Chairman of a Football League club, a First Division club - what is the job like? When there have been rumblings and ructions on the board it is not a bed of roses. That's for sure. No one doubts that all the directors wish for the betterment of the club, but, for the most part, each has different ideas. Here was I, in the lead, and wondering, from all that had gone before, who was pleased at my promotion and who was not; who would have preferred to be in my place and who would not. It's human nature. That is how the thoughts ran through this chairman's mind, anyway. Sometimes I had a feeling some of them were ganging up against me. That's the psychological side with which the barrow boy had to battle. Maybe that start from the bottom coloured my impressions. Not that there were any outward battles. I was in the position of having a strong man, Mr. Kay, clearly on my side, and his power was still there in good measure.

At the start of the 1955 season, Vic Groves, of the Leyton Orient team, had come into the headlines because of his progressive play and all-round ability. He was a much-talked-of young man, and we decided to watch him in action in a midweek match in London. This was done by the vice-chairman, Mr. Kay, and the manager, Alan Brown. Afterwards the vice-chairman stayed in London; the manager returned to Burnley.

On the following day I was away on business. On returning home soon after seven o'clock I found a message to say an important board meeting was being held that night at 7 p.m. So I was late already! I made my way to the meeting and found it had already started: the chairman and vice-chairman being absent, Mr. Hopkinson was presiding, and the proceedings concerned the transfer of Groves. Decision: that three directors and the manager should join Mr. Kay in London and watch the player again. How does that strike you as First Division club control? It did not exactly delight me, as chairman, so at the end I asked the manager who had called the meeting. When he told me, and plainly, that he had done so, I had to make it clear that in future the chairman would do so in all circumstances. This was not calculated to sweeten relationships but it was a necessary move.

Then off we went to see Groves and Leyton play again in London, and there I met cheery Mr. Harry Zussmann, the Orient chairman. A very nice man, but the transfer fee requested was not so nice: it was too fantastic for words. One could not help being impressed by the play of Groves, a forceful, telling forward, but, there and then, we decided that, if this was a sample of the reigning transfer market, Burnley would bank not on the bank but on their youth policy and build up our strength from our own resources in finding and making footballers. This surely is a duty devolving on each and every club in the League. It is obvious that there are not enough good players to go round, to supply as many as ninety-odd clubs with talent of a quality worthy of the reputation the Football League has established over the seventy years or so of its existence. And everything that has happened since justifies and confirms our decision.

Why have transfer fees gone higher and higher? Not because there are players three or four, five or six or ten times better than David Jack, the first �100,000 footballer. Simply because demand exceeds supply. So up and up and up the fancy fees have gone until the situation is quite ridiculous. The higher and more preposterous the fees, the more our clubs should concentrate on defeating the shortage at nurseries like our seventy-nine and one third acres. When December came the manager asked me for a private chat and told me he was not getting along so well with the vice-chairman. So I had to tell him that I was keeping my promise to Mr. Kay and intended to carry it out. But soon after we returned from a European tour the club suffered the severe blow of Mr. Kay's death. Shortly after his arrival home he was rushed to hospital and the end came all too suddenly.

The club had lost a great and true loyalist - sometimes a dictator; but I was finding that strength of mind was needed in a football chair, as well as strength of body and build to meet the stress even of watching your team in action. How many of the people in the crowd, excited enough themselves, ringing bells and swinging rattles, realise the emotional strain on the man in the directors' box? Few give a thought to it; none realises the emotional stress all officials are under. Spectators are sometimes carried out on a stretcher. Most directors must be saying to themselves: "There, but for the grace of God, go I".

The strain behind the scenes was now to increase. Early in season 1956-7 the manager spoke his mind at a board meeting, and he and I were not on good terms for several days after. This situation obviously was all wrong, so I called in the president, Mr. Grimshaw, as peacemaker. He had a private talk with Mr. Brown, listened to part of what I had to say, and then more or less indicated to me that he would rather see me leave Turf Moor than the manager. So what now? I decided that the club came first, above everything else, shook hands with the manager and hoped for the best.

Came another European tour - France, Switzerland, Germany - in May 1957. I had to fly back to London from Switzerland for an appointment in connection with the installation of our floodlighting system, and soon received a telegram from the manager saying we were playing an extra match in Bilbao. This was the first the chairman knew about an extension of the programme into Spain, and when I rejoined the party Mr. Brown told me he had arranged it and told the directors afterwards. The travelling involved a train journey and then a trip over the Pyrenees in a motor-coach that certainly gave me a rough old time . . . especially when one remembered we were having to come the same way back.

