Some amazing memories from the '62 team.  Definitely worth reading, for a sense of where Staples soccer came from!

BILL DEEGAN '63 REMEMBERS...

The home page of the Staples web site begins, “It is August; the year does not matter. It could be 1960, 1970, 1980, 1990 or 2000. If it’s late August, the scene is the same.” True for the most part, but you really had to be there in late August of 1960 just a short time after it was all getting started. I was one of those uncomfortable sophomore soccer hopefuls (high school started with 10th grade then) on the field at “the new” Staples High school. Shorts, yes. Tee shirt, yes. Soccer shoes, no -- Chuck Taylor white low cuts were good enough for this exercise. Yes, they had soccer shoes back then, but was I about to ask my parents to buy a pair? Not in America in 1960 – not until I knew more about this soccer thing! The talk among in the new 9th grade graduates moving up from Bedford Junior High was that Staples had done pretty well in their first couple of soccer seasons and that they were looking for players. I had actually made what turned out to be a fairly monumental decision to attend the tryouts just two days earlier when a friend said he was going and encouraged me to come along. Once there, I immediately began to wonder why – after all, I really didn’t like soccer!

You need to understand that history was not very good. Consider this. Once a year, it would happen -- maybe twice. We would run out the back door of the school to the large field behind Bedford Elementary (now Westport’s  Town Hall) where the gym teacher would wait with his duffel bag. As we got closer the clowns of the group stopped clowning, and the idle chitchat dried up as everyone looked to see which brand of fun it would be today. Football? Baseball? Kickball? By now he was taking "it" out of the bag, the ball that looked like a volleyball but wasn't: the brownish-orange rubber ball we used to shoot baskets when there were no basketballs left in the equipment room. It was the soccer ball. "C'mon, coach. Aw, geez! Why ruin a perfectly good gym class!"

But there was, as usual, no debate. Coach was in the zone. "Let's go -- line up over here, count off by twos... Okay, ones over there, twos on this side. Driscoll, take these T-shirts and put them about 15 feet apart by the outside edge of the infield. Dietrich, here's two more shirts -- the other goal is down there by the softball field. Driscoll, does that look like 15 feet to you? Wider, please!"  The coach sets positions: two fullbacks, three halfbacks, the rest forwards. Goalies? Two guys who hate gym class quickly claim positions precisely in the middle of their "goal," a spot from which they are not likely to move more than a foot during the next 45 minutes. "Ones, you kick off -- my whistle. Ready?" Presto, just like that, we were soccer players.

There was a kickoff, football-style, after which everyone on the field, except coach and the goalies, ran quickly to form a compact little mass of humanity trying to get to and kick the ball (not necessarily in that order). Once formed, the pack became a permanent fixture, animated internally but moving very slowly. There were no highlights, no "play of the day." Maybe some comic relief, but that came only when one of the intrepid pack elected to "head the ball" and feigned being knocked unconscious.  At the end of "the game," we left the field feeling as good as one does after playing several games of tic-tac-toe against an opponent who also knows how to make every game a tie. Going back to class was never easy, but we found solace in knowing we had just filled the "soccer square" for another school year. Safe until next fall, talk quickly turned to the touch football game at recess.

So with nothing but that unlikely foundation to stand on, a few from that group of gym class warriors found their way to the Staples soccer field in August of 1960. Why? Some had actually played in junior high -- they had a team in Weston. The rest of us had various reasons that probably included plain old curiosity – an older brother had played; too small to play football; not wanting to play football but in need of a fall sport to get in shape for basketball; and of course just looking for an edge in making the baseball team. The soccer coach, some guy named Loeffler, was also the varsity baseball coach.

Any risk? How could there be? It was just soccer; how hard could that be? The many answers to that simple question came quickly. First, we found we were not even close to being in shape. We also learned that almost everyone's left foot is somehow not connected to the same brain that controls the rest of the body. We were also made painfully aware that we knew absolutely nothing about the game of soccer beyond the shape of the ball and the most fundamental concept of scoring a goal. But making the ball go between all of the posts was no easy proposition.

We were lost. To make things worse, seniors – old guys who shaved at least a couple of times a week – seemed to know exactly what was going on, and looked at us as if we were somehow in their way most of the time. We probably were. The whole experience was humbling. Yet at smart as we were after completing 9th grade, we found out there was something going on out in the world of sports that we had missed entirely. This game, the most popular in the world, was actually going to require some work – hard work. Some left that first practice discouraged, wondering about the wisdom of continuing to pursue this soccer thing. It seemed like far too much to learn this late in life. A tough lesson at the ripe old age of 15.

Yet some did return, and just a few weeks later we were playing and winning soccer games on the JV team. I'm still not sure how or why. There was no one to learn from other than our own varsity players -- most of whom had been playing the game only a year or two longer than we had. There was no cable TV, no way to tune in "Futbol Telemundo" or a Tottenham Hotspurs match. No Cosmos yet, no club ball, and for that matter not much soccer at all. With time we decided we liked the game enough to find a college team to watch, but even their game was just a notch or two above that of our varsity players.

Was there a secret to our success? There was: our coach, Albie (Mr.) Loeffler, whose quiet passion for the game had brought soccer to Staples just a few years earlier. How did he do it? I'm still not entirely sure! He did stress fundamentals: passing, position, defense. Nothing fancy -- there wasn't much ball-juggling back then, and while I do remember an aging (30-year-old) guest coach with an accent who demonstrated a bicycle kick, I also remember most of us agreeing this did not look like a very healthy thing to do with one's body.

So we kept it simple, but in the process learned to keep the ball on the ground, create space and play a pressure-style defense that transitioned quickly to offense. I can't tell you how he got us to do that – we just practiced, and it came out that way. It was kind of amazing when you think about it. Most of us were not really soccer players – far better to describe us as baseball, basketball and tennis players, along with a couple of swimmers who played soccer.

Frankly, there was not a good reason for us to be better than most of the teams in Fairfield County, or for that matter the state – but we very quickly began to prove that we were. The Staples varsity made it as far as the state quarterfinals in 1960, and the semis the following year, losing in tough games on both occasions. In our senior season, just a little over two years after that initial tryout, some of those uncomfortable sophomores from the summer of '60 played in the state finals against Manchester. That was quite a day!

During the morning announcements, the principal discouraged students from even attempting to drive up to the finals. "The game will be played at the Choate School and it starts early – too long a drive to leave after school and make it in time for the game." A few brave souls left school "a little early" and came anyway. Few parents were there, but mine did remember to ask how we did when I arrived home. Things were a little different then – not necessarily worse than they are now, just different. No T-shirts in those days proclaimed, "Soccer is Life. The Rest is Just Details."

Manchester brought their students over in buses, and made a ring around most of the field. The weather was overcast and damp. Our "A" game apparently was misplaced somewhere on the way, and not a whole lot went right that day. We lost 3-0. Manchester had been a last-minute replacement in the tournament when Brien McMahon High School failed to get its paperwork in on time. We were undefeated, had given up but 2 goals in 13 games, were ranked number one in the state, and on that day, none of that mattered. We were supposed to win, but we didn't. And we didn't just lose; they beat us.

It was a long and quiet ride home. It was over -- the season and, for most of us, high school soccer. We had fallen short. On the other hand, it had been a good 3 years, and an unbelievable senior season. We had come that close. So there, in the darkness of that early November evening, riding in the finally warm confines of one of Westport's finest yellow school buses, sitting there in the company of a very somber soccer team with the uncharacteristically quiet Joe Cuseo at the wheel, I found myself thinking back to those "formative" gym class years.

I thought about that first tryout. I thought about how ineptly I played when it started, and I thought about that long summer in 1961 trying to make my left foot work like my right. I thought about worrying over whether I could eventually make the starting team, and how glad I was that I did -- worry enough and start. I found it difficult to think about all that and not smile, just a little and inwardly. Sure, the season had ended on a bad note, but at the same time I doubt that any of us who were on that bus will ever forget that we were there that day, or how we got there.

For the underclassmen relegated to the front of that same bus, the story was similar -- though not the same -- the next season. A year later they rode back to Westport as state champions. For incoming sophomores, things stayed pretty much the same over the next couple of years, but change was not far ahead for them either. In the spring of 1962 a few of us helped out at the first official gathering of youth soccer players in Westport. By the time the next decade started in 1970, I'm sure they showed up in cleats, and knew not to kick with the toe.

By the late '70s my son played in a large youth soccer group for a coach, a very dedicated volunteer, who showed up on the first day of practice with a soccer "how-to" book.  Alex’s games were played in front of a group of slightly more soccer-smart Westporters, but some were heard to say things like, "Gee, what happened there?" or "Please, tell me again, exactly what is offsides?"  Ten years after that, it was my daughter playing for a professional trainer with a very distinct foreign accent, in front of wild-eyed Texas parents yelling, "Get in the game, ref, she was offside by at least 10 yards!" Progress, progress, progress!

Finally, a few years ago had the pleasure of watching my son still playing the game in his mid- to late-20s – on television. It's been quite a journey, especially when you think that it all started with, "Aw geez, coach, not soccer!"

Postscript: Later in life, I went to Air Force Flight school. In making it through, I always appreciated the fact that I once played soccer – especially as a defender. The two environments were strangely similar (altitude and air speed being the obvious exceptions), with both requiring you to take in a wide range of events occurring in front of you in rapid succession, and making continuous decisions to ensure that the right things happened.  Later, as an instructor pilot, I always asked struggling students if they ever played soccer.  When I was lucky enough to find one who had, it opened up the discussion in a very positive way.

MIKE DILL '63 REMEMBERS...

Our ’62 team went 12-1-1, with 12 shutouts. The one loss was the state championship game. We had 5 or 6 guys on the All-FCIAC team.  I don’t think there was any All-State yet.  We also had 6 or 7 who played college soccer. It was a great experience to play with and against your high school teammates in college. During the 50th celebration, we put our minds together and did the best we could to remember our years under Albie Loeffler. Of course, every season, be it soccer, basketball or baseball started with the famed, “Men, it is going to be a tough year. We don’t have much to work with.” The speech was always delivered with a frown. It was always early in the first practice of each season.

We played against a Brien McMahon team that had all of John Sahnas’ older cousins on it. Their uncle ran up and down the field coaching in Greek the entire game. McMahon were a good team then. This was my first experience with a fullback looking after a goalie. Seems someone from McMahon kicked a ball that was already in my grasp. Well, someone on our team made sure it didn’t happen again. That was a lesson in how to manage the field. Thanks guys. 

We played against a Greenwich team that was extremely good. They  played a very European-style, controlled game, even in those early years. Bill Deegan remembers the game at our field. We won a very closely contested 1-0 game. I think we were outplayed that day, but managed to sneak away with a victory in the closing minutes. One of the players was swearing in a foreign language, and unfortunately the referee spoke that language. The player left the game, and for a long time we didn’t know why.   

Not to be included in the “best saves ever” category, but I did save a penalty kick late in the state quarters or semis that helped us along the way. It was up near Wethersfield (I don’t remember exactly where).  I believe it was a 1 goal win.  I was too slow to dive and the shot hit me, but I’ll keep that a secret. Best opponent. Too far back for many of the people who may eventually read this, but as I said before, our ’62 team gave up 2 goals all season (in a 2-2 tie with New Canaan, with one of those being an own goal!) and got to the state finals with that status. We played well but were destroyed by Manchester. We lost 3-0, but I have always felt I played a good game. The shots came from everywhere all game long. We had 7 fans at that state finals game. Manchester had 7 busloads of people. Some of my teammates remember coming home from the game and having a parent say, “Did you play today?” Times have changed.  

Several members of  our ’62 team played in college. Bill Deegan I believe, Jack Lillis at Hartwick, Paul Loeffler and myself at UConn, almost Jim Paull (rugby instead) at Dartmouth), Doug Lorenzen helped get Bowling Green soccer started, I think Dave Olean, and I’m sure one or two I’ve missed. Tom Pinkham may have played. I don’t remember about Jerry Keneally either. Both certainly had the talent.  So, 6 or 7 from one team isn’t bad.

