Campus Life this month will give us a glimpse of the legendary pep rallies in the old fieldhouse. It's one of my biggest regrets that I missed the last of these rallies by one year (1968). But through Mike Oriard's vivid description from his book End of Autumn, you'll feel like you're right there, dirt floor and all, sweating, cheering, chanting and throwing toilet paper. After that, a description of the rallies staged by the two schools before the '66 game from Mike Celizic's The Biggest Game of Them All.

From The End of Autumn

Our bond with the players also developed in part from the pep rallies on Friday nights before home games. They took place in the old field house, a massive barn like structure with a dirt floor and a balcony at one end where the football players filed in to take their seats above their admirers thronging and cheering below. The players were raised up as on an altar. We 2000 or so students and visitors on the floor were celebrants at a sacred rite, offering homage to our gods elevated above us. We praised them with our cheers, offered thanksgiving for previous victories, and pleaded for continued triumphs. From my position on the floor I viewed the varsity players from what seemed to me the proper perspective. If they were not truly godlike to me, they at least represented human perfection. They stood for a level of excellence for which I longed, but which seemed as far beyond my reach as they were literally above me on the balcony.

Occasionally a guest speaker appeared at the pep rally. One time, Pat O'Brien rendered Knute Rockne's famous half-time speech as he had done it in the movie. For a few minutes I was transported to the Notre Dame locker room just moments before the game is going to begin. The opposing team is a powerhouse, but the great Rock will inspire the Irish to a courageous effort. His sonorous but urgent voice grabs me

We're going inside of them, we're going outside of them; inside of them, outside of them-and when we get them on the run once, we're going to keep them on the run-and we're not going to pass unless their secondary comes up too close. But don't forget, men, we're going to get them on the run; and we're going to go, go, go, go; and we aren't going to stop until we go over that goal line- and don't forget, men. today is the day we're going to win. They can't lick us, and that's how it goes. The first-platoon men go in there and fight, fight, fight, fight, fight!!! What do you say men!

With 2000 others, I yell a resounding, "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Somehow the Rock never really died. On another occasion, Bill Russell rose to say just one sentence "For many years now it has seemed to me that there are two major examples of excellence in sports Boston Celtics basketball and Notre Dame football." We roared our agreement.

A player or two usually spoke next-Jim Lynch, perhaps, the team captain. Clear-eyed, square-jawed, dignified in an unselfconscious way, Lynch seemed to me the epitome of what a captain should be. He seemed so self-assured, so capable, so poised whether in front of 2000 screaming admirers or eleven angry opponents-everything I felt I was not but hoped to be. I watched him in the dining hall and on campus, going to classes (where I had heard he was a good student), with a mixture of respect and envy. I listened to him now as he mouthed familiar cliches about what the mighty Irish would do to our hated rivals tomorrow. I drank them in as if they held the secret to perfect happiness.

The next speaker might be Pete Duranko, who offered a striking contrast to Lynch's more serious appearance. Duranko stood above us, rugged and powerful, looking as if he could drive rivets with his chin.

'You're probably standing there thinking how much I look like Gary Cooper," he began.

I was incapable of irony in my own attitude toward Notre Dame football, but I roared with delight together with the 2000 others as Duranko proceeded to tell a series of achingly bad cornball jokes.

When George Goedekke stood up, he did not have to speak at all. The six-three, 230-pound center with a shaved head simply stood with folded arms across his chest, while we burst into frenzied cheers, crying, "Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean."

He rises before the congregation, dressed in coat and tie instead of the customary sweats he wore on the field, but his suit has now become the sacred vestment of his office. His deep-set dark eyes burn with the conviction of the true believer and his prematurely lined face expresses all the wisdom and deep concern of his calling. He is a short man who is the tallest person in the field house. My first football coach in the fourth grade was a priest; now, the coach I most want to play for seems even more priestlike in the aura through which I see him. Standing magisterially before us, he intones the litany.

"Tomorrow wave got a real challenge out there in that stadium.' We roar our agreement. 'We need your help." Someone to my left cries, "You've got it"; several others roar a prolonged 'Yeah'; we all cheer wildly. "We need every one of you out there in the stadium tomorrow, making just as much noise for the entire sixty minutes as you're making here tonight.' We bellow louder than ever to demonstrate our intentions for tomorrow; a knot of celebrants who dipped a little early and heavily into the sacramental wine whirl into a stumbling Irish jig.

