Class of 1918

One hears that Ray Hurley, the w.k. financier, who married Miss Betty Taylor of Kansas City in 1918, is the proud and boastful father of a recent son and heir, yclept Ray, Jr. The boy is not entered for Yale.

Duke Shoup, the ginger ale king of Colorado Springs, (and a gent whose income tax is nobody's business—not even the Government's) has just struck oil in Wyoming. The well must be good, because Duke is not offering any stock for sale.

Apparently Gustafson hasn't answered Markey's challenge to appear in vaudeville with him at the coming Tremendous Tenth. Gene wants to know the why of it all, for Gus has never been known to be so bashful before. Perhaps he has already teamed up with shoemaker Zulick.

Robby (H. S.) Robinson, the old Puritan, exuberates over his return to dear old New England. He is now to be found at 101 Court St., Westfield, Mass., and writes that he has never been so pleased with everything. Riddlewho or what is the sugar plum?

They say that Eddie Emerson, long famed as specialist in all kinds of flappers and subdebs, has grown tired of such fry and now goes in for entertaining the wives of other Eighteeners. There is nothing like being a philanthropist to your classmates.

Ted Hazen confesses that things have been breaking very well for him in business even on "paper", but that he doesn't see much of other '18ers. He says he had a pleasurable sensation watching the Big Green hockey team take M. I. T. into camp at the new Springfield arena, even though his attention was often diverted from the contest to the attractive young thing which was brought in by Eddy O'Connor.

Dick Cooley has been developing his artistic tastes by being across the street from Chauncey Hood's interior decorating establishment. Cooley wants the crowd to. say hello to him at 34 Newbury St., Boston.

Buswell insists on pawning off his Dunham's Cocoanut on sundry Oklahoma hicks in the hope of gathering sufficient stakes to bring his family East for the Tenth. He resides at 601 West 26th St., Oklahoma City, where he is training his offspring, numbering two sons, to root for Dartmouth.

Can this be Stanley Jones—our Stan Jones? This disturbing poster comes direct from Paris Police Headquarters. John Martinez, head of the Identification Bureau of the Dartmouth Club of New York, says, "Why, it certainly looks like Stan."

Translated the poster reads in part: "10 francs reward for Slant-eyed Joe, alias Little Red. Wanted since 1917. First seen in Paris during the war. Under suspicion then because of his close association with that notorious Ambulance Quartet—Earley, Miner, Lewis, and Pounds. Again in Paris in 1925. Called him-self S. Jonas, the wealthy pork magnate. Accompanied at that time by a young man nicknamed "The Tough Kid", because he wore a gangster's cap indoors as well as out. Thought to be in New York at present. We offer 10 francs for him but if pressed would go 11 francs 6 centimes".

Who can throw any light on this mystery? Stan is president of our class. For that reason, and no other that we can think of, we are anxious to clear his name.

Thru the munificence of one Thomas Campbell, D. Sc., also noted as the inland commodore, and one of the first citizens of Denver, we have the following : "Chuck Hilliker has quit embalming staffs and is now manicuring flivvers. The firm name is Stovall-Hilliker Motor Company. This shift is not so radical or thoughtless as might appear at first glance. The cagey Charles still retains an interest in a large undertaking firm here, and his present line certainly does not depreciate the value of his cold holdings. When you consider the matter, there isn't such a wide gap between the two callings,—and the w.k. nunc aut nunquam cast of phiz works equally well in either.

"John Cunningham works in with the exgrave-digger by peddling inferior tires to Chuck's victims. John's brother, T. D. '13, is a doctor,—now if they just had a lawyer in the combine—!

''As Short Story Jones says, Sioux City's gain is Denver's loss. But the joke in on the Alcoholic. After much urging, the Johnson came to the annual banquet,—his reluctance was due to the fact that he would be obliged to change his shirt and shave. When he got there, he found that Joe Seacrest had put him down on the Association roster, so his meal cost him a buck more than usual. When the glad tidings hit his alleged mind, three waiters and a bolt of clothesline were needed to hold him, in spite of Larry Bromfield's efforts to produce immunity to surgical shock. The city council declared a school holiday, and Ben Lindsey called off all bets on the Temple of Venus program when the local blatts carried the front page announcement, last week, that Al had finally consented to remove himself to lowa and South Dakota until July.

"I am still trying to kid the locals into the belief that there's gold in them there hills, Nell! Doing some pseudo-science scribbling on the side. AND, in the meantime, trying to live down the evil myths which have sprung up about these parts concerning the goins-on of the Jones-Johnson-Sibbernsen conclave las't September."

Tom also reports that about 60 Dartmouth men attended the 33d annual banquet of the Dartmouth Alumni Association of the Great Divide, held in Denver, February 9. Campbell, Cunningham, Flower, Hilliker, A. Johnson, and Seacrest were the Eighteeners present. Joe Seacrest was elected secretary-treasurer of the Association.

Out in Deeth, Nevada, Bill Wright meets no '18ers but spends an interesting life operating several ranches. He writes in part

"As to myself, I am still following the old cow and spending most of my days on the ranches. Do not, as many do in the East and West too, get away with the idea that I am leading a lonesome and monotonous life. The days go by so rapidly that I seldom get done the things which I should like to have finished, and each day is different and has its many and varied interests. My partner and I are operating a beef finishing ranch under fence in Monterey county, California, and a breeding ranch in Nevada. The latter is a range outfit in the summer months, with hay feeding under fence during the winter. When I say winter I mean just that, for Hanover has nothing on our part of Nevada for subzero temperatures.

"I am still single and have no prospects of being otherwise, so therefore I have no family news to offer. Our latch string is always out, and any Eighteeners are most especially welcome to share our shelter and our chuck, and to use a good pony whenever they may come along."

Again has misfortune visited our ranks. Eighteeners were saddened to read of the shocking death of Walter A. Glos and his wife, who were killed in an airplane crash while flying across Florida from Tampa to Miami on February 25. Two children, both sons, were left parentless through the disaster. The class of 1918 grieves with them.

Secretary, 953 Madi- son Ave., New York