1918
Somehow we missed out entirely in the last issue of the MAGAZINE,—unquestionably a grave tactical blunder on the part of the Secretary. However, floods and printers permitting, we do hope some of our copy will manage to appear in the December number.
The football season as usual has been a magnet drawing the brothers of 'lB together from all parts of this fair land of ours, despite all the overemphasis --chatter. Actually, the turnout for the gridiron events seems to have exceeded that of any previous years. Whether this has been due to the anticipation of seeing a better than normal Green eleven in action, or whether Eighteeners have finally acquired sufficient acumen to let their stenographers conduct their business affairs of a Saturday morning, is a moot question.
It was our good fortune to be able to witness the Crimson debacle at the hands of Dartmouth one glorious October week-end. The first one we ran into just outside of Soldiers Field was Earley, the agent. He took prompt advantage of our accidental meeting to park his Mrs. with us while he chased off in a vain attempt to retrieve a prospect who seemed to have given him the slip in the crowd. Inside the Stadium we did not have as much of the usual handshaking to do as we anticipated, for some whim of the ticket shufflers at Hanover placed us somewhere else than in the geographical center of 1918-ers. Yet we did manage to get a glimpse of Dusty Rhodes garbed in his best Bond Street manner; Pop Opper and his pop; fixture Fish and friend wife; the omnipresent Gleason, owner of Gleasondale; Ed Stanley setting out for the tops of the Colonnade; Fat Rowell lumbering up the steep incline with a puff at every step; and Tom (T. B. R.) Bryant, the newly-wed, with his bundle of loveliness. All in all it was a grand afternoon for the Big Green. Yet, after it was all over, this greatest of Dartmouth victories over Harvard, one was amazed to find the goal posts still firmly rooted in the soil and not even besmirched. Truly, the gentlemanly ways of the effete modern undergraduate are beyond understanding.
As for the irretrievable matinee the following Saturday at New Haven, we will let Stan Jones give his own man-to-man observations of whom he saw at the Yale Bowl:—"Ted (Goosey) Hazen, the Hanover spirite; Squire Rood, with his famous trick legs and foul pipe casting a murk over the Bowl; Louie Huntoon, the Moody Mutterer from Providence; Marty Straus, half hidden under a Tom Mix sombrero; Serafin, the Mystery Man of Manhatten; Professor Fish, the Professional Bridegroom, and his wife, still smiling gamely; Jim McMahon and one of the most attractive girls encountered that disastrous day; Al Rice, rushing out to toss a tremor into Wall Street between the halves; Ernie Earley, distributing his business cards through half a dozen ushers; Andy Ross and the Wart, emerging from behind twin flagons of pre-game stuff supplied by 'Velvet Joe' Lee; Lee himself, with a new wristwatch presented by Colonel Lindbergh for having met the Colonel without demanding an autograph; Mandell Crothers, dozing over his third chin on the retreat from New Haven; Tom O'Connell, the Worcester golfer, smoother than ever; Jaysus LeFevre arid Ev Young, the hardy inseparables; Tom Robbins, inspecting the piping of the Bowl and pronouncing it not all that it should be; Cap Hanley, the Rubber Man; Tom Proctor, who gave it as his mature opinion that the better team had won; Don Scully, back from Cuba with a section of sugar cane behind one ear; Blimp Morey, tearing up newspapers and showering them about the special train with shrill cries of delight; Ty Tyrrel, the elongated typographer with the bulging hip pocket; and many many many others whose names elude your correspondent. It was a notable turnout, in any event, and if the same number charge back for reunion next June (of which more anon) the success of the party is assured."
Ed Booth, who has been teaching English at College, has a leave of absence from Dartmouth for the year. He is now doing graduate work in his chosen field at Yale.
Karl Hutchinson writes that his vacation was of great productiveness this year in that it resulted in his engagement to Miss Kay Hancock on September 10. Miss Hancock is the daughter of a well known University of Pennsylvania alumnus, Dr. Frank Bacon Hancock of Overbrook, Pa. They expect to be married in the spring or fall of the coming year.
We are glad to hear that Tom Campbell is making considerable headway. On August 2 he was appointed associate professor of metallurgy at the Colorado School of Mines. He is teaching five courses in metallurgy this year, besides having general supervision of advanced courses in this subject for graduate students.
Stump Barr had a real tough break in September, when his wife succumbed in the hospital shortly following an operation. It leaves him with the very considerable problem of raising his little children all alone,—he has our sympathy in full measure.
It seems that Tom Bryant is the latest victim of the modern girl in business. Since his college days has always been very cagey about women and forever paying strict attention to business. But, T. B. R. didn't know or realize the hazards of business in 1927. October 21 Tom emerged from the Hanson Place Methodist Episcopal church, Brooklyn, N. Y., very much married to Miss Florence Maloney, his office helpmate. Miss Maloney comes from Tom's native state of Maine. Reports that she pursued him all the way to New York have neither been confirmed or denied. Mr. and Mrs. Bryant left for the Maine woods via the Harvard game on their honeymoon, where Tom was probably showing off his Boy Scout woodcraft to the delight of his mate.
Although Dusty Rhodes has been seen by observers at various urban centers in this country recently, no one really seems to have a definite line as to his whereabouts. Apparently he has not yet officially checked in anywhere, according to the craftiest diplomatic custom.
Last September The Blackman Company sent Syl Morey to that great city of the West, Chicago, to report back here how the other half of the world lives. In the course of his travels he met a number of old '18ers, some of whose habits he had the opportunity to study quite carefully. We have a document here recording his observations and as it makes interesting reading we publish it in full:— "King D. Knecker Skinner still rules the National City Company in Chicago with an iron fist, and an iron derby pulled down to his ears. My first interview with the King was a couple of days before the DempseyTunney fight. He gathered about him all of his charts and graphs and earning sheets to prove to me that Dempsey should win in three rounds. If this forecast is in line with his recommendations to investors I see that prosperity in Chicago is to be shortlived.
