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FRANKLIN FIELD STORY
Since the University of Pennsylvania has not won a football game since 1953—and by common knowledge does not belong on the same field with the fifth or sixth best team in the country—it is not fully clear why 45,000 people turned up on Saturday to watch Penn play Notre Dame at Franklin Field. Perhaps mainly because Penn is swearing off Notre Dame and similar gridiron juggernauts next year for the relative peace of the Ivy League. So what happened? Notre Dame kicked off—and the 45,000 were instantly lifted to their feet by the most rousing run of the 1955 football season. And, of all things, by a Penn man.
A sophomore named Frank Riepl, starting his first game of the year, caught the Notre Dame kickoff eight yards behind his own goal line and headed upfield. A block saved him on the 15, another as he was crossing the 30, still another near the 40—and he was clear, outlegging the whole Notre Dame defense all the way for a 108-yard touchdown, while the home stands broke into Penn's rather touchingly 19th century victory chant with the lines, "We'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree...."
Upset? Well, no, though there were plenty of those last week (see page 20) and though Sophomore Riepl passed for another touchdown and Penn went proudly off the field at half time incredibly 14-14 with Notre Dame. The final score was 46-14—Notre Dame, of course; in short, pretty much as expected, though Terry Brennan's first team had a longer day than planned.
For Penn it was the 16th defeat in a row. But the 45,000 went home with a clearer notion than ever of why people keep going to football games—even when the two teams don't "belong on the same field."
DIRTY WORK AT DEEPDALE
Until horse racing adopted protective measures of identification, the ringer was no rarity on the nation's tracks. Now his human counterpart is turning up in golf. Increasing popularity and inflation of the Calcutta pool—in which golf players in a tournament are auctioned off to the highest bidder—has given golf a golden aspect to the crook and sharper.
No one would ever have thought the ringer could appear at Deepdale Country Club, built by William K. Vanderbilt and friends and one of Long Island's truly exclusive clubs. Its 130 members rate high in wealth and probity. But happen it did.
Deepdale's course, good enough to attract such golfers as President Eisenhower (when he was at Columbia University) and Bing Crosby, soon will give way to a superhighway. Younger Deepdale members suggested that, as a farewell to their fairways, the annual September tournament be enlivened with a really big Calcutta. Deepdale's old guard wanted a smaller member-and-guest Calcutta—the kind in which every player's handicap is common knowledge—but the old guard lost. For Pete's sake, the idea is to make this tournament memorable, isn't it? It was a winning argument, and prophetic.
Christopher Dunphy, a man of rich experience in operating Calcuttas as at Greenbrier, and in playing Calcutta golf, as at Nassau (where he tied for first place in a tournament with a $96,000 pool), was retained as auctioneer. Among the 104 pairs entered were two personable young men from up around Springfield, Massachusetts, introducing themselves as William Roberts and Richard Vitali, handicapped at 17 and 18 strokes.