Al Ulbrickson’s coaching relationship with the Washington crew

Al Ulbrickson’s coaching relationship with the Washington Huskies rowing team is defined by a productive tension: he sets the discipline and direction, but the crew’s greatest strength emerges when its members trust one another rather than depend on individual command. At Poughkeepsie, he sees them become national champions; as the Olympic race approaches, he must also decide whether to trust their judgment about Don Hume, the sick stroke oar they insist they cannot replace.

A Coach in a Uneven Contest

In the 1920s and 1930s, collegiate rowing drew large crowds and national press, but its prestige and resources remained concentrated in the East. Eastern colleges cultivated the sport as a gentleman’s pursuit, while western programs had struggled for funding and recognition. The University of Washington competed in a longstanding rivalry with the University of California, Berkeley, and the Washington crew’s successes had begun to challenge eastern assumptions about who belonged at the center of American rowing. Ulbrickson’s work with the team therefore carried stakes beyond any single race: the crew was trying to prove itself in a sport whose hierarchy had long favored other institutions.

That history made the Washington victory at Poughkeepsie especially consequential for Ulbrickson. Ten years earlier he had stroked a Washington varsity to a national championship, but no Washington varsity crew had won one since. The Olympics were approaching, and the next race would determine much of what he wanted from his life. His authority over the crew was thus bound to a personal as well as institutional ambition: he was responsible for turning a capable team into one that could win under the pressure of a national contest.

Training, Strategy, and Command

The relationship was not simply a matter of demanding more effort. As rival crews posted striking times before the Poughkeepsie race, Ulbrickson chose to protect his rowers’ condition rather than keep escalating their training. After his own late-evening time trial, he told the writers that Washington had rowed a little above 19:39, well behind California’s reported 19:31. The team’s true time, recorded privately by Johnny White, was 19:25. Even amid public comparisons that made California appear the favorite, Ulbrickson judged that he had seen enough and ordered light workouts until race day. His decision presented rest as part of preparation, not a retreat from competition.

Washington’s come-from-behind victory made the stakes of that judgment visible. In the final two hundred yards, the crew accelerated to forty strokes per minute and passed California, finishing with open water between the boats. Ulbrickson’s public reaction was restrained: “Well, they made it close. But they won.” He then credited the coxswain’s judgment, saying, “I guess that little runt knew what he was doing.” His praise did not mean that he intended to surrender command. The Olympic selection races were less than two weeks away, and California would have another opportunity to qualify. Ulbrickson was pleased with the win but concerned that the crew might become overconfident; he was also displeased with Bobby Moch’s insubordination. The coaching relationship included a continuing effort to celebrate achievement without letting it dissolve discipline.

Confidence Under Pressure

At the shell house after the victory, Ulbrickson addressed the freshmen, junior varsity, varsity rowers, and coxswains together. He told them they had made history and that he was proud of them, then called the varsity’s performance the best-rowed race he expected to see. The room remained quiet. A year earlier, when he had first spoken openly about going to the Olympics, the boys had stood and cheered; now that the goal seemed close, celebration felt less secure. His speech recognized the achievement while leaving the next demand plainly in view: the Olympic ambition was no longer only a dream, but it had not yet been fulfilled.

The need to steady them returned after California won its sprint heat at Princeton. Ulbrickson went from room to room at the Princeton Inn, sitting on the ends of bunks and reminding his rowers that they had effectively sprinted during the closing two thousand meters at Poughkeepsie. He told them they could beat any crew in America at any distance, including California, and that they needed to keep believing in one another. The boys already trusted their teammates, but that shared confidence did not automatically settle their private fear. Their spring victories had established what they could accomplish together; Ulbrickson’s reassurance addressed the remaining uncertainty each man felt about himself.

Hume and the Crew’s Claim

In Germany, the relationship faced a different test when Don Hume remained seriously ill. Cold, wet weather and unheated quarters at the police barracks had made it difficult for him to recover from the illness that began at Princeton. Ulbrickson had already told the Associated Press, “Hume means everything to us. Unless he recovers quickly and regains condition we won’t have much chance.” When Hume’s fever rose again on the morning of a race and Ulbrickson decided he could not row, the coach was responding to a genuine physical concern as well as the needs of the boat.

The rowers did not accept the decision. Over breakfast, they concluded that the final race would not be right without Hume. Stub McMillin, serving as team captain, explained that Hume was vital to the boat’s rhythm and could make the rapid adjustments competition demanded. Moch added that Hume could understand what he was thinking simply by looking at him. Joe Rantz made the team’s position unmistakable: “If you put him in the boat, Coach, we will pull him across the line. Just strap him in. He can just go along for the ride.” Their appeal was not that Hume was interchangeable or that illness did not matter; they argued that his particular place in the crew could not be reproduced by another rower.

Ulbrickson first told the boys to collect their gear and board the bus to Grünau. Then, after they had started upstairs, he called after them, “And bring Hume along with you!” The reversal shows a coach willing to yield when the rowers made the case that the team’s unity and racing rhythm depended on a member he had judged too sick to compete. The later account of the victory identifies Hume as the stroke, confirming that he did take that place in the boat.

What the Relationship Produces

After the Olympic success, Ulbrickson explained that the result could not be credited to one exceptional rower. “Every man in the boat had absolute confidence in every one of his mates. . . . Why they won cannot be attributed to individuals, not even to stroke Don Hume. Heartfelt cooperation all spring was responsible for the victory.” The statement describes the quality he had helped demand and protect, but it also makes clear that the achievement belonged to the crew as a whole. His coaching did not erase individual differences; it brought together rowers whose skills, attitudes, and trust could function as one boat.

Ulbrickson’s gratitude to George Pocock acknowledged another part of that achievement. Walking back to the Princeton Inn after the win, he stopped and thanked Pocock for his help. The moment was notable because Ulbrickson was not given to expansive declarations. His relationship with the Washington crew followed a similar pattern: measured praise, tactical judgment, firm control, and, at the critical moment, recognition that the rowers themselves understood something essential about the boat. The crew’s victory depended not on authority alone, but on authority joined to the mutual confidence Ulbrickson had urged them to sustain.