However, I realize that my fond dream can never come
true. Nature has not made you naturally strong
and athletic, and what athletic success you may gain,
must come from long and hard training and practice.
If you can only win your college letter, your B, Thomas,
while at Bannister, I shall be fully content.
I said nothing when you failed even to try for the
teams at your Preparatory School, but I did hope that
at Bannister, under good coaches and trainers, you
would at least endeavor to win your letter. I
must admit that I am disappointed, for you have not
even made an earnest effort to find your event.
Often, by trying everything, especially in a track
meet, a fellow finds his event, and later stars in
it.
I really believe that if you would start in now to
develop yourself by regular, systematic gymnasium
work, and if you would only try, in a year or so you
could make a Bannister team. Theodore Roosevelt,
you know, was a puny, weakly boy, but he built himself
up, and became an athlete. If you want to please
me, start now and find your event. Attempt all
the sports, all the various track and field events,
and always build yourself up by exercise in the Gym.
And you owe it to your Alma Mater, my son! Even
if, after conscientious effort, you fail to win your
B, to know that you have given your college and teams
what help you could, will please your Dad. Remember,
the fellow who toils on the scrubs is the true hero.
If you become good enough to give the first eleven,
the first nine, the first five, or the first track
squad a hard rub and a fast practice, you are serving
Bannister.
I don’t ask you to do this, Thomas, I only say
that it will make me happy just to know you are striving.
If you never get beyond the scrubs, just to hear you
are serving the Gold and Green, giving your best, in
that humble unhonored way, will please me. And
if, before you graduate, you can win your
B, I shall be so glad! Don’t get discouraged,
it may take until your Senior year, but once you start,
stick.
Your loving
DAD.
“Read this one, too, Butch,” requested
Hicks, hurriedly, as a hail of, “Oh, you Hicks,
come here!” sounded down the corridor, from Skeet
Wigglesworth’s abode. “I’ll
be back as soon as Skeet finishes his foolishness.
Don’t wait for me, though, if I am delayed,
for you want to be talking football.”
Left alone, big Butch Brewster, who of all the collegians
that had known and loved the sunny Hicks, some now
graduated, understood that his athletic efforts, jeered
good-naturedly by the students, were made because of
a great desire to win his B and make happy his Dad,
read the second letter, dated a few days before:
You are starting the last lap, son, your Senior year,
and your final chance to win your B! Don’t
forget how happy it will make your Dad if you win your
letter just once! Of course, you cannot gain it
in football, for nature gave you no chance, nor in
baseball; but in track work it is up to you.
Train hard, Thomas, and try to win a first place; just
win your track B, and I’ll rest content!
