CLASS OF 1900
The following impressions of a non-reuning alumnus are printed for the report of the reunion of the class of 1900, which evidently served as a background for the writer.
It is a rare privilege to return to Hanover and spend the Commencement with one's classmates, many of whom we have not seen for years. Such a reunion is a joy from start to finish, but after all it is more of a family gathering and the Commencement program seems only devised to supplement the many events planned for the successful reunion of the class. To get a true picture of a Commencement at Hanover, one must return during an off year and observe here and there the events which make this a unique and never to be forgotten event.
I shall try to present to the alumni just a few things which impressed me most during the Commencement period which has just passed. It was a quiet Commencement. Those who returned came with hearts free and with the deep desire to drink in the old scenes of Hanover town and the inspiration of the surrounding hills. It was more like a family homecoming which need not be heralded with blare of trumpets and boisterous shouts to impress the townspeople with one's joy at being home again. The feeling of gladness if less conspicuous, methinks ran deeper than ever before. It breathed faith in the future of the college, belief in its policies and loyalty to its ideals.
On Saturday it was a joy to see the men appear and the wives and children, too; all welcomed so heartily by their classmates and accepted at once into the family circle. It was a joy to attend the little receptions held by the reunion classes to initiate that get-together spirit which signalizes the absolute democracy of Dartmouth men. Like the old homesteads of New England, each hall had its ancestral gatherings, the only difference being one of age rather than degree.
How unlike the olden days was the Sunday celebration, if that is the proper term, and yet how in keeping with the spirit of the New Hampshire hills. From the dormitories issued forth bands of alumni bound to some cabin on the mountain top, a mountain lake far off among the distant hills or a summer camp away up among the mountains. A short ride in a car, a tramp up the steep sides of the mountain, a gathering in one of the Outing Club cabins and a lunch in the open air with a cool bubbling brook running by ; close comradeship, with the hills on every side and an appreciation of the outdoor life of the College for just a moment on that Sabbath day. Children, anxious to ascend the topmost height anticipating the day when they could more often visit these Outing Club sites covered with the snows of winter or greeting the first breath of spring; so it is that the alumni of the College are beginning to realize the wonderful legacy of the hills which has left ant will continue to leave its noble and broadening effect on the men of Dartmouth.
Sunday night there were wonderful old songs on the Campus, gatherings in front of the halls where alumni of all ages joined in the old songs of days gone by and those of present days.
Monday morning was rainy but in the afternoon the sun burst through the clouds as if directed by a higher power and shed its light on the Class Day procession. It was much like the Class Days of olden time, the same farewell to familiar scenes and the seeming lack of realization of what this would mean in the days to come; for rare privileges are seldom treasured until the lack of them is realized.
And then the class banquets in the evening. Here men told of their part in the great war modestly, yet proud of the fact that they had done their bit for class and College and were safe again within its folds. How small seemed the achievements of most of us when we heard from those who had met danger without flinching and whose fond hope, as one man said, was "to get through it all and return to Hanover in June." So those banquets ran far into the night, uniting more closely the class brotherhood and touching here and there on the experiences of men in every walk of life as they threw off the shackles of years and became boys again with their fellow members.
Tuesday, perhaps, brought the alumni a little closer to college life, for there was a ball game on the old Alumni Oval and the pranks of reuning classes. Every one was glad to see the team win in the clean, manly way which makes us proud of all Dartmouth teams.
Wednesday found the ranks thinned, for many still feel that Commencement exercises are too formal and academic. Perhaps this is because time is limited and few have really attended them and know what they are like Certainly there was nothing musty in the four commencement speeches on live topics of the day; two on industrial relations; one analyzing the future of democracy in China, and the other advocating constructive reforms in the American newspaper. Doesn't it need (this picture of faculty, and invited guests in their academic robes, the graduating class occupying the main body of Webster Hall and the galleries filled with parents to complete the picture of a Commencement Week? The impressive ceremonies of the conferring of the academic degrees and the enthusiasm with which these awards were given; then the Commencement banquet with a short, wholesome speech from Gen. Goethals breathing goodwill and modesty of achievement; the quiet and wholesome speech of Herbert Hoover causing one to wonder if this was the man who had seen and lent his strong arm to aid the suffering of Europe as he stood there before us, a college man like ourselves, giving his message to those who were to take up life's work.
