Reflections from the Dome
TO MY FOOTBALL SUIT Farewells I've spoken
Oft have I worn thee,
Thy seams are ragged,
Thou'rt rather muddy, --Daniel Vincent Casey, Notre Dame football player 1894,95
The following account of Notre Dame's first three football contests is from John Kryk's excellent book on the Notre Dame - Michigan rivalry called Natural Enemies The Notre Dame-Michigan football feud. Carefully taught: 1887-88
I. Fall term, '87 Before November 23, 1887, this was football at Notre Dame: A hundred boys to a side, all scrambling to get a round ball over the opponent's fence by any means. Kick it, toss it, slap it-whatever. If you want to get technical, it was part soccer and part rugby, but mostly it was pure pandemonium. The first echo wasn't awakened until the University of Michigan's team dropped by to teach-literally teach-Notre Dame to play rugby football. In this spirit, the rivalry began as a marriage made in football heaven. The hellish divorce was still years away. Three men deserve all the credit for arranging what was really only a demonstration game. Former Notre Dame students George DeHaven and Billy Harless, as members of the '87 Wolverine varsity, set things up from the Michigan end, while Patrick Connors did likewise at Notre Dame. That DeHaven and Harless were born and raised in nearby Chicago, and Connors was an Irish holyman, certainly is fitting from a Notre Dame perspective. Even more fitting, though, is the character exhibited on both sides to see the game through. Those at Notre Dame had the courage to do what no Notre Damers had done before, while those at Michigan embraced the adventurous and overcame a series of daunting obstacles-all qualities much in vogue in the 1880s. It was a decade that saw Americans adopt a "can-do" mentality: a newfound mixture of confidence, resolve, and daring. People from all walks of life suddenly uprooted the boundary posts of reality and chucked them over the horizon. They invented light bulbs, built sky-scrapers, organized themselves as never before, and even ventured off to explore the nether regions of the planet. The post-Civil War baby boomers, now entering adulthood, made adventurism their way of life. The Michigan-Notre Dame story kicked off when two of them, Harless and DeHaven, hooked up in the fall of 1884.
William Warren Harless was beginning his first year at Notre Dame when he befriended George Winthrop DeHaven, Jr., who was already in his sixth year at the school.Considering what these rambunctious teens had in common, it's not surprising they hit it off. DeHaven was 18, Harless 17; both came from Chicago's downtown; and both were studying in the Commercial program, a high-school-level course emphasizing math and business. But their strongest bond of all may have been a love for sports. Both were exceptional athletes, and lucky for them intramural sports dominated on-campus recreation at Notre Dame-a tradition that thrives to this day. Harless and DeHaven achieved their first tandem glory in rowing, as members of the campus-champion six-man team. They also played baseball together.
Like all sports-minded students, DeHaven and Harless were indebted to Connors, the key promoter of campus athletics around this time. Born in Ireland, Patrick Connors had been at Notre Dame as a member of the Brothers of the Holy Cross since 1867. Though not ordained like priests, the brothers were entrusted with integral roles at Notre Dame, and Connors-who went by his religious name of Brother Paul-was a prefect of the senior department, for students 17 and older. He would always go to bat for, and get bats for, ever-grateful pupils of all ages. And because he himself was only in his mid-30s, it's no surprise Brother Paul was one of the most well-liked religious men on campus. He and DeHaven apparently hit it off exceptionally well. In Brother Paul's impressive intramural program, baseball and rowing were the most popular sports, but lawn tennis and handball were beginning to flourish. And so was that chaotic game the students called football. Fate left it for DeHaven and Harless to go and discover the genuine version and bring it back to Notre Dame. They left after the 1885-86 school year. Academic records do not list either as having received his Commercial diploma, but both had become, essentially, high school graduates. DeHaven was 20, Harless 19. Their parents back in Chicago were apparently well-to-do, because they had the luxury of pursuing a higher education elsewhere-and perhaps broadening their athletic horizons at the same time. So in the fall of 1886, Harless and DeHaven together enrolled in the arts department at the University of Michigan. In Ann Arbor they found a wholly different learning atmosphere from that at Notre Dame. The Michigan student body was four times as large (1,600 to Notre Dame's 400), the curricula far wider in scope, the discipline not anywhere near as rigid. On the latter point, the Cornell Sun printed a stinging criticism of