CLASS OF 1903
One of the most distinguished of our '03 alumni wrote on that he was coming to the Twentieth Reunion, "for," wrote he, "the decrepit old class will stage a reunion, will it not?"
Mayhap it was the delightful uncertainty about what was to be done, the lack of advertising, broadcasting, personal letter writing, appeals, and literature so conspicuously present on most occasions nowadays that made the real appeal and brought the bunch. And again, most of us are of Yankee type and inquisitive, we do not like to get left out. And a mystery is alluring. Probably everyone felt that something was being put over on him. Certainly it wasn't that they wanted to be shown. The classmate from Missouri, born in Sandwich, was conspicuous by his absence. Although, of course, after reading in the Bulletin that he would be there, one could easily guess that he would not. Other things were harder to determine.
Perhaps a committee-less affair is the right kind and most attractive to a ("middle-aged") young-feeling generation that is advertised by the College itself to appear on crutches at the fence, with a cane on parade. To say nothing of the disgusted remark of the boy on the campus after the procession to the ball game was formed and suddenly he saw '03 butt in and lead the procession, the oldest class on parade, "Huh, and are the old men going to march, too?"
Yes, we had no particularly good costumes, some of us at that didn't get our white hats, our ex-Alumni Council member from Philadelphia as yet hasn't his cane, but just the same, in the words of our young class agent, who ought to know, "We had the best reunion in our history, and I can't believe but that any little difficulties that arose can be ironed out." At any rate, there were 66 men back, 40 of the fair sex came, and, to quote one of them, "After this they are always coming whenever any of the family come." No more of this "Friend Wife ' stuff; it won't be surprising to see the women running the 25th reunion. Some ten of our children were there also, with apologies to Wentworth Hadley, who is taller than his father, perhaps to Marion Hanlon, and certainly to anyone else that might feel a little funny if called a child.
All up to this point is of course pure airy persiflage. Now, to try to give a little information to those who did not come. And let no one think for a moment that failure to come is an indication of anything less of desire to come than is the act of coming. I know one couple were kept away by a recent bereavement, one man's wife was in the hospital, etc. On honor, I think as far as the heart and the inclination went we would have had at least 110. (I am thinking of the fact that 1903 contributors to the Alumni Fund July 1 numbered 110-and the money quota was filled. May they never be less!)
Al S. Bolster was sitting on his suitcase in the square in Nashua, N. H., about 11 A. M. on Friday. Vic Cutter, with a new car he wished to drive slowly, and O. W. Smith, who was to get Luce at Milford, had gone ahead. C. T. Hall rode with Cutter. Along came Hy Ruppel, after escaping the speed law, with his Marmon, and picked him up. It had rained on the coast this morning, and Rup had told Lilian that he wouldn't start, but he did. This same rain accounted for the fact that Howard and Pratt, who were passed getting gasoline, had no lunch with them. Meat Hanlon got up early, cut across lots to Miller Park entrance, climbed the mountain in his closed car, camped out, cooked eggs, etc., which proved mighty useful later. He inveigled one or two half way up the mountain, but when Swan and Stockwell arrived, to say nothing of Fred Johnston and his Dodge or M. R. Brown with his Peerless (Dick's wife went to her Smith reunion and kindly let him have the car), it was decided to picnic beside the road, where George Gage and his party, to say nothing of Ned Burbeck or the rest of us, could watch their valuables. A. K. Smith and Ote Mudge, if I remember rightly, were the water boys. Food and drink were provided for all. About this time blew in Ned Kenerson, having picked up Bucky Lewers fresh from the New York boat, Billy Grant, who has two boys in Kent School, Conn., and was back for his first look at the changed Dartmouth, Crowell, from Chicago byway of New York, introduced as Demi John, but all there, believe me, and some sight for sore eyes. Thoughts of Bunker Schlatter, Jim Cresswell, Hooker Haugan, Hungry Hoke, Pierpont, last but not least the Brat Wentworth, all that Midwestern crowd. If Jack can get back, why can't you? May we see them all at the 25th!
Middle Mass was ready for us, with Hagenbuckle, varsity end. "It isn't the fat ones only that can play football," with a look at Pete Hurd, whom we saw break his ankle last fall, his boss, in charge. And weren't these two boys nice to us? They told some one that ours was the most decent class that ever had a reunion in the Hall. And no one got their goat—not even the Smith alumna (it wasn't her husband, he probably stole it), who asked the pointed query, "At what time of the day or night do you pretend to keep ICE in this cooler?'' Ice is a necessary factor for a successful reunion. We hope every one fixed these boys up as they deserved; if not, perhaps it isn't too late now. Some of us had good rooms; some, "about as much privacy as a goldfish." The shower baths were impartial; if they wouldn't work for Paul, why neither would they work for Cohen or for Edwards. Some of us, and we applied maybe May 8 or before, got stuck in the Pest House, or some even in Reed. What of it? By the time all got to bed the first night we learned that there was "nothing to do,' that 12 o'clock was curfew on the first night in Hanover, and that the main idea in having a picnic at Miller Park was to provide a midnight or later luncheon from the remnants. Yes, we have no bananas, but we have sardines, cheese, cake, et cetera; and, well, to tell the truth, we did have some fine young ripe, tender, juicy, luscious fruit from Honduras.
