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The income from the memberships is the only steady money the Foundation now has to pay its staff. However, every year the Honors Court—a group of 12 regional representatives—will name a new set of immortals. Framed scrolls will be presented in appropriate ceremonies at some home game of their former college, and the college will gratefully turn over a percentage of the gate for that day to the Foundation and Hall.
The first of some 20 of these "award games" scheduled for this fall was the California-Pitt game of last Saturday. If few of the 34,976 spectators at Pittsburgh ever heard of the day's honor man, he happened to be a man worth hearing about. His name was Robert Peck, and he made Walter Camp's All-America as center in 1915 and 1916, helping to break a virtual Ivy League and eastern monopoly of Camp's dream team up to that time.
Bob Peck never weighed more than 179, but he was a scrappy extrovert who liked to advise an opposing lineman: "Fellow, this time we're going right through you for 30 yards." He called it more often than not. In practice sessions at Forbes Field, he liked to face the empty stands and declaim: "Fellows, tomorrow 60,000 eyes will be on Peck!"
Bob Peck became football coach of Culver Military Academy after graduation and 11 members of the first team he coached there were on hand for the ceremonies honoring him between halves of the California game. Peck himself was not there. He died in 1932 as he played a round of golf.
If he had been there, he would have enjoyed himself. Peck was getting his due and so was Pitt. California took a 27-7 beating.
Bonanzas of big trout are few and far between in the era of concrete highways and hatchery-raised fish; their hiding places are almost as hard to discover and as hard to reach as the untapped gold pockets of the Yukon. Colorado's Cherry Lake is a good example. It is an oblong of deep blue water which nestles under the peaks at 11,000 feet in the high Rockies southeast of Salida. It is inhabited by a fighting breed of big cutthroat trout. But reaching it from Denver during even a three-day weekend is difficult; a fishing party needs jeeps to reach 7,800 feet, a pack train to get up the sheer mountain walls to the lake.
But fishermen, like prospectors, develop a feverish talent for logistics when contemplating the possibility of hitting it rich in the wilderness. The Forest Service refuses to allow float planes on small lakes at high altitude, but a Denver masonry contractor named Dean Robinson was struck by an even better idea. He telephoned Denver's newly organized Young Helicopter Service. At dawn on Friday, Robinson and ten friends were at the end of a road at 7,800 feet, watching Pilot Frank Horn easing a Bell bubble job down to pick them up.
Fifteen minutes later Robinson had been lifted over a 12,000-foot ridge and lowered gently to a 20-foot ledge of rock beside the lake. By 9 a.m. the whole party, their sleeping bags and fishing gear and three pup tents had been delivered; they had eaten a breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee and were fishing. When they walked out Sunday afternoon, they had 62 trout. Not one weighed less than a pound. Their expenses, they were delighted to discover, ran $29 a man—compared to the $50 or so which they would have paid if they had used a pack string to labor up the trail.
DERRING-DO IN DALLAS