Class of 1918
Neil (Fat) Sheldon is now to be found firmly intrenched in Schenectady, N. Y., where he supplies all the farmers in the region from his yard and feed store, specializing in such timehonored staples as coal, wood, flour, feed, hay, straw, poultry supplies, and small talk. He claims he is one of the higher-ups, enjoying the mayor's patronage to the extent that he can promise the keys of the city to any '18ers who apply, with the one stipulation that they come sober. In his business he occasionally comes in contact with Ted Baer, the truck merchant, who is particularly fond of peddling his wares to prosperous coal men. 'Fat' fathers two sons, who he hopes will enter Dartmouth in due course.
From Bill Pepin's writings we gather that he is as fond of mountains as ever, and his doctorings never interfere with an occasional trip to the White Mountains in the winter and an outing to the Sierra Nevadas in summer. However, Bill bemoans the fact that he now has to recruit company for hikes from the Appalachian Club, inasmuch as all former '18 D.O.C. 'ers seem to be married and impossible to pry from home and fireside.
"What could be sweeter, darling toodle-ums?" —Clayton Phelps Morey born on St. Valentine's Day.
We have just heard from Dick Willey, who states he is soon to start home from Calcutta, India, to make sure of reaching Hanover for the Tenth. (That's the sort of urge that would make any reunion a success).
It is about time to mention something of the exploits of Hubie McDonough in the field of coaching. Last fall he finished another successful season as mentor of the Manchester High eleven which went through its schedule with no defeats. In the past five years the teams he has coached have lost but two games, which is a record not to be sneezed at.
Herb Duffill says he is still playing hockey now and then,—not admitting that he is getting older. Otherwise he peddles black pebbles for the Metropolitan Coal Company in Boston. He informs us that his competitor, Eddie Emerson, is everlastingly in trouble with the traffic police for parking his Dodge Coupe where it isn't wanted, and that he doesn't really know how to drive a car anyway. Also advises us that Salty Saltmarsh was seen ravishing a plate of beans in Newspaper Row and is trying to sell bonds when he doesn't eat.
Mel Weston says he resigned from the office of assistant attorney general of Massachusetts last summer to take up the more lucrative practice of law. He is now associated with Powers and Hall, 30 Federal St., Boston.
Woody Hulbert is now boys' secretary of the Somerville Y.M.C.A., and enjoys teaching high school boys D.O.C. folk-lore. Also says a marriage is impending this spring.
From Poultney, Vt., we hear from the hermit, Knipper Knapp, who is still engrossed in the business of supplying the slate industry with pumps, hoists, and other quarry machinery. He says trade hasn't been so good since the floods, but that he suffered comparatively little loss himself.
Emanating from Orwigsburg, Pa., we have the news that Zulick and wife are busy filling their dime-savings barrel so that they may be sure to attend the Teeming Tenth.
Seemingly Sandy Sanborn has found insurance easier to sell than bed-room suites, and is no longer to be found collecting installments in the furniture business. Hasn't as yet taken a wife, and therefore finds it will be easy to make Hanover in June.
Joe Converse takes care of the advertising for The Timberman, a Northwest lumber journal published in Portland, Oregon. Another Eighteener who is sure to be back for the reunion.
C. R. Hood goes in for the more cultural occupation of selling fine Colonial Reproductions at the lowest possible price, and says he has made a good start. His stand is at 31 Newbury St., Boston, Mass., in case you can afford that sort of thing.
After several years in Minneapolis, "Wy" Jordan is now located in Glendale City, Cal.,— naturally the "fastest growing city in the country." Jordan reports that he recently promoted a department store in this boom town, and, while not ready to retire as yet, has great hopes for the future. He is another '18er who attended the big Dartmouth picnic at the Diamond Bar ranch last fall, which was such a great success.
Paul Moyer informs us that he has been an editorial writer for the Providence Journal for the past four years, during which he has developed two fine male offspring. He is in position to keep good track of our collapsible tube manufacturer, Louie Huntoon, who was said to be near collapse himself when he gave away dark trade secrets about his tubes sometime ago in a speech before the local Lions Club on how he turns out the darn things.
CHALK UP THE DATES FOR THE TENTH, June 15-18.
Secretary, 953 Madison Ave., New York
(1928) IS THAT ME?
