CLASS OF 1916
Guy Keddie, who has been among the missing for years, was discovered by the Secretary the other day here in Boston. He had just returned to Boston from the Flood Area, where he had been running a fleet of six planes carrying mail and passengers and making aerial surveys in the lower Mississippi valley. He lost all his equipment in the flood, but hopes to start something up here. We are all rooting for him.
Ed Kiley spent a day here recently while on a week's trip from his haunts in Washington, Oregon, and California. He informed us he'd been married just eleven months and as yet had no additions to report.
Bob Burlen was also here for a short visit. He is located in New York with the National Broadcasting Company, we understand.
Phil Nordell burst forth with a long letter in which he speaks of seeing George Dock and John Butler. John has been taken in as a partner in a law firm.
Doc Greeley with two letters gives us a lot of news to quote. Dropping in on Bobby Bartlett at the Western Electric at 195 Broadway recently, he informed me that he is a proud householder; his new address is 86 Midland Road, Great Kills, N. Y.
"Bobby and the Mrs. are the proud parents of a seven months old baby girl. You'll have to get the dope from Bobby in regard to her name and whether she is a blonde or a brunette.
"An old salt horse, peeping through his spyglass, discerned Justie Doenecke, cruising around the streets of Marblehead recently. Donny reports that he saw none of those wild women carrying tar and feathers for which the town is noted.
"New York may have its night life, but New Jersey has the call of the wild! Alec and Johnnie Telfer are busy trying to get their new homestead at Ridgewood ready for occupancy by August 15.
"The register at the New York Dartmouth Club recently showed that O. J. Fredericksen was in town from Utica, but Freddy was so busy that none of the crowd had sight of him.
"When Freddy Smith was pressed for reasons for his absence from the last 'Sixteen' dinner, he modestly admitted being busy preparing for his debut in the Society Circus at the Madison Square Gardens. Freddy has a real heavy part —just what is it, Freddy?
"Some of the Thayer School delegation think that some of the causes of the severe Mississippi floods can be traced to the fact that heavy rains have deepened the Powder river. How about it, Ev?
"If the man with the red suspenders comes to New York he should call on the class treasurer, who, according to rumors has been driving a Cadillac with no brakes. A good Lincoln prospect, Heinie."
Doc also forwards the following suggestion from Dutch Doenecke. If any of you are interested in it, kindly advise the Secretary promptly. "Couldn't the gang get together at some point half-way between New York and Boston—say New London, for a week-end gathering of golf, dancing, and bridge?" If there is sufficient interest shown, we'll get a committee working to make arrangements.
Carl Holmes has sent out a very attractive announcement of the opening this summer of Great East Lodge. This camp for boys is situated on Great East Lake in Acton, Maine. The pictures and general set-up seem wonderful—and we all know "Mecca," who owns and runs the camp.
Johnnie Pell writes of seeing Chan Green, Art Conley and Dave Gibson in New Haven at the Connecticut alumni meeting, and encloses a note from Bob Brown, manager of the Canadian Nashua Paper Company, Ltd., at Peterboro, Ont. Bob says he doesn't get much Dartmouth news—but he crashed through on the Alumni Fund.
Les Leavitt has been appointed associate principal of the preparatory school of the American University of Beirut, according to an announcement by Albert W. Staub, American director of the Near East College Association.
Ray Chapman, the vicar of St. Stephen's Episcopal church, Boston, has received a lot of publicity the past few weeks in connection with the consecration of the new church on June 4.
A. Lincoln Filene was presented June 1 with the Cross of the Legion of Honor bestowed on him by the French government. The BostonHerald says, 'Although the award was made to Mr. Filene as a private citizen, he has given considerable attention to the problems of international trade and in 1926 was appointed by Secretary Hoover as a delegate to the International Exposition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Art in Paris. He will also address a meeting of the International Chamber of Commerce at Stockholm, Sweden, this spring, on co-operation by producers and distributors to eliminate unfair business practices in international trading."