Michigan that fall: "The absence of government in Michigan University was so notorious that some wag was tempted to say thar the University had but two rules: 1) No student shall set on fire any of the college buildings; 2) Under no circumstances shall any student kill a member of the faculty." Suffice it to say, DeHaven and Harless were entering a more liberal setting. With the chains off, as it were, they apparently did not apply themselves liberally to their arts studies, because they didn't graduate from Michigan, either. Perhaps their minds too often drifted away from their books and onto the playing fields, where both continued to excel. Harless was a star in the U of M's annual fall and spring "field days," winning the shot put and hammer throw events as a freshman. Harless also was a good wrestler, but in that sport DeHaven was unbeatable. A robust man, DeHaven was the campus wrestling champion in each of his four years at Michigan. That first autumn, Harless tried out for the varsity football team and made it, albeit as a "scrub," or substitute. DeHaven's only football experience in '86 came in the loosely regulated class games, or "rushes," which were like the mass pushing and shoving matches at Notre Dame. In the fall of 1887, DeHaven joined his best friend on the Michigan varsity, and that's when the ball really got rolling. Both were good enough to start-Harless at center, DeHaven at left rush end. DeHaven, as one might expect of a wrestling champion, took an instant liking to the rugged opportunities in rugby football, even before the '87 Wolverines had played an outside game. At the time, Michigan was playing only two or three contests a season, usually late in the autumn following a couple of months of rigorous preparation. This year Michigan was gearing up for a Thanksgiving Day trip to Chicago, ostensibly to play Northwestern. DeHaven's enthusiasm was to Notre Dame's everlasting benefit. He still had pen pals back at Notre Dame, and in mid-October he wrote Brother Paul about this wonderful new game and Michigan's pending journey west. New game, huh? Brother Paul, ever open to fresh athletic challenges for the boys, was interested, not just in learning how to play the sport, but in actually pitting a campus team against Michigan. That was a radical idea because Notre Dame had never before been party to an intercollegiate athletic contest. But this was the 1885, when radicalism was in and conservativism was out. Brother Paul wrote back to his friend at Michigan and asked if DeHaven and Harless could convince the Wolverines to make a stop at Notre Dame, on their way to Chicago, and teach some seniors this rugby brand of football. DeHaven said he'd try, and this morsel of hope thrilled the Notre Dame campus. "If matters can be properly adjusted," the student newspaper, The Scholastic, announced on October 29, "a match game of football will take place on the senior campus about the 27th of next month. ...The Ann Arbor boys hold the championship of the West, and are such fine players that they will probably contend with the leading Eastern teams next spring for the college championship of the United States. However, there is good material here for a fine team, and the boys will undoubtedly give the Michigan players a hard 'tussle."' By the middle of November the tussle was confirmed; DeHaven and Harless had bent enough arms. Michigan would visit Notre Dame on Wednesday, November 23-a day before the Wolverines' big Thanksgiving Day contest with Northwestern in Chicago. (Imagine, North- western the red-letter game, not Notre Dame.) Brother Paul then initiated the tradition of ensuring that Notre Dame's athletes were well prepared and at their fighting best. He immediately obtained a copy of the eastern rules, and may also have secured one of the egg-shaped balls used by the rugbians. Six days before the game he rounded up a group of seniors who painstakingly, and awkwardly, tried learning from the book. They found little success. To Brother Paul's disappointment, Notre Dame was as ready as it was going to get. So, too, was Michigan after a 32-0 pasting of Albion. Then the fateful trip was almost sacked. A few days before Michigan was to embark, Northwestern chickened out of the Turkey Day game. Evidently, the Wolverines had sent a man to Chicago ahead of time to properly teach the Northwestern boys rugby football, but this rough-and-tumble version was not to the liking of the mild-cats, and they immediately wired their cancellation. Suddenly the Wolverines had no big game to look forward to. No one could have blamed them if they scrapped the trip right then and there. But enough money had already been raised to cover the trip's expenses-$150 by students, plus the usual donations by Ann Arbor merchants. And the Wolverines hadn't been practicing two months for nothing. So on the Monday before Thanksgiving they decided to send a representative to Chicago to schedule any football team he could find, and on