CLAREMONT RUGBY LEGACY

Historical Accounts

The following are biographical accounts from several foundational Claremont ruggers and coaches.  Together, these narratives help form the legend of Claremont Colleges Men’s Rugby Club.

Player & Coach — Dinny McIsaac — Pomona College '59

It was Spring 1955 and an announcement in the local paper indicating a need for rugby players for the Upland Rugby Club caught Rick Searles’ and my attention.  I had learned the rudiments of the game in Hong Kong and thought it would be fun to play on a local team.  I had tried out for the Pomona College freshman football team the previous fall and not having played since grade school, I had given up and played soccer instead.  However, I knew many of the players on the football team and invited some of them to come try out rugby.  Four Pomona freshman played for Upland that year; my roommate Kris Kristofferson was one and Tony Lynda was another.  The next year more Pomona students joined us, and by 1957 there were so many Pomona students playing for Upland Rugby Club that we decided to reform the Pomona College RFC.

Rick Searles, Tony Lunds, Kris Kristofferson, Bill Snyder, and I were involved in the formation of the Pomona team.  Men from both Pomona College and Claremont’s Men’s College were recruited.  The colleges’ respective athletic coaching staffs were not too excited about this new club team, but the team was granted access to the facilities for practice and games. 

Kris Kristofferson went on to play at Oxford and Rick Searles played briefly as a graduate student on the “B” team at the University of Queensland, Australia.  Searles commented about how he learned that there was a lot more to the game than the Pomona program’s rudimentary exposure to the American version of the sport.  Pomona College RFC went on to win the Southern California championship in 1957, and tied in 1958.  Both Searles and McIsaac possess the championship mugs that were awarded those years.

One of Rick and my special memories was when we played in the LA Coliseum as the prelude to a game featuring the New Zealand All Blacks against a local all-star team.  Also of note was the club’s toughest competition in those days — Eagle Rock Athletic Club — which was regularly stocked with ex-LA Rams looking to remain in shape.

Player — Harry Wright — Claremont Men’s College ‘71

My first awareness of Rugby came from some of my teammates on the Claremont Men’s College/Harvey Mudd Stags football team.  Doug Hope CMC ‘69 campaigned to get as many of us as possible out to Rugby training.  Milt Frye, a scholarly looking graduate student, was the coach.  The club was called Pomona College RFC at that time and the mix was about 75% Pomona students and 25% CMC students.  I was made to feel quite welcome despite knocking heads with quite a few of these fellows during Stag/Sagehen football contests.  The backline for most of the season was Bruce Thomas PC ‘71 and myself.  I don’t remember all the starting forwards as I had my hands full trying to learn backline play.  My roommates Bill Anderson CMC ‘70 and Sam Bonascorso CMC ‘71 played occasional First XV but were more well-known for their party exploits.  Roger Gama, a very capable fullback, took it upon himself to school we first year players in proper Rugby Values.  This code of conduct included: (1) always providing well for your opposite number following the match, (2) never gloating over victories or sniveling over defeats, and (3) knowing a respectable number of traditional Rugby songs as well as singing longer and louder than the opposing team.

My most vivid memories of that first season included the expression on the faces of the Alumni side as we emerged from the wash for kickoff wearing suits, slacks, and ties purchased at the goodwill and Salvation Army.  I impressed my veteran teammates by coming up with the idea.  Originally I wanted top hats and tails but we were pathetically underfunded.  We won the match, but our stylish kit was rendered unsalvageable.  I was surprised and pleased that the Alumni were so vigilant in providing ample amounts of beer for us.  Now of course, we send the school boys to Hawaii or France.  Probably a bourgeoisie concept to those of us who played in the 1960s.

The event that would hook me into three more decades of Rugby was the April Santa Barbara Tournament.  Stories, certainly embellished, by our veteran teammates of spectacular performances and debauched behavior at the preceding Santa Barbara and Catalina Tournaments had the rookies envisioning a Rugger’s Woodstock.  Our high hopes were initially deflated as our mentor, Roger Gama, led us up to the door of the Tournament watering hole — The Strap.  They were carding everyone and Roger was the lone adult (in age only) in the group.  To his credit Roger didn’t abandon us but took one woeful look through the door at all the girls and revelry and then herded us to an alternative venue — the El Corral — which wasn't particular about its clientele.

Over the next several hours Roger attempted to teach us the song “Charlotte the Harlot.”  With each subsequent round of beer pitchers our performance deteriorated.  The tavern’s other patrons had either left in disgust or stationed themselves as far away as possible from our booth.  After exhausting nearly all the funds we had brought for the entire weekend we emptied our pockets of silver and pennies for two final pitchers.

Roger slowly returned to our booth carrying the last nectar we would see that evening.  We looked up expectantly as he stood shaking his head in the negative.  “You a**holes are worthless” was his comment just before throwing the contents of two pitchers all over us.  It's odd the things one remembers and experiences as a moment of pure clarity.  I always undertook to be someone worth in the Rugby community after that.  I was rarely challenged in the next 25 years by anyone who could sing as many Rugby songs beginning to end with as much enthusiasm. I broke in enough rookies in that time to be called “Uncle Harry” on four continents.  Thanks Roger, but it was still a terrible waste of beer.

Player — Milt Frye — Pomona College ‘66

Reading Harry Wright’s piece about his introduction to rugby and the obvious pleasure he took in being with Roger Gama, all of this, is enough to get me thinking about the place that rugby took in my college experience plus graduate school on both the east and west coast, 1962-1974.

My introduction to rugby came at Pomona College in the fall of 1962 with both a 7s and 15s tournament.  Dinny McIsaac was the coach in the beginning and then along came a member of the All Blacks from New Zealand by the name of Rufus Mihare.  Rufus, a Maori, had immigrated to the United States with an American woman and was at the time working as a plumber. He was a bull of a player and a coach and a real gentleman at the same time.  On the field he could show us exactly what he wanted us to do and he expected us to copy him.  You just couldn’t hold onto him.  He was interested in both brute strength and finesse.  What a nice combination.  He just willed us to play well.

In those years we played UCLA, USC, USCB, UCR, etc., and won more than we lost.  We also played several games against Old Mission Beach Athletic Club Rugby Football Club (OMBAC) and assorted other men’s clubs.  I remember going completely berserk when those old guys would bite and try to pull our ears and arms off in the bottom of the scrum.

A couple of memorable games and tournaments were: (1) winning the 15s tourney in Los Angeles in the beginning of the 1966 season with John Lewis and Steve Dundas scoring many tries; and (2) 1965 against San Diego State.  The game against San Diego State was played in San Diego (my hometown) and the team spent the night at my family’s house, dates and all, and my mother kept saying, “what nice boys they were!!!”  Little did she know.  Maybe my memory suffers (certainly my shoulders do) from rugby injuries, but 30 years later it matters little whether we won or lost.  Tournaments in Monterey, Catalina, and Santa Barbara were highlights because of the parties and accompanying friends.  It seemed like there was always a great group of players who enjoyed the game, the friendships, and the traditions.

Dave Hobbs, Pete Elliston, Fred Barnes, Karl Earl, Steve Dundas, John Lewis, Dave Liggett, Nick Winslow, Ward Heneveld, Terry Hodel, Fred Knauert, Ralph Weaver, and Jon York were all great friends with which to play.  Famed Pomona Professor Fred Sontag was always somewhere near, and my guess is that he has heard Charlotte the Harlot, the Wild West Show, and the Big Red Wheel more times than any other living person. 

After graduating from Pomona College in 1966, I played in Santa Barbara and then Cambridge, Massachusetts.  I remember being surrounded by great athletes where only knowledge of the game and experience kept me competitive.  Contrary to public opinion at the time, you do have to use your head to play well.  I finished up my rugby career in the early 1970s by refereeing games for the Dartmouth RFC in Hanover, New Hampshire.