I did reach All-New England status in college, and UConn my senior year was in the NCAA tournament. That may not seem like much now, but only 16 teams made the tournament half a century ago.  And we did beat Middlebury, which was coached by Joe Morrone at the time.  We were also in the middle of developing the youth programs. I remember going behind Coleytown school on Saturdays to coach 4th,5th and 6th graders. Jim and Bill also remember this. Given we were the class of ’62 and they were 6 to 8 years behind us, that makes them the classes of ’68 through ’70.  Since then I coached about 20 years of youth programs in Rocky Hill, including starting (officially anyway) the youth program here. For all the folks in South Western CT, Rocky Hill has had a very good run of their own in soccer. 

Our toughest game of the season (besides Manchester) that year was against the University of Bridgeport freshman team. What made it really tough was when some of the varsity players came to help their younger college teammates. Jim Kuhlmann was a Bridgeport All-American who did his student teaching at Staples. He was an outstanding player ,and an individual  we all admired. He was “who we wanted to be” when we got older. We still talked about his trick penalty shots. He put 2 balls on the line, and kicked the right ball with his left foot and then the left ball with his right foot, of course that foot came behind the left one. Both balls went into the opposite upper corners. We watched him do it time and again. I played against Jim in the Connecticut semi-pro leagues several years later. That was an interesting place to play soccer! But those stories will not be retold here. 

One last thought. How many of Albie’s players remember the bulletin board in the locker room, and what Albie would do when grades came out and honors were announced?  He always, and I do mean always, cleared 2 spots on the board. He filled one with the list of his soccer players who were on the honor roll. Of course, we were led by Dan Shulman (class of ’62 a year ahead of us) and Bud Shulman (class of ’63) who took so many Advanced Placement classes they both skipped freshman year at Ivy league schools . The other spot, the empty one, was left for the football team. Unfortunately, I never seemed to make the list, but I tried. Bill, Jim, Tom, Jack, Dave, and Jerry were all on there.

DAVE OLEAN ’63 REMEMBERS...

I promised that I would write up my impressions of those days. Actually, Bill Deegan and I were going to work on it, adding his backfield impressions to what I was writing from my vantage point on the far left of the front line. I was always on the front line, and my only recollections of our defense was me thinking, "Hey guys, when you’re done, just pass it back up here so we can get on with it!" I jest a bit, but most games did not center in our defended territory very often. If the halfbacks weren't slugging it out, we were usually pestering the opposing goalies, while Mike Dill stood there with arms crossed, just watching from the cage.

What surprises me are the things we remember. What was important to one of us may have been missed by another. We should all jot something down. What a difference a few decades makes. The newer members of the dynasty will get a kick out of our take on the situation for sure. It really was a different time.

At the 50th celebration Jeff Simon remembered a kick I made that, over the years, I completely forgot about. I’m not sure of the game, but I scored on a corner kick. Jeff was on the bench sitting next to Albie Loeffler. I kicked it from the left side, and put a lot of spin on it. The ball arched up high and out, then started clawing at the air and angled back in toward the goal. It slipped in the far upper right corner of the net, at a point where the goalie could not get to it in time. Jeff said Albie jumped up and down on the sidelines, saying that was the prettiest thing he ever saw. Of course, I never heard anything about it afterward. That was the way Albie Loeffler was. He is truly a man of few words.

I also remember when an opposing goalie broke down and started pounding the ground with his fists. I think we were at home, and it may have been the Ludlowe game. He just pounded the ground yelling, "I can't play! I can't play!" He had been taking in a lot of shots on goal, but the score against him was reasonable. I think the pressure just got to him. I also remember when Jack Lillis got dropped by a kick to the chest in the New Canaan game at the end of the season. I was sure glad to see him stand up! That was a nailbiter for sure. For more of Dave Olean's memories of the '62 season, click here.

The '62 team (with one interloper) gathers 46 years later, at the 50th celebration. From left: Bill Deegan, Jim Kaufman, Burke Mandable, Dave Olean, Jim Paull, Mike  Dill, Doug Lorenzen. All were members of the Class of '63, with the exception of Kaufman (Class of '61).