I am Edward, and this is my family's story since the birth of the first of them in the United States. Although I have not been able to trace the entire path which my ancestors took to end up in the United States, the genealogy of the family in the United States is well known through stories passed down verbally from generation to generation, starting with my Great Great Grandfather James. James was the first of my ancestors to be born in the United States. His birth coincided with the outbreak of the Mexican-American War in 1845, but I am not certain whether there was a causal relationship there. In any event, his birth at that time seems to have indelibly set the character of the family for the ensuing generations.

James lived in Ohio when the Civil War broke out in 1860; he was 15 years old and his parents were apparently financially comfortable and politically well-connected enough to buy his way out of military service. James, however, had no intention of avoiding military service in a conflict which he correctly regarded as vital to the survival of the nation. He avidly read books on military subjects in order to prepare himself for a commission in the Union Army.

In 1863, two weeks after his 18th birthday, he was commissioned as a lieutenant, attributable, in part, to his father's influence. During the two years of the war that remained, James was assigned as a staff officer on the staff of two or three high-ranking Union officers, eventually being promoted to Captain and being finally posted as a staff officer for General Horatio G. Wright. Several months after reporting to Wright, Wright's command was ordered to take up positions near Cold Harbor, Virginia, and preparations commenced for an assault on the Confederate forces which were holding that area in defense of Richmond.

The fighting at Cold Harbor would prove to be among the bloodiest of the war and both sides were busy preparing for a difficult struggle. James had earned the confidence and respect of the General and other staff officers. At the staff council called the day before the attack was to be launched, the details of the tactics and forces to be used were worked out. James offered his opinion that the attack should be launched against Confederate General William F. "Baldy" Smith's strength rather than against his supposed weakness. Wright had already decided to make the attack as recommended by his young staff officer, but he was impressed with the audacity of the junior officer.

Wright's attack succeeded in winning a few hundred yards of bitterly contested ground, but he took nearly 1200 casualties in the effort. General George G. Meade, Wright's immediate superior, made it known to Wright that he thought the price too high for the minimal success achieved. Notwithstanding the fact that Wright had already made his decision to attack as planned, he believed that James' unsolicited opinion had influenced him by adding the weight of yet another voice supporting the plan. Wright privately, if not publicly, blamed James for the fiasco. It appeared that James' brief career as a staff officer had come to an abrupt end.

At the end of the war, James, for lack of any other occupational skills, elected to remain in the army. As was the custom in the military establishments following a major war, the non-career officers, such as James, were reduced in rank and were given regular army commissions. Accordingly, James was given a regular army rank of Lieutenant and was posted to command of a small cavalry unit.

Routine army life after the war was boring, but James had few viable options. In 1869, he married a local woman and a year later had a son (my Great Grandfather William). In 1872, after nine years in military service and still with the permanent rank of Lieutenant, James was promoted to Captain. He spent the next three and one-half years in the thankless task of pushing the Indians off of their lands and into severely circumscribed reservations. When the opportunity was offered to him to join an expedition against the hostile Sioux Indians in the Montana Territory, James foresaw the chance to relieve the boredom and, at the same time, to enhance his military career. Part of the expeditionary force was to be the 7th Cavalry under the command of Colonel (formerly General) George A. Custer.

James was familiar with Custer whose cavalry unit had fought (without distinction) at Cold Harbor. Custer had a reputation for being politically opportunistic and professionally incompetent and many of his military decisions were motivated by his political ambitions. Nevertheless, James clearly understood that if he were to advance his military career, the means were at hand as the ranking officer on Custer's staff.

After carefully weighing his options, James determined to ingratiate himself with his commander and to play the army's game by only offering advice which he perceived would be acceptable to Custer. Some may say that my great great grandfather was a prostitute who, in the end, would be doing a disservice to his commander by depriving him of the honest thinking of the staff upon which Custer was expected to rely in making vital decisions. Perhaps. But it is not my purpose to make such judgments. That's how things were.

Great Great Grandfather James reported to Custer for duty and immediately immersed himself in studying the plans and logistics for the expedition. Custer's orders from Major General Alfred H. Terry, commander of the entire expedition,1 made it clear that Custer's mission was limited to a five-day scout to locate the Sioux encampment, but as soon as the two commands split, Custer determined to find the Sioux and to launch an attack, in defiance of Terry's orders.

Shortly after Custer's unit started down the valley, amid repeated warnings from his Indian scouts that an incredibly large encampment , undoubtedly that of the Sioux, lay ahead, he halted and called his staff officers together for a conference. Noticeably absent from the council were Major Marcus A. Reno, Captain Frederick W. Benteen, and the members of the staff of each. It was clear that these omissions were deliberately calculated to prevent any of them from sharing in the glory of the brilliant victory which was to come.

James lost little time in making his opinions known. He warned Custer that if the 7th Cavalry remained together as one large body, the Sioux could cut him off at the mouth of the Little Bighorn and destroy the entire command. It would be better, he suggested, to divide the force into three parts with Major Reno in command of one battalion, Captain Benteen in command of the second battalion and Custer himself with the third. Custer accepted the idea and, assigning James to Reno's command, ordered Benteen to scout the ridges to the north, Reno was to proceed along the valley bottom, and Custer would bring up the rear in support of Reno. The men, horses, and pack animals suffered in the mid-June heat and the battalions raised huge clouds of dust which could not, and did not, escape the notice of the Sioux.

As Reno advanced down the valley, Custer fell behind until, just hours after the split, the three battalions were out of sight of one another. Reno and Benteen were in contact with one another through Indian scouts and other couriers.

On the morning of June 25, 1876, Reno encountered the main body of the Sioux and a bitter fight ensued. Reno desperately needed the supplies and support which Custer had promised to provide, but neither Reno nor Benteen had heard from Custer. The last contact with Custer had been receipt by Benteen of a terse message from Custer's adjutant saying that a "big village" had been located and ordering Benteen to join Custer at once and to bring the supply train. Reno gave up hope of support from Custer and he withdrew his badly mauled forces from the valley into the ridges.

The next morning, the fighting resumed with a curious lack of ferocity and by noon, the fighting had ended. Reno had taken a severe beating, Benteen had taken light casualties and still no word of Custer's whereabouts had been received.

On June 27, Terry arrived at the place where Custer was to join him. He sent out scouts to see if they could locate Custer. Three scouts returned to Terry and reported that they had found Custer: 197 dead bodies, including that of Custer---the entire force had been wiped out. A bitter, infuriated and confused Terry kept inquiring what could have possessed Custer to divide his force in the face of an enemy which so greatly outnumbered him. Fortunately for James, of the staff officers who were present during the council of war at which the decision was made, only he survived and he alone could have told what happened. James, understandably, remained silent.

Shortly after returning from the Little Bighorn, James, no doubt haunted by the specter of the destroyed 7th Cavalry which his ill-considered advice had brought about, retired from the Army. In 1889, at age 19, Great Grandfather William won an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. He did well at the Academy and graduated 14th in his class. Shortly after his graduation, William, in 1893, was married and three years later a son, Thomas, (my grandfather) was born.

William applied himself vigorously to his work, possibly carrying in his mind the stigma of his father's undistinguished career in the army. William, so the family said, was determined to make his mark in the military establishment and vindicate the family's name among the officers who always associated James' name with the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

In 1896, William was promoted to First Lieutenant and was sent to the Military Staff College. As expected, William proved to be an outstanding student and won the respect of his instructors and classmates. Two years later, William was promoted to Captain and was posted to General William R. Shafter as Adjutant. This appointment was significant because, following the sinking of the USS Maine in Havana harbor, Cuba, Shafter had been designated, on May 26, 1889, to command the 25,000-man American army which was preparing for an expedition to take Cuba from the Spaniards.

Shafter and his staff, including, of course, Great Grandfather William, encountered a situation with which they were unprepared to cope: the incredible incompetence of the War Department! The unprepared condition of the War Department for war manifested itself in a lack of suitable ships to carry the invasion force to Cuba, the disappearance of cases of shells and small arms ammunition, the inability of the small harbor at Port Tampa, Florida, to accommodate so large a collection of humanity, the misdirection of orders, invoices and bills of lading and an appalling array of other problems. All in all, the conditions were inauspicious for the commencement of an expedition which was seen by most of the officers as a lark.

In this atmosphere, Shafter's staff was all but impotent but, nevertheless, acquitted itself well and earned accolades from its commander. William, however, found himself discontent with his present position and felt the strong urge to be a part of the combat units, all of which were preparing to cover themselves with glory. He approached General Shafter, explained his situation and requested reassignment to a combat unit.

Although William had never been in a combat unit, let alone had a combat command, General Shafter offered him command of an infantry company. Shafter recognized that William had graduated from the Military Academy with honors and had compiled an impressive military record. Accordingly, Shafter arranged to have William transferred to the 12th Infantry Regiment which was then engaged in preparing for an assault on the town of El Caney in Cuba.

William reported to General A. R. Chaffee, the Brigade commander, on June 27 and was immediately escorted to his command by Chaffee's adjutant. There was, of course, a great deal of concern which would naturally be expected where an inexperienced and unknown officer assumes command of a combat unit immediately before a major battle was to get under way, but the company commander had been taken back to the transport with a severe illness and no replacement was available. William had four days to acquaint himself with the situation and to meet and work with the company officers. Fortunately, William's officers were all experienced soldiers and William, out of necessity, relied on his unit officers.

Four days! It took all of William's abundant skills to comprehend the situation and to understand clearly his role. The attack would be launched early on the morning of July 1 and his mission, as explained by the battalion commander, was to aid and support the assault on Blockhouse No. 14 which stood in the path to El Caney.

The attack opened at 8 o'clock and the advancing American troops began to draw heavy fire from the blockhouse. The Lieutenant in command of the first platoon approached William, who was kneeling behind a slight rise, to inform him that the unit was beginning to take casualties and he wanted to know whether the direction of the company's advance should be changed slightly to afford some protection from the intense gunfire. William didn't respond; he merely nodded his head to signify his consent. As the Lieutenant crawled back to his platoon, he saw the captain stand up where he had been kneeling and then William's figure was obliterated by dust raised by artillery fire.

The War Department notified my Great Grandmother that William had been killed in action, giving the place, approximate time and a very brief description of the circumstances of his death by enemy action. William's body had been interred in the small American cemetery which had been built near El Caney. After the shock of the news abated a bit, Great Grandmother thought it strange that no mention had been made of the award of a medal or commendation and she wrote to the War Department in an effort to correct the oversight.

After a silence of two months, Great Grandmother received a reply from the War Department. It advised her that a thorough investigation had been conducted of the circumstances surrounding William's death. The investigating team reported that William's body had been found about 300 yards from the position of the nearest member of his unit at the time the attack began. The body was face down in the direction of an American reserve unit and slightly behind the American front lines. "Death," the investigation revealed, "was the direct result of wounds inflicted by Spanish bullets fired into the Captain's back. Under the circumstances," the report continued, the Secretary of War concluded that "any type of award would be inappropriate." The Secretary "regrets the incident and considers the matter closed."

In 1913, Great Great Grandfather James died at age 68. Thomas, my grandfather, was 17 years old at the time. At age 21 (1917), Thomas entered Yale University and majored in finance. It was his intention to get a job with one of the major Wall Street investment houses and his determination never wavered. He applied himself vigorously to his studies and earned consistently high grades, graduating magna cum laude and being designated class salutatorian.

As expected, upon graduation he received numerous invitations for job interviews including, of course, several of the most prestigious firms on The Street. After seven interviews with firms in which he was particularly interested, he set about the task of selecting the firm with which he expected to spend his career. He gave the matter the same serious study which had characterized his days at Yale.

Once having made his decision and communicated it to the firm whose offer he had found to be the most attractive, he was introduced to the firm's executives and was then led to the type of elegant office about which most of us only dream. Finally, he was introduced to his secretary who, he noticed, was an exceptionally attractive woman. To complete the heady events of the preceding weeks, he discovered that she was unmarried. This was in 1921; the following year they were married.

Thomas plunged eagerly into his work which he thoroughly enjoyed. His job performance exceeded expectations and his superiors were well pleased with him. For example, he devised a system of predicting, with reasonable accuracy, the more significant movements of the stock market. It was not, of course, flawless, but it represented a valuable tool for guiding investment strategies.The firm's satisfaction with Thomas' work was amply recognized in his compensation.

His marriage was a happy one and he began to accumulate some wealth, due, in part, to his prudent investments which were, of course, the product of his intensive research. In the exercise of foresight, Thomas put aside a substantial fund earmarked for his unborn child's college education. His personality and impressive store of knowledge in his field won him the respect and admiration of his peers as well as his superiors. His reputation for thorough research and accurate prognostications, coupled with the impressive array of facts and supporting figures at his command, reached his firm's competitors, not a few of which tactfully dropped hints that they may be in a position to better Thomas' situation. He turned away all such suggestions with tact and diplomacy, alienating none and winning the appreciation of his firm for his loyalty.

In 1925, my father, Richard, was born. That was the year that Thomas developed his statistical prognosis system and, despite Thomas' admonitions to his colleagues and clients that the system was only a tool and was not intended to be relied upon as an infallible predictor of the market's behavior, most members of the firm persisted in relying upon it as a crystal ball. Since only Thomas fully understood the system and its capabilities and limitations, the system could not be properly employed without Thomas' knowledge and participation.

At the beginning of March 1929, Thomas was disturbed by indications that his system was in conflict with the market's behavior and he began to use the system with reservations. He did not understand the overtones of what was apparently happening. While most of the economists were expecting a decline, the market began a period of exciting advance led by a climb of 12 3/4 points in one day by Radio Corporation of America. Small investors borrowed heavily to finance their purchases and speculated wildly.

Thomas was bewildered. According to his calculations, there should have been a downward adjustment in the market in March which would cool some of the ardor for speculation. The Federal Reserve Board did, in fact, act to curb purchases on margin. Thomas, using the information available to him, advised the firm's investment committee that there would very likely be a downward adjustment toward the end of June or July, but there was no immediate cause for concern. Thomas advised the committee to proceed with caution, but if there was no significant retreat by mid-summer, the danger would likely have passed. In fact, small investors were now being encouraged to get into the market with small, regular investments.

By early September, the market was still moving upward at a strong pace and the firm's investment committee was still operating under the constraints imposed by Thomas' precautionary warnings. It became more and more difficult to keep abreast of competing firms which were not subject to conservative investment policies and the firm urged Thomas to have another look at his model.

In response to management's concerns, Thomas made a thorough study of the situation and found no reason to continue the conservative approach. Accordingly, at the beginning of October 1929, Thomas encouraged the investment committee to proceed at as rapid a pace as it could, consistent with prudent investment practices. Taking that advice as a signal to plunge heavily into the market as soon as possible, the firm and its clients complied with vigor. By mid-October, amid the vociferous proclamations of the financiers, economists, and politicians that the market was fundamentally sound, the firm and its principal clients were fully invested and its smaller clients were deeply margined.

On October 24, a steep decline began abruptly and the bewildered Thomas found himself with his principal source of guidance virtually useless. Nothing that he knew supported what was happening. So, while Thomas struggled to understand the reasons for what soon became a selling frenzy and sought an answer to the firm's persistent questions as to what strategy to pursue, the market's downward plunge continued without surcease. Despite the efforts of Chase National Bank, J. P. Morgan and Company, and Standard Oil's John Rockefeller to shore up the market, it continued its fall on Monday, October 28 after a brief pause on the 25th. The 24th was called "Black Thursday", but on Tuesday, October 29, 1929, known as "Black Tuesday", the bottom fell out and the stock market crash climaxed the financial community's darkest hours.

The firm wasted no time. It quickly exacted its retribution on its only scapegoat and Thomas, who, like his peers, his firm and its clients, had lost prodigious amounts of money, found himself among the growing host of unemployed. The strident voices of the financial world calling for calm and restraint went largely unheeded.

Thomas, still confused and reeling from the storm of vitriol which was visited upon him by his former colleagues, his friends and compatriots, sought in vain for some employment. With the Great Depression in full swing, Grandfather Thomas invaded his shrinking savings funds and bought a small business enterprise which, while not prosperous, was, nevertheless, adequate to support his family and to remain financially viable. Still a financial genius, he managed to survive the depression and aggressively built his business until, near the end of World War II, in 1944, he had largely regained the wealth which he had lost in the stock market crash and, in fact, he once again prospered. Ironically, it took Thomas 15 years to be where he was in 1929.

In that year, Richard entered the University of Tennessee at age 19. While lacking the outstanding mental attributes of William and Thomas, Richard was endowed with impressive athletic abilities. In his second year at Tennessee, Richard won himself a position on the University baseball team as a third baseman and in that same year, 1946, my father married the woman who was to become my mother.

He graduated from Tennessee in 1948 at age 23, having been called by the student body one of the best third basemen that Tennessee ever produced. It was known that, in the last half-dozen or so games, there were several minor league scouts and at least two major league scouts seated in the stands who were clearly interested in Richard and they were not disappointed with his defensive performance. Richard was an indifferent hitter, batting about .270, but he played third base as if he had been born and raised to play that position. It was rumored, but never proved, that he had some kind of a magical magnet in his glove. In summary, it was taken for granted by all who knew him that he would be offered at least one professional contract and, in all probability, more than one.

To no one's surprise, a National League team quickly signed Richard to what was, at the time, considered to be a lucrative contract and he was sent to the organization's triple-A farm club to develop his batting skills and to sharpen his defensive abilities. The coaches and trainers were pleased with Richard's progress and were particularly impressed with his will to learn and his determination to excel.

Toward the end of his first season in the minors, Richard was called up to the parent team and finished the season with a .285 batting average, including two home runs. In 1949, Richard played his first full season in the majors, hitting .310 and playing errorless ball at third base. He continued to improve and was a major factor in his team's appearance in the World Series in 1952. He felt that he had reached the zenith of his career in professional baseball and was confident that he could make a major contribution to his team's efforts in the Series.

From the outset, Richard perceived an extremely competitive---no, hostile---attitude of the rival team's third baseman. He never lost the opportunity to deride Richard's efforts or to jostle Richard. This sharp rivalry developed into enmity during the course of the Series and became noticeable to the staffs and players on both teams. Nobody knew why or how the situation evolved, but it was something that both clubs would need to live with for, at most, seven games. It must be said, however, that Richard had to bear his share of the blame because he never hesitated to retaliate or to carry the battle to his rival. Several times during the Series, one or the other of them reached third base and the air instantly became charged with animosity. Physical combat did not occur only because the third base umpire kept the situation closely within his control. The Series was played in this atmosphere.

The Series went on for the full seven games. In the final game, Richard got a single and a double, and batted in two runs. It was the last of the ninth inning and the American Leaguers were leading 5 to 4 when the National lead-off hitter strode to the plate. On the second pitch, he singled sharply to left. The next batter took a 2-and-2 count and then singled to short left field, the lead-off runner being held at second base. At this point, with men on first and second and nobody out, the American manager went to the mound and called for a relief pitcher. When play resumed, the batter took a called strike and watched the next two balls go by, both high and outside.
He fouled the next pitch back and then took a ball for a 3-and-2 count. The next pitch was low and away and the bases were loaded for Richard, who was hitting .315 for the Series.

Richard stepped into the batter's box swinging his bat menacingly. On the first pitch, my father brought the crowd to its feet with a long ball to left about 390 feet into the stands, but it curved foul. He watched the next pitch go by high for a one-and-one count. On the next pitch, Richard took a mighty swing and connected for a screaming line drive down the third base line in fair territory, directly into his startled arch rival's glove. When the rival third baseman recovered from the impact, he tagged the runner who had been half way down the base line to home and was struggling to return to third and, spinning on one foot, threw a bullet to double the runner off of second. Inning. Game. Series.

My Grandfather Thomas died in 1960 at the early age of 64; I was born three years later. In 1981, I entered Pennsylvania State University in State College, Pennsylvania. I chose Penn State, or, more accurately, Penn State chose me because I had had several good years of football as a running back in high school and was looking for a high quality school with an outstanding football program as well as academic excellence. I cannot claim to be an intellectual giant like my Great Grandfather William or my Grandfather Thomas, but my academic grades were good enough to get me into Penn State.

Although I was used sparingly as a reserve running back in my first year, I learned a great deal of football. I soon acquired a reputation as a dependable third and short back and I do concede that I was pleased with my accomplishments. It gives one a feeling of great satisfaction to be called upon to do a job which the coaches feel that no one else on the team could do as well. In my third and fourth years, I was the inevitable choice where four or five yards were needed. Because the 1983 and 1984 Penn State teams were champions, my play attracted the attention of some National Football League scouts. A powerful offensive line and a good backfield enabled me to break away for long gains from time to time and I am certain that those occasions did me no harm in the eyes of the NFL scouts.

My family and I were delighted when I was offered a contract with a team which had made the quarter finals for the Superbowl the previous season. When I reported to training camp, I soon discovered that I had undertaken a far more arduous job than any I had experienced in college. Professional football was a demanding occupation which taxed the mind as well as the body. In training camp, I worked hard, learned well and had the bruises, bumps and scratches to prove it. The exhibition games gave me opportunities to show what I could do and what I could do I did well. I found that I would be well advised to make my living as something other than a receiver coming out of the backfield, a conclusion which my coaches had much earlier reached. The training I underwent as a running back was intensive and in the exhibition games, I performed about as I had in college. That was good.

The season went well for us and although we did not make the Superbowl, the team's performance was creditable. I was used frequently as the third down back and, with one exception, I succeeded in enhancing my reputation. That exception involved a single mental lapse when I took a handoff, went for a hole in the line which all-too-quickly closed and, instead of trying to find another hole, I reversed my field and ran parallel to the line with half of our opponent's defensive line stringing out the play. I was caught about 8 or 10 yards behind the line of scrimmage. I received, you may be sure, a well-deserved tongue lashing.

The next season was a winning season, but not a spectacular one. There was, however, a noticeable improvement in our offensive line and the quarterback and I worked out some connection problems and began to function quite smoothly. I even caught three passes coming out of the backfield.

The following season, my third as a professional, was a wholly different story: we knew that we were a challenger! The backfield was doing an excellent job, the offensive line was highly praised by the press and our receivers could seemingly do no wrong. We won two of the preseason games and eight of the ten regular season games, giving us a berth in the playoffs. The playoff games proved to be much more difficult than the regular season games, notwithstanding the fact that, in two of the regular season games, we had already faced and defeated opponents whom we faced in the playoffs.

My performance, if I can be allowed to indulge in some self-praise, exceeded that of the regular season. My coaches and teammates had absolute confidence that when I was called upon to pick up a critical 3 or 4 yards, they could depend on it that I would not disappoint them. In the first two playoff games, I broke away for four long runs, totaling 54 yards and, in the regular season, I managed to pick up nearly one hundred yards around the ends. So well had the team coalesced that a Superbowl spot appeared to be inevitable.

And so it was that we found ourselves contending for the Conference championship and a Superbowl appearance. Our regular place kicker, incidentally, had been injured in the previous game and we were operating with a place kicker whose normal field goal range was about the 45 yard line. This was clearly our greatest weakness.

We made the first score on a pass and converted for a 7-0 lead. Our opponents scored a touchdown and converted to tie the score. Early in the second quarter, our opponents recovered a fumble which led to a touchdown; the conversion attempt was wide and the score was 13-7 in their favor. With seconds remaining in the first half, they widened their lead by a field goal and we went into the locker room trailing 16-7.

The final quarter was bitterly fought and neither team seemed able to score. With just under five minutes to play and our chances for a Superbowl appearance fast slipping away, we got the break we needed. One of our safeties intercepted a pass on our opponents' 40 yard line and made it to the 32 before being driven out of bounds. It took us three tries to make 8 yards and, with last and two, I took a handoff. Running east and west behind my blockers, I was able to turn the corner around right end and picked up 4 yards and a first down. On the next play, we completed a pass in the end zone and converted to bring the score to 16-14 with our opponents still clinging to a 2-point lead. On the ensuing kickoff, our opponents took the ball on their 7 and carried the ball to their 35 before being stopped. They worked the ball to midfield and then bogged down. We took their punt on our 15 and managed to bull our way across the midfield stripe down to about their 44.

With a first and 10, I took a handoff and made only three yards to their 41. On the next play, with less than two minutes to play and with no timeouts remaining, our quarterback aired out a long pass which dropped just beyond our receiver's grasp. It was now 3rd and 7, time was running out and we had to get the ball within our kicker's range for a field goal attempt. Our opponents put 5 defensive backs on the field, fully anticipating a pass. Our quarterback, on directions from the sidelines, called for a running play in the hope of picking up the first down within field goal range.

The quarterback handed the ball off to me as I raced toward the right sidelines, hoping to turn the corner and pick up the necessary 8 or 9 yards before getting out of bounds and stopping the clock. Well aware that this play was crucial, the defensive line closed up into a solid wall. I bounced off of a guard and, realizing that I wasn't going anywhere on that side of the field, I reversed field and started for my left end, dropping back to our opponents' 47 yard line. With probably time for one more play, I knew that I had to stop the clock and, perceiving that I was cut off from the left sideline, I shifted direction once again, dropping back to our own 45 with the intention of throwing a pass. As I turned to release the ball downfield, I was hit by 280 pounds of defensive tackle.

The scoreboard testified to the grim situation: our opponents led by two points, we had the ball on our own 45 yard line with last and 21 and we were well outside of field goal range. I stood all alone---amid 40,000 people who were shuffling their way toward the exits. Apparently, they didn't know that the game wasn't over yet. There was time for one more play. There was still a chance. If they would have given me the ball, I could have vindicated myself. Our opponents would be expecting a pass, not a run. There would still have been a chance to win!

The coach had been frantically motioning for me to get off of the field, but when I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that both teams were lining up for the final play. We were going to go for it--- we could still win! As I watched, elation turned to despair: the quarterback had lined the team up for a kneeldown. I heard myself screaming "No! No!! Don't do that!" I realized that the irreversible decision had been made not to risk the embarrassment and humiliation which would result from an interception or a fumble which could lead to another score by our jubilant opponents.

A knee on the ground ended my professional career.

Notes:
1. The expedition consisted of Custer's regiment coming south from the Yellowstone River to the Big Horn River and a much larger force under Terry coming north up the Little Bighorn valley. The two forces were to join in the Little Bighorn valley.

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