I worked in college athletics for three decades, and have followed the games for half a century. Never have I known a man who combined great athletic and coaching skill with the qualities of a good and caring person better than Len Casanova.
I last visited with Cas three weeks before his death. As often was the case, the context was football. This time, there was an unhappy difference. The alert, jovial man — loved perhaps more than any other sports figure in Oregon history — at 97 was struggling to make the adjustment to a Eugene nursing facility, where he’d moved only weeks before.
We were in the recreation room to watch the telecast of the Ducks’ game against Fresno State. The setting could not have been more different from that of the many hundreds of football games he had played in, coached and scouted for almost a full century.
Cas sat in a recliner before an oversized TV screen. He was oblivious to the dozen other residents sitting in the room, some snoring, others in various stages of unawareness. Although his eyes were on the screen, they transmitted little of the game to a mind that once was known as one of the most creative in the sport. Every so often, he’d turn to me to ask: “George, what’s the quarter?” Periodically he’d repeat a question related to the game as he once knew it: “Is Sweeney still coaching them?” I explained that Sweeney, who had been one of Cas’ coaching rivals when he was at Washington State, no longer was on the sidelines.
Two years earlier, sensing Cas’ time with us had to be growing short, I invited him to a local studio to tape-record his recollections. In halting, though still vigorous, language, Cas shared with me the following memories that covered most of 20th century football:
“My interest in football began when I was a little kid. I’d go to the local high school games and watch them in Ferndale, Calif., near Eureka. That’s when they didn’t wear helmets, and some didn’t even have shoulder pads. It was single wing all the way, nothing else. There actually was a T-formation earlier, before Notre Dame popularized it, but then everyone went to the single wing. I liked to watch these “big” high school kids. At least they seemed big to me. I remember reading about the 1920 all-America team, and only one of the players weighed as much as 200 pounds. It was the same with height. The average was about 5-7, something like that. I didn’t get into any games my freshman year, as I weighed only 96 pounds. My sophomore year, I played quite a bit.
“I got a part scholarship to Santa Clara University. My life savings were $313.19. I’ll never forget this: The first check I ever wrote was for $300 to the school. After my freshman year, I got a full scholarship. Freshmen played varsity at that time. During my playing days, Red Grange (one of Cas’ famous peers, at Illinois) was invited to play in the East-West Game. I’d gone home for Christmas, and got a call from the sponsors inviting me to play. But I would have to pay my own way down there (to San Francisco). I just could not make it, or else I could have played in the same game with Grange. I had been interested in going to Illinois, but was not offered a football scholarship there.
“What helmets were worn were like a strap that you could squeeze in your hands. They were sort of mushy. For a while, before they became standard equipment, some players wore nose guards. Cleats on the shoes were rectangular, not round. I think artificial turf is all right, although some people feel it is too hard. Back then, depending on the weather, the ground could be just as hard as any artificial turf. We had regular training tables at Santa Clara. At the beginning, we ate the same as the other students. In my junior year, we got a new coach who arranged for us to eat steak every night. I got sick of having steak so often.
“At one time, when a substitute entered a game, he had to report to the referee. When a player would forget to report, the team would get penalized. When I played, you went both ways. Some times 11 men played the whole game. In today’s platoon system, a player won’t get as tired, and can become more proficient in his specialty.
“Some of our Oregon kids were good all around. George Shaw and Mel Renfro were exceptionally good both ways. Renfro was the best back I ever had. He could do practically anything. Quarterback Bob Berry was a kid who did not have the greatest arm, but the kids believed in him. If he called a play, the kids just had confidence in his call. The QB who could run as well as pass was the kind of player I liked to have. You were concerned about them getting injured, so I did not have them run too much.
“I’ve been long-gone from the bench, so don’t know how often today a QB calls his own plays. You have to give him that opportunity sometimes, because he’s in the game, and knows better what to call sometimes than the coach on the sidelines. Bob Berry was the best of the QBs I had at calling his own plays.
“I set one national record in my playing days at Santa Clara. The ball was on our 2-yard line. I was in the end zone to punt, and kicked over the safety man’s head. It ended on the 3-yard line for a 95-yard punt. At that time, the ball was rounder, so it rolled more. A couple of years later, they changed the shape of the ball to make it easier to pass. Before that, we used to pass the ball as sort of a palm ball coming from the direction of the sidelines. They changed it to make it easier to grip.
“I used to dropkick. I had a 45-yard field goal. That was when the goal posts were on the goal line, not at the back of the end zone as they are today. I’d drop it perpendicular to the ground. I tried to kick it in the lower part of the ball just as it hit the ground. That gave me an extra blocker, because no one had to hold the ball.
“I had … many fine assistants in coaching. Johnny McKay was like having a Dear Abbey on the staff. He felt I gave my players too much time to talk to me about their problems, football and otherwise. One who was with me from the start was Jack Roche, whom I coached in high school; later, I coached him at Santa Clara University. I think I got the job there because they wanted Jack to enroll. (Cas started coaching at Sequoia High School) We then both went into the service in World War II. After the war, we went to Santa Clara (he as a player). We both went to Pitt when I briefly became their head coach, and he came with me to Oregon in ’51. His dad had racing dogs that would race all over the country. In high school, I took him in as a border to live with us while his Dad and Mom were away with the racing dogs. A coach could not do that today because it would be illegal recruiting.
“Another fine player for me was Jack Patera, who later coached the Seattle Seahawks.
“The Rockne shift had players line up in the T, then shift right or left into what was called the Notre Dame box. I remember when they put in a rule that said you had to stop for one second before the ball was snapped so the defense had a chance to get set. I regret having missed seeing Knute Rockne when he visited Santa Clara. Our coach, Adam Walsh, was one of his former players.
“In 1950, my Santa Clara team beat Bear Bryant’s team in the Orange Bowl. We supposedly were not good enough to be on the same field with them. But we beat them. Bear then went to Alabama where he had his great success.
“On dedication day at Autzen Stadium in 1967, against Colorado, I was in the broadcast booth with Dal Ward of Colorado. The ABC television broadcasters had gone on strike, and at almost the last minute, the network asked me and Dal to fill in. It was a hot day, and a struggle for us, but I guess we got through it OK.
“If Jack Morris had been able to make a field goal, it would have been a 10-10 tie game for us against Ohio State in the 1958 Rose Bowl. Before the game, the Los Angeles press said it was the biggest mismatch in the history of the Rose Bowl. I told the guys befo
re the game: ‘We have been derided by the press. I just want you to go out there and play so I can be proud of you. I sure was proud of them, as we barely lost (10-7) to a heavily favored opponent. We made the Los Angeles press eat their words.
“In that game, Harry Mondale played guard ahead of Joe Schafeld, who later coached for so many years at Oregon. Harry got hurt early, and Joe came in and played 55 minutes of outstanding football. Jack Crabtree called a very good game at QB, and was named player of the game, even though the other team won. We coaches made some suggestions, but he called most of the plays himself. (Crabtree is a member of the current induction class in the Oregon Sports Hall of Fame.) “The next year, Woody invited me to his summer clinic to discuss passing. I didn’t have much of an effect on him, because he never passed much, even after that.
“When I was coach, we could win only four games against Oregon State. I always had trouble against them. We never were beat badly. Rick Brooks changed that. He never lost to the Beavers, even though he once had played for them.
“There was a time when a sub came into a game, he could not talk to his teammates until the next play. The referee put his nose in the huddle to be sure no play was given. They called it the whispering rule. Now it’s just the opposite. Players don’t have to be mute when they enter the game, and most plays are signaled in from the sidelines.
“My Santa Clara team once played against a team coached by the legendary Amos Alonzo Stagg. No longer at Chicago, he was coaching Pacific in California. They had a 19-0 lead on us at halftime, and we came back and beat them.
“I got undeserved credit for coaching another big comeback. We were at Indiana, trailing, 22-7, at halftime. I was mad in the halftime dressing room. As our kickoff man, Dave Tobey, got up to go to the bathroom, I told him to sit down and wait until I was finished talking. I talked and yelled until officials knocked on the door to call the team out for the second half. Tobey was squirming, but had no time for the bathroom. He had to kickoff. Turns out he could hardly lift his kicking leg without having an “accident,” and he wound up just tapping the ball. It bounced crazily, and went far enough for one of our players to fall on it. We went on to score, and won the game, 29-22. The press then called me a genius for having thought of the onside kick. (Cas got the Stagg award from American Football Coaches for outstanding contributions to football in 1983.)
“Inducted into the College football hall of fame in ’77 with me was the best running back I ever saw, Gayle Sayers of Kansas. He was a reckless runner whose churning legs made him the most difficult man to bring down. Inducted with us were Leo Nomellini of Minnesota and Ziggy Czarobski of Notre Dame.
“I’d rather forget the Oregon Liberty Bowl game of 1960. It was on a frozen field in Philadelphia. We had thin jerseys and no sideline parkas. We played about the way we were dressed, and Penn State beat us, 41-14.
“I was asst. coach at Santa Clara when we played UCLA at the Los Angeles Coliseum. I found that our phone was mistakenly connected to the UCLA bench, and I could hear the plays they were calling. We could have capitalized on it, but I decided to report it to the officials. Jackie Robinson of UCLA was one of the greatest athletes I ever saw. I was coaching baseball at Santa Clara when we played at UCLA. In one at bat, he walked, stole 2d, 3d and home. Then he went to the nearby track meet in his baseball uniform and won the broad jump.
“The big pay college players get when they go in the pros is not good for the game. It affects the play of some in their last year, since they don’t want to risk injury and the chance to earn a big contract. Aside from that, I don’t think any of them are worth that much.
“We didn’t do too well in one game, and some guys hung me in effigy. The fans were upset, and at our next pep rally, they gave me a crown. When we had offices at Mac Court, there was an easy way for our coaches to get to know faculty members. I’d urge them to go to the Faculty Club down the street to have lunch with them. We used to show faculty groups game films, and sometimes they’d come up with some crazy play ideas, some even against the rules.
“I was surprised that the athletic administration building was named after me. I just did my job here. (Until he was 95, Cas used to go to his office there almost every day.)
“I coached baseball in high school. I had Hershel, the son of Ty Cobb, on my team. He wasn’t very good, but was good in football. He just could not hit a baseball. Ty Cobb came by to ask, ‘Why aren’t you playing my boy more?’ I said, ‘I’ve seen you sitting in your car watching our practices. You can see for yourself that he can’t hit the curve.’ The great baseball all-timer had to agree.
“It was different with another young athlete, and I made a good guess on him when he still was an infant. When Joey Harrington was born, I sent him a letter of intent. I sent the letter to his Dad, who had played quarterback for me at Oregon.
“I think I chose the right profession. It has been satisfying. I’ve made many good friends.
“Casanova is a Swiss name. We spoke Swiss at home all the time when I was a kid. This is minority language, and only a few speak it. It is of Latin derivation. My mother preferred speaking Swiss at home, so we kids learned it pretty thoroughly. When I was over in Switzerland to see relatives I’d never seen before, my knowing the language made it possible for me to get along wonderfully well. I still remember how to say farewell:
“En gee, Envita estai sonds” (Good day, good life, and may you stay healthy).
George Beres was Oregon sports information director from 1976 to 1982. He is the author of the 1995 Rose Bowl book, “The Year of the Duck.”
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