At the Bilbao ground the figures on the score-board reached up to nine, and I was apprehensive about the result. Remember that Bilbao had gained a victory over Manchester United not long before in the European Cup. That match proved to be a real eye-opener. Spectators were frantic. On a newly built stand they had the comfort of red cushions. Around three-quarter time, when we were leading by 4-1, there was a red cannonade . . . cushions were flying on to the field from all parts of the pavilion. It was commonplace for the ball to be retained by the crowd, and the substitution-of-players arrangements so worked out that at one time it was Bilbao fourteen men, Burnley eleven. We won by 5-1. What a victory! What a game!

I asked about the possibility of returning by air, as Manchester United were said to have done, was told it could not now be done, and over the Pyrenees we went again on the not-so-broad highway. Time: Bilbao to Bordeaux, seven or eight hours. At Bordeaux a plane arrived and people aboard told me they had left Bilbao only about three-quarters of an hour earlier. We reached London by air that night.

July brought rumours and then newspaper reports that Mr. Brown was seriously considering a move north to act as manager of the Sunderland club, and at the end of the month he told the board he would be leaving us to take up the appointment. Here is another situation every club has to face. A manager is leaving. Now you have to keep your hands on all or any of the unsigned youngsters your manager and scouting organisation have been watching. No complaints. All's fair in love and war, and in League football. The departing manager may think he has a right to young so-and-so because his scouts have been watching him.

Well, the first youngster we signed at this time was Ray Pointer from the North-East, who arrived quickly in Burnley and turned professional. A League club has to be wide-awake, as they all know. We had been active in various directions in case there was a change in management, as we had been active before other changes. It's all in the game. We were to lose one scout in the North-East, vital training ground for youngsters, but retained his right-hand man. Such is Big Football behind the scenes.

Strange how the ball rolls. Not long afterwards Sunderland lost at Burnley by six goals.

SO THERE we were, at the commencement of 1957-8, without a manager, and this in the increasingly competitive football world. A club without an efficient manager can land in all kinds of trouble. So far as I was concerned there would only be one man to do the job properly for Burnley - Harry Potts, who had now finished his playing career with Everton. This, in part, tells you why: Potts had done the sensible thing when his career ended. He obtained a coaching job with the Wolves and, I imagine, became second lieutenant to Stanley Cullis at Molineux. This was the place where he could learn how to bring out young players. Who does it better than the Wolves?

Stanley Cullis is an efficient manager and, let me say here and now, there are not many. At Wolverhampton, Potts, in a matter of twelve months, gained tremendous experience: he learned the drill. And I know that a whole-hearted team-leader like their popular Billy Wright held him in high regard. After a year Potts took over the management of Shrewsbury Town, one of the Third Division clubs able to hold their heads above water, so for this and other reasons we had to wait a while. We advertised for a manager.

Have you any notion what that means? The response would make you laugh. Everyone thinks he can manage a Football League club. Although it is listed in the world's hazardous occupations, everyone tries to get into the act. Any number of physical instructors, former ex-R.A.F. instructors, schoolteachers who have happened to drill boys along the lines or have possibly been teachers in charge of school football teams, they all have a go. In our postal-bag were applications even from a mayor's attendant, a chucker-out at a court, and a road-sweeper. Among the legitimate applicants, managers from all over the country applied. Of these, three names were considered seriously by the directors. It was agreed that everything should be kept secret, and that these three men should be asked to attend for interview. But - here we go again - unfortunately there was a leak; you will never stop them. Leakages in football seem to be part and parcel of the game. This leak was perfect: the newspapers gave the names, and one of our directors, Mr. Tom Baron, declared that, owing to the leak, for which I was wrongly blamed, he would not attend another board meeting until after a full inquiry had been held to show who was responsible.

Was that really right and proper? What can be done even if you unearth the culprit? Sack him? Anyhow, Mr. Baron sacked himself. He carried out his threat and never again attended a board meeting. In fact he resigned a few weeks afterwards. A pity, but there it is; we haven't done too badly since. Rather curiously, only one of the three selected managers actually attended. We did not come to terms, but I'm glad to know he has since done well. But we had to do something, and that's where a loyal, experienced staff comes in. The head trainer, Billy Dougal, knew all the points. He had brought along many bright recruits at Turf Moor. He got the job - the man who had put in so much for the club and never received much in return. I remember his remark when he had accepted, "I shall be the only honest manager in football." A good joke. At last the Burnley board could laugh.

Ray Bennion, second-team trainer, stepped up to senior, a position which he has held with obvious success ever since. George Bray became reserve-team trainer, and so on. But in about a month Dougal was stricken in health, possibly through the strain of the years. So what now? The back-room boys again. Ray Bennion took over and gave tremendous help during the following months. But who was going to pick the team? The former second-team trainer, who must of necessity be very pally with all the players? Another problem here, and a vital one, and perhaps the most important point in football is choosing the team. I was determined it was not going to be Bob Lord. I was equally determined it was not going to be the board of directors. So it was a relief when Bennion agreed that he, and he alone, would be the man.