that adventurous premise the trip was on. And what a crazy trip it would be. Not that Notre Dame was out of the way; the Michigan Central Rail Road passed through Niles, a city in Michigan that hugs the Indiana border just a few miles north of Notre Dame. The problem was in logistics. The Wolverines wanted to reach Chicago by Wednesday evening, for a good night's rest before the mystery game. That meant their brief visit to Notre Dame would have to be made on Wednesday morning, and that meant leaving Ann Arbor late Tuesday and traveling through the night. Still, it must have all sounded like good fun to these venturesome young men, especially with the added persuasion from DeHaven and Harless. After Tuesday's last classes before the Thanksgiving break, the Wolverines slogged through mud and freshly fallen snow and congregated at the Ann Arbor station. Of course, only on such a brisk night would the train be an hour late. When it finally arrived, the damp, weary players hit the sack, and the train steamed on into the night. At dawn, they pulled into Niles. There was no time to spare because their connection to Chicago was due to pass through at three o'clock that afternoon. So after a quick breakfast, the Wolverines changed cars and arrived at the Notre Dame depot at about nine. They were greeted by a reception committee of students, who shuffled them off on a tour of the campus. There wasn't a whole lot to see. Notre Dame, Indiana, consisted of the domed administration building (even then it was golden), the Sacred Heart church, a barn, several school halls and boarding houses, and three playing fields. About all that awed the Michiganders was the elegant artwork and valuables inside many of the buildings. A showcase of rare coins and medals then on display in the library was a particular highlight. It must have been an odd sight, this tour. Reports indicate the hosts couldn't have been more gracious, nor the visitors more appreciative. One would suspect if tea had been served, pinkies everywhere would have been pointing skyward. Two hours of touring later, the point of the trip was remembered. Right, football! The Wolverines changed into their spotless white uniforms, the Notre Damers into their usual outdoor gear, and together they made their way to the senior campus field. Michigan's lineup this day consisted entirely of students. That needs to be said because this was the heyday of the "ringer" -when local ruffians not associated with a school were wantonly played. Just about every school was playing them, and, at least before the 1890s, nobody seemed particularly to mind. A behemoth of a lineman named J.H. Duffie was apparently the only ringer Michigan used in 1887. Duffie didn't accompany the Wolverines to Notre Dame but would meet up with the team later that day in Chicago. (He might well have been the man sent ahead to find the replacement opponent.)
The stars on the Michigan team were the Duffy brothers, James E. and John L. Both had great speed and were exceptional kickers; in fact, in 1891 James would tie the American football record by booting a 55-yard field goal. The best athlete from the Notre Dame team, unquestionably, was halfback Harry Jewett. He would soon become the world champion in both the 100-yard dash and the 220-yard run, and would also set a national record in the hop, step, and jump (triple jump). Waiting to cheer on all the players was the entire Notre Dame student body, now more than 500 in number. As no grandstand existed, the boys simply surrounded the senior field en masse. If that wasn't enough school spirit, the campus band assembled for the game. The Notre Dame Victory March would not be written for 21 more years, yet here was the band firing up the crowd to set another famous precedent from the get -go. The only downer was the condition of the field. Melting snow was turning it into a bog. "There was no necessity of oiling the grounds," The Scholastic wryly noted. At about 11 o'clock the elevens trotted onto the slop, which we can only assume was somehow marked to proper proportions. Before the players were set to have at it, Brother Paul informed DeHaven that the Notre Dame boys-several of them former classmates of DeHaven's and Harless's-had had trouble playing by the book. Brother Paul then suggested the teams at first be mixed for a brief period of hands- on instruction. The Wolverines agreed. "So we played gently with them that day," DeHaven recalled, ". .. and carefully taught Notre Dame how to play modern football." When the Notre Dame players learned just how physical this game was, they took to it with reckless abandon. Too reckless, actually. One student in attendance recalled DeHaven and company having to caution their eager pupils against playing too violently. After this brief tutorial, the players segregated into their proper squads and played a 30-minute game. When both sides finished slipping, rolling, and tumbling in the mud, Michigan tallied two touchdowns to