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Where Have You Gone Benny K?

By Frederick Jamroz '60, '61 M.A.

The movie Rudy relates the story of an individual who pursued his dream of becoming a Notre Dame football player. There are probably thousands of individuals who have nurtured this vision for themselves. Some nursed it for a time and watched it disappear; others, inspired by the spirit of Notre Dame mystique, labored like the real Rudy, to make their dream come true. Some succeed and some seem to fail to accomplish their goal -- or do they?

I remember Benny K. He spent two years at Our Lady's school. You had to like the guy; in many ways he was a typical 1950s Notre Dame student.

That era predated modern additions such as the majestic ACC, Stepan Center, the North Dining Hall, high-rise dorms, female undergraduates and the "new 10-story library".

Such sacred entities as the "old" Navy field house, Vetville, Joers on Michigan Street, the back-9 holes, 10 o'clock curfews, Father Lang's gym, Rockne's original stadium and old Cartier Field still existed.

It was a time when die-hard exam-crammers, who ordinarily did not open their dorm door when they were studying, would yield to an offer they couldn't refuse -- a share in a gigantic, aluminum-wrapped hoagie sandwich from Frankies. A friend could gain entrance by beating on that dorm door with such an enticement.

It was an age when freshmen, attending their first pep rally in a packed Navy Drill Hall, learned what it was like to be pumped up to the bursting point with unbridled emotion. The engendered spirit became so palpable that you could almost touch it with your hands. All it took was some incident like a hoisted-student pulling off his shirt exposing the green ND painted on his chest to explode the crowd like a shuttle-rocket launch.

It was a time during which Oklahoma dominated college football for a few years. The week that the Sooners were scheduled to play the Irish at their place, they were featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated as UNBEATABLE. They had won 47 straight games and had not been shut out in 123 consecutive contests.

That week the Notre Dame marching band paraded through the campus, beginning on Monday evening right after supper, playing the Victory March. They repeated that ritual every single night of Oklahoma Week. Many students, determined to resist that siren call because of their heavy academic workloads, eventually succumbed to the lure of the Victory March and joyfully joined the campus pride.

Inevitably, the Irish destroyed the Sooner's winning streak, with panache, by shutting them out 7-0 at their place. The Grotto resounded with grateful thanksgivings that Saturday night.

Benny epitomized the spirit of that era. He loved God, Country, Notre Dame.

He was short, stocky and athletic, he sported a crew cut, smile and soft-spoken friendly manner.

His grades or finances (or both) did him in. I don't know for sure about his finances. It was rumored that Benny had worked for a railroad in Detroit, was laid off and decided to try Notre Dame. How he got accepted as a student, and how he paid his bills was a mystery.

Benny had a happy-go-lucky, unpredictable approach to life, but he was a great guy to have on your side. He was there with a helping hand when you needed him. For example, as part of our teacher training, we had to attend a week at Camp Eberhart following the end of semester exams before we broke for summer vacation. After this educational experience, I needed to haul my luggage from campus to the train station downtown. Those were the days when students were absolutely forbidden to have a car, subject to severe penalties. Although I was a Korean war veteran, I wouldn't have had the courage to risk breaking the car rule; at that time, if you broke a regulation you were in danger of finding yourself on the next train home. Benny shocked me by offering me a ride to the South Bend depot in his car. He had secretly rented a garage, from a lady who needed the money, somewhere close to campus off Notre Dame Avenue.

Typical of Benny was his willingness to take such a frightening risk; also typical was his gracious offer of help. However, he did pose a strange stipulation: I had to assist him in a search for his car keys. Before he left for the week at camp, he had tossed his car keys into the bushes in front of the garage. I don't know why he did that; maybe he had celebrated the end of the semester too enthusiastically at Frankies, the popular nearby student watering hole. Armed with his incredible knack for survival, he found the keys still in the bushes where he had thrown them the previous week. He then nonchalantly helped me haul my gear to the train station.

Despite his easygoing manner, Benny would stand up and fight for what he thought was right. Although he was stocky and athletic, those were the days when "Rudys" were not encouraged; Benny was not big enough to try out for the varsity, so he played interhall football for Saint Eds.

Benny, like Rockne and Rudy, was about four years older than the average freshman; so I imagine the senior inter-hall players were astonished by the audacity of this "freshman" who did not appeared cowered by their intimidating behaviors on the field. I still smile when I picture Benny flaying away with his fists at a crowd of upperclass players, not causing much damage since everybody had helmets and equipment on, nevertheless, amazing them with his ferocity. Thank goodness, Benny transferred his pugilistic skills to the Bengal bouts, where they served charity. There, too, Benny gave a good account of himself, boxing like a whirlwind for the first two rounds but, running out of gas in the third, losing by a split decision.

Those were the days when Father Hesburgh navigated the intellectual life at Notre Dame. All physical education majors, like Benny, were required to take a full liberal arts curriculum together with physical education skill courses. This amounted to an academic load of about 21 hours each semester: It was a tough scholastic row to hoe.

While discussing his academic problems, Benny said that a teacher once sarcastically asked him, "How did you ever get into Notre Dame?" Benny answered him softly, "I said a lot of rosaries."

I haven't heard from Benny for more than 40 years; he dropped out after our sophomore year. He did send a postcard informing us, his classmates, that he had joined the Army and was in the Rockies with the elite ranger group, skiing, and training for winter combat.

Benny never graduated, but, because of his great heart, his valiant efforts and his pure love of Our Lady's school, I remember him as a true Notre Dame man.