At any rate I was sticking to my guns and to the view that the manager should be the person who chooses the men who join the club, and those who leave the club, and who picks all the teams. The old Welsh international, and ex-Burnley player, rose to it and completely filled the bill. We were then about fifth from the bottom of the League table, and when he handed over to Harry Potts some months later we were in a respectable position in the top half of the League.

These were testing times. Bristol Rovers came to Turf Moor in a fifth-round replay and knocked us out of the Cup. Perhaps this defeat reflected an overworked staff. However, early in 1958, Dougal returned to the club much better in health and became our physiotherapist, having qualified in this subject. Soon Harry Potts took over as manager, and at once had the experience of scoring a win over his own local club (Sunderland), as he comes from Hetton-le-Hole. This we achieved at Roker Park, and all looked well. But football is like other occupations: there's often trouble round the corner. A national storm must be examined. On February 6, 1958, Manchester United, returning from their European Cup-tie at Belgrade, suffered their disastrous air crash at Munich, and the whole sporting world sympathised and grieved. It has often been said that I was unkind to the United at that time. So we will state the facts. They will surprise you.

It will be remembered that after the Munich disaster it was suggested that other League clubs should help Manchester United with players. We at Burnley were quite prepared to do so, but we were not prepared, if one faces the fact squarely, to wreck our First Division side in order to help Old Trafford to regain its feet. Remember that we at Burnley have not the scope surrounding the United in the city of Manchester. Mr. Jimmy Murphy, acting-manager of Manchester United at that sad time, certainly approached me about the transfer of Cheeseborough and Pilkington, but I had to tell him I could not hold out much hope of those valuable players leaving the club. He watched them in a First Division match at Turf Moor but after that game I did not see him.

Shortly afterwards we played Manchester United at Turf Moor in a League match, beating them by 3-0. Unhappily there were incidents - incidents best forgotten. Incidents backstage afterwards are also best forgotten, except that it is not likely that one can brush away the recollection of being spat at by a player in the Old Trafford party who did not actually play in the match. This happened when I asked at the visitors' dressing-room door to see Mr. Murphy. The player concerned is no longer with the United club.

Accompanying me was one of my co-directors, Mr. Frank Kay, and I have his permission to say that he used the term 'Teddy boys' in a quiet, personal aside to me in the passage leading from the board-room to the players' dressing-rooms. So what does it all amount to? All this ballyhoo, screaming headlines in the national newspapers, and any number of abusive letters from Manchester people, whose hard-hit club had just been receiving sincere national and world tributes. In plain, John Bull English it amounts to this: a confidential remark, under some emotion, from a gentlemanly director, uttered quietly and personally to me in a private part of our club premises, was overheard by a trespasser, and this trespassing Pressman not only seized on it to make a sensational story but apparently gave it to some of his colleagues. Anyway, it appeared in other papers. And Lord had to take the blame, in whopping headlines. Who was the guilty party? Bob Lord? His colleague who made a private comment? Or the trespassing Pressman?

Now you know the truth about the 'Teddy boys' affair. Can you wonder that Football League clubs have become more and more careful and secretive with Pressmen? The sidelines of a game are so much written-up and emphasised nowadays that it is an everyday occurrence to hear the man in the street say, "I must have been at a different match!" Even the official F.A. News, in February 1962, had an article twitting such match reports. The writer, Cyril Hughes, said, "The result of this type of reporting, as practised over the years, is, as intended, that the spectator begins to wonder whether he has in fact seen the match that he is reading about." I know there was codology in the article but no one could miss the message it conveyed.

However, during the course of the next month or two the relationship between the clubs improved. They have long been rivals-since, in fact, the day of 'Stop the game, it's snowing!' That's what the old-timers of Turf Moor call it. The United, with their still-remembered half-back line of Duckworth, Roberts, and Bell, were losing by a goal at Burnley in the quarter-finals of the Cup when a snowfall arrived. The United are stated to have said those words to the referee, the game was abandoned, United won the second encounter, and went on to win the Cup. Hence the long memory. The United's visits will long continue to pull in the crowds.

What we think of the Old Trafford club is shown by the fact that Harry Potts and I agreed on this mission, "There is nothing Manchester United have done during the last few years that we cannot accomplish." The possibilities were endless. Burnley were going to be placed on the map, and that meant not only in the football world but in Britain and abroad. I've often been told by different types of people that no one hears about Burnley except through football. A provincial town can be placed on the commercial map better by a successful football team than by any other method of advertising. The Plan was ready, anyway.

Back to Index page	Forward to next article

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws