On Brave Old Army Team

Like fireflies signaling on a hot, summer night of my youth, my first and only experience watching the Army-Navy game in person burned brightly for me, ephemeral, not to be repeated.

I grew up for most of my formative years at West Point, New York, the home of the storied United States Military Academy. My friends’ fathers were professors or in West Point leadership- one friend’s dad was the Dean, one was the Head of Admissions, another’s dad was the head of the Math department, and one was the head of the Athletic program. My dad was an aeronautical engineer who headed up the fluid Mechanics section of the Mechanical Engineering department. Our mothers were smart, dedicated and, among their many talents, knew how to throw an amazing dinner party- ready to host the endless flow of visiting guests to such a unique place.

It was an extraordinary place to grow up. Stunningly beautiful, overlooking the Hudson River, with imposing grey stone buildings and statues of fearless military leaders—such as Grant, Patton, McArthur—throughout the campus. We had free reign in the huge and impressive cadet gym, as long as we entered after 3 p.m. and showed our military dependent ID card. We swam in Delafield Pond and dove off the 36-foot-high diving platform that would never exist today due to potential liability. We rode our bikes or the campus shuttle bus to traverse the sprawling base. It was safe and filled with friends from all over the United States, as the military brings together people from all walks of life.

There were many rites of passage to being a military brat at West Point, but one that I remember clearly was Army football. You had to know it and love it. Some might argue that the real West Point motto is Duty, Honor, Country, and Army football. We lived just down the hill from the beautiful and impressive Michie stadium where Army played its home games. My dad attended West Point and graduated in 1956, back in the halcyon days of Army football. In its heyday, Army football was considered by many to field some of the best teams in the nation. The 1945 team took on six of the best teams in the country and beat them by an average of 45-6. Army has had three Heisman Trophy winners (the best college football player in the nation): Doc Blanchard (1945), Glenn Davis (1946) and in my father’s era, Pete Dawkins (1958). I grew up at West Point in the 1970s, long after the glory days of Army football had faded, but my dad and many other faithful fans always remained steadfast in their belief that Army would rise again.

Football season was a season-long fall celebration at West Point. Almost everyone on base had season tickets and the academy issued a beautiful poster with a game slogan for each game. My dad faithfully hung them on our front door for every game and saved them carefully. When my parents bought a small cottage in upstate New York, my dad papered an entire downstairs room with these saved posters and slogans. His loyalty ran deep.

The Army fight song, which my dad sang to us frequently for inspiration or irritation—sometimes it was hard to tell which emotion he intended—rang out throughout the base on game day:

The Army team’s the pride and dream
Of every heart in gray.
The Army line you’ll ever find
A terror in the fray.

And when the team is fighting
For the Black and Gray and Gold,
We’re always near with song and cheer
And this is the tale we’re told:

The Army team

The Army team
Rah! Rah! Rah! Boom!

On, brave old Army team!
On to the fray.
Fight on to victory
For that’s the fearless Army way.

Michie Stadium sits high on a hill at West Point. It is near the beautiful Cadet Chapel, where my friend’s dad was the Chaplain for years and he showed us the secret door from his adjoining house to sneak into the chapel at night. It is right across from Lusk Reservoir where the gorgeous yellow, red, and orange fall leaf colors are reflected in the water on beautiful New York fall days. I didn’t have the chance to sit and watch too many football games growing up as I had highly coveted jobs—working concessions or babysitting for an entire season. I remember one year I paid special attention to the football season because my Sunday School teacher, Bob Johnson, was the first black captain of the football team, taught Sunday School and fought cancer all at the same time. An impressive person to have as a mentor in your life.

If you were an Army fan, the pinnacle of the entire season was the Army-Navy game which is almost always held on neutral ground in Philadelphia, PA–equidistant from West Point and the Naval Academy. My mom and dad would throw viewing parties where we all cheered maniacally for Army to beat Navy. My dad even taught our dog a trick that centered on this main event. He would ask our dog if he would rather be in the Navy or “Be Dead.” Without fail, Cuddles rolled over theatrically with all four paws in the air and his head lolling over to the side. Later, when I went to Duke for college, my dad taught our dog to perform his trick for Carolina too. A perfect symmetry for transferring his acting skills from one legendary college rivalry to another.

