In 2011, I wrote to Admiral John Dick in Eugene, saying I was exploring the possibility of writing a book about the 1938–39 national champion Webfoots. By then, he was the final surviving starter. In the letter, I explained that if I decided to move forward, and if he were agreeable, I would hope to travel to Eugene with an old-fashioned tape recorder and cassettes in my computer bag to meet with him for more extensive sit-down sessions. (I still smile when I think of noted sports writer Blackie Sherrod’s reaction to Horns, Hogs, and Nixon Coming. He wrote that I “must have worn out a dozen tape recorders.”)
At the time, I was also researching 1936 Olympic decathlon champion Glenn Morris’s toxic affair with German actress/filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl for a possible nonfiction book.
Soon after, Admiral Dick and I connected on the phone. Thinking we might talk a bit about the Tall Firs that day, I taped the conversation. I just listened to it again.
“I was awakened with fond memories of the Frei family,” he said. “I remember your days here and your dad’s days before you. I’m very favorably inclined to do whatever I can to help you.”
I was both honored and flattered, and also struck that, at age 92, he still sounded like an admiral.
He explained that he had recently fallen in his home and wasn’t yet up to speaking more than a few minutes on the phone, and certainly not going through long interviews. “I just had a little mishap not long ago and I wound up being briefly hospitalized and having to go through rehab,” he said. “I’m still in the rehab end of things there. I’m more than willing to talk to you, but it’s just that I have to complete this other requirement.”
Of course, I had waited too long. We weren’t able to get together. But his endorsement and encouragement eventually became one of the many driving forces for me in deciding to turn to this after writing the Morris/Riefenstahl story as Olympic Affair: A Novel of Hitler’s Siren and America’s Hero. When I got word of Admiral Dick’s death, I not only figuratively saluted a great man, I again regretted not moving sooner on a book about that team and those times. And I mean years, perhaps even many years, earlier. That was selfish, but I would have loved to have had the opportunity to speak directly and at length with Hobby and the Admiral and Bobby and Wally and Laddie and their teammates, whether the discussions ended up as part of a book project or otherwise. As with Third Down and a War to Go, another book I waited too long to do, when I came back to this project, I was determined to do justice to the men and the story, and I treated the research process as a means of answering my own questions and satisfying my own curiosity. All along, I was determined to place the Webfoots’ accomplishments in the context of the college basketball scene, the country, and the world of 1939. That, of course, included the rivalry between the two major basketball tournaments. My virtually lifelong reverence of Clair Bee was a backdrop. During breaks from the writing, I went back and re-read several of the Chip Hilton basketball stories. As always, Chip’s Valley Falls Big Reds or the State U. Statesmen either won gloriously . . . or lost gallantly.
At the end of our conversation in 2011, John Dick thanked me for understanding.
So now to the Admiral and all his teammates, I again say: No . . . Thank you.
My gratitude also goes to offspring and survivors, including (but not limited to) Peggy Anet, John Michael Dick, David Hobson, Hank Gale, Kirk Johansen, Jim and Scott McNeeley, Jessie Mullen, Bob Pavalunas, Dan Strite, and Robin (Gale) Terrett.
Fellow scribe and longtime buddy Jim Beseda is an Oregon grad who as a Sigma Nu fraternity member was required to learn the names of the 1939 Webfoots who walked the same halls. He again provided help on several fronts.
Matt Walks, a Denver Post sports department intern in 2012 and the Oregon Daily Emerald’s sports editor in 2012–13, pitched in, too, with looks back into the student paper’s archives. He’s now a sports web producer for Digital First Media.
I appreciate the acknowledgment and support of the University of Oregon athletic department, including Rob Mullens, Jim Bartko, Craig Pintens, and Jeff Eberhart; and the help from the University of Oregon Library’s Jennifer O’Neal, Karen Estlund, and Lesli Larson, and the Oregon Historical Society’s Scott Daniels.
Finally, I again offer my gratitude to all the folks at Taylor Trade, especially Rick Rinehart, who have shown faith in me, taken chances with me, and stuck with me.
Terry Frei
Denver, Colorado