JACK WARNER

                                       October 31, 1996

                                        Mame Warren,
                                          Interviewer
                                                —

Warren: This is Mame Warren. Today is the 31st of October, 1996. I'm in Tuscaloosa,
Alabama, with Jack Warner.

         I want to know how an Alabama guy got all the way to Virginia to go to college.
Why Washington and Lee?
Warner: Well, I went to Culver, to prep school, and my roommate at Culver was Billy
Buxton from Memphis, Tennessee, and his older brother, Stuart, was a W&L student
our senior year at Culver, and he's the one that interested me in Washington and Lee. I
think kids oftentimes go where their friend goes, and in this case that's what brought
me to W&L. I also wasn't in the top 20 percent of my class. I wasn't going to an Ivy
League school. This was during the Depression.
Warren: Well, that intrigues me that you were at Washington and Lee during the
Depression.
Warner: Towards the end of it. Yeah, right. Right at there.
Warren: What was Lexington like when you got there?
Warner: Well, it was wonderful. We all stayed in the freshmen dorm, and Billy and
myself, of course, roomed together. Lexington, to me, was kind of an arcadian dream.
It really was.
Warren: Tell me what you mean.
Warner: Well, like Thomas Jefferson, you know, "I, too, have been to Arcadia, we
should all be plowmen," and all that sort of thing and stick to agriculture. It was kind

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of a place out of the mainstream, kind of a—I wouldn't want to say Utopian, it certainly
wasn't that, but it was a place that—kind of like a Broadway play, Finnegan's Rainbow or
something, kind of place, kind of a dream world in a way. It was all male. It was just a
very unique college. Different.
Warren: Why do you think that was? What made it different?
Warner: Well, the beauty of it, for one thing. It's the most beautiful little college
campus in the world. There's nothing, to me, that can touch it.
Warren: Can you remember your first impressions when you first walked on campus?
Warner: Yes, I was awed with the beauty of the Colonnade. It's awe-inspiring, with
Washington perched on top of the middle building. It was a beautiful sight. I still think
it is the most beautiful campus. University of Alabama is the greatest, most beautiful
state campus, I think, and it really is, but it doesn't compare with just the pristine
beauty of Washington and Lee, in the fall especially, when the leaves are falling,
beautiful, and House Mountain. The air was always refreshing, no pollution.
Warren: How did you first arrive in Lexington?
Warner: In an automobile.
Warren: You drove?
Warner: Well, somebody drove me. Freshmen couldn't have cars, you know. You
couldn't have a car when you were a freshmen, although Billy Buxton and myself did
have one at one time. I'll never forget that either.
Warren: Oh, tell me what you mean.
Warner: Well, we bought a robin-egg blue used car for sixty dollars. We weren't
supposed to have one. We drove to, I think it was Randolph-Macon, and on the way
back we had a wreck. I wasn't driving, Billy was driving. It wasn't his fault, because
the car just came out right in front of us, and it was kind of like a circus, a Ringling
Brothers circus, when all the clowns get out of the car. Maybe we shouldn't put this on
tape. [Laughter]

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Warren: Oh, tell me, this is great. This is what I'm after. Tell me.
Warner: They were black people, about ten of them, maybe twelve, maybe fifteen.
How they got packed in that car, I don't know. But they all got out and I remember
they ran across the corn field, cotton patch, whatever.

         And, of course, that revealed the fact that we did have a car because they
recorded the wreck. The president, Dr. Gaines, asked us to the house to see him, and
we sat on the couch and we were very nervous. He came in and sat down, talked to us
and, "Why did you get it?" and all that. When he finished, why, he said, "Well, boys,
I'm going to let you go this time." He said, "If you do it again," he said, "Billy, you'll
take the slow train back to Memphis, and, Jack, you'll take the slow train back to
Tuscaloosa." That was all that was ever said about it. I remember that.
Warren: I'll bet that was memorable. Well, this is the theme I always like to ask people
about, and since you've brought it up, let's go right to it. There were a lot of women's
colleges around Washington and Lee, still are.
Warner: Yeah, and that was one of my—the downfall, really, because I liked to go to
the ladies' schools on weekends especially. Probably frequented those places too much.
Warren: Were they called road trips back then? Did you call that going on a road trip?
Warner: When we were allowed to have a car, I had one. In those days, if you had a
car, you were very popular. Nowadays, I got the feeling that the little boys or the
gentlemen that have the cars are not so rather envied and maybe put down a little bit.
But in those days you were a very popular fellow. We really didn't know the difference
between, let's say, a young man from a wealthy background or a young man from a
poor one. We really didn't know. It didn't make any difference to anybody and
nobody ever bothered about where we came from or whether we were on scholarship.

