Every football player, great though he himself was in his prime, has his gridiron idol.  The man, usually some years his elder, whose exploits as a boy he has followed.  Joe Beacham’s paragon was and is Frank Hinkey and the depth of esteem in which the former Cornell star held Hinkey is well exemplified in the following incident, which occurred on the Black Diamond Express, Eastbound, as it was passing through Tonawanda, New York.  Beacham had been dozing, but awoke in time to catch a glimpse of the signboard as the train flashed by.  Leaning slightly forward he tapped a drummer upon the shoulder.  The salesman turned around.  “Take off your hat,” came the command.  “Why?” the salesman began.  “Take off your hat,” repeated Beacham.  The man did so.  “Thank you; now put it on,” came the command.  The drummer summing up courage, faced Beacham and said, “Now will you kindly tell me why you asked me to do this?” Joe smiled with the satisfied feeling of an act well performed and said:  “I told you to lift your hat because we are passing through the town where Frank Hinkey was born.”

Later, in the smoking room, Joe heard the drummer discussing the incident with a crowd of fellow salesmen, and he said, concluding, “What I’d like to know is who in hell is Frank Hinkey?”

And late that evening when the train arrived in New York Joe Beacham and the traveling man had become the best of friends.  In parting, Joe said:  “If there’s anything I haven’t told you, I’ll write you about it.”

Sandy Hunt, a famous Cornell guard and captain, says: 

“Here is one on Bill Hollenback, the last year he played for Pennsylvania against Cornell.  Bill went into the game, thoroughly fit, but Mike Murphy, then training the team, was worried lest he be injured.  In an early scrimmage Bill’s ear was nearly ripped off.  Blood flowed and Mike left the side lines to aid.  Mike was waved away by Bill.  ’It’s nothing but a scratch, Mike, let me get back in the game.’  Play was resumed.  Following a scrimmage, Mike saw Bill rolling on the ground in agony.  ‘His ankle is gone,’ quoth Mike, as he ran out to the field.  Leaning over Bill, Mike said:  ‘Is it your ankle, or knee, Bill?’ Bill, writhing in agony, gasped: 

“‘No; somebody stepped on my corn.’”

Hardwick has this to tell of the days when he coached Annapolis: 

“One afternoon at Annapolis, the Varsity were playing a practice game and were not playing to form, or better, possibly, they were not playing as the coaches had reason to hope.  There was an indifference in their play and a lack of snap and drive in their work that roused Head Coach Ingram’s fighting blood.  Incidentally, Ingram is a fighter from his feet up, every inch, as broad-minded as he is broad-shouldered, and a keen student of football.  The constant letting up of play, and the lack of fight, annoyed him more and more.  At last, a Varsity player sat down and called for water.  Immediately, the cry was taken up by his team mates.  This was more than Ingram could stand.  Out he dashed from the side lines, right into the group of players, shaking his fist and shrieking: