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Wow, you must have had a great team! John with details. Well, no actually we weren't that good. Roy and I had some smaller successes, but for the most part all of us continued to develop as distance runners, and we all did our best running on the ro after college. That is where we had our best success.

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The Clemson Cross Country Team was not very good. We had three wins and five losses in dual meet competition, and finished next to last in the ACC Cross Country Championships. Though, from a less than mediocre team it is rather interesting and somewhat amazing that four runners would emerge and produce in marathon running that very few other teams can match. Our four marathon PR's are,and for Dean, Roy, myself, and Dave respectively. The average of these four marathon times is and cannot be matched by any other team in Clemson history, probably not in ACC history, and would even rank fairly high in NCAA history.

Our fledgling start running Division I College Cross Country sure gave no indication of the success yet to come. However it is a testament to those distance runners who continue to grow. It was a diverse and disorderly in appearance group of rag tag cross country runners who inhabited Clemson that fall of There were only two returning scholarship lettermen from the team; Rick Zanes from New Jersey and me, from Rock Hill. We two were a weak foundation to build upon and set the tone in those days when the geographic origins of Clemson runners seemed to be either from South Carolina or New Jersey, and not too much in between.

Rick was hardly a cross country runner; he was more of a half miler. He had a Mature nude Clemson lanky body, and bookworm looks. Though he had boyish looks, he also somehow had an overall appearance of someone 50 Mature nude Clemson old, so it was not too long before everyone started calling him Pops. My long sun streaked blond hair was already thinning and mostly hung off my head like a damp dirty mop.

I had shown a few glimpses of performance as a freshman. However, my overall lack of dedication to training, by running only when I had to; taking weekends, holidays and summers off from running and relying on natural ability was starting to catch up to me as I competed on the collegiate level. I had not run a step since the last track meet the past April. The outlook for Clemson Cross Country looked quite bleak. Matriculation had begun during those hot days of August, and the campus was coming alive with the infusion of new and returning students.

Rick bumped into me one of the first days back on campus and he was all excited to say that there was great hope for the Cross Country Team. The big news was that Coach Pee Wee Greenfield had ed just about a full team of some down right fast distance runners. They had already arrived and had been seen out running on the campus and community ro.

I took this news with mixed emotion, wondering if I could run with the new guys, but knowing it sounded good for the prospects of the team. I immediately went to my dorm room, put on running gear, and went over to the old cinder track behind the Fraternity Quad and knocked out 4x yards in 58 seconds each with a quarter jog, just to make sure I was still in shape in spite of my summer off from running.

Dean, from Lakewood, had been highly recruited. He was flamboyant, loud, cocky, and exuberant, and was quick to state that everything was better in New Jersey. Once ed, Coach Pee Wee Greenfield asked him if he knew of anyone else from his area that might be interested to come down and run at Clemson.

Dean mentioned that Dave Geer from Howell had not ed with anyone. Dave was flabbergasted that someone would offer him a full scholarship to college.

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He ed sight unseen. Dave didn't care what hole in South Carolina you had crawled out from to get to Clemson, he just knew he was from Jersey and you weren't. His first morning in Clemson he took a reconnaissance walk to check out the town, to see which way the wind blows, and to see where all the fun and action would be taking place. He walked, and walked, looking for the Main Drag and walked some more. After walking about two miles and not seeing much of anything, he happened to glance back over his shoulder and saw a Welcome To Clemson.

That was when he realized that what he had just walked through was actually Clemson. He sat down on the side of the road and cried and promised himself that he would not be staying for very long in this town. It was not long after arriving in Clemson when Dean earned the nickname Cue Tip, due to his scrawny stick like physique and blond curly afro hairstyle. But Eaglet was what he was most often called as he most resembled a just born baby eagle.

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Dave became The German. Dave did eventually whittle away the big chip on his shoulder, but it would take a few years. The gem of the cross country recruiting class was Roy Kulikowski. No one could pronounce his last name, so naturally everyone quickly started calling him Kool, short for Kulikowski. He seemed taller than he may actually have been due to his very broad shoulders and torso. A very imposing looking figure particularly when surrounded by a squadron of pint sized distance runners that made up the majority of the team.

He was mature, and a no nonsense serious kind of a guy. Because of his positive character and also due to the lack of any viable alternatives, he quickly became the leader of the team. A team full of unleadable, and mischievous hellions. He surely wondered how this had become his fate.

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Decades later it could still be debated whether he had a calming positive influence on the team, or if he himself became corrupted. Probably a little of both. Rounding out the eventual top six for the team that year was Herman Jutzeler. He was a ee out of Charleston who had recently broken my S. High School two mile record and he was pure southern. He was the only one who arrived in Tiger Town already with a nickname, Skeeter.

There were other freshmen who ran with us that fall. Overall the team had quite a distinct flavor and divide of runners from New Jersey and South Carolina.

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Quite a clash of culture, one that eventually melded. We were quite a young team.

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It consisted of one junior, two sophomores, and eight freshmen. Initially the New Jersey boys seem to have a bit of mild disdain for the southern culture of their teammates. Dave had already switched roommates, not wanting to room with some mild mannered southern boy from Charleston named Skeeter, to whom he had been ased. Despite that, Dave and Skeeter soon became great friends and the culture clash would soon seem quite trivial compared to the clash of culture with the remainder of the dorm.

Decades before universities utilized any logic and sociological profiling for compatible dorm mates, they just stuck you where they had extra beds and rooms. That arrangement never had a chance. It was bad enough that what seemed like nightly frat parties that went late into the night when cross country runners are trying to get some sleep before the 6 a. What was even worse was the music, a lot of it Carolina Beach Music blasting from the Fraternity Jukebox.

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However, it did not take them long to realize they did not like that music and found it nauseating when the loud music echoed up the open stairwell and into the third floor Track Team Hall. In the ongoing battle, the fraternity boys partied late into the night affecting the sleep of the cross country boys.

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In retaliation the cross country boys on their way to 6 a. That clash of culture never did meld. Early into the fall semester, the Streaking Craze that was sweeping the nation was about to hit Clemson. Athletic administration and coaches had told their athletes that they were not to participate in such a debaucherous event. Imagine if it happened now.

CJ Some of us on the cross country team, being a bit rebellious of authority, felt that we just could not miss out on such an opportunity to run naked through the Clemson Campus. Of course, due to our superior running ability compared to the average student, we often found ourselves at the front of the pack of stampeding naked students running across the library bridge and various other staged charges through campus that September night.

There had already been some minor issues over hair length, dress codes, thought we told you not to streak, and the need for haircuts in order to comply with athletic department policy. Coach Greenfield was a lovable character who had been coaching for decades.

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He was always smoking a cigar, and always sipping from a can of coke that had more than just coke in it. Sometimes he had the habit of being late to where he was supposed to be. One hot late September afternoon it appeared he was not going to show up at the track to time us for an interval workout. As time ticked by the cross country runners became more restless, irritated and discontented.

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Finally after about an hour of waitingthe team decided to go out for a mile run instead of waiting around any longer for coach. Even t hough the graduate assistant coach told us not to go, we went anyway. We had only gotten about yards away from the track, and we were climbing a trail that led to the top of the Lake Hartwell Dike, when we heard shouting for us to come back because Coach Greenfield had arrived.

We looked back, saw coach arriving in his car, but we waved goodbye and continued out on our way to the mile run. I don't know what we were thinking about what might be the consequences of disrespecting authority, but we soon found out as Coach Greenfield was waiting for us outside Jervey Athletic Center when we completed our run.

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He was not very happy with us. He gave us a fierce lecture and told us to be at the track the next morning at 6 a. He also made it very clear that anyone who did not show up for the workout would have their scholarships revoked and be sent home. There was a lot of big talk of not showing up. The next morning, being mischievous malcontentswe schemed to give coach a scare to make him think that we had not shown up, so we hid in the drained and dry steeplechase pit when we saw him driving toward the track.

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It was very dark, and a bit of a fog hung in the air, but we could see his headlights and the glow of his cigar as he drove toward the track. He sat in his car with the headlights lighting the track infield area.

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