For the Foster School’s Barry Erickson, Captain Husky is a family affair
Not all superfans wear capes.
But Barry Erickson does. Or did. For a quarter century, beginning in the mid-1980s, he entertained the home fans and antagonized visitors at UW football games in the guise of Captain Husky, a kind of vigilante mascot, whose DIY costume, broad comic skits and thundering crowd spell outs became an essential feature of the game-day experience.
Having long since retired from these animated extracurricular antics for the more academic pursuit of teaching professional sales at the UW, Erickson has been delighted (and a little proud) to watch both his sons, Kelton and Bo, take on the cape and cap to perform as Captain Husky 2.0 and 3.0, respectively, on Washington football Saturdays. They have become the superhero they grew up with.
Watching this unfold has been “super fun,” Erickson says. “I don’t get sentimental about it. I just think it’s a fun deal for my boys to be able to do it. When they were kids, I used to carry Kelton and Bo on my shoulders to help rip up the duck.”
Wait… rip up the what?
Rising from the band
Captain Husky was the brainchild of a boisterous saxophone player in the Husky Marching Band and his pal Rod Mar, from the trumpet section. When Erickson and Mar were named Yell Leaders their senior year, they made a pact to get creative — experiment with different cheers and invent different personas — in their commitment to whip up the crowd.
“Rod was the brains and I was the clown,” Erickson admits. “I would dress up in all kinds of goofy getup.”
The one getting the biggest response from the crowd was an unnamed superhero in a makeshift costume: a cape fashioned from a swatch of purple felt, a sweatshirt with a W pinned to it, a homemade mask and a football helmet. It was Mar who dubbed his buddy’s superlative alter ego: Captain Husky.
After graduating in 1985, Erickson and Mar and their rowdy friends migrated from the student section to the cheap seats of Section 8, tucked into the southwest corner of the stadium. As it was situated next to the visiting fans, Section 8 became the perfect stage for Captain Husky’s postgraduate tenure of tomfoolery.
The making of a legend
The ensemble of Erickson’s alter ego was refined over the years: matching purple skull cap, pants and Converse high-tops framing a golden mask and swollen-muscled chest plate. The piece de resistance was an embellished purple cape — originally fashioned from a 1950s-era drum major’s uniform that Erickson borrowed from the Husky Band archives.
But if his kit evolved into something a bit less slapdash, Captain Husky’s hijinks remained stubbornly slapstick. To the delight of Husky fans and the chagrin of their out-of-town guests.
He flung projectiles at the visiting band from a homemade “funnelator” sling shot. He mounted an epic battle with a pinata. He dribbled purple prop blood from plastic fangs in a seasonal “Count Huskula” routine.
The crux of every Captain Husky sideshow was a skit culminating in the staged destruction of the opposing team’s mascot, in broadly comic effigy.
If Oregon was in town, Captain Husky would disguise himself as a hunter and sneak up on a large stuffed duck before ripping it to shreds, sending a flurry of feathers across the grandstand. If it was USC, he would gird himself in a purple mop-bucket helmet and wield a broomstick sword — Don Quixote-style — to wage mortal stage combat against a buddy attired as a low-rent Trojan.
“If we were playing the Oregon State Beavers, I was a woodsman,” Erickson says. “If we were playing the Arizona State Sun Devils, I was an angel. If we were playing the UCLA Bruins, I was Goldilocks. And if we were playing the Washington State Cougars, well, I didn’t have to dress as anything.”
Captain Husky in action. Max Waugh Photography.
After the pantomime carnage, Erickson would cast off his disguise to reveal himself as Captain Husky, suspended on the shoulders of his largest pal to lead the crowd, with contorted limbs, in a roaring spell out of H-U-S-K-I-E-S!
And if he was really feeling it, Erickson would launch himself skyward, like a gymnast, off that friend’s back before landing into a net made of more burly buddies.
“And that went on for 25 years,” Erickson says.
At first, the interest in Captain Husky was local. But Bill Bissell, the legendary Husky Band director, was a supporter. And he began leading into Erickson’s cheap-seat sideshows with a quick musical overture before directing his baton — and the attention of the student section — to the mayhem that was about to ensue in Section 8. In a flash, all 70,000 pairs of eyes around the stadium were trained on Captain Husky’s shenanigans.
He became a favorite of Husky fans. Kids would watch, in great anticipation, for him to emerge “almost like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny,” Erickson says. “When’s he coming? Do you see him?”
Retiring the cap and cape
In 25 years, Captain Husky missed only a single home football game. That was the day of his wedding to fellow UW grad Arden Erickson, who surprised him with a cake bearing the likeness of Captain Husky running through a wall of frosting.
Erickson is nearly as animated and charismatic in the classroom as he was in the stands.
During those years, of course, Erickson also lived a full life outside of his running engagement on fall Saturdays. He built a successful career in sales with TRAMCO INC. (Goodrich Aerospace), PACCAR and B/E Aerospace. And he and Arden raised three children — sons Kelton and Bo and daughter Halle — who were destined to become Huskies themselves.
