As a football player, Jim had few equals.  He was captain of the Yale team in his senior year and was picked by the experts as an “All-American Tackle.”

Jim Hogan at his place in the Yale rush line was a sight worth seeing.  With his jersey sleeves rolled up above his elbows and a smile on his face, he would break into the opposing line, smash up the interference and throw the backs for a loss.

I can see him rushing the ball, scoring touchdowns, making holes in the line, doing everything that a great player could do, and urging on his team mates: 

“Harder, Yale; hard, harder, Yale.”

He was a hard, strong, cheerful player; that is, he was cheerful as long as the other men fought fair.

Great was Jim Hogan.  To work with him shoulder to shoulder was my privilege.  To know him, was to love, honor and respect him.

Jim spent his last hours in New Haven, and later in a humble home on the hillside in Torrington, Conn., surrounded by loving friends, and the individual pictures of that strong Gordon Brown team hanging on the wall above him, a loving coterie of friends said good-bye.  Many a boy now out of college realizes that he owes a great deal to the brotherly spirit of Jim Hogan.

[Illustration:  McCLUNG, REFEREE SHEVLIN HOGAN]

Thomas J. Shevlin

There is a college tradition which embodies the thought that a man can never do as much for the university as the university has done for him.

But in that great athletic victory of 1915, when Yale defeated Princeton at New Haven, I believe Tom Shevlin came nearer upsetting that tradition than any one I know of.  He contributed as much as any human being possibly could to the university that brought him forth.

Tom Shevlin’s undergraduate life at New Haven was not all strewn with roses, but he was glad always to go back when requested and put his shoulder to the wheel.  The request came usually at a time when Yale’s football was in the slough of despond.  He was known as Yale’s emergency coach.

Tom Shevlin had nerve.  He must have been full of it to tackle the great job which was put before him in the fall of 1915.  Willingly did he respond and great was the reward.

When I saw him in New York, on his way to New Haven, I told him what a great honor I thought it was for Yale to single him out from all her coaches at this critical time to come back and try to put the Yale team in shape.  It did not seem either to enthuse or worry him very much.  He said: 

“I just got a telegram from Mike Sweeney to wait and see him in New York before going to New Haven.  I suppose he wants to advise me not to go and tackle the job, but I’m going just the same.  Yale can’t be much worse off for my going than she is to-day.”

The result of Shevlin’s coaching is well known to all, and I shall always remember him after the game with that contented happy look upon his face as I congratulated him while he stood on a bench in front of the Yale stand, watching the Yale undergraduates carry their victorious team off the field.  Walter Camp stood in the distance and Shevlin yelled to him: