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Tuesday, Nov. 18, 1980
A
—Eli Setencich —
A superstar is born
S if any additional evidence were required to substantiate
the results of the test, the rabbit died.
Not too long ago all of it had been its own personal
playground. So much for home field advantage.
Just like that, after an earlier exhibition of speed and dipsy-
do that had thousands stomping and roaring and with only
minutes to go on the scoreboard, it keeled over and expired, out
of breath and out of bounds at the north end of the field.
The Bulldogs didn't. They hung in there like terriers right to
the end, thus keeping some of the hysterics in the stands from
doing an impression of the jack rabbit.
The demise of the wild hare was the only unhappy incident on
a cheerfully historic afternoon in the house that Lew Eaton.
Russ Giffen, Leon Peters and some of their friends built.
At half time, Harold Haak graciously paid them their due by
listing the people whose generosity had made it all possible,
even though he did mispronounce a couple of their names, which
probably doesn't matter anyrnore anyway, at least not until
somebody decides a dome would be nice.
But by any test, rahhit or otherwise thp Frpsnn Statp
University stadjum is a honafirip snpprstar—_
Take awav the rabbit and the cowboy hats and ynn cniilri .
have been in Berkeley on an apple crisp Saturday afternoon in
November. Except that in this case the home team won.
A lot of people wanted to be in on the beginning — 25,684,
according to the official count, which was only a handful fewer
than the number of Fresno County folks who voted for Jimmy
Carter a couple of Tuesdays ago.
Not only was it a record, announced a jubilant Brent
DeMonte over the public address system, but it was a "new, all-
time record," which, noted Wanda Kirwan, is not to be confused
with an historic precedent-setting tradition.
D D Q
AMONG the few Fresnans who didn't make it for the opening
was Ruth Albright, and she lives only a block and a half
away from the place. Albright, along with a bunch of her
neighbors, had fought like a bulldog to keep the stadium from
being constructed.
Obviously, she lost, but she is not all that distressed about it.
"It was mere pleasant than I'd expected it would be," said the
good loser of the inaugural game and festivities.
Not only was there a welcome absence of traffic in the
neighborhood, even the crowd and loudspeaker noise blowing
out of the bowl was at a tolerable level. "Outside you could
follow the whole game, but in the house it was fine," she said.
"If this was any indication of how it's going to be, I don't think
we'll be bothered at all."
For someone who once had been on the verge of throwing
herself into the path of the first bulldozer that dared to start
digging dirt at Cedar and Barstow, she has mellowed
considerably, her change in attitude on the subject
corresponding to the change of leadership at old FSU — from
the stonewalling of Norman Baxter to the open-minded
approach of Harold Haak.
"It shows what can be done if there's cooperation," she said.
"With Baxter, his Way was, 'See you in court.' Haak is open to
your views and to trying to patch things up."
Grace Longenekef, who also lives within shouting distance
and was an outspoken opponent of the facility, didn't get to the
game either, although she said Brent DeMonte came through
loud and clear.
Like her compatriot down the street, she liked the traffic and
parking; control,and proclaimed herself prepared to live with the
imposing new neighbor — with a provision.
"If just once they'd bring Willie Nelson and his family in for
a concert, it would sweeten the whole situation," she said. "And
if they topped it off with a Bonnie Raitt concert, I wouldn't
complain again for 40 years."
D □' D
EVEN in Section T, Row 55, the view was exciting. "The
Bulldogs are penalized," advised the voice of the Brent
DeMonte booming out of the speakers overhead. "Backfield in
motion."
No question about that. From where I sat on the aisle, there
seemed to be an uninterrupted parade of infractions that should
have been assessed, all of them in snug designer jeans.
"See, down there, that's where they're playing the game,"
my seat mate kept reminding me. Grudgingly, the binoculars
would return to the other field of action.
Compared with the rabble at Cal and Stanford, though, the
Fresno State student body was the essence of decorum, except
for the instances when a few of them demonstrated their
knowledge of aerodynamics by floating paper airplanes onto the
field.
At another point, after an injured Montana State player
finally had been hauled to his feet and was being helped across
the field, the Cardinal and Blue cheerleaders launched into a
rousing, "Hit 'em again, hit 'em again. Harder, harder."
Which to one guy in the stands made about as much sense as
the electronic scoreboard with its stick figures going through
their appropriate gridiron maneuvers.
"Look at that, will ya?" he hollered with unabashed
admiration. "They even give you the score in Chinese."
The lights worked, too, although I kind of wish they didn't.
College football was made for apple crisp Saturday afternoons,
not cold foggy nights, especially on territory that not too long
ago was home for a bunch of wild and crazy jackrabbits that die
for our sins.
s&t/4
RE: The picture i^h^Sgnday
KFSN-TV30
Fresno, California
Mjjnday 2/23
Hi, good Lee: |jll FEB 24 1981
Evem though the stained glass
window was beautiful indeed—it
didn't detract one bit from the
beauty of my pal, Lee Peters I \Oj
live known a lot of fine gentlemen
in this great valley, but none
better than you—and gosh, you and
I go back to the late UO's and £0»s.
It has been (and will continue to be)
a great friendship, and I thank you
again for sharing it with me.
Your pal, (^^KL RADKA
WJP
Object Description
| Title | Scrapbook |
| Object type | Photo album |
| Physical collection | Leon S. Peters papers |
| Folder structure | Biographical_information |
Description
| Title | Page 04 |
| Date Created | 1980; 1981 |
| Physical description | 44.6 cm. x 30.1 cm. |
| Full text search | Tuesday, Nov. 18, 1980 A —Eli Setencich — A superstar is born S if any additional evidence were required to substantiate the results of the test, the rabbit died. Not too long ago all of it had been its own personal playground. So much for home field advantage. Just like that, after an earlier exhibition of speed and dipsy- do that had thousands stomping and roaring and with only minutes to go on the scoreboard, it keeled over and expired, out of breath and out of bounds at the north end of the field. The Bulldogs didn't. They hung in there like terriers right to the end, thus keeping some of the hysterics in the stands from doing an impression of the jack rabbit. The demise of the wild hare was the only unhappy incident on a cheerfully historic afternoon in the house that Lew Eaton. Russ Giffen, Leon Peters and some of their friends built. At half time, Harold Haak graciously paid them their due by listing the people whose generosity had made it all possible, even though he did mispronounce a couple of their names, which probably doesn't matter anyrnore anyway, at least not until somebody decides a dome would be nice. But by any test, rahhit or otherwise thp Frpsnn Statp University stadjum is a honafirip snpprstar—_ Take awav the rabbit and the cowboy hats and ynn cniilri . have been in Berkeley on an apple crisp Saturday afternoon in November. Except that in this case the home team won. A lot of people wanted to be in on the beginning — 25,684, according to the official count, which was only a handful fewer than the number of Fresno County folks who voted for Jimmy Carter a couple of Tuesdays ago. Not only was it a record, announced a jubilant Brent DeMonte over the public address system, but it was a "new, all- time record," which, noted Wanda Kirwan, is not to be confused with an historic precedent-setting tradition. D D Q AMONG the few Fresnans who didn't make it for the opening was Ruth Albright, and she lives only a block and a half away from the place. Albright, along with a bunch of her neighbors, had fought like a bulldog to keep the stadium from being constructed. Obviously, she lost, but she is not all that distressed about it. "It was mere pleasant than I'd expected it would be," said the good loser of the inaugural game and festivities. Not only was there a welcome absence of traffic in the neighborhood, even the crowd and loudspeaker noise blowing out of the bowl was at a tolerable level. "Outside you could follow the whole game, but in the house it was fine," she said. "If this was any indication of how it's going to be, I don't think we'll be bothered at all." For someone who once had been on the verge of throwing herself into the path of the first bulldozer that dared to start digging dirt at Cedar and Barstow, she has mellowed considerably, her change in attitude on the subject corresponding to the change of leadership at old FSU — from the stonewalling of Norman Baxter to the open-minded approach of Harold Haak. "It shows what can be done if there's cooperation," she said. "With Baxter, his Way was, 'See you in court.' Haak is open to your views and to trying to patch things up." Grace Longenekef, who also lives within shouting distance and was an outspoken opponent of the facility, didn't get to the game either, although she said Brent DeMonte came through loud and clear. Like her compatriot down the street, she liked the traffic and parking; control,and proclaimed herself prepared to live with the imposing new neighbor — with a provision. "If just once they'd bring Willie Nelson and his family in for a concert, it would sweeten the whole situation," she said. "And if they topped it off with a Bonnie Raitt concert, I wouldn't complain again for 40 years." D □' D EVEN in Section T, Row 55, the view was exciting. "The Bulldogs are penalized," advised the voice of the Brent DeMonte booming out of the speakers overhead. "Backfield in motion." No question about that. From where I sat on the aisle, there seemed to be an uninterrupted parade of infractions that should have been assessed, all of them in snug designer jeans. "See, down there, that's where they're playing the game," my seat mate kept reminding me. Grudgingly, the binoculars would return to the other field of action. Compared with the rabble at Cal and Stanford, though, the Fresno State student body was the essence of decorum, except for the instances when a few of them demonstrated their knowledge of aerodynamics by floating paper airplanes onto the field. At another point, after an injured Montana State player finally had been hauled to his feet and was being helped across the field, the Cardinal and Blue cheerleaders launched into a rousing, "Hit 'em again, hit 'em again. Harder, harder." Which to one guy in the stands made about as much sense as the electronic scoreboard with its stick figures going through their appropriate gridiron maneuvers. "Look at that, will ya?" he hollered with unabashed admiration. "They even give you the score in Chinese." The lights worked, too, although I kind of wish they didn't. College football was made for apple crisp Saturday afternoons, not cold foggy nights, especially on territory that not too long ago was home for a bunch of wild and crazy jackrabbits that die for our sins. s&t/4 RE: The picture i^h^Sgnday KFSN-TV30 Fresno, California Mjjnday 2/23 Hi, good Lee: |jll FEB 24 1981 Evem though the stained glass window was beautiful indeed—it didn't detract one bit from the beauty of my pal, Lee Peters I \Oj live known a lot of fine gentlemen in this great valley, but none better than you—and gosh, you and I go back to the late UO's and £0»s. It has been (and will continue to be) a great friendship, and I thank you again for sharing it with me. Your pal, (^^KL RADKA WJP |
