Class of 1918

At present writing only a handful of return postcards are available, but they are coming in now at a rate which bodes well for a real news column in the next issue. If we had a lot of blue ribbons to award, we would decorate the lapels of all Eighteeners who have taken enough interest to send us some news. Those postals are lifesavers now, but more are needed.

Among the first to be heard from was the Buffalonian, Eddie Felt. "There's nothing new" is Ed's complaint,—"same job, same wife, (however, new daughter), same flat, same car, same bridge game, same everything ad infinitum ad nauseam. In the Buffalo sector the thin Green line is holding back the Cornell forces at all competitive sports; golf, bowling, squash, beer drinking, etc."

Jack Storrs recently appeared in New York for his annual visit to the automobile show, accompanied by an enormous sample case that gurgled delightfully. It may or may not be ture that Jack spent half of his time going over his samples himself. After having watched Jack Storrs and his case, Syl Morey, philosopher and sage, observes that "these boys just don't know how to behave when the wife isn't around. They seem to think that a trip to New York is just like going to college."

Al Zulick reports that he has two very good looking daughters to show for his six years of married life. He is still busy making shoes for other people's babies as well as his own, but has everything already arranged for a getaway to "Heaven, Hell, or Hanover" in 1928. He says that if Alford Vesuvius Gustafson can arrange to be present, "we can team up better than we did before, as I now weigh 20S as against 135 while in colletch. Gus ought'a weigh about 400."

Eighteeners motoring in the vicinity of Lexington, Mass., would do well to stop at the Russell House of that town. This is not an ad, but merely an invitation to drop in and visit Galen Russell, who is managing this hostelry. However, he expects to be away soon, as he has been ordered to Fort Riley, Kansas, for three months to attend the class for cavalry reserve officers.

From Clint Carvell we have it that he is still preaching the gospel and converting the heathen, and is hoping for a job when Harvey Hood comes through on his engagement. Clint generously offers to marry any '18ers free, or bury them the same way. He claims he gets his inspiration for funeral orations from the tombstone of Richard Hovey, who is buried at North Andover, Mass., where Carvell now holds forth. Clint further advises us that he. has three children, Virginia, Frank, and Kenneth ; and also a "professional" automobile.

Hort Chandler offers himself as the leading candidate for "The Busiest Man in '18 Competition", and we peruse his long list of qualifications with no little awe and respect. At the present time he is all and every bit of the following: acting postmaster of Concord, N. H., special assistant in the office of the Attorney General of New Hampshire, commanding officer of one of the two Concord National Guard batteries, active promoter of the Concord Airport and Concord Airport Corporation, and a practising lawyer with a fairly large clientele. In November Chandler had the misfortune of losing his father very suddenly, which added a few additional burdens besides the postmastership which he fell heir to. Hort admits that all this is too much work for one man, but says that he is still holding up all right. It seems to us that between Chandler, Blandin, and Colby the 1918 class representatives hold about all the public offices there are to be had in Concord.

That offspring still play the leading role in the lives of some of the '18-ers is evidenced by the fact that Charlie McCarthy devotes the entire space on the postal he returns in announcing the birth of Charles T. McCarthy, Jr., January 19, 1927.

A1 Street—"Nothing to report. Just leading an ordinary life." (Meaning thereby a satisfactory mount of security sales and commissions.—Ed.)

Bill Kurtz writes that "Bill Bemis with some slight assistance by Newton D. Baker is trying to keep the wicked Windy City from stealing Cleveland's water supply. According to Bemis, by the year 2435, Lake Erie will be a puddle and the citizens will have to construct a duck walk on to Canada in order to get something to drink." In spite of the efforts of statistician and seer Bemis, Bill Kurtz says there is some talk of calling off the suit, for the more sober minds don't think they will live that long anyway.

To quote from a letter of Gene Markey to Ernie Earley —and thanks your very kind references to my lousie yarns. I sold the plumber story to Douglas Mac Lean for a movie. There is another one in next month's Harper'sBazaar. Not that it matters. When I am a little richer—a couple more movies—l shall ask you about some insurance. lam not ready yet, and it may be some time. We may both be old men, and you may be the president of the company, and have forgotten a poor author named Markey. But whenever I am ready I shall let you know, and we can talk business."

We have some more items that have been garnered in New York and thereabouts by reporter Jones, with which we will close for this month. Here goes:

"Lewie Huntoon, the big tube-and-top man from Providence, was noticed basking in the glare of the white lights last week. He took occasion to deny that his 'Captive Cap' had any relation whatsoever to the drama which is setting the populace by the ears as these lines are rushed to print.

"Era Earley, who pulls death's sting, extends a cordial invitation to any visiting zouaves who think they know what's what in the line of ping-pong. The man who has coaxed hundreds across the dotted line to_ happiness with his sugar-coated pills of wisdom has recently purchased a full equipment. He explains recent defeats at the hands of only mediocre players by claiming carrying his son and heir has permanently stiffened the muscles of his right, or knife, hand. Pretty thin soup, say we.

"Local clubmen are pleasantly made to feel at home on those evenings when the missus is out by the greeting of Johnny Martinez, who is lending a hand to Mac Rollins '11 from supper time on. The strong, silent man is dispensing his famous wise cracks and much-quoted bonmots at the Dartmouth Club to anyone who offers the slightest provocation. If you haven't heard, 'ls that so?' or better yet, 'Well, what's new?' drop in and split the back out of your vest.

"H. Krause Whitmore, former 'Wild Bull of the Campus', must be added—and this pains us—to that shameless army of shifters who say, 'Well, you got to come out to the house for dinner some time soon. How about it?' You know them well, and the sooner they are exposed and publicly known for what they are, well—life will be a little less abrasive, anyway.

"Ru Hesse recently presented the Club with a picture of the student body taken in 1915. Grouped in the mass of faces were noted Geran, Nuts Poole, Musty Pounds, Mandell Crothers, Pete Colwell, Phil Boynton, Cap Hanley,_ Bill Christgau, Penn Carolan, T. A. Miner and other titans of the hirsute age. If you, too—as the advertisements put it—have any memorabilia which might help cover wall space, how's to send it in?

"We are still wondering, ears twitching, as to Harvey Hood's status in this marriage business which you hear so much about nowadays. Fritz Cassebeer, who upset the legumes through a wrong steer, has been cornered for further misinformation. When our investigator finally nailed Fritz and demanded facts, point-blank, "the Phrenzied Pharmacist tore out a generous handful of his hair, leaped the counter, and fled, screaming, down Madison Ave. And there, as Dean Laycock used to say, you are."

Secretary, . 953 Madison Avenue, New York