win 8-0. (Touchdowns were worth four points. More about methods of scoring will follow shortly.) It was said the Notre Dame players, as well as the students in attendance, appreciated the fact the Wolverines did not try to run it up on their disadvantaged hosts. Both Michigan scores were unconverted because, of course, there were no goalposts. Nowhere was it recorded who made the touchdowns, but that's understandable considering the informality of the occasion. "We always thought of it as just a practice game," recalled Frank Fehr, a Notre Dame lineman. "But then years later, they decided it was Notre Dame's first intercollegiate football game. I guess that made us historic, but we never thought of it that way." Afterward, both teams quickly cleaned up and changed back into their dry garments. The players were allowed a short rest, and then "footballists" and students alike marched toward the massive dining hall. Following a hearty meal, the Wolverines were escorted to a reception parlor, where they were introduced to the Notre Dame president, Rev. Thomas Walsh. His "kindly manor put all at ease," wrote one of the Wolverines the next week in the Michigan student newspaper, The Chronicle. Then Walsh assured the Wolverines "of the cordial reception that would always await them at Notre Dame," The Scholastic recorded. It was now one o'clock, and the Wolverines wanted to get going back to Niles, in the event their connection to Chicago arrived early. The entire visit had lasted only four hours. "After a hurried handshaking," wrote The Chronicle's correspondent, "we were loaded into carriages, which were in waiting through the courtesy of our hosts, and the road for Niles taken amid hearty cheers and with the kindliest feelings for our friends of Notre Dame." Encouraging start, or what! The remainder of the Wolverines' trip was equally splendid, if you discount the weather. After arriving in Chicago, Michigan learned that the Harvard School would be the next day's opponent. No, not the Ivy League juggernaut. Nor the local ad-hoc team of Harvard and Yale alumni, although this has been erroneously reported many times over the years. The Harvard School was in fact a school, a renowned Chicago prep school at that. Northwestern probably suggested this foe because it had played Harvard the previous year. And there was an element of prestige at stake, because this Harvard had never lost a game of football. But even with the help of a few ringers from the crowd, Harvard's teenage boys were no match for the champions of the West that Thanksgiving Day. Michigan won 26-0. The game was played in pouring rain and finished in the bitter chill of darkness. That night the Wolverines might have wondered just how much they had to be thankful for, after having played two games in as many days in utterly dreadful conditions. While some Wolverines hopped a train back to Ann Arbor that night, most.of the conquering heroes returned home on Friday. Back at Notre Dame, rugby football was the new rage. "We had been playing what we called football on the campus," Fehr said, "but we could see after the Michigan visit that we had to become more organized. The trouble was that we didn't really know much about it, just that it was a game that would be fun." Ah, but then that can-do mentality took over. Beginning the following Tuesday, a series of meetings led to the formation of the Rugby Football Association at Notre Dame. Brother Paul was elected president. A report in the next Scholastic revealed to what football heights Notre Dame instantly aspired: "Great enthusiasm was manifested in the meetings, and prospects are bright for a football team which will be able to cope with any eleven in the West." Champions of the West included, and soon the Notre Dame boys would get another crack at the Wolverines, this time for real. Meantime, as 1887 wound down, rugby football was played almost daily on the athletic fields at Notre Dame. The campus was taking to the game with a serious passion. Perhaps too serious. A few more cautions from the Wolverines might have been in order. "The football teams are taking advantage of the pleasant weather to keep up the enthusiasm," wrote The Scholastic on December 17. "Liniments and soothing ointments will be acceptable for Christmas donations." II., III. Spring term, '88 The winter of 1888 was brutal, one of the harshest in American history. When it finally showed signs of subsiding in March, Notre Dame's footballists instantly burrowed out of hibernation. Hey, why wait until fall to play again? About the only thing on campus that hadn't been in a deep freeze was the burning passion for football. Fanning the flames was the ever- energetic Brother Paul. He had organized the Rugby Football Association's fundraisers to buy new balls and proper uniforms, and he was now planning a course outline for the spring-a follow-up to Football 101 as conducted by the Michigan Wolverines the previous fall. The same teachers were sought for spring term. "Notre Dame challenged us to a game in South Bend and another the day following at Notre Dame," George DeHaven remembered. Unlike last time, though, DeHaven and mate Billy Harless didn't have to bend any arms. "Mr. DeHaven writes from Ann Arbor that the boys of the University of Michigan have such pleasant remembrances of their Thanksgiving game here that they are anxious to play here again," reported The Scholastic on March 24. The games were soon confirmed: for Friday, April 20, in South Bend, and Saturday the 21st on the Notre Dame campus. The first was arranged solely to help cover the Wolverines' costs (as there would be a price of admission). Neither side had much time to prepare. At Notre Dame, lingering snowstorms kept the first-string team (the "Specials") from squaring off against the backups (the "Anti-Specials") until the end of March. As per the plan, the Specials' weaknesses were spotlighted in a sluggish 20-0 win over the scrubs. One glaring need was to get into shape. "Our footballists are endeavoring to raise the wind by running around the lake several times a day," The Scholastic recorded. This stepped-up training regimen plus a slew of mixed-squad games did the trick, because in their final tune-up on April 12, the Specials mashed the Anti-Specials 32-6. That was more like it. "It is the opinion of most of the students that our special team will give the Ann Arbor boys a hard struggle," The Scholastic observed. Struggle was the catchword back in Ann Arbor. DeHaven and Billy Harless were unable, after all, to round up all of last autumn's team. Even worse, three starters who had committed to the trip were on the "hospital list": Royal Farrand's knee was in a cast, and Ernest Sprague and Fred Townsend were hurt in the final days of practice. "We were totally unprepared," DeHaven remembered, "but I got five starters to go, and with Harless and I (we wanted to see some South Bend friends) and four of our friends, who had never played, and a referee, we went." The starters from the '87 team included the Duffy brothers and the ringer, J.H. Duffie. A note of infamy for the record: Duffie and two of the friends DeHaven referred to-nonstudents G. Briggs and E. Rhodes-apparently were the only ringers ever to play in a Michigan-Notre Dame contest. Outside help notwithstanding, this patchwork Michigan squad was cut from a lesser cloth than the one sent to Notre Dame the previous fall. That didn't matter to the Michigan student body, which expected the Wolverines to return from Notre Dame not only victorious but unscored upon, to keep intact a four-year string of shutting out the opposition. As the Wolverines' train pulled into South Bend, it was plain for all to see that Old Man Winter still hadn't finished with the Michiana region. The ground was lightly covered by snow-as rare a sight on April 19 as football games would become.
Some 300 to 400 South Benders braved the unseasonable elements and showed up Friday afternoon at Green Stocking Ball Park. "The football craze has even affected our local dude," The Scholastic deduced. A foot race, 100 yards in length, preceded the game and was open to members of both teams. James Duffy of Michigan and Notre Dame's Harry Jewett, the world-class-sprinter-to-be, took the challenge. So did Notre Dame's Joe Hepburn and an unidentified South Bend runner. Jewett stumbled at the start and, even with his great speed, was not able to catch the fleet Duffy. At 3:20 the game was initiated by Sprague, the injured Michigan player serving as referee. There was no need for the Wolverines to provide any pregame instruction this time because the Notre Dame Specials-eight of whom had started in last fall's inculcation-were especially ready. The first 30-minute half was interrupted several times while the teams dickered over the rules, a common occurrence back then. There was no argument, however, as to which was the better team in that opening half. Michigan completely dominated play, giving the pro-Notre Dame crowd little reason to cheer. Three minutes and 28 seconds into the game, James Duffy scored a touchdown. His older brother, John, missed the conversion, so it was 4-0, Michigan. Now, about those four-point touchdowns. The scoring system back then was as radically different as the game itself. Touchdowns counted four, conversions two, and field goals five points. You had three downs to gain five yards, forward passes were illegal, and the riskiest, most wide-open plays were-get this-end runs. Perhaps the best way to illustrate how much this game has evolved since then is to explain how touchdowns and conversions were scored. Until 1900, a rule required the scoring player to touch the ball down on the ground after crossing the goal line-hence the term touchdown. If he crossed over the goal but fumbled to the defensive team before touching the ball down, it was a touchback. The conversion was another adventure. It was a free placekick that could be attempted