Foaming Beekers and Underdog Dreams: 5 Things I Learned from a 1936 Miami Football Program

By National Championship Archive Team

Step back to November 26, 1936. Before the neon-soaked skyline and the "U" became a global brand, there was a 15-cent program sold at Miami Stadium on a crisp Thanksgiving Day. The cover itself is a charmingly surreal introduction to this lost world: it features a mustachioed, wide-eyed puppet figure of a player—looking more like a Victorian circus performer than a modern athlete—casually leaning against a classical white column, holding a pennant. It is the perfect visual metaphor for a university that was, at the time, still figuring out how to balance its rugged gridiron ambitions with its lofty academic dreams. This artifact isn't just a roster; it’s a social map of a "Homecoming" clash between the fledgling University of Miami and the stalwart veterans of the University of Mississippi.

1. The "Fledgling" vs. The Giants

In 1936, the University of Miami was testing its "ambitious wings in new company." Entering the program’s feature article, one senses the palpable anxiety of a young squad facing a Southeastern Conference powerhouse for the first time. Ole Miss arrived as a "Southeastern conference eleven" of high standing, boasting "huge backs whose smashing onslaughts will tire out any line."

The courage required for such a young program to schedule an SEC giant like the Rebels—who had recently "outgamed" Catholic University in the Orange Bowl—cannot be overstated. Miami was a team of "gameness," a word the program uses repeatedly to describe a squad that lacked size but possessed an abundance of spirit. The program acknowledges the daunting task with a candid admission of their status:

"The Hurricanes will go into this game decidedly the underdogs but they will go into the game prepared to put up the fight of their football careers..."

2. The 11-Year-Old University’s Identity Crisis

A fascinating essay titled "The University of Miami" reveals a school in its "eleventh year of expansion," having been founded in 1925. Even in its infancy, the administration was navigating the delicate tension between "gridiron standing" and academic merit. The author notes that while the general public is often lured by the "Red Granges" (the era's NFL superstars) on the sports page, it is the "collegiate curriculum" that provides the school's true foundation.

Crucially, the historian notes an ambition that went beyond the Florida coastline: the university already claimed a "very definite share in Latin-American relations," an early indicator of Miami's future as a gateway to the Americas. The program describes the school’s origins not as a collection of cold bricks, but as a vision built in the "fertile imaginations of well wishers and enthusiasts" and fashioned in the "school of hard knocks." It is a narrative of a university that had to prove its right to exist, mirroring the very struggle of its football team.

3. The David and Goliath of the Gridiron: Giving Away Twenty Pounds per Man

When we look at the "Probable Starting Line-Up" stats, the "underdog" label moves from metaphor to terrifying reality. In an era before modern nutrition and weight rooms, the size gap between the two squads was staggering. Consider these averages:

• Ole Miss: The line averaged 201 lbs, with backs at 182.5 lbs.
• Miami: The line averaged 184 lbs, with backs at a mere 166 lbs.

To put that in perspective, Miami’s starting backs were the size of a modern-day varsity high schooler. They were spot-giving their opponents nearly 20 pounds per man across the entire field. Facing threats like Ole Miss’s "Bruiser" Kinard—a 210-pound tackle (listed elsewhere as 225) who was touted for All-American honors—the Miami squad had to rely on "versatility." Standing across from a 210-pound center like Marvin Hutson, the 199-pound Miami center Nat Glogowski would have felt every ounce of that physical deficit in the trenches.

4. The Social Circuit: From Bar-B-Q to "Foaming Beekers"

The advertisements in the program paint a vibrant picture of a 1936 social life that was both sophisticated and delightfully unpretentious. After the final whistle, the "smart plays" were dissected at local haunts that served as the "Collegians Rendezvous."

The post-game ritual followed a specific geography:

• The Rendezvous: Fans flocked to Smitty’s Barbecue on 17th at Flagler for "Golden Fried Chicken," or headed to the intersection of Alhambra Circle and Ponce de Leon Blvd for the Alhambra Bar-B-Q.
• The Fashion: The well-dressed "College Man" likely wore an outfit from Jays Men’s Shop or Kelly’s Men’s Toggery, both of which were located "just off the Blvd."
• The Ritual: Perhaps the most charming invitation comes from Jimmie’s on S.W. Eighth Street. The ad suggests that the "keenest pleasure" of the game is the privilege of pointing out how one "would have played it" to a listener over a "foaming beeker." That delightful typo—"beeker" instead of "beaker"—only adds to the period charm of the local tavern culture.

5. "Hurricane Proof" Natural Gas and Other Period Oddities

The commercial landscape of 1936 was deeply tied to the local environment and the burgeoning automotive boom. The Miami Bottled Gas Co. made the boldly optimistic (and very local) claim that its underground system was "hurricane proof," promising uninterrupted service during Florida’s infamous storms.

Other ads lean into the football theme with groan-worthy puns. Holleys 5 & 10 Stores used the headline "Signals!" to suggest they would help customers "over the goal line every time." The rise of car culture is evident in the service offered by Ralph Peterson’s Shell Station, which boasted "Cars called for and delivered"—a level of white-glove service that makes our modern self-service pumps look primitive. Even travel was more complex; a Greyhound Lines ad didn't just sell bus tickets, but offered "Airways and Steamships" tours, illustrating a world where the journey was as much an event as the destination.

6. Conclusion: The Spirit of 1936

The enduring "Hurricane" spirit is perfectly encapsulated in the "Songs and Cheers" section. Whether singing "The Battle Song" with its call to "Rise to meet the threatening host," or the "Alma Mater" honoring the school on "Biscayne's wondrous shore," there is a sense of a community rallying behind an institution that was still very much an underdog.

While the stadium has been replaced and the players have grown significantly larger than 166 pounds, the drive for a young institution to prove its worth remains a core part of the American identity.

Final Ponderable: If someone found a program from a game today 80 years from now, what surprising "underdog" story or quirky local habit would define our era for them? Would our modern rituals of digital tailgating and stadium selfies seem as charming as a "foaming beeker" and a post-game debate at Jimmie’s?