Class of 1911

The next event of interest to the class of 1911 is the Dartmouth Alumni Pow-Wow .to be held at Chicago, February 22 and 23. As one of the main attractions of this Pow-Wow there is to be a 1911 reunion, which Bert Wheeler, Warren Agry, Ed Keeler, Ben Stout, and other Chicagoans are now working on. Cap Hedges, Lew Sisson, Mr. and Mrs. Max Eaton, and Nat Burleigh have already sent in their promises to be there from distant points, likewise Chet Butts and Dick Paul have partially committed themselves and will probably be there. This is just the start. Don't wait for a personal invitation, but send word to Bert Wheeler or Warren Agry that you are coming. It's going to be a good party, and here's hoping we can have a real 1911 reunion as per usual.

Bill Pounds has found a new address, namely, 28 Maple Court, Brooklyn, N. Y. Bill is still with Miller, Franklin, Bassett Company.

Leo F. (Cap) Caproni is now in charge of the office of the Palmer Steel Company, which has recently been opened at Room 707, 57 Pratt St., Hartford, Conn. Ray Palmer and his gang certainly are expanding fast, with their main factory at Holyoke and recently opened offices at Springfield and Hartford.

A Bostonian writes: "Sid Beane has moved again. He is now located at 56 Flint St., Norfolk Downs, Mass.—the post office address being Atlantic, Mass. Sid is gradually acquiring the reputation of being the fastest mover in the class. He should be able to tell the rest how to keep just one step ahead of the sheriff."

Bob Barstow has just accepted a call to the First Congregational church in Madison, Wis. Bob will leave his parish in Concord, N. H., April 1. He has made many friends in Concord, and it is . with much regret both on his own account and that of his parish that he leaves to accept this opportunity at the home of the University of Wisconsin. Expect he will be out helping Jack Ryan coach the football team next.

George Morris' new apartment is No. 83, 2301 Connecticut Ave., Washington, D. C.

John MacDonald is back from Europe, where he reports having seen Louis Hall, who is now very French with his small mustache. John has promised to write me all the facts. How's to hurry up about it, John? L. L. Dowley has changed his living quarters to 42 Kenwood Ave., Worcester, Mass.

The same Bostonian as above mentioned has risen to remark that Bob Sanderson has recently been elected to the City Council in his home town of Waltham, Mass., adding rather unnecessarily, I believe, "God save the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

Harold W. (Button) Raymond writes to request that the records regarding his residence be changed to 124 Main St., Hingham Center, Mass., and that his post office address is Box 221, Hingham Center.

The city of Chicago is now one journalist short, since "Snocker" Murchie recently gave us his whereabouts when he wrote for football tickets to the Columbia game. He stated that he was now working on copy desk for the Nezvark-Star-Eagle, Newark, N. J.

The following letter from Deke Trask to John Pearson I am sure will be of great interest to everyone. It is the first real word from Deke that I have known of for some time.

November 16, 1923.

"Dear John : "I have just received a paper from my sister Tib telling of Dartmouth's clean-up on Harvard, and I got so darn excited I had to go out on the balconv and Wah-Hoo-Wah. One of these Tyrolese that wear whisk brooms in their little green hats, sitting up on a precipice, thought I was yodeling at his goats, and another bird with flower-embroidered calf-protectors below his short leather pantlets, mistook me for a national or Christian socialist yelling Hoch for the Kaiser —but no matter. The point is I am led to cough up one good iron man for the good of the cause.

"I promised to do it some months ago, but was unable to export even so little as this from Germany. One cold simoleon seems very little, I know, but, John, if you know what it would buy you over here, or would have three months ago before the bottom dropped clean out of all things Germanic. One hair cut, good smelly hair oil and an electric massage to boot (for I am fast becoming bald), half a dozen dinners, your month's rent, say of a couple of rooms, some first-class books, illustrated, on the art of the theatre or on the literature of any land, for the Germans are the world's greatest translators, two trips to the zoo (to see what live stock is not already et or 'gefressened'), two more to the haunts of ex-nobility, a second-class railroad ticket half way across the Reich with a handful of pretzels and all the beer Swede Needham could swallow thrown in. Those were the days, when the rich Germans were systematically bankrupting themselves, the workers were getting lots of good paper money, and only the poor middle class, the likes of us, were getting kicked in the stomach. Now, of course, it is another story, for they went too far.

"If, a big if, the day ever comes when I become a 'decent American citizen' earning honest copeks, then I shall hope to do my share for the College which I really love. But so long as I am a Richard Hovey sort of a minister gone wrong, I shall insist on roaming the face of the earth and having my say, without pay. My heart is in the right place, John, and that is with the College that doesn't teach you much about books, but a heck of a lot about men. That's why I have to go on learning this late in life. But believe me, I'd rather have the College specialize in men. You know there was once a fellow who wrote what he called the American Bible, in which he enlarged upon Buckle's theories of the effect of cereals, climate, etc., upon one, and described the good Indian, a man having the minimum of laws and government and restrictive things, but having a maximum of man's ginger, love of sport, the out-of-doors, and communion with the honest-to-God Great Spirit. He and others maintain the Indian was short on cruelty and hacking your heart out until he met certain breeds of white men. Anyway, this fellow claimed that the American continent calls forth a certain type of man, as these snowedged valleys call forth another, and rice-eating China another—and that type I have often thought is the Dartmouth type. All this attention to sport and man's stuff doesn't hurt; in fact, when you have been over here a year and a half and seen the knife-at-the-throat that awaits a good part of the white race from sedulous application to other interests you would cry all power to you, Dartmouth, or anybody else that can call forth the real spirit of our continent.

"You see—l believe you are the bird that first named me Deacon—I am still the same old preacher; have merely shifted, my field a bit. . Am now hoping to finish out my understanding of this guttural language, which I do care for, at Vienna, and to see something of their psychological movements and stage, then to go on to France and the warmer lands, for which I have an even greater hankering. I send greetings to Art Stevens and Ben and Bob Barstow and anybody else in your city of Concord, also to your good family, who gave me a good meal once when I was selling cook books. Alas, John, that was about the biggest money I ever made, but my blooming conscience got in the way because some hard-fisted old gent told me I was making too big a per cent, so I went up to Antrim with insurance for a month, and didn't sell a policy. Good luck.

"c/o Wiener Bank Verein, Mail Department, Vienna, Austria."

Wee Kimball and John Pearson sent in New Year's greetings, but Wee says that over a hundred men have not yet sent in their taxes for 1923 and 1924, and that the treasury or treasurer or both is very much in need of funds.

John Pearson reminds me that the call for Alumni Fund is to go out shortly, and that a prompter paying of pledges than occurred last year will do much to avoid hastening his old age. Further details concerning the difficulties of both these gentlemen will appear in another 1911 directory, which will be issued probably by the time you have received this MAGAZINE.

Secretary, Hanover, N. H.