There was one exercise which made a great impression upon me and that was a simple memorial held by the class of 1900 in memory of those who had died since the last reunion. The presiding officer was Professor Bartlett and his opening remark was: "This is a service of memory not of mourning", and then followed this wonderful tribute to classmates who have gone beyond; a tribute which should stand as a model for other classes in its beauty, its simplicity, and its genuineness. It breathes the spirit of the College, the class, and true brotherhood and I think no man could pass beyond and be called back again to the memory of his fellows in a better way than expressed by Mr. Keyes in the memorial which follows.
It is a circumstance, commonly recognized that, as the years pass, near things and new lose something of their lustre, while old-time events gain mellow clarification in the magic light of life's westering day. Thus we alumni of Dartmouth's golden age discover our thought reverting more and more to this chapel; our sentiment stirred with the recalled vision of its broad arches, its dim interior that bloomed with golden stars as dusk drew on its storied windows, that, on spring mornings caught the spande of the world's reawakenment. To this place, through all the varied experience of a score of years, our deepest reverence reaches back, striving to renew contact with the great soul that here revealed itself to us.
Here in goodly fellowship of song, we hailed each day's starting; here at Sunday twilight we gathered at the feet of the great teacher, sharing the bounty of his wisdom; here in the solemn hour of common tragedy and grief we caught glimpses through the far gateways of life; here, in an high hour of being, we felt the rippling thrill that sweeps over men in the deeps of whose consciousness has sounded the primal call to war.
It is inevitable that this should be the one place of the many familiar to us in student days to which, by common consent, we repair in celebration of that rite which is nearest to all our hearts, which emphasizes most vividly the friendly bond of class association, which, indeed, for the moment seems to unbar the prison house and bring us all who once gathered about this college shrine, living and dead alike, into the communion of. our entire company.
Dickinson, Guild, Leonard, Carrigan, Conner, Wood, they had passed from us before the ending of our first decade. In this place; ten years ago, we wove for them our memorial garland. Today we summon them again, and with them the ten others who have since joined their companionship.
Vaughan Ellis Standish, born September 18. 1875, in Stratton, Maine, died May 29, 1914, in Columbus, Ohio. You, Miles Standish. found your rightful way into the world through the portals of Dartmouth College. Yours were gifts of independence and reserve Seemingly aloof from the smaller hopes, ambitions, fears that beset the rest of us, you hid in your heart a treasure of love for the class and College that you were to reveal in after days of anguish, and share in generous plentitude with others.
Charles Sargent, born May 13, 1876, in Watertown, Massachusetts, died August 8, 1915, at Mitchell, Nebraska. Silent brother of us all you went your way amongst us, finding the right word difficult, the right deed easy. The strength of inward urgings that swept you into class athletics, that held you to high standing as a scholar, that carried you as an engineer adventuring beyond the Mississippi that Kept life flickering in the midst of death, fanned by the hope of a homecoming to the East, we had not understood in thoughtless student days. But now we understand.
Charles Augustine Rich, born November 2, 1878, in Swampscott, Massachusetts, died in Peoria, Illinois, May 4, 1916. You carried the reputation of Dartmouth to far corners of the globe, established it, justified it in your life and work. And when you came home again, broadened in experience and vision, the reliance of many men came to be yours. But we recall you as you were, simple and unaffected, and kind; "Smut" Rich of the dark hair and the ruddy cheek shadowed by irrepressible beard, and the brilliant smiling eyes that spoke the alert mind and the trustworthy heart. So it is that you are with us now.
Ephraim Fred Aldrich, born June 9, 1878, at Colebrook, New Hampshire, died September 13, 1916, in Littleton, New Hampshire. On you, Chick Aldrich, genial and debonnair, the sun of this earth shone briefly and brightly. Out of the shadows of the past, we see you. bringing again the old-time smile, the oldtime cordial word of greeting.
George Kelsea Hildreth, born March 7, 1880, at Lisbon, New Hampshire, died in New York City, April 6, 1917. Sturdy New Englander, who, carrying to the metropolis of New York; a brilliant intellect backed by unswerving determination, had already won enviable place among the medical practitioners of your generation when death claimed you; we greet you again, the studious youth, wise in counsel, steadfast in application, but today weaving on your brow the laurels of accomplishment and in your eyes the smouldering fires of unspoken pain.
Henry Brockway Gilson, born July 3, 1879, at Quechee, Vermont, died in his home town October 25, 1917. "Brock" Gilson, well born, well bred, yours was the intellect of a scientist; the soul of a poet. It was as the gentleman, the musician, the ever sympathetic companion, that we knew and loved you best. The gods loved you as did we, and called you back to their Elysian field. But for this day you are ours again. We greet you, scholar —friend.
Arthur Henry Norris, born April 22, 1878, at Newton Highlands, Massachusetts, died at Omaha, Nebraska, December 1, 1917. Norris, the unperturbed, the resolute, you fought a childhood's ill-fortune, and conquered it. You brought to College, the will and courage of a giant, the frank simplicity and straightforwardness of a boy. The far-flung call of your profession carried you far from old associations, but for your unflagging soul that meant no diminishment of college zeal. Your love of the Class and the College you have transmitted undimmed to those most dear to you. It irradiates the mysterious moment of your summoning.
Royal Hatch, born August 20, 1878, in Strafford, Vermont, died December 30, 1917, in Wellesley, Massachusetts. Your path, "Roy" Hatch, was the path of duty, your thought the thought of service to mankind. In you we saw no sham, no artifice, or self-seeking. And as you were with us, so were you afterward among all others; so your unwearying soul drove on a weary body through weeks of unselfish sacrifice, that brought only the reward of long peacefulness. You who gave your life that others might live, we hail in reverence.
Edmund Gerrish Dearborn, bora April 2. 1879, in Milford, New Hampshire, died in Nashua, New Hampshire, December 1, 1919. You, too, gave of yourself for the benefit of many. Comfort and healing you carried about through rural villages where the need was great, the recognition slender. In gatherings of the Class you found your social satisfaction, your anodine against the daily grind. And now we count you here among us, content and happy in this familiar group.
Henry Reuben Weston, born March 13, 1878, in Windsor, Vermont, died in that town, November 28, 1918. In all your being gently courteous, Henry, yet in your bosom beat an adventurous heart. Where bugles blew and drums beat, you carried on your work for sick and suffering men. The flag of the country was your beacon, whether its folds led across tumbling seas to tropic islands, or billowed impatient over national army post. How brief the respite in your native town before the alarm of war roused half extinguished fires that urged you once again into the service! Yours was the toil of plague-swept cantonment, and then the anxious vigil of a threatened home. When you passed into the land of shadows, flags drooped and the bugle sounded "taps" for the soldier of the United States had gone to his long home. This day we call you back, back to the gathered Class of 1900—Major Weston, we salute you!
Our hour with them is done. They are gone, again; Dartmouth men who are more of Dartmouth than are we; for they are now one with its historical past, fellows with Wheelock and Webster, with the giants, and the pygmies too, of old, men whose spirit enkindled here lives on forever as the deathless spirit of Dartmouth; a spirit known but not understood, manifest but never fully revealed, sensed but intangibly elusive, working silently but potently in the minds and souls of men, working in ours as we gather here today, and one day partaking of their essence to pass it on through succeeding generations."
