The signs and banners came out early in the hills of Arkansas and in the hill country around Austin. Arkansas is a curious state, one that saw part of its people in support of the Union, and a state that had elected a Fulbright and a Rockefeller at the same time that ii voted for a Wallace. Figure that out. What brings it all together, however, is football—Frank Broyles' Razorback football. And so out came the funny and fanatic slogans for this grandest week in the state's history. They said such things as WE'LL WIN FOR YOU MR. PRESIDENT—GAS 28�, BEAT TEXAS, BEVO IS STERILE, BEAT NOTRE DAME, HOGS SNOW STREET AND SKI NUMBER 1. And all that.
As early as the morning before the game, on Friday, instant traffic jams developed around the campus and along the drags with students just driving around, honking and hollering. They waved beer cans and Confederate Hags, their roadsters painted red and white, their hands uplifted in signs that in more enlightened areas have come to mean peace and love.
When Royal was driving with a friend back to Rogers, Ark. after Friday's brief workout in the Razorback Stadium and saw carloads of Arkansas fans sooey-pigging and holding up two fingers, he said, "They don't know that means peace. A lot of things haven't gotten up here yet."
Royal himself was totally amazed at the excitement around his own campus earlier. The University of Texas is a vast place with an enrollment of 35,000, and it is becoming sort of a Berkeley in a lot of ways. But more than half of them turned out for a Wednesday pep rally in Memorial Stadium at which the squad members and coaches were loaded into convertibles and driven around the track while the crowd roared for its No. 1 team and the big band played The Eyes of Texas
over and over.
Compounding the madness, of course, was the President's visit. Among other things this meant that Arkansas had to scare up some room in its picturesque if rickety old stadium that would sway with only 44,000. Fifty White House press-corps members had to have seats, each supplied with a telephone.
And the President and his party had to have 40 good ones. Arkansas fans volunteered them and took terrible tradeout seats in return, getting 14 from Royal, who said none of the Texas allotment was worth a damn anyway. Only 5,000 scats were given to Texas, and only 600 of those were for students, 288 of which would be for the Longhorn Band. This meant that for the biggest game in the Southwest in 34 years, or since the TCU-SMU game of 1935 which was played under more or less the same circumstances, only 312 actual real-life students out of the total enrollment at Austin could attend.
"It's just as well I'm not going." a Texas coed had said. " Arkansas is a hicky place. All they do is sell jelly and cider by the side of the road."
Darrell Royal had known better than that, if his Texas fans didn't. And he knew at the end that Arkansas played a little football, too, and had been just as good a team and had even outhit his Steers For most of the cold, dark afternoon. But he also knew that his Long-horns, laboring under as much duress as any No. 1 team ever had in such bizarre circumstances—with time running out, with a President watching, on alien ground, with very few friends about—had somehow survived.