'Purdue' - our cheers turn suddenly to loud boos-"is going to be tough.' Even louder boos. "They've got a great quarterback in Bob Griese." Our disagreement crescendoes; Griese can't touch Brother Hanratty, our violent booing tells him. "They're going to be ready for us. I hear from Lafayette, they think they can beat us." Our outrage peaks with deafening boos; numerous cries of 'Hell, no!' and "Were gonna kill 'em!" spontaneously burst from pockets throughout the crowd; a group in one corner begins chanting, 'Screw Purdue, screw Purdue, screw Purdue. . . ."

"But these young men behind me"-abruptly we explode into cheers, as we focus again on our heroes sitting passively above "have been practicing hard for several weeks to get ready for this game." We send prolonged cheers of gratitude up to the balcony. 'While you were enjoying the end of your summer vacation, these young men have been running, hitting, sweating, and doing everything necessary to get ready for this season and for tomorrow's game." We roar our blessings on them, stamp our feet, clap wildly. "And I'll tell you one thing" -pause; after a few seconds we have become uncannily still, breathlessly awaiting the sacred mystery-'They are ready!' We explode into cheers for several minutes until the Reverend Parseghian raises his hand. 'And III tell you another thing' - pause; pin-dropping silence again-"we're gonna beat those Boilermakersl' We unleash all restraint in thunderous cheers; spontaneous chants of 'Beat those Boilermakers, Beat those Boilermakers, Beat those Boilennakers" fill the field house until the band bursts into the fight song while we rock the building with singing and rhythmic clapping.

After several minutes of prolonged cheering, stomping, and impromptu dancing, we in the congregation settle down as the band now plays the sacred hymn-" Notre Dame, Our Mother." Instantly a more tender emotion reduces us to solemnity, as our 2000 voices sing the alma mater. At its conclusion, our spirits just as suddenly become more martial again, as we burst into wild cheers once more, while the players file out across the front row of the balcony, down the stairs, and to the outside. Drained almost to exhaustion, but anticipating tomorrow's game more than ever, my friends and I troop wearily but happily back to the dorm.

And now, the pep rallies, from The Biggest Game of Them All

Finally, the week ended and all that remained was the ritual screaming of the student bodies. Notre Dame's pep rally came first, on Thursday night. Normally, Notre Dame didn't have pep rallies before away games because the rallies were a Friday night ritual. But this was special. The team would be leaving on Friday, so the rally had to be Thursday. All the writers attended. For many it was their first brush with a Notre Dame pep rally -"a thing that makes strong men tremble," as one writer put it.

"They tore the roof off Notre Dame's field house," the Chicago Sun-Times reported.

"More than 4,500 Notre Dame students and fans arrived an hour early for a 'Game of the Year' pep rally and roared themselves hoarse for almost two hours until coach Ara Parseghian finally addressed them," wrote the more staid Chicago Tribune.

The students built their human pyramids up to the big iron tie rods, and then they literally hung from the rafters, where a stuffed dummy representing Bubba Smith was hung. Finally, they threw the dummy into the mob, which tore it limb from limb and shred from shred until there was nothing left of -it but a memory.

When Ara finally got up to speak, the place rattled with a noise that didn't seem possible. Every roll of toilet paper on campus that hadn't already been thrown into the trees during the band's march around campus now sailed through the air. One of them flew up toward the balcony, up toward Parseghian. He stuck out his left hand and snagged it cleanly. The crowd roared louder, as Ara motioned them to be quiet. Finally, Parseghian got them settled down enough for him to speak.

"There are only five undefeated teams," he began.

"Four, four, four," the crowd chanted back at him, consigning Michigan State to the ranks of the defeated without trial.

"There's nothing wrong with the Notre Dame intelligence and spirit," Ara observed, and the crowd roared in appreciation of itself. "We respect the Spartans, but we are not going to Lansing to lose," he concluded, and turned it over to the mob again.

While Notre Dame held its pep rally, Duffy was holding his first evening meeting of the week with his team. It was held immediately after dinner and lasted only fifteen minutes. "Nothing special," Duffy reported. "No chalk talk. Just talking over what this game means to them as a team and as individuals." And what was that, someone asked. "The National Championship, if you can believe what you read," he said. "Few young men ever get the opportunity to play for what these two teams are playing for."

Michigan State held its pep rally on Friday night. The rally was bigger but not louder since it was held outdoors with a bonfire.