CLASS OF 1899
Saturday night, March 3, in Room J, ninth floor of the Boston City Club, twenty-five men celebrated the twenty-third annual round-up of '99. This first Saturday night in March is, as Donnie's postal summons said, "a legal holiday for all '99 men in reach of Boston, a holy day of obligation, and a fixed feast on the calendar, on which Raging Blizzards, War, Pestilence, the Volstead Act alike have had no effect."
Ernest Silver, on his way back from Chicago and Niagara Falls, just missed connecting with the round-up. "Doc" Hawkes and Jack Sanborn were both detained at the last minute by sickness in their families. Bill Eaton that very morning had headed south for Florida with the Boston Braves, and Tom Cogswell that very night had to stage an amateur play which he has been directing in northern Vermont. So, as our guest, Mr. W. H. Robie, put it, they were the losers "by a large majority." But their vacant places were taken care of by the welcome and unexpected presence of Bob Croker, Ikey Leavitt, and Fod Martin.
The first thing in order, after a casual friendly call from Guy Ham '00, was to get to work on our yearly stunt of quelling the vociferous Burdett College reuners next door by a hurricane of songs, including" a new one written especially for this round-up to the tune of Leave Me with a Smile," and quoted at the end of this column. Then Donnie and Owen Hoban entered upon their annual debate as to who should be toastmaster. This ended in a bloodless draw, whereupon Hobe made a hit by retelling with much thumping of the table for "Order in the (imaginary) courtroom" his famous yarn of the Virginian judge who gave everybody brought before him "ten days," no matter what the degree of offense committed or the number of parties concerned. But he stubbornly refused to be "the principal speaker of the evening," as Donnie insinuatingly persisted in calling him.
Joe Gannon's appointment as chairman of the committee to engineer the big '99 reunion at . the time of the Dartmouth-Harvard game, October 28, was next announced. The Secretary read parts of letters from "Kim" and Willis Hodgkins about their unexpected meeting in Los Angeles a few weeks ago, and also from Phil Winchester, John Ash, and Hawley Chase.
After Win Adams had given his talk "to music," Tim Lynch drew a touching picture of his own career as a day laborer with the firebreathing "Hungarian steeds" on George Clark's Plymouth farm, while Mr. Robie threw in a supplementary lurid anecdote about Tim's being roused at 3:30 A. M. to cut oats, and his savagely responding with, "What's the big idea,—creeping up on them in the dark? Are they wild?" George, given a chance to submit evidence in his own behalf as defendant waived his rights, and reported instead the encouraging progress of the Memorial Field fund, at that time totaling over $200,000.
Next Donnie tried to stir up strife between Landlord Alvah. Sleeper and Tenant George Evans, which malicious move Ev adroitly sidetracked by neatly fitting to '99 instead a new proverb: "The strength of the wolf is the pack, and the strength of the pack is the wolf." Dave Parker, Bob Croker, Bob Johnston, "N. P.," "Spade," Mr. Robie and Fod Martin were among the other victims of the toastmaster's seemingly artless strategy.
In due time all things come to light, and this evening some of the wild sounds of midnight revelry from the northeast corner of the campus back in the late nineties were explained. When Tony Willard used to become too engrossed in mathematics for what his friends believed to be his own good, it appears that Fod and Donnie had the pleasant habit of descending upon his quiet study hour with iron pokers, heated rosy red in their respective Wentworth Hall stoves. Thus they drove him with shameful taunts out into the safety of the open campus. He on his part, sensing with uncanny judgment the moment when it was safe to do so, would presently turn, and drive them in full flight back to shelter in the old dormitory.
Back in life's springtime, at Dartmouth, years ago,
Back there in playtime with Bob and Bill and Joe,
Skies seemed all sunshine, the days went by care-free,—
Friendship's age of gold then began for you and me.
No longer playtime; the world's grown older now;
But unforgetting we keep life's springtime vow.
Its golden sunshine streams on us fresh and strong,
Kindling the soul's hearth-fire to love and hope and song.
Though there may be others Seem almost like brothers,— None like Ninety-nine. Though we truly love them, Still we hold above them Men of Ninety-nine.
How these round-ups yearly Ever more sincerely Weld us, Ninety-nine, When each loyal comrade Strikes the long trail homeward, Home to Ninety-nine.
Secretary, Kenneth Beal, 55 Botolph St., Melrose Highlands, Mass.