When Husky Stadium closed in 2011 to undergo a major renovation, Erickson decided it was time to hang up the cape and retire the Captain. He wanted to devote more time to his kids and their own weekend activities. And to experience Washington football as just a fan rather than a fanatic.
After the Ericksons took a year sabbatical to travel the world with their kids and reassess their goals, Barry followed a calling into teaching and student development. He began at Ingraham High School before joining the Jack and Ann Rhodes Professional Sales Program at the UW Foster School of Business, where he had been a regular guest lecturer and mentor for years.
Barry Erickson and Jack Rhodes.
When the beloved educator Jack Rhodes decided to retire, he recruited Erickson to direct the program that he and his late wife had built. The nationally recognized program, available to students from around the UW, develops skills in relationship development, sales and management and provides career-building connections through meaningful mentorships and internships.
This new role was a perfect fit for Erickson’s outgoing personality, ability to connect people and deep knowledge of the sales field. After a few years running the show, he decided to focus full-time on teaching the program’s core classes. His new chapter represents another passion realized.
“Jack Rhodes is the reason I’m here,” he says. “I am forever indebted to him.”
The return of Captain Husky
Erickson’s life, in the years since retiring Captain Husky, was full indeed.
And then, around 2018, an article came out regaling the heyday of this unsanctioned superhero that once ignited the partisans in Husky Stadium. “Shortly after, I got a call from the university asking if I would consider resurrecting Captain Husky,” Erickson recalls. “I said, absolutely not. That was 35 years and 40 pounds ago.”
“However… I have a freshman here. His name is Kelton Erickson. If you want to call him, here’s his number.”
Kelton, like his younger brother Bo, had grown up with Captain Husky, sometimes playing his “Deputy Dawg” for skits — and even helping tear the stuffing out of a duck or two.
For the Ericksons, the Captain Husky tradition is a family affair. Photo by Nancy Dunbar.
While Kelton was considering the opportunity, Barry stayed out of it while Arden emerged as the real advocate. “I told him that there was no pressure from me,” Erickson says. “But your mother says that either you’re going to do it or nobody is. She made it known that Captain Husky is an Erickson brand.”
Kelton agreed to extend that brand with a new hat, mask, pants, shoes and chest plate. But Erickson insisted on loaning out the original cape. “The cape is really what it’s all about,” he says.
A family affair
As Captain Husky 2.0, Kelton Erickson had to navigate the pandemic and fan-less football, filming spell outs from the family home for TV broadcast. Finally, in his junior and senior years, Kelton’s Captain got his chance to shine on the big stage.
The original Captain Husky offered just two pieces of advice to Captain Husky 2.0: Slow down (Erickson once got so excited in a big game that he led the crowd in misspelling H-U-K-I-E-S!). And don’t linger (“People will see that as annoying and arrogant. Get on the stage, do your bit and get out of the way.”)
After Kelton Erickson graduated in 2022 with a degree in construction management, he handed down the cape to brother Bo, who is now a junior studying accounting at the UW. Their sister, Halle, who earned her UW degree in communications in 2023, always has preferred a behind-the-scenes role in the family pastime from her days making signs for her dad. “She is a big fan of Captain Husky,” Erickson says. “She hasn’t led the spell out, but she yells loud for them!”
Where Kelton is naturally outgoing and fun-living (like his father), Bo’s more reserved demeanor means that he undergoes a dramatic transformation when he embodies Captain Husky to fire up the crowd. “His personality has really emerged with this thing,” Erickson observes.
The evolution of Captain Husky
As the second generation of Ericksons rekindle the fire of Captain Husky, Barry Erickson remains a happy bystander. Just another fan in the stands. He does, however, enjoy being stopped on the street by people who recall fondly a spell-out skit from long ago. In a different era.
“They’ll start laughing,” he says. “Then I’ll start laughing. And it always ends with… ‘Well, probably couldn’t get away with that these days.’”
The next generation of Captains Husky (and their supportive sister).
UW Athletics has adopted the new version of Captain Husky as an official — albeit tertiary — facet of its game-day brand. That means a huge amount of support: professional costume, camera detail, security guards, social media amplification. But also a measure of control over the mayhem in the stands. So, no more riding on shoulders. No crowd surfing. No deriding visiting fans. No desecrating opposing mascots.
“The difference between OG Captain Husky and Captain Husky 2.0 and 3.0,” Erickson laughs, “is the attorneys.”
But it’s still fun — for the fans and for the guys who wear the cap and cape, past and present. And the apples haven’t fallen too far from the Erickson family tree. “Have my sons broken a rule? Yes. They have massacred a duck,” confirms a proud Husky dad. “But the university didn’t shut it down. They were cool about it.”
So, a tradition continues. And evolves. As it should. And Erickson looks at it all with a sense of pride at what came out of those rowdy days in the cheap seats of Husky Stadium.
“This thing wouldn’t have worked on the 50-yard line,” he says. “Some of those people would have just said, ‘Would you please sit down?’ But, over time, I kind of sense that people at the 50-yard line get a kick out of it, too.”