, could have cured his ardor for sports forever. It did not. When the time came for Kiphuth to do or die for God, Country and Yale, he showed up for football standing a regal 5 feet 6 and commenced knocking the poise out of men half a foot taller. Once Kiphuth found an opposing guard who was even smaller, and recalls, "The little fellow gave me a helluva thrashing." Kiphuth continues to plump for good contact as director of athletics at Yale, where he continues an excellent program of varsity athletics and an intramural one for all undergraduates that keeps growing.
J. ROBERT NELSON
Dr. J. Robert Nelson is not sorry he played football, although he regrets breaking an opponent's leg. "It teaches a boy discipline, roughness with restraint," he says, traits he has exhibited since he graduated a Phi Beta Kappa. In 1960 Nelson resigned as dean of Vanderbilt University Divinity School when a Negro student was expelled for his role in a Nashville sit-down protest against segregated lunch counters. Currently professor of systematic theology at Boston University, he believes that the "ministry isn't just reading the Bible, it's determining man's worth in society and the degrees of justice and human relationships."