"Tommy Mason's with the Redskins too. He's married again, to that pretty little Olympic gymnast. You know...."
"The name wouldn't mean anything to me. I don't know many of the names yet. In Baton Rouge I'm just getting used to 'Pete Maravich.' "
"...Cathy Rigby, that's it. Tommy married Cathy Rigby. And Boo Mason's here, Tommy's brother. He's our assistant dean of students."
"Boy, I'd love to see Boo. If he'd had Tommy's size he'da won the Heisman Trophy." The major flips eagerly through the 1959 class yearbook, looking for something he knows to be there, and is delighted when he finds it: a picture of a Tulane player slumped against a dressing room wall, mud-caked and vacant-eyed, a soft drink teetering on his knee.
"There he is. Old Boo. He can barely move, much less lift that Coke. That was the way he always played. All out, all the time. You don't know how many times I talked about him Up There. People asked me, 'Who was the toughest player you knew?' and I'd say, 'Boo Mason, pound for pound.' Five feet 10,165. The determination he had!"
The publicist hands him the latest Tulane football brochure, a slick-cover edition with an accordion-pleat foldout roster to accommodate an army of 128 varsity players. The major whistles softly. He says he seems to remember when Tulane "didn't have half that many."
The cover of the brochure features a smiling, long-haired blonde; admirably developed legs protrude from the tails of a "Tulane 72" green jersey. No. 72's arms are raised, signaling a touchdown.
"That doesn't look like any of the guys I played with," the major says. "Not that I'da minded. Nothing would surprise me anymore."
"Recruiting has taken a turn for the better," the publicist says.