A quarter-century ago, I was in the early stages of writing a book about the history of Memorial Stadium on the University of Texas campus. Before the writing, of course, came the research—of which there was a lot. And during that process, I just never knew what I might come across. I remember five especially poignant things from my research that led to “For Texas, I Will.”
1. Ralph Elder, head librarian at the Barker Texas History Center, found a reference to something that he said might prove interesting. Since the file was located at an off-campus library, I had to think twice about whether it was worth the effort. However, since I was seeking to write a comprehensive account of the stadium’s history, I went there. What I found were two large scrapbooks that some unidentified person(s) had put together during the early 1920s when the stadium was being planned and built. Evidently unopened for the previous 65 or so years, they were a virtual gold mine of photos, clippings and other information, giving a good sense of what it was like at UT when Memorial Stadium came to anchor the west side of campus.
2. The whirlwind 9-month fundraising campaign that allowed the stadium's construction in 1924 was inspiring but messy. Pressure was shamelessly put on students, alumni, merchants and others to donate. Many, including the Ku Klux Klan, did. As was frequently stated, however, a pledge did not equate to money in hand. It was easy to say, "Sure, put me down for $100." That would get a fiery-eyed student off one's porch. But distressingly often, people did not follow through. Lawsuits to compel payment were considered but eventually shelved because of the ugly situations that would have come about. Almost 1/4 of the money that was pledged was never given, which caused some corners to be cut in the construction of Memorial Stadium. It was a bare-bones facility when the Longhorns and Texas A&M Aggies faced off on dedication day, November 27, 1924.
3. It is often stated that in 1954, Duke Washington of Washington State University became the first black athlete to ever set foot on the hallowed turf of Memorial Stadium. In the Horns' 40-14 victory, Washington scored on a 73-yard run in the first half that brought most of the student section to its feet. While that would seem to indicate UT was ready for football integration, another 16 years would elapse before Julius Whittier had that honor. Interesting, but wholly beside the point.
Washington, to be precise, was the first black athlete at the stadium in interracial competition because in 1933, an all-black game had been held there. I vaguely recollect that Wiley and Prairie View A&M played, but I do not know who won. The two voluntary officials were UT head football coach Clyde Littlefield and star running back Bohn Hilliard. I am all but certain it never happened again. I have often wondered whose idea this game was; what repercussions there were within the UT administration and among students and alumni; what kind of attendance it got; and whether anyone present thought a black guy would ever wear the orange and white. I would give much more than a nickel to know the true feelings of those Wiley and Prairie View players and coaches.
4. The phrase “Hook ’em, Horns” is always attributed to head cheerleader Harley Clark before the Texas-TCU football game of 1955. He and fellow student Henry Pitts came up with it (and the familiar hand sign) on their own—or so we have been told. I was fairly surprised when, poring over the mid-1930s Daily Texan, I found an ad by a local grocery store which contained the words “Hook ’em, Horns!” You could have knocked me down with a feather. To whom should we credit this? Was it ever repeated or did it continue intermittently for the next 22 years before Clark and Pitts unveiled their contribution to school spirit? Who knows? (At any rate, the Horned Frogs won the game, 47-20.)
5. This somewhat pertains to story No. 3 above. During my research, I looked closely at every photograph I found, regardless of the source. What I noticed several times from UT home football games in the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s was the Jim Crow section in the far southeast corner of the stadium. I believe this was done only for lesser games, non-sellouts, since the university had long been conceived as by, for and about European-Americans. The long-standing systematic legal and cultural effort to deprecate and exclude black citizens is painful to remember, and yet we must.
So what did I see in those grainy pictures? A group of men—I do not recall detecting any women—huddled together and watching the game from afar. Some of them may have been members of the Anderson High School team which won the black version of the state championship in 1942 (the Yellow Jackets also won the title in 1957 and 1961). Surely they knew that they were no less talented than their European-American brothers down on the field. Maybe, probably, certainly, they could have made the team and contributed. Since the attendance at the 1954 UT-Washington State game was just 27,000, these gentlemen would have been there in the prescribed corner when Duke Washington did his 73-yard romp to the north end zone. They must have known their time was coming.
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