10-13-2010, 12:22 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-13-2010, 05:03 PM by CowboyIndian.)
This is copied from a post on another SU site by a man whose handle is "Stanford Man"; if it breaks any rules, so be it. It explains eloquently what long-time rivalries can mean:
On Monday, October 4, 2010, my dad passed away at the age of 89.
He had been in failing health, and endured a poor quality of life. His passing was a blessing.
But my dad was my hero, and his passing has left an enormous void in my heart. Every son has their story about their relationship with their dad. For me, my story begins and ends with
Stanford.
My dad was a graduate of the Stanford class of 1942, and he received his MD from
Stanford Medical School in 1946. He was on the freshman basketball team, and he also
lettered in gymnastics. Additionally, he was a Yell Leader at Stanford, and served as Yell
King during his senior year. He was a Yell Leader during an era when it was a very, very big
deal. In fact, at every one of his class reunions, he was exhorted by his classmates to lead them in the Axe Yell. God, I loved to watch him lead the Axe Yell, and I was fortunate to videotape him doing it at his 50th class reunion. Newsreels from his years at Stanford showed him leading yells to a student section that followed his prompts with military precision. Moreover, he was a Yell Leader at Stanford during its greatest season in football--when the team went 10-0, and beat Nebraska in the Rose Bowl.
My dad went on from his Stanford days to become an ear, nose and throat specialist, and
related plastic surgeon. He settled in the San Fernando Valley, and quickly became the
premier surgeon in his field in the Los Angeles area. He was a founder of Northridge
Hospital, and served as Chief of Staff and Chief Surgeon at Northridge, Holly Cross and
Encino hospitals. He had an exceptional medical practice, and an exceptional life. He raised
four children, and excelled at hobbies that utilized his gifted hands (like jewelry making, stain
glass design, painting and model building).
Not surprisingly, I was exposed to Stanford at a very early age. From my earliest memory,
I wanted to go to Stanford, just like my dad. As a young boy, I started following Stanford
with a passion. In those days, there was no internet, and the local media barely ever
mentioned Stanford. Regardless, I found ways to follow the Indians--whether it was going to
the library to read bay area newspapers or listen to a static plagued broadcast of a Stanford
game that barely reached the Los Angeles area. But the true nirvana of my Stanford experience as a kid was attending games with my dad. We\'d always attend the particular game that was in Los Angeles that year--UCLA or USC--both of which were played in the Coliseum in those days. We\'d also get up to the Farm for at least one game each year--typically Big Game. So many of those games against USC resulted in a miserable loss for Stanford. From age 5 to age 15, Stanford never beat SC. In 1968, Stanford came close, but no cigar. In 1969, SC stole victory from the jaws of defeat by beating Stanford with a last second field goal --a crushing defeat for the Stanford players and fans. I will never forget the image of my fallen Stanford heroes lying prone on the ground, beating their fists into the turf in disbelief and agony. My passionate opposition to USC was forever etched into my DNA after that game.
My dad\'s devotion to share his love of Stanford with me, may best be illustrated by what
happened during the 1970 season. Shortly after Stanford\'s upset win over highly ranked
Arkansas in the season opener, my family lost its home and all of our possessions in a Santa
Ana windblown brush fire. When the fire approached the house, and the blowing embers
caught hold on the shake roof, my dad abandoned the garden hose that he was using to wet
down the roof, and prepared to leave the property before it was too late. But before he left,
and with only moments to decide what to take, he decided to grab the tickets for the
Stanford-USC football game that would be played the following month. Despite the family
being uprooted by the fire, and despite the enormous loss my parents suffered, as well as the
daunting task of having to literally start over in their life, my dad still made sure that we travelled up to Stanford to see them play USC--a game that would hopefully end a ten year drought oflosing to them; and would likely be a springboard to a Pac-8 Championship, and a trip to the Rose Bowl. Well, we did beat SC that Saturday afternoon; and my parents made sure that I got my game program autographed by Jim Plunkett.