         I remember Tom Christopher, who later became dean of the law school at the
University of Alabama, we used to charge. If you had a car, you would charge young
gentlemen that wanted to go with you, you'd charge them to help pay for the gas and

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everything. It was fifty cents. Poor old Tom, he smoked a pipe, and he didn't have the
fifty—he was on scholarship, and he didn't most generally have the fifty cents, and we
talk about it to this day. Tom says we didn't know where anybody was. But I
remember Tom would reach down and he had to reach down deep to get that fifty
cents. He'd clamp down on that old pipe of his and finally come up with it. I wouldn't
let him off, I made him pay. [Laughter]
Warren: Tell me what he got for his fifty cents.
Warner: He got a ride to the girls' school when he had a date and he got a ride back.
Twenty-five cents each direction.
Warren: So what happened when you went visiting the ladies' schools?
Warner: Well, it would depend on the school. Some of them, you'd just sit in the
parlor.
Warren: Take me to each one. What happened at each one?
Warner: Well, Randolph-Macon was kind a little more restrictive than Sweet Briar.
Well, there wasn't any way you could get in too much trouble in Sweet Briar. I mean, it
was just there and you could go out and have a beer or something sometimes. The little
girls' schools in Washington, I remember you'd have to sit in the parlor and you
couldn't leave, you couldn't leave the house, so there wasn't much fun going there.

         I married a Sweet Briar girl. Bob Abbott, he was a football player, and I was
trying to play football at the time when I met Elizabeth. I wasn't on scholarship or
anything, and we'd get the devil beat out of us most every Saturday, so I decided that
wasn't for me. But anyway, it was a blind date and she was going to Sweet Briar.

         I think it was much more exciting then at Fancy Dress. Just like a girl with her
dress on is much more exciting than a nude, you know what I mean? I mean, you saw
the girls on the weekend, you weren't with them all the time, and it made the Fancy
Dress much more exciting and the Spring Dance much more exciting because the girls
were much more excited, exciting and excited, because they got invited, and the

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costume and everything. They would stay in the houses in Lexington, and it was fun, I
think much more fun than going to class with them all the time. Familiarity breeds
contempt sometimes.
Warren: Being there during the Depression, do you think there was any sense that that
put a damper on anything?
Warner: No, no, made it more fun.
Warren: Tell me about that. Why?
Warner: Well, I think that's true of the Depression all around. I was talking to some
employees not too long ago, retired ones, and they said, "Jack, remember,” —Mother
would send me out to the paper mill that was here, and I'd work on the shipping gang,
we'd work twelve hours a day. The man would say, "Remember working on the
shipping gang and you came out and everything?" He talked about retiring, and I said,
"Well, how is it?" He said, "Well, Jack, back then we didn't have anything, you could
get a meal for thirty-five cents at the paper mill cafe with a great big bottle of Nehi pop
and all kinds of food stacked high." He said, "We didn't have anything." He said,
"Now, I'm retired, I own my own home and we worked hard, twelve hours, and we
were all so happy. For five cents, golly, you could buy a great big Milky Way that
would choke a horse. Today you get a little tiny one and you pay maybe 70 cents or 75
cents for." He said, "To tell the truth, Jack, in my retirement I own my own home and
you're paying my retirement, which is very generous and adequate," he says, "and I'm
just miserable as hell." [Laughter]

         So during the Depression, I think in colleges and everywhere people were
happy. Nobody at W&L envied anybody else. There wasn't any such thing as envy in
the way of the students. It was a happy existence. There were fraternities, but anybody
could get in a fraternity that wanted to.
Warren: Were you in a fraternity?

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Warner: Oh, yeah, I was in one. Most everybody was, if they wanted to. Just the ones
that didn't want to be were not. Or maybe, I don't know, couldn't afford it, some of the
kids working in the hashery, where they'd give you your food sometimes or wherever,
but nobody thought anything about it.

         Actually, being in a fraternity at Washington and Lee is different than being in a
fraternity at Alabama. It's kind of a status symbol in your big state institutions. You
ask anybody that goes to one of those state institutions and it's a strange thing, they all
want to know what fraternity you were in. Kind of like India where the class society,
oh, you were a such-and-such, well, that was a lowly fraternity. Or you were such-and-
such and that was, oh, you were the nicest fraternity in the college.

         At W&L, your friends were mostly not even in your own fraternity. I was an
SAE and my friends would be Sigma Chis or something like that. You spent more time
in other fraternity houses than you did your own. It wasn't a structured sort of thing
that it is in the bigger institutions, or was. I don't know what it is today in some of
them.
Warren: So tell me what went on in fraternities in those days. What was it like?
Warner: Well, you ate in there.
Warren: Tell me about those meals in the fraternities.
Warner: Well, in SAE they were just great.
Warren: Tell me about it.
Warner: Oh, God, you had spoon-bread and you had hot dinners. Excellent food. At
the SAE house, it was a paneled dining room that was given in honor of a kid that got
hurt in football, heard he got killed, really, Sample boy from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
The family built the dining room. Oh, we thought we were the greatest. I guess you'd
say we thought we were the cutest guys in town, but my goodness gracious, there were
only about three of us that ever graduated, so I don't think we were quite as cute as we
thought we were. [Laughter]

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         That was one thing that W&L had, I think, was a variety of students, put it that
way. Generally, you'd have students from other sections of the country and they
weren't all real bright students. This SAT scores and everything, they weren't always
up at the top of the SATs, but actually it was kind of like L.K. Johnson told me at the
graduation exercises when he was sitting next to me, he knew I was a C student.
What'd he say? He said, "Jack, the A students will be working in the laboratories, in
corporate laboratories in the research part of the business or society, the B+ students
will be university professors." He said, "The C/C students like you, Jack, will be the
ones donating to the university." [Laughter]
Warren: He got that right, didn't he?
Warner: So I think it was wonderful that it was that way, because I don't know what it
is. I remember Lee Bidgood, a professor here [at Tuscaloosa], I went to summer school
one summer, and the business school is named after him, and he talked about the
football player that was an All-American—not an All-American, but he was playing at
Harvard and his daddy had been the famous Harvard football player. He was talking
about how students and everything and how the world turns out, and he said the son
was trying to be like his daddy, and so he'd tell the coach, he'd say, "Well, don't I block
as good as my daddy did?"

         He said, "Yes, you block better than your daddy did."
         "Well, don't I tackle better than my daddy did?"
         "Yes, you tackle better than your daddy did."
         "Well, don't I run better than he did?"
         "Yes, you run better than he did."
         And he said, "Well, then why am I not considered as good a player as my daddy
was? I do all these things better."
         He said, "Well, it's just a fact you aren't." [Laughter] I suppose he meant he
didn't have the killer instinct, and when the game came, why he could do all these

                                                                                                                           7
things better, but he couldn't put it together. He didn't have that killer winning instinct.
Well, I think that's true in college, because a lot of the young men I knew at W&L, and,
gosh, they were great ones, were not the brightest. I think they overemphasize that. I
kept telling them that when I was trustee at W&L, "SAT scores are good, but there's five
other factors that are just as important that they don't pay much attention to at all. I'm
not so sure what those factors are, but you all better try to figure it out." Because we
used to brag about the four years I was at W&L turned out, I think, it was seven college
presidents and a Supreme Court guy, and a couple of senators and three or four
congressmen and all that, out of that little school. It was perfectly remarkable.
Warren: It is quite a record.
Warner: Yeah, you had Edgar Shannon, he was from Virginia, you had Huntley, well,
whatever it was then. Well, you had W&L and you had University of Virginia and you
had Auburn with Harry Filpot [phonetic], who was one of my best friends. I used to go
to Auburn games with him. He made Auburn. He was a W&L guy and went to school
with me. He used to go around all over Lexington and preach. He went to Yale and he
and Polly, his wife, both got their Ph.D., or whatever it is, in divinity or preaching.
They were preachers. But you had all kinds of people, and that was an experience in
itself. You had poor kids and rich kids and extremely bright kids and get-by-the-skin-
of-the-teeth kids. I don't know, it was a good environment because you learned what
the world was like.
Warren: Well, I guess we should talk a little bit about that is supposedly what people
go away to school for, to learn.
Warner: Yeah, learn.
Warren: What about in the classroom? What was Washington and Lee like in the
classroom? Were there any teachers who made a big difference to you?
Warner: Well, L.K. Johnson did. I didn't finish my thesis properly, and he made me
come back and get it the next year. So when people ask me when I graduated, why, I

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always try to think that I was in the class of '40, but I guess really I'd have to say '41,
because he made me come back and finish my thesis. Then I came back the next year
and graduated. He was a great teacher. Probably the best. He was in the business
school. He taught personnel management and factory management and all that sort of
thing, the way it was then.
Warren: Well, you learned something, didn't you?
Warner: Yeah, I learned something from him. He taught me a thing or two. He was
very good, the best. That was the other thing about the teachers, I mean, the professors.
I'm going to say something that's probably unpopular with the teaching profession, but
the best professors were not always the ones that had all these degrees. I found that the
ones that had all the Ph.D.s sometimes were boring in class and talked over your head,
and kind of up in the clouds. Where a guy like L.K. Johnson, I don't think he had all
these real fancy degrees, but he could teach, and taught well, which is often the case.
Like the football story I told you about, lots of them could do things better than L.K.,
but they just weren't as good of teachers, that's all.
Warren: Now, one of the things when I was trying to do some homework on you—
Warner: Yeah, well, don't do too much.
Warren: Well, you didn't make it easy because you never sat down and got your
portrait taken for the yearbook.
Warner: No, I never—
Warren: I don't even know what your major was. What did you major in?
Warner: Business, B.S. in commerce. I was always that way. It was funny, I was on the
board of Culver, too, and we had the best boxing team that ever existed there. We
boxed Annapolis plebes and Pittsburgh freshmen and University of Virginia freshmen
and all that sort of thing, and we were just prep school kids and we were good. But
when it came time to get your picture taken, I was never in it, for some reason. And I

                                                                                                                           9
won. I was good in it. I was never in the team pictures. I don't know why. We kind of
had a—I don't know what it was.
Warren: I figured you must have been real camera-shy.
Warner: Well, I was usually gone, running over to Sweet Briar or something when
picture day was. [Laughter] They didn't even have a picture of me in the yearbook.
Warren: No, they didn't. I heard that there was this thing between class of '40 and '41,
but I said, well, he's not in here at all.
Warner: You'd think I'd never attended.
Warren: Well, I did find you in the sports section.
Warner: At Culver they had to go get a picture of me. My mother had one I sent them
to prove that I was in school. They knew me, but as far as the yearbook and everything
was concerned, I was never much in it.
Warren: Your name did come up in the sports section.
Warner: Yeah, well, golly, we won the Southern Conference Championship in
swimming.
Warren: Tell me about that.
Warner: Gil Meem and Harbor and myself won the Southern Conference relay team,
medley relay, where one swam breaststroke and one backstroke and one freestyle. It
was in the VMI pool. We won the whole conference and we were good in that. Then I
wrestled at W&L, never was beaten. There was Henry Brown, Farber, and myself. But
I only wrestled my freshmen year because I quit and became enamored with a
girlfriend. You know how that is. [Laughter] I remember Archie Mathis, he was really
upset with me because I wasn't wrestling. At that time, wrestling was a major sport at
W&L. I'd never wrestled. I boxed at Culver and swam, and then I swam and wrestled
at W&L and played a little football freshmen year. After being in a military school for
four years, which in those days you're scheduled by the numbers, you never really had
any freedom. Then to go to a school like W&L was quite a—in other words, it was just

                                                                                                                         10
like turning the chickens loose. [Laughter] You scatter. You said, "My God, you mean
you're not even going to let me do what I want to do?"
Warren: There's a lot of freedom at Washington and Lee.
Warner: Yeah, an awful lot in those days. I mean, you could do anything. I mean, it
was just you, you were on your own. I don't think that those of us that went to a
military school like Culver, we weren't acclimated to that, and we went wild, in other
words. The kids that had been to public school, it was nothing particularly new to
them. Also you had no girls at Culver, whereas at W&L, in spite of the fact that you
didn't have the girls who went to school there, there were schools all around you, Mary
Baldwin and Hollins and Sweet Briar and Randolph-Macon, they were just all around
you.

         On weekends, the girls, we'd get together. Even during the week, we'd
sometimes go off to the girls' college, which wasn't good for your studies. I think if I'd
gone to school after World War II, I'd done much better. Probably gotten a much better
education, although I think I got an education, maybe not the best academic one due to
my own failings, but otherwise I think there's more to college than that. It's the
camaraderie, which we certainly had at Washington and Lee. You had more of it there,
I think. They couldn't have that camaraderie that we had today. I don't believe it's
possible. You got coed. Still the best little school in the country, but had it remained a
single sex, it might have been a little better. It would have been more unique, certainly.
Warren: Well, that fraternity system is still strong.
Warner: Is it?
Warren: It's still strong.
Warner: Well, what about the sorority system, is it going pretty good?
Warren: Well, they have the sororities in place and they're trying now to get sorority
houses so that women have the same kind of socialization that the men do.

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Warner: Sure. Well, maybe in the long run I was wrong when I thought they shouldn't
have coed.
Warren: Let's talk about that.
Warner: Maybe it was inevitable, I don't know, but you know W&L, they could have
gone on and on because they're not state supported. Look how long VMI lasted. They
fought it every inch of the way, didn't they? I don't understand why a girl would want
to go to VMI anyway. They sleep on the floor on a mat. God almighty, why would
they want to go there?
Warren: Let's go back to ten, fifteen years ago. Tell me about your opposition to
coeducation.
Warner: Well, just what I'm telling you now. I think there's a place in little universities
like W&L today where you can have a choice of single-sex education if you so choose. I
mean, why not have a place where you've got that? The girls' schools have it. You had
plenty of female companionship and interaction, even more so, and it was much more
exciting. A school could be different and unique, and with a smaller school like
Washington and Lee, being unique and different, I think, would have kept it a couple
notches above what it is today.

         Now, the Ivy League today, I mean, I think we were just trying to—you know,
the alumni and the students were 85 percent my way of thinking. It was just the faculty
and the president that felt that we should have coeds. The alumni certainly didn't. It
was even until the last minute when they decided to cave in. We had it by one vote, but
a couple of them went back on what they indicated they would do. They had pressure
from the president and all. I think it could have been a more unique school remaining
the way it was. I still do.

         Look what happened to the Ivy League schools, especially the women's colleges.
Vassar, you don't ever hear about Vassar much anymore. It's kind of sad. Now,
Walbash, I think, isn't that college, it's still single sex. There's a couple, two or three of

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them left, and you know more about them now than you did when they were lots of
single-sex colleges. It would have been unique and different. I think they lost a lot of
camaraderie by going coed.

         I think they've proven, for instance, that the ladies going to school in ladies'
schools of single sex, that they're obviously producing a better product than they do if
they let the boys come in or the men. They've proven that. The girls that graduated
from women's colleges assume more responsibility, for instance. The same thing could
have been with men. The presidents of the classes and everything are women, they get
more mixed up in politics. When they graduate, they're more unique and per capita do
a better job. I bet you W&L today, I doubt if W&L today will produce per capita. We
had less than 1,000 students when I was going to school.

         They'll never produce, like in my time at W&L, they'll never produce those seven
presidents and four governors. Of course, don't hold me to the numbers, but generally
speaking like that, a couple of senators and a guy on the Supreme Court, or at least in
the federal positions, occupy high positions per capita, I don't think that they'll ever be
able to do that on a per capita basis that they did in those days. I don't think it's
possible.

         The other thing is, when it comes to donations to the school, I don't care what
you say, the girls, the ladies, when you go around and solicit money, I know this is the
case at state universities where they have been coed all along, the women are not going
to be able to donate or support the college to the basis that men do. Some of them get
rich husbands and help, but they'll give pin money. Per capita they're at a disadvantage
there. I think they could have remained single sex and been unique and different and
smaller schools have to be unique and different to survive.

         Now, my great-grandparents both went to Oberlin, and that was the first coed
school in the United States, and she was in the first women's class.
Warren: Really.

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Warner: He graduated in 1831. You know, the Oberlin movement was an abolitionist
movement. Her name was Drake, her last name, and she was the head of one of the
underground stations, running black people up to Canada. So really I suppose my
background would be coed, that was the first coed college in the United States, and it
was a Congregationalist ministers' school, and he was a Congregationalist minister.
Rode the circuit. I got his diary. He was converting the drunks and running the devil
out of everywhere he went. [Laughter]
Warren: Well, I hope he was successful.

         So tell me how you felt when you got the news of how the vote had gone.
Warner: Well, disappointed, but, I mean, after all, it's just something that happened.
Maybe it was inevitable. Who am I to say it wasn't? Do you think that the women's
colleges are all going to have to have men in them?
Warren: I don't know.
Warner: I hope not, but I guess they will. But it's still a wonderful school. Still the best.
Warren: What do you think now when you go back? What's it like for you to go back
to your old alma mater?
Warner: Well, it's not the same with all the girls floating around. It's not the same. I'd
be telling you a story if I thought it was the same. It seems rather strange with all the
coeds there, too. How many are there of them? Forty percent? Forty to sixty? Sixty
men and forty girls. Advocates of that sort of thing say that's healthy. Maybe it is. I
don't know. No, I was disappointed, but I got over it. Shoot, I send people to W&L all
the time, and the ones I send seem to turn out real good.
Warren: You've got a pretty good record?
Warner: Yeah, I got a real good record on the ones I sent, or at least got interested in it.
Those young men are really doing well, and W&L is doing well. I suppose there won't
be any coed colleges, there are two or three left, men. So maybe they were right, you
know, getting a head start on them.

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Warren: Well, let's get back to your student days. Did you participate in Mock
Convention?
Warner: Yeah.
Warren: Tell me about that. I haven't talked to anybody who was there for your Mock
Convention. Tell me about that.
Warner: For mine?
Warren: Well, that would have been 1940's Mock Convention.
Warner: Well, I wasn't a very active participant, to tell you the truth.
Warren: Were you a delegate?
Warner: Yeah, we were delegates, but that was about all. I wasn't one of the ones that
entered into the thing wholeheartedly.
Warren: Was it a big deal?
Warner: Yeah.
Warren: Was it a big event?
Warner: Yeah, yeah. It was.
Warren: What was it like back then? Really, I haven't talked to anybody who did Mock
Convention in that time frame.
Warner: Well, I think it was similar to what they're doing now, except probably wasn't
hyped up to the degree it is now. You know, with TV and everything, we didn't have
that. But we had one.
Warren: Do you remember who you nominated?
Warner: I don't even remember.
Warren: Were you right? Do you remember, were you right?
Warner: I don't even remember whether I was right. I was interested in other things. I
went and that's about all. In other words, you had to organize. You get somebody else
to tell you about that Mock Convention, because I wasn't active enough in it to really
give you a really good idea.

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Warren: Okay. All right.
Warner: Then you kind of took—well, some of us, we felt that was maybe wasting our
time. It wasn't, of course, but that was kind of an attitude. Like for a while, people
wouldn't go to football games, particularly at W&L. Not like Alabama, my goodness,
football wasn't that big a deal. You'd rather on a Saturday have a date at Sweet Briar or
somewhere like that than be going to a football game. Wilson Field wasn't exactly filled
up with howling. [Laughter] University of Virginia was the big game, of course. That
was exciting, the bonfire, and interesting. It was the big opponent.

         W&L had some good teams. I mean, they had four or five real good players on
the teams, they just didn't, like your big colleges, have three good teams and a lot of
depth. Where W&L had six kids on it, let's say could make any team in the country, but
that was all and they got tired quick. Wrestling was really a bigger sport at W&L than
football. W&L had a great wrestling team. Oklahoma was the only one that was in the
same league as W&L, and it was a major sport. Probably you admired the wrestlers
even more than the football players. I guess lacrosse is a big thing now, isn't it, or
something like that?
Warren: It's a real big sport. But you're the first wrestler I've talked to.
Warner: Yeah, well, you ought to talk to Henry Broun [phonetic], he was a Mexican,
half Mexican and half German. You'd have to go to Mexico, I guess, to talk to him.
Somebody told me that he has a fishing business where he takes tourists out and has a
little fleet of fishing ships. Back then his family made porcelain, I guess. They had a
factory. Tile it was he made. Barney—he was undefeated. All three of us were
undefeated freshmen. I wrestled 165 and Farrier was 175. I think Broun, B-R-O-U-N,
kind of a German name, he was half Mexican. Quick as a cat.

         The wrestling coach, as I told you before, used to come over and get after me for
not coming out for wrestling for varsity, but I didn't.
Warren: Did you get a good crowd at wrestling matches?

                                                                                                                         16
Warner: Yeah. And basketball, my God, basketball was bigger than football in my
time. They were Southern Conference champions every year or most years. They had
Spessard and had a really good basketball team. They were mostly ATOs, I remember
that. Had the best basketball teams in the South. I've often wondered why W&L didn't
try to get a basketball team now, because it's not as complicated as football as far as
giving a few scholarships. You could have a good basketball team. But if they had any
kind of a team, I would think to try to compete they could have a basketball team.
Might be a good idea. Take that back with you.
Warren: Well, they'll be getting it.

         I need to flip my tape over.