When I visited Notre Dame for a football game last fall, I was
excited to return to the place I had graduated from 40 years earlier.
I also was excited about finally locating an old classmate and
friend, Russ Beaupre, whom I also had not seen for all those years.
I'd tried unsuccessfully a number of times to find him. A year
ago, a friend of mine buried his mother, who was 100. While going
through her things, he found a 1930 Notre Dame-Carnegie Tech football
program. Knowing my love for Irish football, he generously gave
me the program. That year was a national championship one for
the Irish and the first year of the new stadium, "The House that
Rockne Built." While looking through the program, I came upon
the 1930 Notre Dame golf team. There he was, my buddy Russ, dressed
in plus fours and all. In reality, it was his father Russ Senior,
32 years earlier, but the likeness was eerie.
This motivated me to try one more time to find him. I was finally
rewarded by our class secretary with an e-mail address. Lo and
behold, I found him, and made plans to visit him on my the way
through Chicago.
Ever rummage through a drawer and find a favorite old shirt or
sweater you thought was lost? Remember the pleasure when you found
it and remembered how well you liked it? When I saw Russ, it was
like we'd shared a pizza and a couple of beers a week earlier
at Joe Febbo's pizza parlor The last time we did that, Vietnam
was a French problem and the Civil Rights Bill of 1964 was two
years in the future. Joe's been dead for years, but I remember
he'd loan me cash out of the register if I was ever short, and
he told me never to bother him with the amount but just to return
it when I could.
After pizza, my wife and I stayed with Russ and his wife, Colette,
at their apartment on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago. There, framed
on the wall, was a letter that took my breath away. Dated July
17, 1928, and addressed to Russ's dad, the letter read:
You were just a freshman tackle last fall, but your work was
good enough in spots to attract my attention, and then it was
rotten enough in spots to cause me to make mental reservations.
However, that is to be expected of one who is just a freshman
tackle, but next year you will be a sophomore and a varsity
candidate -- I trust you will develop and rise to the occasion.
With the big schedule our Team B squad will have you ought
to get plenty of games and scrimmages and develop to a point
where I will no longer have those mental reservations.
I trust you are having a dandy summer.
Yours sincerely,
K.K. Rockne
Head Football Coach
I could barely believe my eyes, as Rockne had been an almost
surreal force in my life.
I asked Russ if his dad had played the next year. He laughed.
"Heck no. Dad realized he would be cannon fodder for the next
three years, so he and my uncle Fran started the Notre Dame golf
team!"
* * *
Editor's note: When Tom saw Russ in October
2002 for the first time in 40 years, his friend was battling a
rare disease. Russ died in December. "My memory of Russ will
always be of the laughter and sparkle in his eyes over dinner
and a glass of wine that night," Walsh writes.
A version of this article recently ran in the Idaho Falls
Post Register.
(March 2003)
