I was born into a Lutheran family in Norway but named after a Catholic saint who was a prince.
When I was five we moved to America near Chicago.
I excelled in football and, later, in college as a coach I helped to perfect the forward pass.
I cannot name the college at which I coached without revealing my identity.
Suffice it to say that in my 13 years as head coach my team had a total of 105 wins and 12 losses and three consecuive national championships.
I had a very close relationship with my team admiring them for going to chapel before the hotel when they got off the train or bus. They were all Catholic.
One time before a big game I could not sleep thinking over and over about the game the next day. So before dawn I went down to the empty lobby to sit and chat with the bellboys.
Suddenly two of my players got off the elevator and walked out the door. Then two more, the three, etc. Finally I caught the last two and asked where they were going (of course I already knew). I then asked if I could come along.
So we all went to Mass. They were so devout, especially approaching the Communion rail. I was very impressed. After all they had to get up two hours early before game time to make it to Mass on time.
I should have known more about the true Faith because my wife Bonnie was a Catholic. But it would take me 11 years after our wedding (1914) to follow her into the Church.
I was baptized a Catholic in the chapel on the campus where I coached.
I died in 1931 in a plane crash in Kansas along with seven others.
Coincidentally, 100 miles from the crash site, lived the coach whom I replaced at my college. He ID’d my body.
I was found clutching my rosary.
At my wife’s wishes I was buried off campus in a private cemetery adjacent to the Catholic campus at which I coached.
