What makes a good crew? And why does Harvard consistently have one?

Perhaps to the outsider, rowing seems like a basically simple form of exercise, calling for nothing more than a plethora of muscle, especially between the ears. This viewpoint could not be more wrong. Propelling the $2000 instrument known as a shell through the water with any degree of success calls for more skill and coordination than the casual observer could possibly realize.

For the oarsman's problem is to move his craft not only with power, but in such a way that all motion other than forward and in a straight line is eliminated. it is this process that takes months of training, as well as natural ability. Any number of things can go wrong during a stroke, because every pull involves the use of the entire body in a precise sequence that must not vary if that all-important smoothness is to be maintained.

For instance, at the beginning of each stroke, the oarsman must flip his writs to turn the oar so that it enters the water absolutely perpendicularly. The slightest variation from a 90 degree angle will cause the oar to "knife in" and dig too deeply into the water. When this happens, the handle of the oar is apt to come up suddenly and hit the unsuspecting rower in the stomach, often lifting him unceremoniously out of the boat and depositing him in the river.

This is known among crewmen as "catching a crab," and is generally considered a fate worse than death, especially if it occurs during a race. Many time the effect of knifing in is not so devastating as described above, but even the slightest tendency toward this mistake will unbalance the boat and cause the oarsmen on the opposite side to "wash out," finishing their stroke with oars partly out of the water.

Even if the oars hit the water cleanly, there are still an infinite number of factors for each man to concentrate on. The stroke itself, which is accomplished by a combined pull of the arms, push of the legs, and swing of the body must be achieved with all the power it is possible to muster. At the same time, it must be done as nearly like the other seven men as possible, and above all it must consume exactly the same amount of time.

Even the recovery is no simple matter. The oars must leave the water together, a snap of the wrists must feather them, and the crewmen must slide their bodies forward and their oars back into position again with a smooth, even motion that does not check the run of the shell. If this much is accomplished successfully the whole cycle begins again, and each man must concentrate on doing exactly the same thing in the same way once more--about 300 time in a mile-and-three-quarters race, or about 700 times in the classic four-mile Yale race at New London.

How do you pick the man that can do this best, and once chosen, how do you train him? The job of finding eight men who together will combine the greatest strength with the greatest polish is the toughest job a coach has. It calls for the almost uncanny ability to watch one or two hundred young men tugging away on rowing machines or working on the river, and by merely looking at them and experimenting with various combinations, choosing the best boatload.

Pick and Polish

This is one of the techniques Tom Bolles knows to perfection, and one of the reasons he is the best coach this side of the Mississippi. By the end of Easter vacation, which usually comes only a couple of weeks after the crews first hit the water, he has his varsity picked, out, and he can start perfecting all the minute details of style that must be learned before the first race.

The eight men who occupy the first boat are invariably of similar build broad shouldered and long-limbed. In addition to these criteria, the prospective varsity oar must be endowed with coordination, large quantities of stamina, and equally generous amounts of enthusiasm, patience, and guts. But a man can have all the latter qualifications and still not become an oarsman unless he has the height to give him leverage to generate the needed power.

Weight is not overly important to Tom, although rough weather favors the heavy crew. As for age, Bolles feels that an oarsman hits his physical peak in his early to mid twenties, although the presence of 18-year-old Ted Anderson in this year's shell proves that this rule is like-wise inflexible.

Spring Practising

Given a crew that fits the above pattern, the spring training program is largely a matter of conditioning and perfecting--a job which is accomplished by endless long pulls up and down the river, combined with frequent time trials, starting practises and sprints.

The coach follows his shells back and forth noting faults and weaknesses, and pointing them out with the use of a megaphone. As the opening race approaches. Belles reduces the amount of instruction and lets the crew find its own place and style. Therein lies another reason for Bolles' greatness: he is never a tyrant on form. He allows his oarsmen to retain their own quirks of style rather than insisting on uniformity at the expense of power and smoothness.