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Paul Choquette is a Catholic and the bruising kind of fullback who will run over you; his mother was a Gilbane from Providence and the sister of two former stars at Brown. So Paul had a hard time in choosing between Notre Dame and Brown, completely ignoring offers from LSU—which invited him down for Mardi Gras—and 30 other schools. He picked Notre Dame but injured his back before enrolling and then, afraid he would never be able to play football, decided instead to go to Brown. The decision has made Brown very happy.
Brown has been good for Choquette, too, although Paul's father, a chemical engineer out of MIT, has had to foot the bill. Only occasionally now does Choquette regret that he didn't get a crack at playing for the big team in South Bend.
Choquette does not consider himself an Ivy League type, despite his smooth clothes, his obvious poise and membership in a handful of clubs. He wants to be a lawyer and probably will; he is an outstanding student, one of five Brown undergraduates recommended for a Rhodes scholarship. The only irritant in his life is that Brown does not always show universal enthusiasm for football.
A big, blond, handsome prototype of the Ivy Leaguer, Bill Gundy is an enigma. A terrific passer, he doubts that he is good enough for the pros. Warm and well-liked, he doubts that other students are impressed because he is a successful athlete. He sometimes lacks confidence in what he does and wonders if his Ivy League background will really help him find a job. But the truth is that no one worries about Bill Gundy but Bill Gundy.
Although his father is a prospering Rye, N.Y. pediatrician, Gundy works to help pay his way through school. "I can't qualify for a scholarship because of need," he says, "but I have an older brother in med school and a younger brother at Dartmouth. I feel a duty to make part of my expenses."
So Gundy peddles sandwiches during the evening which his wife makes during the day. There are also two little Gundys, which means that Bill plays football, works and raises a family; he also finds time to make a senior honor society while carrying a heavy study load (abnormal psychology, economic history, advanced psychology, great issues) and belongs to a fraternity. It is difficult to understand why Bill Gundy should be unsure of himself.
Fred Doelling comes from Valparaiso, Ind., where his father is a painting contractor who never went past the 10th grade, but Doelling isn't trying to prove anything by going to school in the Ivy League. He is having a ball.
A slick dresser in narrow lapels, eyelet-collar shirts and striped ties, this handsome kid from Penn who leads the conference in rushing is taking a predentistry course but really wants to play pro ball. Although his grades are only slightly above C, he doesn't worry. "I can do B work in the spring," he says, and he probably will. He lives at the Phi Delta Theta fraternity house.