Our final quotation comes from Ken Henderson:
"Mr. and Mrs. Albert J. Nason of Highland Pajk,. 111., announce the engagement of their daughter Margaret to Horace Fishback, Jr., prominent banker of Brookings, S. D. The wedding will take place June 11. Peg Nason is a Vassar graduate and an awfully attractive girl. Horace is a very lucky dawg. But then —so is she! That goes for both.
'A "letter from Rog Evans, who is still in Shanghai, says: 'You can well believe that the times and prospects with us here are grim, but we are still right side up, thanks chiefly to the heavy British forces who were here when the trouble came. With 6 inch and 8 inch howitzers crawling around our streets, however, some three miles of warships in the river and airplanes overhead, thirty thousand troops with barbed wire barricades, pill boxes, machine guns, armored cars, etc., along keeping down a red explosion that may break any time, this is not the Shanghai we knew. Ros MagilT once complained that we birds abroad get all the romance; will believe it now, though living from a suit-case and waiting for a bugle call isn't all he may think it is.
"Life in Chicago goes on much the same with only occasional variations. Bootlegging and high-jacking are giving way to kidnaping among the local profession—it's reputed to be more profitable. And 'America First' Thompson reigns supreme I"
To shelter in the cyclone cellars, ye who under the cover of darkness would silently pass as a ship in the night. The poison pen, under, impelling provocation, resumes its deadly drip to expose him who would appear to be other that he really is.
Some fifteen years ago a youthful "Seabrooker" used to paddle and scull a Swampscott dory in the shoal waters of the New Hampshire coast. This clam digger and philanderer of unwary flounders aspired to be a "deep sea man," yet dared not venture* beyond the line of breaking surf. When she pounded in from the no'- no'-no'-east, clamming he would go up the far reaches of the river flats. The gentle zephyr from the sou'-sou'-west, rippling the ocean's bosom to the turbulence of a stagnant millpond, would arouse the aspiring seaman to dare the briny depths of a full fathom in quest of the man-eating perch.
Able tutelage this shoal water skimmer received from the off-shore men of the billowing deep, but he was a "highgrounder" by nature, and the salt didn't penetrate. After years of effort, practice, and theory, he hauled his dory high on the sands, and turned his back in despair on the pounding breakers. With an oar over his shoulder he started west through flowering fields and forests of pine, until one day in a small village he met a stranger who asked why he carried a flagstaff without a flag. Here at last was peace and quiet for a "high- grounder" away from the lure of the foaming white caps. So he planted the oar, nailed fast a flag, and in a short span of years he blossomed into the big automotive man of the town.
Vague reports trickled through from time to time of his conquests of stream and lake—his canny cunning with the trout and bass. And later, apparently relying upon the security of the "inland sticks," he even allowed his press agents to record his pursuit of the wily tarpon off the Florida keys. Here was a real sensation, if the facts were true, but no; it was just another hopeless attempt to establish himself as a "deep water man." Investigation disclosed that the keys were of ivory and on a player piano—and the tarpon, while real, were large stuffed specimens in a photographer's gallery. So once again he returned to the tall pinesl to take his place beside the drug'store cowboys— just a millpond viking.
That's where we left him years ago, back in the ,quiet of the swishing pines and now the scandal unfolds. Gliding silently through the night with the -speed of thirty-six winged horses, a shining monster roared down from the hills— east, ever east—down to the sea. That's where we found him, the "highgrounder" from the tall sticks, on the night of June 23 just passed—on the smooth dank sands lulled by the lullaby of the lapping waves. The urge of the sea was upon him—a shoal-water skimmer by birthright, a tall timber bushman by adoption. He was caught dead to rights on the old stamping ground where he aspired to make the deep-sea grade.
Confidentially, he's already staked out his claim just above high tide mark, and another camp will soon dot the shores of Great Bay, located safely inland from Portsmouth harbor. Here in seclusion, sheltered from the might of Neptune's wrath, he'll paddle and scull the quiet waters of the bay, fishing and gunning at the- season's height. Here you'll find him most any day when he isn't selling Fords or pounding that old bass drum in Concord, N. H.; but don't fall for the sou'-wester or the sea-goin' roll, for you can take it from" us who have sailed the high seas that Heinie George is a "highgrounder" under all.
Secretary, 24 Dale St., Newtonville, Mass.