After that, my dad and I shared countless games together over the years. My love and passion for Stanford continued to grow; and it was nurtured by my relationship with my dad. And during my first year at Stanford, I can remember my dad sending me a letter that he addressed to me as "Stanford Man".
On Monday, October 4, 2010, my dad passed away at the age of 89.
He had been in failing health, and endured a poor quality of life. His passing was a blessing.
But my dad was my hero, and his passing has left an enormous void in my heart. Every son has their story about their relationship with their dad. For me, my story begins and ends with
Stanford.
My dad was a graduate of the Stanford class of 1942, and he received his MD from
Stanford Medical School in 1946. He was on the freshman basketball team, and he also
lettered in gymnastics. Additionally, he was a Yell Leader at Stanford, and served as Yell
King during his senior year. He was a Yell Leader during an era when it was a very, very big
deal. In fact, at every one of his class reunions, he was exhorted by his classmates to lead them in the Axe Yell. God, I loved to watch him lead the Axe Yell, and I was fortunate to videotape him doing it at his 50th class reunion. Newsreels from his years at Stanford showed him leading yells to a student section that followed his prompts with military precision. Moreover, he was a Yell Leader at Stanford during its greatest season in football--when the team went 10-0, and beat Nebraska in the Rose Bowl.
My dad went on from his Stanford days to become an ear, nose and throat specialist, and
related plastic surgeon. He settled in the San Fernando Valley, and quickly became the
premier surgeon in his field in the Los Angeles area. He was a founder of Northridge
Hospital, and served as Chief of Staff and Chief Surgeon at Northridge, Holly Cross and
Encino hospitals. He had an exceptional medical practice, and an exceptional life. He raised
four children, and excelled at hobbies that utilized his gifted hands (like jewelry making, stain
glass design, painting and model building).
Not surprisingly, I was exposed to Stanford at a very early age. From my earliest memory,
I wanted to go to Stanford, just like my dad. As a young boy, I started following Stanford
with a passion. In those days, there was no internet, and the local media barely ever
mentioned Stanford. Regardless, I found ways to follow the Indians--whether it was going to
the library to read bay area newspapers or listen to a static plagued broadcast of a Stanford
game that barely reached the Los Angeles area. But the true nirvana of my Stanford experience as a kid was attending games with my dad. We\'d always attend the particular game that was in Los Angeles that year--UCLA or USC--both of which were played in the Coliseum in those days. We\'d also get up to the Farm for at least one game each year--typically Big Game. So many of those games against USC resulted in a miserable loss for Stanford. From age 5 to age 15, Stanford never beat SC. In 1968, Stanford came close, but no cigar. In 1969, SC stole victory from the jaws of defeat by beating Stanford with a last second field goal --a crushing defeat for the Stanford players and fans. I will never forget the image of my fallen Stanford heroes lying prone on the ground, beating their fists into the turf in disbelief and agony. My passionate opposition to USC was forever etched into my DNA after that game.
My dad\'s devotion to share his love of Stanford with me, may best be illustrated by what
happened during the 1970 season. Shortly after Stanford\'s upset win over highly ranked
Arkansas in the season opener, my family lost its home and all of our possessions in a Santa
Ana windblown brush fire. When the fire approached the house, and the blowing embers
caught hold on the shake roof, my dad abandoned the garden hose that he was using to wet
down the roof, and prepared to leave the property before it was too late. But before he left,
and with only moments to decide what to take, he decided to grab the tickets for the
Stanford-USC football game that would be played the following month. Despite the family
being uprooted by the fire, and despite the enormous loss my parents suffered, as well as the
daunting task of having to literally start over in their life, my dad still made sure that we travelled up to Stanford to see them play USC--a game that would hopefully end a ten year drought oflosing to them; and would likely be a springboard to a Pac-8 Championship, and a trip to the Rose Bowl. Well, we did beat SC that Saturday afternoon; and my parents made sure that I got my game program autographed by Jim Plunkett.
After that, my dad and I shared countless games together over the years. My love and passion for Stanford continued to grow; and it was nurtured by my relationship with my dad. And during my first year at Stanford, I can remember my dad sending me a letter that he addressed to me as "Stanford Man".