Player & Coach — Roger Gama — Pomona College '68

In the spring of 1981 I was busy getting the field ready for that Saturday Rugby match.  My three boys were “helping” me — Jason 10, Benjamin 8, and Gabriel 6.  While I chalked the field they got it all over themselves and lost the flags and balls in the bushes of the Wash.  Players began to straggle in and it became evident that we were going to be short a full side again.  I commissioned some of the players to go recruiting.  They took off and by and by they came back with an assortment of guys who looked like they were headed for a hanging.

This brought fond memories of my own initiation into the game.  I was enjoying a fine daydreaming session at Walker Beach when someone, I forgot who it was, talked me into going to watch a Rugby practice at Frary Field.  Since it was nearing dinner time and I would be closer to the dining hall I agreed.  There were two full sides scrimmaging and enough on the sidelines to make up another two sides.  I saw many of the Pomona football players involved and to my amazement, several CMC players as well.  This was particularly galling because as a Pomona Football player I had been indoctrinated into hating our cross campus rivals.  This peculiarity was momentarily displaced from my mind because I was busy trying to make sense of a bunch of guys running amok with no sensible clue as to what the object was except gang pile on the guy with the ball.  A dark, brooding large man paced the sidelines shouting instructions which made no sense to me and which went mostly unheeded for no one seemed to listen, much less do what he wanted them to do.  The whole scene was chaotic but I noticed a concentration and an intensity that pervaded players and spectators alike.  The feeling was much like that on Saturday mornings at the neighborhood playground where the football games were pure kid pleasure — sweat, dirt, and physical confrontation.  I could actually learn to like this game!  

I did not get to play that time, but I kept going back until I got my chance.  I still did not know a ruck from a scrum or much of the intricacies of the game but the excitement was worth it.  Rufus Mahari, the dark, brooding man was the “Coach” of this madness and he introduced me to the subtle differences between chaos and technique, movement over pure brawn.  And suddenly, this flying mass of humanity running after an overweight football was a beautifully orchestrated effort of 15 men moving in unison for a common purpose: play the game, but win or lose, WIN THE KEGGER!

Those Pomona Rugby teams of the 1960s were as interesting and diverse as the times themselves.  We had International players from Claremont Graduate School, and of course we had Rufus.  He made it possible for a school like Pomona to be able to compete and be extremely successful in Southern California Rugby.

League competition included arch-rival Oxy and powerhouses like USC, UCLA, San Diego State, and, of course, all the Club sides.  We played them all and, for the most part, beat them all, including USC in 1967 with players like Bob Klein, Tim Rossovitch, Adrian Young, and other players from John McKay’s National Championship football team.  The group of most Pomona players, with CMC notables Mike Donovan (actually HMC) Carl Heinrich, and Harry Wright, were all committed to keeping a tradition alive in spite of the lack of support from Administration and benign neglect from the colleges’ athletic departments.  We went to the 1967 Catalina Tournament with $6 stipends for a weekend of Rugby and came out in the top college side category.  We played in raggedy unmatched uniforms and had to sometimes beg for a playing field.  Karl Earl, Milt Fry, John York, and others operated as fund raisers and schedule makers in charge of referees, fields, and transportation.  Most importantly, the rugby continued year after year.

In 1968 I graduated and spent the fall and winter quarter at UCLA Law, leaving in the spring of 1969 returning to teach classes at Bonita High in La Verne.  Milt Fry called and asked me to continue playing rugby while attending Claremont Graduate School.  I think he was setting me up because he left for New England at the end of the season and with an armful of old clippings, schedules, and some old Rugby gear, I inherited the helm of Pomona Rugby and held it for the next 16 years.

During all those years I saw a great number of kids come and go.  Most were “drafted” or “volunteered” by friends and only played a few games while others maintained a steadfastness to the game that persists to this day.  Witness the willingness to come out and participate in the annual Alumni game.  Some notable fellows stand out for their hard work like David Rogers of CMC who cajoled players to come out and play, bugged the hell out of the CMC athletic department to support Rugby in spite of John Zinda’s reluctance to let his football players play.  “Dining Hall” Dave also contributed mightily to great steak fests at the Annual Alumni Game parties.  It was during the 1970s that Pomona Rugby became Claremont Rugby at the insistence of Administrations that cared more about its elimination than its existence.  The change was a welcome one and served the club well for we had to draw from all areas to maintain a representative side.

There were many outstanding players during these years but perhaps none with the recognition of Dave Austen of CMC who went on to play for the American Eagles side, the US National team.  The team itself was not as successful, but a rebirth of interest brought a measure of renewed enthusiasm.  From a dozen or so college sides with volunteer coaches and rag tag financial organization there is today a financial and professional operation on almost every college and university.  The quality of play is also much improved with greater emphasis on “pure” ruggers, better coaching, and fewer off-season football players wanting to stay in shape.

As my tenure came to an end, the torch was passed on to Hank Meyer to keep Alumni informed and the Club from being disbanded.  Along with Wally Cox in the coaching department, they have done an excellent job maintaining the tradition of Claremont Rugby.  There are at least two sides today and the economic support is such that the Club has enjoyed a Hawaii tour in 1994 and a European tour in 1995.  (What a change from the $6 Catalina days!)

Memorable times stand out like the 1978 game at Alumni Field when my 2 year old Benjamin, who was entertaining himself on the sideline while I played, blew the whistle I had given him to hold for me and stopped the action in the middle of a breakaway.  This not only saved a score by the opposition but also saved the match and my ass since I had missed the tackle creating the break.  Another is the 1974 or 1975 Alumni Game at the Wash where the student side marched out to begin the match fully attired in formal clothing acquired at Goodwill and proceeded to play the “Old Guys” one hell of a game!

Lowlights included a tough match against UC Riverside which went to the final seconds.  We lost amidst bad blood during the game which when added to bad blood over the years, it resulted in one of the most forgettable incidents.  At the party, we answered their challenge to a “Boat Race” — a relay drinking match.  When we won (naturally), the UC Riverside players initiated a fight that almost destroyed the Kappa Delta (KD) frat room at Pomona College.  Dire results included UCR being banned from the Union and many years of groveling for Pomona to forgive us our transgressions and continue its support of Rugby activities.

When I left Claremont I entrusted the Pomona Athletic Department with years of records, schedules, clippings, and all the history that had been handed down to be and which had been the only compilation I knew existed.  This was not properly stored and came to disappear from the cellar files never to be seen again.  There remains only mental images of fine young men who came onto the field egged on by friends and curiosity — all with a perplexed look on their faces, much like I must have had back in the 1960s.  They all left with a better understanding of sportsmanship and camaraderie and a lifelong love for the game.

There is no better example than one of my favorite players, Chris Hefflefinger of CMC.  Here was a skinny frosh without much athleticism but with a tremendous heart.  I don’t remember who “drafted” him to come out but it must have been someone who wanted him killed for this is what happened almost every practice.  This kid was getting clobbered every time but he came back each practice.  I could not find a spot for him; he was too skinny for the scum and not quick or adroit enough for the backline.  I finally put him at scrum half and by golly, he blossomed out to a fine rugger.  I can still see his big smile with dirt and a bloody nose as we came back to the scrum after a score.  I wonder if he remembers his first excursion into Tijuana after the San Diego State battle?  I do! 

I would like to say hello to all the guys I had the privilege to play with, those that I tried to coach, and all that helped me along those many years.  I had but one interest at heart; to not let a rich tradition die.  Today, on the better side of fifty, I participate in an occasional “Seniors” match and huddle off for the next few months to recuperate and I wonder what caused me then, and especially what causes me now, to expose myself to permanent brain damage, all for a silly game.  Ah well, therein lies the rub!

Happiness is a good Ruck!