There is more to a Sooner football game thanfootball -just ask the 2,700 people whosebehind-the-scenes efforts make Saturday athome an event to remember for the fans .

Photo by George Dotson

By EVE SANDSTROM

It's a folk festival, a musical extravaganza, a media event.It's bigtime college football, Sooner style . And it's great.When the Big Red charges down Owen Field, 75,000 cheering fans are

in the stands, and 200 players and coaches rim the sidelines. And behind thescenes, 2,700 people who may not see a punt, pass or kick are working tomake the day a success.

"If the game is all the fans talk about as they're leaving the stadium, we'vedone our jobs," Bill Dickerson says .

Dickerson is in charge ofgame day operations for the athletic department .A former Kansas State football player, he came to OU as an intern whileworking on a master's degree in athletic administration from Wichita State,and he stayed .

"We have to treat the stadium like a city on game days," he contends."We've got to have our sanitation, our police, our electricians, our food . Afterall, 75,000 people is larger than most towns in Oklahoma ."

By 10 a.m. on a typical game day, the novelty shop at the south end ofOklahoma Memorial Stadium is already busy. Fans dig through piles and racksof sweatshirts, stationery, socks, shoelaces, postcards, clocks, jackets and kids'cheerleader and football outfits . The whole shop is awash in red and white.

Novelties manager Suzi Wilcox expects her part of the athletic departmentoperation to do nearly $2 million in business this year. About one third ofthat will come on game days.

"Our most expensive item is the National Championship Watch at $250,"she says . "Our cheapest? That would be a pencil for a quarter. The averagesale is $30.

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"The fans want an inexpensivememento to take home to the kids-apennant or a giant foam finger thatsays `No . 1 .' But it's getting awfullyhard to find anything with any qualityto sell for under $5."During football season, Wilcox has

a core group offive full-time employeesand four part-time student workers .The sales crew swells to 70 on gamedays, when an additional store at thenorth end ofthe stadium, nine noveltystands and 10 carts are opened .

"It takes two weeks to stock thestands and carts before the firstgame," she says . "It takes one wholeday after a game just to refold andstraighten stock in the main store ."While fans shop for souvenirs, the

RUF/NEKS and the RUF/NEKS Lit-tle Sis members assemble north of thestadium, hours before kickoff. Dressedin white pants and red corduroy shirtsand carrying their traditional red andwhite paddles and white shotguns, thepep clubs are the honor guard for theSooner Schooner, a miniature coveredwagon drawn by two white ponies,Boomer III and Sooner 111 . Boomer andSooner will pull the schooner onto thefield for a victory run after every OUscore . Until game time, however, theypose for photos with fans, helping theRUF/NEKS raise money.Brad Matson, of Ponca City, is pres-

ident of RUF/NEKS and is one of fourstudent drivers of the SoonerSchooner, two active and two in train-ing. Another group of RUF/NEKScarry and fire the shotguns . They loadtheir own blank ammunition andmust pass a safety check by the Nor-man Police Department .How do the ponies like shotguns?Brad grins . "They don't like them

much . We have to hold them, or theyget real irate . We've had them jumpup like 'Hi-yo, Silver,"'-he takes astep forward- "and away ."Boomer and Sooner and the

schooner are provided to OU by theDoctor and Buzz Bartlett Foundation,set up by a pair of OU alumni brothers,Dr. M . S . Bartlett and Charley (Buzz)Bartlett, both of Sapulpa . Theycreated the schooner as a symbol ofthe land rushes and the original Soon-ers, pioneers who jumped the gun intheir eagerness to stake their claimsin Oklahoma .