from any distance; the challenge lay in getting favorably aligned with the goal posts. You had two options after scoring your touchdown. The first was to take an automatic placement anywhere along the end-zone-to-end-zone line of the touchdown spot. When you scored in the middle of the field, you gladly took this option and attempted the conversion from the middle of the field. When you scored nearer to the sidelines, however, you gave your kicker a harsh angle, and that's when you'd exercise the second option. From the precise touchdown spot behind the goal line, you could punt out to the field of play, and wherever a member of your team caught the ball is where the kicker tried the conversion-a placement hopefully closer to the middle of the field. This "punt-out" stuff was tricky business, so the idea was to score your touchdowns as near to the goal posts as possible. The touchdown requisite and the first option on conversions derived from rugby, in which both still apply. Only Michigan had to concern itself with such rules as the first half continued. William Ball, Duffie, and James Duffy scored additional touchdowns (John Duffy converting only two of them) to give the Wolverines a 20-0 lead. You'd expect if the Notre Dame boys weren't tired out by halftime they sure must have been Duffied out. The second period began much like the first, with Michigan dominating. Ball scored and John Duffy converted to make it 26-0. So much for any Notre Dame threat, Michigan must have thought. This was a blowout. Ah, but soon came the first sign of greatness for Notre Dame. It instantly turned the tide of this weekend doubleheader, to say nothing of the future of the university and the game of football itself. One of the Notre Dame linemen, Frank Springer, somehow secured the ball from a Wolverine and took off with it, crossing the Michigan goal line and touching the ball down for, apparently, Notre Dame's first-ever score. The team and the crowd went wild. Only one problem: referee Sprague claimed Springer had interfered with the Wolverine runner before stripping away the ball, and the score was nullified. No matter.
Fueled by the excitement of this play, the Specials pressed on. A few minutes later, the speedy Jewett got the ball and sent the first volley cheer on high by scoring on a dazzling run. This one counted, and the proud Wolverines were utterly shocked. DeHaven recalled that Jewett "broke through nearly our entire team" en route to what we now call the end zone. To top it off, Ed Prudhomme converted to cut Michigan's lead to 26-6. "Little fine play was shown after that," reported The Scholastic, and the 26-6 score stood. The moral victory was Notre Dame's, however. The Specials had played the Wolverines to a tie in the second half and had slashed Michigan's four-year shutout string. All thoughts at Notre Dame, then, turned to Saturday's rematch. All thoughts for many of the bettors in attendance turned to despair, or worse, because the smart money had ND failing to score at all. It wasn't the last time Notre Dame bucked the odds. A worried, weary group of Wolverines carriaged into the Notre Dame campus on Saturday morning. The Michiganders had good reason to fear this game. Not only was momentum clearly on Notre Dame's side, but James Duffy was called home Friday night for an unknown reason, thereby depriving the Wolverines of their speedy halfback. Worse, lineman Robert Babcock was hurt in Friday's game and could not play. "We were so badly shaken up," DeHaven recalled, "we played our 120- pound referee." Indeed, Ernest Sprague-last week's casualty and yesterday's official-was today's lineman. Michigan brought no other substitutes, so the game would have to be played with only 10 men to a side. Babcock would serve as referee. Before the teams met on the senior campus field, the ever-gracious Notre Dame hosts took the Wolverines on a tour similar to that of last fall's-an inspection of various buildings and their rare artwork. After a pregame meal, the players were then taken on a short boat ride around St. Joseph's Lake. Rest assured, such pregame rituals no longer take place when Michigan visits Notre Dame. Can you imagine Gary Moeller inspecting. .. never mind. At two o'clock, the Specials and the Wolverines took the field. Kickoff was delayed so a South Bend photographer could snap pictures of each team. The Wolverines' worst fears were realized immediately after the kickoff, as Notre Dame methodically pushed the ball downfield. The Wolverines managed to gain possession near their goal line, but Harless knealt down in the end zone for a safety touchdown (a safety). For the first time, Notre Dame led a football game, 2-0. Play remained deep in Michigan territory. John Duffy gave up another safety touchdown to make it 4-0 for Notre Dame. Now the Wolverines were hanging on for dear life. With two minutes left in the half, the most controversial play of the weekend unfolded. Michigan scored a highly questionable