The 1906 college football season brought with it a host of changes designed to make the game safer, a series of reluctant compromises made to appease the loud and clamoring voices who had called the violent sport to be banned. All players would be required to wear pads, and officials were given orders to crack down on all manners of roughness.
Easily the most revolutionary change to the game came with the legalization of the forward pass. This was a seismic shift that upended strategy, created new positions, and invented coaches' legacies. It turned quarterbacks into superstars instead of role players.
It's fitting that the man who lined up behind center for the Notre Dame football squad on that first game in 1906 would become the first of its quarterbacks to become an international superstar.
But it's a little surprising that his fame had nothing to do with throwing a football.
Allan Dwan was well-known around campus long before he joined Notre Dame's football team. The Scholastic raved about his performances in plays and skits, and he was the president of the school's Electricity Club, a group that made headlines for innovations and demonstrations that must have seemed like magic in their time.
The Canadian-born Dwan had made quite a name for himself beneath that Golden Dome even before he was named the school's starting quarterback in 1906 at the ripe age of 21. The announcement made Dwan a true triple threat, an artistic, academic, and athletic star at the University.
The Scholastic was excited about the newest member of their backfield, writing:
Dwan... has speed, nerve, endurance, and a good head, and although somewhat lacking in experience, he can be counted on to fill the bill.
Onlookers reported that Dwan apprised himself quite well during an intrasquad scrimmage, and fans were optimistic that the 1906 season would be a good one. With “clever” Dwan at quarterback and the “bruising” Robert Bracken at halfback, the Catholics had a two-headed monster that seemed impossible to stop.
And it sure seemed that way during the first game of the season, a crisp October matchup against the Baptists of Franklin College. All eyes were on Dwan, wondering if he'd attempt one of those forward passes that had generated so much conversation during the long offseason.
He never did.
In part it was because the Notre Dame men were the kinds of stolid traditionalists who played the game “the way it was meant to be played.” But mostly it was because the game was a laugher, and if Notre Dame did have a new-fangled passing attack, they certainly weren't going to roll it out in a contest that was never in question.
The Blue and Gold of Notre Dame won that matchup 26-0. The Franklin squad never made a first down, and the backups were into the game before the first half was over. Dwan played for just 12 minutes, rushing for a few yards and throwing a few good blocks, but not scoring a touchdown.
A week later, he put up a similar performance against the squad from Hillsdale, running the ball a few times, not throwing any passes, and sitting on the bench while the subs performed mop up duty in the second half. After two weeks as the school's starting quarterback, Dwan was 2-0.
It was a good start to a football career, but it was also the end of it.
Allan Dwan went down with a twisted ankle during a practice a few days after the Hillsdale tilt. When word of the injury came back to Dwan's parents, they made strenuous their objections against their son playing football. The injury happened on a Tuesday. Rumors of Dwan's retirement cast a gloom over campus by Wednesday, and by Thursday, he'd made it official:
Citing 'parental objections', Dwan was forced to withdraw from the football eleven after just two halves of two games.
The 1906 football team would go on to finish with a 6-1 record, including a bizarre stretch in which they scored seven points spread across three games, but somehow won two of them. Their 12-0 loss to Indiana in the state championship was the only contest all season in which they allowed points.
Allan Dwan might have watched that game from the bleachers, wondering if it all would have turned out different if he'd been on the field with the boys, but he wouldn't dwell on it too long. His ascent to superstardom was about to begin.
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After graduating from the University in 1907, Dwan married his passions for theater and electricity, taking a job assembling lighting rigs in early Hollywood. In 1911, he found himself on a set that had seen its production come screeching to a halt. The director of the film had been AWOL for a few days on an alcohol-fueled binge, and those delays were costing the studio heads money. While commiserating with the former quarterback, a frustrated producer suggested that Dwan just direct the film himself. Dwan accepted the challenge and by the time the work was over, he earned himself a hell of a compliment from the film studio:
“You're the best damn director we ever saw.”
His career rocketed off the charts from there. He married a movie star and set to directing the finest films of the 1920s. His first box office smash was the silent film, Robin Hood, the first movie to boast a Hollywood premiere, and a zany two-hour romp that you absolutely should watch in its entirety on Wikipedia.
When 'talkies' arrived to wash away many of the most prominent early film director, Allan Dwan was not among those cast out. He thrived in the new era of cinema, directing Shirley Temple, Cesar Romero, Bela Legosi, Natalie Wood, John Wayne, and Ronald Reagan.
Allan Dwan directed at least 125 films during his career and died in 1981 at the age of 96. His long life bridged at least three distinct eras of filmmaking, and Dwan was considered a historic treasure to the medium. He was given a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1960.
As a Notre Dame quarterback, he never threw an interception.
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