Saturday morning we were scheduled to watch 'OB play '13 at baseball, but we fooled them, retreated in good order to the vicinage of our far-famed 10th Reunion headquarters, and played at a game of our own. Same old game as always, except that when we reached third base we were cheered up by the sight of a cheering section of ladies rather than by the old time means of good cheer. E. L. Brown was a catcher. Lina sent her Dutch Crosse up by train in time to get into the infield. Smith, J. F., came right through from North Carolina to act as pinch hitter. R. W. Brown made a good umpire. If it gets down to a case of three-old-cat for our 25th, I should say Watson, Haney, maybe John Hale McElroy would surely be eligible. Who was it that made the one-hand, bare-hand catch in left field and broke up the game? F. J. Hall? Billy Keyes? Lovell? I don't think so. It might have been Newell, but my best guess is that it was Georgie Reed. It was not Scudder, that is sure.
Kelley came from Chelsea that afternoon, and found some friends; Kidger rode with him. Jerry Mahoney came early instead of late. Just when the Albany bunch arrived cannot be told; Sleicher didn't stay through, but Sherman Arnold Murphy was right there whenever wanted—count on him. Bullard we know came straight from his farm, in a hurry to get back to keep his men going and get the work done. Enough about the arrivals, and not a word about the departure. Let it suffice that Bergengren has a picture to prove that he made it in the Ford and had Hess with him.
Saturday night Tink Erwin threw pictures on the screen, and Karl Skinner led the humming. The later evening entertainment, despite Freddy Baker's best efforts, was somewhat of a frost. Was anyone to blame because 1 and 2 got confused, and many married men went to bed early, surprising their wives. Perhaps it was a good thing to get a lot of good sleep and prepare for our as programmed somewhat strenuous Sunday reunion.
Sunday was a clear, not too hot day, and Billy Morgan, the president of the Outing Club, at his Cube Mountain cabin fed us a plenty with salad chicken (not veal-made salad or hash-made, as has been had in Hanover), with strawberry shortcake, and all the fixings. It is interesting to know that the ten cents or so per person netted from such feeds is spent on entertaining freshmen in the fall. Thorpe showed in for the first time here; also Chedel. If I remember rightly, Kimball was in still later. Mike Dunn, hating to leave the municipality of which he is president, was last to arrive. Jackson, reported to be in Vienna, was early there, and stayed right through. We came back dusty, and those who came back on the Vermont side came back dustier.
After a shower bath and the proper refreshment, it is hoped that we were all in the proper mood to go to church; at any rate to church we went, personally conducted to our seats by Morton Bowles French. I don't think I have mentioned this young man before, and you might have thought that he was not there. But he was. And we all got good seats. It is to be hoped that the new seating, the new placing of the organ, and the general enlargement did not take away from us the sense of intimacy and association with the hallowed place where we have heard so many inspiring talks.
It was a swift transition, or would have been in the old days, perhaps we are all more dignified, more sober, more mature, now, from church to banquet, from prayers to toasts, from sermon to speeches. But we went right at it with all the old vigor and a determined vim. The old guard—well, it changes some, but it is always there when wanted. A glee club was organized, with Omar Swenson as leader and Nat Batchelder as prompter. Pretty good steadying influence, Nat Batch; you might say he stands for, is typical of, the class in a way, good representative 1903 man; what more could a man want said of him? Pray Wadham and Prexy Whelden were trailing along; pretty good trailers at that— always willing to trail.
Well, anyway, the banquet was held. One of the class was heard to say that there was "one rowdy table." And one of the witnesses, I think it may have been one of our wives, I dunno, some one of the fair sex at any rate, is reported to have said that "one table was having a good time". Such stuff, of course, depends upon the viewpoint, you might say the perspective. There were speeches. What is a banquet without speeches ? The new class yell, "Did you bring your bathrobe? What is the size of your hat? '03, '03, '03 (some noise indescribable) Wow!" was given. Some songs were sung, and some were attempted. We hear there was noise on the campus after 3 A.M. It seems to be a matter of record that the class voted to separate itself from any and all funds it might call its own, and then elected two treasurers. Some optimism shown there. Are we all prepared to make good?
Our governor, F. H. Brown, did not shake hands with us until Monday night, but the welcome was just as hearty from those of us left. Pillsbury, I think, was the last man to arrive. Ted Hale seemed to think the golf course was pretty hilly and everything else was a draw. Guess he is right. Here is hoping that we have a golf contest of some kind at our 25th, and that Queech Safford wins it. He seems to hold the honors as par excellence the best raconteur in the class. He might as well have the athletic honors as well:
By election, agreement, appointment, arrangement, on the basis of feasibility, and by desire, your class secretary is Charles L. Luce, Esq., of Milford, N. H. Your class agent is Morton B. French, Room 1936, 195 Broadway, New York city. Your class editor, in charge of the class news section in the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, will be P. E. Whelden, Ludlow, Vt. If you see an item about a classmate, get any news, or can tell us of yourself, send it to him. Any old item is news, like summer addresses, trips, etc. Let us have them. That function of the secretary which makes him "the responsible executive officer of the class" is delegated and will be exercised by election, agreement, and on the basis of feasibility by P. E. Whelden, 516 Commonwealth Ave., Newton Center, Mass. Now is the time, hot from the 20th, to send him suggestions for the 25th.