touchdown, as The Scholastic explained: "Sprague took the ball, while the others players were settling some dispute, and made a touchdown for his side, and a goal kick by Duffy gave them two more points. Notre Dame claimed the touchdown was illegal, asserting that Sprague neglected to put the ball in play, and furthermore went out of bounds on his way to the goal. The referee, however, could not see it in this light." Like Sprague the day before, Babcock was anything but a home-town referee. So Michigan led 6-4 at the half. The Wolverines composed themselves after the intermission and played much better. Harless scored a legitimate touchdown, Duffy missing the conversion, to increase Michigan's lead to 10-4. To nail down the victory, though, the Wolverines later needed more help from their referee. Jewett scored an apparently legal touchdown for Notre Dame, but Babcock, for some reason, disallowed it. Final score: Michigan 10, Notre Dame 4. Notre Dame passed these weekend tests with flying colors, even if Michigan taught little about fair play. Had Jewett's touchdown been counted and Sprague's disallowed, Notre Dame might well have wound up an 8-4 winner. "By many it is believed Notre Dame won the game," contended The Scholastic. In fact 21 years later, a campus prefect remembered that Notre Dame had indeed split the weekend series. DeHaven had a somewhat different recollection of the Saturday game: "They were so rude to us we narrowly escaped defeat." Unsurprisingly, however, these disputes were left on the gridiron. This was another tradition carried over from rugby. Besides, Notre Dame found so much consolation in the two moral victories there was no room left for bitterness. "The record of Ann Arbor was badly broken, and they have not had as hard a tussle for some time as they experienced (here)," The Scholastic later beamed. But know this: It was the last time Notre Dame ever felt so much as a smidgen of joy after losing to Michigan. There was no rest for the weary after the game. The teams quickly cleaned up and wolfed down some dinner before a group of Notre Damers escorted the Wolverines back to Niles, where their connection back to Ann Arbor was due to leave at five o'clock. "Poor DeHaven," The Scholastic quipped, "almost had his arm talked off whilst waiting for the train." And DeHaven and his teammates almost had their ears booed off whilst deboarding the train. "It was a badly battered team that landed in the crowded Ann Arbor depot," DeHaven recounted, "and we received a proper razzing for breaking a four-year record." And this apparently was in response to the news of only Friday's 26-6 score. It seems no Wolverine dared mention a word about Saturday's tight struggle, because the next edition of Michigan's Chronicle reported only Friday's victory. In fact more than half a century would pass before the 10-4 triumph was recorded in Michigan football annals. But that story will be dealt with later. The next week's Scholastic, meanwhile, raved at length about the Wolverines' second visit. "They made a favorable impression by their manly bearing and courteous conduct, and we hope that next year may bring with it another friendly contest for football honors." Having been tutored by Michigan three times in six months, Notre Dame had every reason to expect such visits on a regular basis. But it would be 54 years before a Michigan football team again set foot on the Notre Dame campus. And it wasn't until 1898 that these teams played again anywhere. The Michigan-Notre Dame series was now on ice-just another victim of the winter of '88. The three founders of this series may never have crossed paths again. Oddly, DeHaven's playing days at Michigan ended with these games, while Harless suited up only sporadically in 1889 and '90. Despite failing to earn their Michigan degrees, both earned passing grades in the insurance business. And despite having gone their separate ways, Harless and DeHaven remained lifelong friends. Harless planted his roots back in dear old Chicago. After serving as a captain in the Seventh Cavalry during the Spanish-American War of 1898, Harless set about ingraining another sport into the nation's conscience: golf. It became his great passion, and he earned renown as a player and as secretary of the Western Golf Association. Harless died in 1923 at age 56. DeHaven ran insurance businesses in Buffalo and Philadelphia before heading west and setting up similar shop in Hollywood. There he retired among the stars, dying in 1948 at 82. Brother Paul might have remained a vibrant force on the Notre Dame campus for decades to come, but he succumbed to illness only five years later, in 1893. He was 43. His role has often been either undervalued or ignored by Notre Dame football historians. But it was this Irishman who fought the hardest to entrench football at Notre Dame. Indeed, the Fighting Irish owe their start, if not their nickname, to this man.
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