''Dave is living on the gold coast (not to be confused with the gold coast of Africa). He informs me that there are millionaires to the left of him, millionaires to the right of him, millionaires above and below him. He told me confidentially after a few cocktails, mixed by a more charming wife than I thought Dave would ever get, that a short expedition up the fireescape after 12 o'clock at night once a month nets enough profit to keep the landlord and the furniture collector at bay. I was also introduced to little David Skinner, who is the image of his old man whenever his mother dresses him up in his little derby.
"Another 'lBer who is guiding the financial future of Chicago is Dick Aishton. I found Dick on the main floor of the Continental and Commercial Bank. With the assistance of three or four cushions he was filling a great chair behind a desk marked 'Vice-President'. I was told by one of the clerks in the bank that Dick had hustled off his high stool in one of the cages when he saw me enter the bank and had rushed down to the desk of the vice-president, who is away in Bermuda. You certainly have to look beneath the surface to get the dope on these '18ers. Dick is living out in Winnetka, next door to a beautiful golf course, that is the course was beautiful until he turned me loose on it. Dick complained bitterly that he was off his game that day and couldn't do better than 80. I was grateful that Earley wasn't along with his insurance check-up, or I would have been charged with 80 for the first nine holes.
"Dick was just moving into a beautiful new house while I was there. He seemed to have things pretty well planned out, because we arrived in the house just as the furniture van drove up. My arm is still sore from having carried two dining-room chairs. I let Dick and his two boys carry the piano and other small pieces, as I would have felt very badly if I had gotten a scratch on them. At any rate, you can see that I was a lot of help to him. Dick and his wife introduced me to the great town of Evanston, and took me to what is unquestionably the world's worst movie. I know it is the world's worst movie, as I saw it again three nights later with Mr. and Mrs. Knecker Skinner. It was a tough break for me, as that was the movie showing that week in Chicago.
On Monday noons the Dartmouth boys gather together for an old time Rotarian luncheon at the University Club. I saw H. Hiram Belding at one of these gatherings. He and Skinner were concentrating on some poor 1888 man to see who would land this man's order for a $100 bond. "Up in Milwaukee I saw another '18er who hasn't been heard from in a long time —Gordon Valentine. Val is the big rubber man of the Northwest. He peddles Goodyear tires and garden hose to the Teutonic gentry of the famous beer city. I only saw Valentine for a few minutes, as he was rushing out to close an order for half a dozen hand balls. Val is local manager for Goodyear, and he tells me that he has his rubber band stretched out where it will snap in all the rubber business in Wisconsin. Take a tip from me, and don't let anyone induce you to go into that state selling Mohawk, Fisk, or any other competing make of tires. I borrowed a Ford and dashed out to Val's house for a few minutes, and found that in addition to being a substantial business man he is also a substantial family man. Val has two youngsters, pretty close to school age. The boy he is grooming for future honors at Hanover. Val is lucky to be able to get free footballs, basketballs, and other rubber sporting goods. This young Valentine may be the sensation of the 1942 football season.
"Speaking of families; while I was away Miss Nancy Lee appeared in the world. Her pa, Lewis Lee, tells he he isn't quite sure what day she was born but he thinks it was about September 16. At any rate he tells me to be sure and get the correct date before putting it in the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, as his wife will be laying for him if he gets it wrong.
"Nancy seems to be the favorite girls name this month, as Stan Jones, our president, has a new daughter whose name is Nancy Jones. I saw Miss Jones in the hospital the other day, and the nurse told me that she was the pride of the institution. At that moment she didn't look so hot, as she was bawling for all she was worth. Her face was drawn back altogether too reminiscent of her father. The nurse assured me that she really didn't look a bit like her old man, and I took this comforting news to Mrs. Jones.
"I almost skipped some more important news about Lewis Lee. On the first of the month Lewis became a member of the firm of Miller, Hewitt, and Dodge at 7 Wall St. In the same breath that Lewis told me about this good news he also said that his firm is not carrying any margin accounts for anybody on less than two points. I don't see why he told me this, as I always kept a three-point margin with Stump Barr in my prosperous days when I was buying five and ten shares of stocks at a clip.
"Steve Mahoney wandered into my office this morning. He tells me that he has been in New York only a couple of weeks. He is living in Mount Vernon and is working for E. M. Burke, Inc., publisher's representatives, in the Graybar Building, New York city. Jim is looking pretty healthy despite two weeks of New York's half and half air and smoke. Jim does not give much news of himself except that he has turned his back on Chicago. He does say a little about some of the other boys. Steve saw Fat Hardy recently in Indianapolis. Fat is living at the Indianapolis Athletic Glub, and is the star salesman for the Carnegie Steel Company. I wonder if Fat can drag in the orders for steel the way he used to drag Nuts Poole and the other Psi U's in for hair-cuts. In my opinion, Fat plus a stogie could sell rubber tires to sailors. Jim tells me that Fat has tucked on an extra hundred pounds since Hanover days. Imagine that!
"There is only one other piece of news that I can think of at the moment and that deals with another '18 man who is mixed up in high finance—Andy Ross has been made an officer in the Chase Bank. This entitles Andy to three weeks' vacation and the privilege of bawling out Wart McElwain when Wart is late in the bank.
"Any '18ers such as Jack Storrs, who are looking for free dinners at my house when they get to New York, will now find me at 136 Chestnut St., Garden City, L. I.—that is they will find me if the sheriff hasn't found me first."
Secretary, 953 Madison Ave., New York
