All 53,896 seats in Harvard Stadium were sold for the game—it was the largest crowd ever to watch a Brown team perform—and special films of the game (a rarity in the '20s) were to be made for showing in not one but four Providence theaters. Along the route from Providence to Cambridge an automobile club posted special signs to guide the motorists. The Brown Daily Herald, in an editorial, urged Brown fans to forgo any "disorganized mob tactics," such as tearing down goalposts, if Brown won.
McLaughry had pregame worries of his own. He was concerned that the Iron Men now were getting a bit overconfident. Additionally, the "Wooden Men," as the substitutes had been titled, were beginning to grumble about not playing. Tuss let a reporter from the Brown Daily Herald in on the intelligence that he did not plan to keep the Iron Men intact against Harvard, "unless such a move is the best policy."
It was a bruising game. Paul Hodge had his nose bashed in on the first play. On the second play a Harvard lineman was similarly injured. But the Iron Men never really gave Harvard a chance to get started and took a 14-0 lead into the fourth quarter.
Then, with some two minutes of play remaining, McLaughry signaled a batch of six substitutes to get ready to go in. When they rose to start warming up and the crowd saw what this meant, cries of "No! No!" came from stands on both sides of the field—from both Harvard and Brown fans. But Tuss sent the subs in. On the third play thereafter Brown scored its third touchdown. McLaughry sent in four more subs. There were two plays left, and Red Randall was the only Iron Man left on the field at the end.
There were no protests from the Iron Men, and the newspapers made much of the conclusion of the feat. The Evening Bulletin of Providence thoroughly approved of McLaughry's decision to substitute, calling it "a fitting climax to a great afternoon," Even a farm publication called The Rural New Yorker took note of Brown's Iron Man feat and, while it was at it, of their milk-drinking habit. "In the great football game of life," The Rural New Yorker concluded, "you can have no finer friend than a cow."
So the streak was done, but Brown had two more games to play to complete the season without defeat. The Bruins beat New Hampshire easily, then played to a 10-10 tie with Colgate. In this game only one substitute was used, late in the game, but by then the spell was off the Iron Men. Even McLaughry had some second thoughts about the aptness of the nickname. "They're not Iron Men," he told a reporter soon after the Harvard game. "They are just 11 college boys having a good time playing football."
Three of the Iron Men—Towle, Lawrence and Considine—have died, but the rest are a hearty and quite successful lot. Smith became a surgeon, Hodge a lawyer and Cornsweet a clinical psychologist after a term as a Rhodes scholar. Farber and Randall went into coaching and the others into business.
They remain proud of their accomplishment—and also still a bit cocky about it. An old friend met Paul Hodge after Brown had opened its 1966 season with a victory and asked him whether he thought the Iron Men could have done as well. "Hell, no," Hodge answered. "Maybe we could have for about three periods, but don't forget—most of us are now in our 60s."