Sport: The Coach Speaks Out

• Share

Even at the University of Washington, where coaches get fired faster than French Premiers, the dismissal of Football Coach "Cowboy" Johnny Cherberg was an unpleasant surprise. Others, sent packing after fairly successful seasons, and rudely needled by students and "downtown" alumni, had kept their peace. The difference this time: Johnny Cherberg talked back. Loudly and clearly last week, he accused university authorities of condoning a football scandal.

Too Strict for Girls. The reason Cherberg was disliked by a lot of people at Washington was made clear by some of his players, who had signed a petition asking for his release. The coach, they said, was too strict: he would not let them ride home from games with their girls; he yelled at them; he would not let them whistle in the dressing room or chew grass; he made them sit erect on the bench. Citing a list of such complaints, four promising freshmen quit the University (enrollment 30,000) to solicit offers elsewhere. After an investigation by University Vice President H. P. Everest, Cherberg was rehired .for 1956. Then, last month, he was fired.

The cards were stacked against him, said Cherberg, from the first game of the 1955 season. While beating Idaho, 14-7, Cherberg's Huskies set a conference record of eleven fumbles. Only after watching movies of the game did Cherberg discover that his backfield coach, Jim Sutherland, had changed the center's snapping signal, while keeping the information secret from the rest of the team.

"I wanted to fire Sutherland immediately," said Cherberg. "[Athletic Director] Harvey Cassill told me to wait." While he waited, Sutherland went out of his way to sympathize with rebellious players, "said things would be different if he were head coach." Fired at last, Sutherland promptly landed a job as head coach at Washington State College, the Huskies' archrival.

Too Corrupt for Kids. Dissension was kept alive on his squad, said Cherberg in newspaper interviews and a televised speech last week, "by threats to players that they would be cut off from outside aid if they joined me ... A player loyal to me was offered a $50 a month deal from a downtown source to join the movement against me."

Some players were, in fact, getting far more aid than conference rules allow. Source of their incomes: a downtown "slush fund" administered by Washington's most energetic alumnus, Roscoe C. ("Torchy") Torrance, a printing-company executive and concessionaire. Contributions from Husky rooters fleshed out the fund, but last year its biggest boost came from a $26,000 slice of the take from a pro football game staged in the university's stadium. With capital sometimes as high as $75,000, Torchy was able to slip grateful athletes fat checks. Out of the fund came the price of plane tickets home, vacations for wives, the cost of a car when a player needed one. When the revolt broke, however, pro-Cherberg squad members suddenly found their mailboxes empty of checks. "Players," said Johnny, "had to look in two directions: one for favors, one for coaching."