Harvard's victory over Princeton in yesterday's tennis match necessarily turns attention to a man as deeply respected, and successful in his line, as any in Cambridge--Harry L. Cowles, coach of squash and tennis. If comparatively few Harvard men realize that they have among them one of the country's most famous athletic instructors, it is because Harry is the last man in the world to seek publicity.

Far more important in his eyes is developing the talent of those who take real pleasure in the racquet games. Year after year, Harvard tennis teams have scored victory after victory, and year after year, Harvard's squash players have won laurels in countless tournaments. Yet so far as tennis is concerned, Harry constantly insists on playing for the game's sake, rather than for the sake of piling up an impressive winning streak. And those who have had the privilege of his instruction in squash never forget his emphasis on sportsmanship first, and victory second.

But Harry is more than a successful coach. He is, in the finest sense of the word, a gentleman. If for this reason alone, his men play tennis and squash to do him credit as well as to bring Harvard--and themselves--fame. Their success in both is apparent from the most casual glance at Harry's long and eminontly distinctive record.