"I've seen football games all over theUnited States, and they have lions, ti-gers, red birds, blue birds, cornhusk-ers-just the traditional names for

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their teams," Dr. Bartlett says . "Butthe name 'Soonnes' is a little different .So why not have something that reallyreflects the state and the meaning ofthe team's name, somethingunique?"The ponies are 42-inch Welsh-Ara-

bians . They live on a farm nearSapulpa and appear at every homegame, at the OU-Texas game in Dallasand at bowl games . A second team ofponies marches in parades and makespersonal appearances."We enjoy seeing the ponies run,"

Buzz Bartlett says . "We're proud oftheschooner. We've set up a foundationthat will keep it running as long asOklahoma has a football team."

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Near the Sooner Schooner, a teen-ager with an overgrown Mohawk hair-cut is peddling four game tickets .

Athletic ticket manager Ben Silviaexplains that Oklahoma has no lawagainst ticket scalping . Silvia, an OUpharmacy alumnus, is philosophicalabout the job he took over this year."One day you're a hero, the next day

a rat," he says, smiling .About 5,000 people are on the wait-

ing list for OU season tickets, and theycan expect to wait from three to fiveyears before their names come up . Pur-chasers are picked by a computer."Some of our biggest hassles come

from getting people to understand that

ticket orders really have a deadlinedate," Silvia says . "They figure it's likethe gas bill-if you don't pay on time,they'lljust tack on a few more dollars ."When they finally do send the

money in, we've had to reassign theseats . We've got to fill them up."And divorce-the thought makes

Silvia shake his head . OU tickets havebeen the object of custody battles inOklahoma courts . The final split usu-ally includes dividing the football tick-ets ; then Silvia has to reassign seats.The stadium holds 75,000-10,000

student tickets, sold at $25 for a five-game season, and 55,000 public seasontickets, at $75 ; faculty and staff can

buy at a reduced rate . The visitingschools get from 2,000 to 5,000 tickets,and the ones they return are sold assingle admissions at $15 per seat .Ticket sales will bring in more than

$4.2 million this year toward the $11million budget of the OU athletic pro-gram . Other income comes from dona-tions, concessions, novelty sales, radioand television, licensing, Big EightConference events, basketball ticketsand a variety of incidentals .

Football costs the athletic depart-ment between $3 million and $4 mil-lion annually, but football-related in-come, with an assist from basketball,supports the 19 OU varsity sports pro-

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grams, according to athletics adminis-trator Dickerson ."Many people don't realize that the

athletic department is considered anauxiliary to the University. We get nofunding from the University at all-infact, we pay two percent of our incomefor overhead . We're strictly self-sus-taining," he says .The only item that isn't red at an

OU game is orange, the oranges somefans throw onto the field to symbolizethe Orange Bowl as the season's goal .Oranges make Dickerson unhappy. Sodoes tearing down goal posts .

"Ifyou get hit in the back of the neckwith an orange, you can be

paralyzed," Dickerson says . "The goalposts are aluminum. They snap, andyou don't know where they'll land .

"Besides, the goal posts cost $4,000each . So tearing them down costs$8,000 for the goal posts, plus, say,$2,000 for the cleanup ." He takes adeep breath . "It doesn't make me ahappy person."

Bill Jones, director of OU's depart-ment of public safety, gets unhappyover oranges and goal posts, too, buthe still prefers victories . OU fans areused to winning, he explains . If theSooners lose, the security officers andparking workers will have a toughercrowd to handle .

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"A minimum of 20,000 to 25,000 ve-hicles are at every game," Jones says ."The thing that saves us is that wehave not only the No . 1 team, we havethe No . 1 fans . These folks have beencoming to the football games for years,and they have their pet ways to gethere and their pet places to park . Idon't know how we'd manage ifwe hada bunch of strangers coming .

"I always tell people there are twoways to beat the traffic-come earlyand stay late ."

All available campus parking isturned over to football on game days,and the University charges varyingfees for the service . The best bargain

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is Lloyd Noble Center, Jones says .Parking is free, and fans can ride theshuttle bus to the stadium for 50 cents .Bob Connor, manager of athletic

facilities, is in charge ofparking nearthe stadium, most reserved for donors.

"It's still first come, first served,"Connor says . "I get people who tell me,`Barry Switzer said I could park here .'I try to be polite, but I've got to seethat pass . No pass, no park."

All told, 165 officers from the OUand Norman police departments andthe Oklahoma Highway Patrol areneeded to handle the crowds, aided by200 private security guards and park-ing attendants .

In the Gomer Jones Memorial Car-diac Care Center under the stadium'snorth end, Nola Duncan recalls thatfacility's busiest day, September 16,1978 .

"It was the second game of the sea-son, a real hot day. OU was playingWest Virginia, and they had broughttheir band . They were wearing wooluniforms ."

In two-and-a-half hours, the stafftreated 101 people, 66 for heatstroke-most of them members of thevisiting band .Duncan, directorof surgical services

at Norman Regional Hospital, and herhusband Larry coordinate doctors,

nurses and technicians from the hospi-tal who volunteer to man the GomerJones Center. Dr. Hal Belknap, a Nor-man internist, is the medical director.The modern, fully equipped facility

has separate areas for minor first aidand for serious illness . Before the es-tablishment of the center, OU hadnothing more than a first aid stationfor health care at the games, Belknaprecalls .

In 1969 Goddard Health Center di-rector Dr. Don Robinson and AssociateAthletic Director Ken Farris organizeda care unit on the west side in theNROTC rifle range . The present facil-ity followed in 1973 after planning by

personnel from the Norman hospital,Goddard and the OU Health SciencesCenter, advised by two OU alumni, Dr.Charles Robinson and Dr. Tom Rus-sell, both Oklahoma City car-diologists . Former OU trackman How-ard McGee, of Ardmore, donated hisarchitectural design services .Belknap and Jones believe the

Gomer Jones Center is as good as anymedical facility at any stadium in theUnited States . Built by gifts given inmemory of former OU coach andathletic director Gomer Jones, whodied in March 1971, the operation issustained by donations . There is nocharge for treatment .

During every game, one doctor staysin the center, a second is assigned toan emergency station in the stands,and a third is ready to accompany theseriously ill to the hospital . A MediFlight helicopter from OklahomaMemorial Hospital stands by, in caseheavy traffic stalls ground ambu-lances .Belknap considers Explorer Scout

first aid teams throughout thestadium an important part ofthe med-ical team . More than 350 Scouts andleaders from the Last Frontier Councilwork the game . Scouts have served asushers and assisted with first aid fornearly 30 years .On the sidelines, cheerleaders are

building a pyramid three people high ."Go, Sooners! Fight!" Pause . "Fight!"Pause . "Fight!" The six girls jumpdown daringly, to be caught by sixguys .Meredith Wilber, an OU cheerleader

from 1968 to 1972, has just taken overas coordinator of the Spirit of Okla-homa-the cheerleaders and the pompon squad ."Cheerleading is drastically

changed since my day," she says, "butI've been active in the National Cheer-leaders Association, so I've seen itevolve over the years."OU has had all-girl squads, then

girls with a male sidelines announcer,and now a male-female squad . The co-ed squad is able to do lifts and tum-bling tricks that classify cheerleadersas real athletes .

"I call it a sport," says Jan LaneWarner. Warner, who works for the Tip-In Club, the OU basketball supportgroup, formed the first pom pon squadin 1975 and was the spirit squad coor-dinator until she stepped down in Au-gust .Pom pons travel with the basketball

team and the cheerleaders with thefootball team . Both groups go to bowlgames or to basketball's nationalplayoffs . They make a number of per-sonal appearances-some to raisemoney for their own programs, someas public relations for the Universityor the athletic department .The 1985-86 cheerleaders placed sec-

ond in national competition, and thepom pon squad placed third ."These young people represent the

University in a very high profile,"Warner says . "They have high grades,and they are active on campus . Somehave jobs . One girl completely sup-ports herself."

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Gene Thrailkill, director of OUbands, also thinks his students aretops .

"I'm prouder of the quality ofthesekids than I am of the way they playand march," he says . "Band kids aregood kids . They really work hard, andthey do things for others-such asbringing handicapped kids to visitband practice . I get a little tired whenI hear people complain about kidstoday."Only 20 percent of the OU band

members are music majors. About 400audition every year, demonstratingboth playing and marching skills .About 290 players and alternates areselected .Roland Barrett, assistant director of

bands, devises the marching charts,using a computer. The computer evenwill print out the individual charts forthe band members."We try to gear halftimes to all our

audiences," Thrailkill says . "If youdon't keep the kids in the band happy,

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they just quit . But the marching bandis entertainment . We have to pleasethe 75,000 people in the stands ."Then we try to remember the small

percentage of band members who willbecome band directors . The audiencedoesn't really care, for example, ifthere's absolutely no movement afterthe final bar is over. But we want ourstudents to know that that's the rightway to do it ."At 8:30 a.m . on game days, the band

members practice in the stadium.They wear black pants with red andwhite shirts, and black raincoats if itis a moist day, as it was on a couple ofoccasions this fall . Flag girls have redslickers .They end their practice by singing

the "OU Chant," holding up theirright forefingers in the classic "We'reNo . 1" signal . At the chant's end thedrums boom, and the band goes into"Boomer Sooner." Then they dash outto change into marching uniforms andeat lunch . They have to march to the

stadium in time to give a concert be-fore the game starts .As the band heads home for lunch,

the crowd grabs a bite to eat fromsidewalk vendors and stadium conces-sionaires.A bearded showman named Roy Rec-

tor has sold concessions at OU gamessince 1971 . Now 39, he hawks Cokesand peanuts on the west side of thestands, and on a good day he clearsmore than $100 a game . Concessionsmanagers rate him as one of the bestsalesmen they have ."I'm the goober man," Rector says .

He grins, but he leaves no doubt thathe takes his work seriously."The main thing is to be in shape .

I run every day. You've got to be strong .The other thing is getting out thereand hustling ."A rack of soft drinks holds 20 14-

ounce cups . The product alone weighs17 1/z pounds. The metal rack is notlight, and it is awkward to carry. Rec-tor expects to sell 23 or 24 racks ofCokes and three or four baskets ofpeanuts during a game .

"I just have fun with the people .About the third quarter, you start hav-ing to talk people into buying, and Ihave a little patter I use . I say, `Ifyougot the munchies, I got the cure . Getyourself a big of sack of goobers. Giveyour mouth and hands something todo .' Advertising pays."Does Rector ever see any of the

game?He looks shocked at the idea . "I don't

have time," he says .Sylvania Tucker and Bill Wharton,

co-managers of concessions, reportthat 85 percent of stadium sales aresoft drinks, hot dogs and nachos . Butpopcorn, pizza, soft pretzels and plentyofother items also are offered . Approx-imately 800 people work for conces-sions on game days .The quantities of food they prepare

and sell are hard to picture .For the first games, in hot weather,

the kitchen crew will cook 18,000 hotdogs . In cold weather they will cook22,000 and sell out by halftime .Trucks deliver 12,000 gallons of soft

drinks for each game . Tucker explainsthat the contract is divided betweenCoke and Pepsi, with each companysupplying a section of the stadium .Two women work nine-hour days

Wednesday through Friday beforegames, popping 750 pounds of pop-corn, to be rewarmed on Saturday. Inaddition, 11 ofthe stadium's 31 conces-

sion stands have popcorn poppers,which pop 500 pounds more on gameday.

Thirty people arrive at the twostadium kitchens at 7 :30 a.m . on foot-ball Saturdays to man the hot dog as-sembly lines . One crew member opensthe buns . Two swipe the cooked hotdogs through a big, flat pan of mustardand shove them into the buns. Twomore stuff the buns into bags . A sixthpacks the hot dogs into wooden boxesthat go into warmers .Mary Henderson, Georgie Rumfelt

and Ruby Reed, all retired as cafeteriacooks with the Norman schools, pre-pare hot dogs in the west kitchen . Reedhas performed this chore for at least20 years, the other two 18 years .What's the best technique?Reed smiles . "There's no technique .

You just keep working."Upstairs in the press box, Dr. J .

Clayton Feaver is looking over his pre-game prayer. Feaver, director of theScholar-Leadership Enrichment Pro-gram and a David Ross Boyd professoremeritus of philosophy, has given theprayer since 1970 ."This is the only occasion when I

get applause for a prayer," he says ."My particular guideline is to write

a prayer that will not exclude personsof different persuasions-I even hopemy prayer will not be offensive to anon-theist."

Next, he says, "One expresses someappreciation for the meaning of play,fun, recreation-evoking the idea thatboth the teams and the fans will par-ticipate enthusiastically.

"Last year, I took a lot of kiddingbecause the team lost the first game .I just told people that I had left thefirst game in the hands of the teamand the coaches . After that, I took itback ."The OU press box is four stories of

activity before a game .The top floor provides a bird's eye

view for approximately 75 camera-men .The second floor is for radio, televi-

sion and others who require privatebooths. The coaches have a booth, forexample, and the OU regents, the pub-lic address announcers and KGOU, thecampus radio station .

For a nationally televised game, alarge room in the center becomes atemporary studio . At the UCLA gamein September, the ABC Sports crew fas-tened a sheet of vivid chartreuse toone wall with silver duct tape . They

installed three television sets by theopen windows, all taped down securelyto the counter. People with head-phones kept up a constant chatterwithunseen colleagues, giving the appear-ance of talking to themselves .Down another flight of stairs is the

deck forthe print reporters . More than150 writers cover a game, each withan assigned seat . Major dailies andnews services-The Boston Globe, TheNew York Times, the AssociatedPress-get seats along the windows .Middle-sized papers- Lawton Con-stitution, Muskogee Phoenix-get abank of desks about five feet higherand five feet farther back . Behindthem are high, backless stools, alsolabeled-Frederick Leader, BeaverHerald Democrat, Oklahoma Daily .

Dozens of photographers are downon the field, and the lowest level ofthepress box contains darkrooms for themand for those on duty on the top deck.A snack room for the press also is lo-cated on the bottom level .Mike Treps, OU sports information

director, says that the largest numberof press credentials ever issued wasmore than 700 for the 1985 OU-Ne-braska game . More than 600 writersand photographers had credentials forthis season's UCLA game .

"You go through a lot ofemotion dur-ing the course of a Saturday," Trepssays . "But Sunday is our busiest day,because we're catching up after thegame . Friday is our easiest, becauseeverything's already done ."The final gun signals the beginning

of another job, the cleanup of thestadium by members of the threewards of the Church ofJesus Christ of

Latter-Day Saints-the Mormons ofNorman and Noble . Church membershave had this job for the last 17 years .The Mormon families begin to ar-

rive as the game ends . Elley and MikeCowan and their three children areamong the group .Are there special tricks to the giant

cleaning job?"We use brooms and scrapers and

lots of plastic bags and lots of sweat,"Elley Cowan says .Larry Michaelsen, an OU associate

professor of management and bishopof one of the wards, coordinates thestadium cleanup . The project beganwhen the church was new and hadmany members who were graduatestudents with families, Michaelsensays . The students did not have muchmoney, so they came up with thecleanup as means ofpaying what theyfelt was their share of church ex-penses .Although the cleaning is put out for

bids, so far only the Mormons have bidfor the job . The church receives $5,000per game .

"It's really been helpful to us as anorganization," Michaelsen says . "Wehave a nice church building. Themoney from the stadium didn't buildthe church, but it helped ."Within the community, it's given

us a reputation for being hard workinganddependable . That's helped us all ."Meanwhile, the crowd straggles

across the campus, happy to have seenthe home team win . Music pours froman open window at Kirk House in theCate Center housing area .The song is "We Are the Champi-

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