Not long back, stablemate Chuck Woodling touched on the golden days of the Lawrence Quarterback Club, when the likes of Frank McDonald, Jack Mitchell and Chuck Mather produced so many slap-thigh, rub-gut sessions on Monday nights.

It could be hilarious. The real beauty was that everything was so informal and loosey-goosey. Most everybody knew everyone by the first name.

It was a far cry from today’s formalized gatherings where somebody sits on a podium, takes a few questions, gives a few comments, leaves. Little warmth, nothing personal, strictly business. Simpler times produced wonderfully simple pleasures that many of us still treasure.

Good old boys devoted to Kansas football would gather at the Hotel Eldridge for refreshments and dinner, get a little inside data from the head man, then would adjourn to the Crystal Room for a “public” talk and film-showing. Crowds often were big, camaraderie high.

The late Frank McDonald would get things rolling with one of his nutty or inspirational analyses, depending on the win-lose status of the Jayhawks.

Mac always had some priceless story to tell, as funny as somebody like Buddy Hackett. But there was a bare, bare minimum of profanity. The stories were funny, not dirty. Kids, even women, could attend; no blue language like Iowa State basketball coach Johnny Orr spewed so disgustingly.

Frank McDonald became the Budweiser distributor and a Kansas Democratic kingpin after his years as athletic director at Haskell Institute. The Indians once played national powerhouses and had guys like Matty Bell of SMU fame on the payroll.

Mac helped Indians raise all the money for Haskell Stadium. A better promoter never lived. One of his greatest sources of pride was that on opening day of the fabled local arena with the arched entry “it was paid for totally by Indians and totally paid for.” It was.

Mac had a close allegiance to KU athletics and was a close friend of Phog Allen. His son, Cliff, a multi-sport sensation at Lawrence High, played both football and basketball for the Jayhawks and was an Orange Bowl halfback.

Yet there never was a greater spellbinder at those 1958-66 meetings than KU coach Jack Mitchell. One night in ’59 he got so wrapped up describing the draining of fluid off the knee of quarterback Bill Crank that you’d have figured it was at least the D-Day invasion. Did the kid also get a heart, kidney and liver transplant, too? Not. Crank played the next Saturday, and did pretty well for a near-cadaver.

Coaches in those days really got folks plugged in to the personalities on the team and their little idiosyncrasies. One night Mitchell was narrating a film and called attention to the sins of lineman DeWitt Lewis. “Boy, that DeWitt, he’s a good player but when he dies and they cut off the top of his head, you’ll see ‘offside’ printed on his brain. Â Stop it, DeWitt, stop it!”

On another occasion, General Jack took great exception to predictions the Jayhawks would walk all over Missouri. His voice getting shriller with every word, Mitchell declared: “Why, anybody who thinks we’ll beat Missouri is a  is a  is a damned COMMUNIST!” In the Cold War era, that was a harsh label, folks.

One night KU head coach Chuck Mather was the ill-fated movie-projector operator. Here was a guy who in six years at Massillon, Ohio, High posted a 57-3 record. Way ahead of the times, his high school paid a coach for every position, Mather was one of the pioneers in the use of computers for grading and was considered a genius in using film to good advantage. He came here in 1954 known as The Miracle Man From Massillon.

After a brief talk, Chuck started the film projector and the players were running backward. Somebody’d rewound it wrong. No problem, Chuck said, “We’ll just adjust and start over.” Next time I swear the guys were running sideways, then it was backward again.

No problem, we were told, “just let me back it up a little.” But he got the reel on the wrong sprocket and when he hit the fast-button to rewind, the film spun madly and shot up into the air like a July 4 skyrocket.

Seldom ruffled, Chuck began to gather the film like a garden hose and mumbled: “Guess we’ll show these films next week.”

You talk about an audience in cold-packs. I thought the late Don Pierce and I would die right there. Even Chuck had to laugh, but only later.

Mather was miscast in chancellor Franklin Murphy’s decision to lift him direct from high school to college in a noble experiment. Chuck went 0-10, 3-6-1, 3-6-1 and 5-4-1 before joining the Chicago Bears as a, get this, film expert. Did well there, too, for George Halas and made a zillion dollars in insurance.

Notre Dame tried ex-halfback Terry Brennan out of high school in 1954-58 and the guy started with 9-1 and 8-2 seasons. But he had succeeded icon Frank Leahy and was canned with a 32-28 record after 1959. Notre Dame also tried Cincinnati high schooler Gerry Faust (174-17-2 in the preps) and he was let go after a 30-26-1 record.

Something of a parallel here. Kansas brought Terry Allen in from Northern Iowa where he’d been a success. Just like Mather, Terry never quite got into synch in the big-time. Sorry that Iowa State game ball bit for humiliating kids he’d recruited here tarnished his and wife Lynn’s nice guy-gal image.

Would Roy Williams leave here, bring in his new team, beat kids he’d brought to Kansas and then rub it in? I think not.