Crimson lost to the undefeated, unscored-upon Yale Blue, with Vice President James Sherman in the Cambridge stands. An observer, a former Army coach, pronounced the line play “the most magnificent sight I ever saw. Every lineman’s face was dripping with blood.”
The nearest Joe could safely get to the hallowed playing field was to have prominent football players as two of his closest friends. Robert Fisher was a guard of such ability that he became an all-American. Fisher had the prep school credentials of a year at Andover, even if he had gone there on a scholarship. He was so poor that he had to commute from Dorchester. Joe invited the star athlete to live with him free in his room at Perkins Hall, one of the Harvard dorms. In one neat move, at no extra cost to himself, he had defined himself as a generous friend while attaching himself to the man who would become one of the Harvard sports heroes of his time. Tom Campbell, his other new friend, was a star halfback and a graduate of Worcester Academy. Campbell’s primary social demerit was that he was a Catholic, and he did not bring Joe the cachet gained from walking home to his dorm with his roommate, the celebrated Bob Fisher.
During his freshman baseball practice Joe made his third close friend at Harvard, Robert Sturgis Potter. Here Joe had found a student who struck every social high note. Potter came from an old Philadelphia family. He wasa graduate of St. Mark’s, the crème de la crème of prep schools, and lived in Randolph Hall, one of the most desired residences on the Gold Coast.
Joe was not a cynical arriviste who befriended these men only because they might advance him. He enjoyed them, and it marked not simply his social ambition but his confidence that he dared to reach out to make such friends. In Potter and Fisher, Joe had made brilliant friendships, for Fisher was class president their sophomore year, with Potter succeeding him their junior year.
Although Joe did not fancy himself a football player, he knew that on the baseball field he could show that he had the true stuff. Joe’s name might be carried far beyond the reaches of the playing field. Spectators came to watch by the thousands. Not only other Harvard men but also the public considered these young men heroes as much as a later generation would celebrate professional athletes.
“Important fall baseball practice will commence Monday,” the Harvard Crimson announced on the front page on October 1, 1908. “Every man who is eligible for the University nine and cannot be of service to the football team is requested to report for this practice.”
Joe had already taken the full measure of the other freshman players. That first day, walking over to take batting practice, Joe said to his friend Arthur Kelly: “We’re the two best damn ballplayers on the team!”
Joe became the first-string first baseman, and one of the outstanding players on the freshman team. One of the best batters, he was also flawless on the field. The team lost only one game all season and tied another in which his absence due to a knee injury was noted. At the end of the season the Harvard Crimson described Joe as the most likely prospect to move up to a starting position on the varsity. “It is expected that this year’s successful Freshman team will also contribute valuable material,” the paper noted. “J. P. Kennedy is a likely man for first-base.”
T hat summer Joe was riding on a bus when the driver mentioned that the vehicle was for sale. This gave Joe the idea of buying the contraption and turning it into a tourist bus. He lined up Joe Donovan, a fellow Harvard man, as his partner. They painted the wagon a glorious cream and blue and with neat lettering along the sides christened the bus “The Mayflower.” In a story crafted by Horatio Alger, the two young Irish-American entrepreneurs would have set off along Boston’s hallowed streets picking up passengers. The reality was that most of the
Heidi Hunter, Bad Boy Team