The Army-Navy game is one of the oldest college rivalries. It is between the Army Black Knights and the Navy Midshipman and has been televised nationally since 1945. For the first two-thirds of the twentieth century, both Army and Navy were often among the best teams in the nation, and the game sometimes had national championship implications. Although the teams have not had the same national prowess since those days, the game has endured as a national institution. Part of this is due to the respect our country pays to those who put their lives on the line to defend our nation. The pageantry of seeing all the young Army cadets in grey, black, and gold and the Midshipmen (and women) in navy blue and white singing their fight songs, alma matres and our national anthem adds to the glorious spectacle of a legendary rivalry. The winning team’s alma mater is always played last and the phrase “sing second” is slang for winning the big game. Through the 2021 meeting, Navy leads the series 62-53-7.

My senior year in high school, I finally got the opportunity to go see the Army-Navy game in person. My best friend, Tory Rogers (whose dad was the Head of Admissions) and I were offered a ride to Philadelphia with some friends. Tory made a reservation for a room for the two of us at the iconic Ben Franklin hotel in Philly. This was the place to be and where everyone stayed who was going to the game. We were certain that this was going to be the road trip of a lifetime. To this day, I’m not sure why my parents thought it was a good idea to allow two seventeen-year-olds who had never been away for a weekend unsupervised to do this. If they had fully understood the chaos that ensued following the big game, I’m sure they would have reached a different conclusion.

Tory and I were inseparable friends in high school. Tory was the “It Girl”—pretty, athletic, funny and everyone loved her. I was her best friend and along for the ride. We even dated twins one year in high school, but that was a distant memory by our senior year. As seniors, we vowed to not date anyone seriously and just enjoy our last year of high school before we headed off to college, Tory to Dartmouth, and me to Duke. Many more college road trips back and forth between these locations would ensue in our future.

On Saturday morning, December 2, 1978, we loaded up in the car with some friends for our short two-and-a-half-hour drive to Philly. We planned to drive straight to the game and then go check in at our hotel afterwards. We were beyond excited for the big event.

On, brave old Army team!
On to the fray.
Fight on to victory
For that’s the fearless Army way.

The game on that cold December day was unfortunately a blowout. Army could never get their footing and Navy defeated Army 28-0. No fight song was going to fix that score. But somehow even the disappointing game could not dim our enthusiasm—the beauty of being in the grand stadium with our friends, the uniformed service men and women, and all the Army fans made the experience worth it despite the humbling loss.

We arrived at the Ben Franklin hotel after the freezing and disheartening game and were ready to check into our rooms and began the post-game festivities. We planned to drown our sorrows amidst friends and fellow Army supporters. The lobby was large, beautiful, and crowded with cadets and fans. The line was long to get to the front desk, but the excitement of the crowd carried us through.

When we got to the front to check in, the receptionist asked us for our names and Tory responded with excitement. The woman said, “Hmmm, I’m not seeing a Tory Rogers, could it be under another name?” Tory paused and said, “Maybe Victoria Rogers?” “The woman searched and politely stated that she was not seeing a reservation under either of those names. The receptionist then asked if Tory had confirmed her reservation with a credit card or by mailing a check. Tory paused and said, “I don’t think anyone told me to do that? Can I just pay you now?” The sympathetic clerk responded that Tory’s reservation had most certainly been let go and paying now was not an option as all the rooms were reserved. At this point, I very unhelpfully looked at Tory and said, “You didn’t pay for our room?” Tory turned to me with an icy stare—which I fully deserved—that silenced me immediately. She said, “That’s not helpful. We don’t have a room and I don’t know what to do about that now.” Several of the cadets in line behind us gleefully and loudly offered us space in their rooms for the night. We wisely declined, laughed, and almost cried our way over to our friends.

Our friends also offered to let us sleep in their room, but since they already had way too many people crowded in, we decided then and there to just wing it. After all, we were on the road trip of a lifetime so we figured we would go all in. We’d heard the after-game parties were legendary and went all night, so why not just go with the flow. Who’s going to let a bed and a good night’s sleep interfere with an epic adventure? We stored our bags in our friends’ room and started the evening exploits.

It was a hilarious evening from start to finish and something we had never experienced. Every floor in the hotel had a different party going on. The doors to most of the rooms were propped open to facilitate the wandering. One room seemed to contain the entire Army hockey team. We kept seeing everyone we knew. Tory kept asking, “How did they get a room?” To which I would respond with a laugh, “Perhaps they sent in their check?” The elevators were crammed with revelers. How we stayed together in the time of no cell phones was a miracle. We mourned Army’s loss, wondering what the parties would be like if they had won. We lasted until 4 a.m., at which time we made our way back to the beautiful lobby and collapsed into two big wing backed chairs in the corner and fell asleep. Our friends found us a bit later that morning and tapped our shoulders to wake us up to head back to New York. I’m sure we slept the whole ride home.