Mr. Stephens settled back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his vest. "So this January," he continued, "I talked to some Yankee Stadium people about renting their place. 'What do you want it for?' they asked. 'The Air Force-Army game,' I said. 'You're crazy,' they said. 'People have been telling me that for years,' I told them, 'and it doesn't bother me a bit.'
"Well, I got the option and went out to talk to the Air Force people in Colorado. They said they had originally agreed to the game at West Point because they wanted to beat the pants off Army in its own backyard. Besides, being a new school, they didn't think they'd have a first-rate team so soon, one that could fill a large ball park.
"But last year's success, when they went undefeated—and then played a scoreless tie in the Cotton Bowl—made it a different story. They were eager to get more tickets. So we got to talking, myself and the Air Force and the Army and the Defense Department and a few friends I have in Washington, and everybody eventually decided the game would be better situated in Yankee Stadium.
"It was a providential move. The Air Force, instead of only 2,500 tickets, got 30,000. My office helped with the sale free of charge. We added a few extra people, had a few extra phones installed and we were in business. We stopped selling September 24 and had to return 6,000 applications as it was."
D. Mallory Stephens, politician, financier and Air Force buff, allowed himself a fleeting Trumanesque smile of contentment. "I think," he said, "it's safe to call the game a helluva financial success. All the Air Academy has to do now is win."
Questions of Ethics
Once upon a time a quarterback could tell his team, "I'll go right this time—everybody block." Those days are long gone, so long, in fact, that at Louisiana State University, Coach Paul Dietzel is obliged to resort to a method that raises some new questions of ethics.
In order to leave as little as possible to frantic mid-battle chance, he tapes what amounts to prompting cards on his quarterbacks' wrists to furnish instant hints on which plays work best when and where. Such a system served admirably against Kentucky a fortnight ago. Noting a weakness on the Kentucky left, for instance, Warren Rabb, the LSU quarterback, had only to glance at the higgledy-piggledy on his wrist (see cut) to be reminded that 2-15 RV BT to FB was just the thing to exploit that defensive lapse. Accordingly, he called a reverse bootleg to the right, fullback carrying.
"It's like walking down the street and seeing somebody you recognize but can't recall his name," explains Dietzel. "The ready-reference play-callers supply the name in shorthand and let these kids concentrate on the physical part of their jobs."
The new questions for the class in ethics: