Notre Dame Magazine invites personal essays of no more than 250 words on subjects of nostalgic interest to alumni of all ages. Selected submissions will be published in a future print edition or online at magazine.nd.edu. Please send fun, meaningful or evocative stories from your student days on the topics listed below to associate editor Michelle Cuneo at mmcdani2@nd.edu. New topics to come each issue.
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First game
It was 1966, the first week of classes, and the opening game was Purdue. I was determined to do well at Notre Dame and take in all things football. The old Fieldhouse Friday rally was surreal.
We had Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday morning classes. On home football weekends, the last Saturday class was moved to 7:30 a.m. Off I went through a deserted campus to the fourth floor of the Administration Building, then back through an equally deserted campus to Dillon.
At about 11 a.m., I ran into a junior I knew from high school. He invited me to a party in Badin. The typically cramped dorm room was now over-cramped. Some Saint Mary’s College juniors kept giving this enthusiastic freshman drinks.
Time to head to the game. I found my seat in the freshman section. Notre Dame kicked off. Purdue was marching down the field. At the Boilermakers’ 8-yard line, the running back fumbled into the air. A defensive back grabbed it and ran it in for a touchdown. I was up yelling and screaming. Why was everybody else so quiet?
Oops. Having seen Notre Dame play at Pitt in 1964 in white jerseys, my alcohol-addled brain failed to adjust to the home blue jerseys. Rocky Bleier had fumbled. Purdue’s Leroy Keyes grabbed it for the touchdown. Total embarrassment.
We did win, 26-14. And I never went to another game alcohol-addled.
— David A. Redle ’70
Locking eyes
I am lucky to have played in the Notre Dame Marching Band. Game day as a band member was rich with routines: crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn for last rehearsal; donning the beloved band uniform; having strangers greet me like a rock star because of the band uniform; suffering through inspection while friends tried (and often succeeded) in making me crack a smile from the mandatory game face; feeling the spirit lift as we marched to the Stadium; cramming into the dark tunnel with feverish anticipation as we waited for the signal to rush into the bright light and roaring crowd with a sound that would wake up the echoes.
Of the many game days, one during my senior year stands out. By then, I had acclimated to the crowds — a sea of faces blending together in witness to our performance. But that day, I looked up at the right time during our pregame performance to behold my parents waving at me from their 30-yard-line seats. The odds of my lining up in formation and spotting them among the 80,000 fans felt like hitting the lottery. I locked eyes with them, channeling the wonder of performing for them on the storied field where we had come together as a family on so many fall Saturdays. I never wanted it to end.
— Renee Ireton ’98