Class of 1918
Our foremost impressionist, Syl Morey, has favored us with a somewhat accurate account of Hanover Happenings at the Tireless Tenth as he saw or thought he saw them. So much took place, however, that we have had to boil down his material considerably in order to fit the same in the allotted space, and here is what is left of his story:
"The long awaited tenth began Friday afternoon, June IS, with Napoleon and Marshal Ney, the official welcoming committee, impersonated by Gustafson and Fat Hardie, posted at the front door of Topliff, shaking hands as though they meant it, and certainly so you felt it. Fat's top pocket bulged with an affluent substitute for the old-time Dry Slitz, and their room on the third floor bulged with other dainties much appreciated by reunioners. There was a well-beaten path up the stairs to the third floor that afternoon. Steve Mahoney and "Y" Jordan were seen going in. Afterwards Steve was heard, but "Y" was neither heard nor seen again.
"The members of the order of Dub and Divot gave the Hanover golf course its worst beating that afternoon. While the golfers were tiring themselves out for no good purpose, Frank Clahane was putting in his time in a good cause, and was ready to ration out uniforms long before the duffers were through wrangling over their ten cents a hole. The costume line was headed by Fat Sheldon, formerly of Rupert and now of Schenectady. Fat, they say, had been worrying for a fortnight that Jay LeFevre or Hal Doty would get the uniform built to Fat's specifications, but his apprehensions were soon allayed. Frank made you give the countersign, produce your canceled check for 20 bucks, and sign your name three times before you got within eye-shot of the duds. The uniforms were darn neat. A white frog hat; green sweater, striped top and bottom with white; and green stockings. If. you see any birds dressed like that on your golf course this summer, you'll know they are Eighteeners, or have been doing a little second-story work on some Eighteener's house.
"The reunion fathers certainly hit it off fine with the weather bureau. Sun every day, and not a drop of rain except a few synthetic showers brewed in rooms directly over the entrance way to Topliff. This collusion with the weather made it possible to turn the Topliff front lawn (front ground would be more accurate) into a gathering place. Some kind soul produced chairs, and the ladies got comfort at least while they waited for their husbands to toss off a few er-er remarks with old pals inside. George Davis, Zulick, and some of the other boys churned off several hundred feet of movies of activities there and elsewhere about town. Fritz Cassebeer clicked the shutters of his camera to get a new flock of lantern slides, which will probably give many of the boys a shock when they see them. We'll realize that we don't look like undergrads anymore, despite our fondest hopes to the contrary.
By Friday night the herd were pretty nearly all gathered. Dingtoe Storrs and Katz Storrs and the Sturgesses had pulled up, as had Ned and Mrs. Ross, Sewell and Mrs. Strout, Dick and Mrs. Colie, and the Morses, the Robsons, the Caldwells, and the Parker Pooles. Bill Mudgett and the Jordans came all the way from California, Johnny Cunningham had ridden the roads from Denver, Hal Doty and Bill Bemis from Cleveland, Hardy and Gus from Indianapolis, A 1 Gottschaldt and the Mrs. pulled in from Atlanta, and Ed Felt came from Buffalo.
"Of course the big business men from New York, headed by Jones and Earley with their wives, were out in full force. The lone delegate from Medina reported that -both Munson and Whipple were due to come but collapsed at the last minute. Hal Ross and his wife steamed in from Albany with love and kisses to the class from Nuts Poole but without the great Poole himself. Hands were grasped, invitations issued, and names guessed at in a whirligig of greetings."
Here we'll interrupt Morey's story long enough to say that reunion opened officially Friday night with the grand ball in costume at the Little Theatre in Robinson Hall. (Syl, having left his devoted spouse at home, was allowed to attend reunion conditionally, and therefore being strictly off women was miles away from Robinson that night and could give no account of the proceedings). The dance served to break the ice and seemed to be the keynote to the success of the TENTH. After a round of Virginia reels and other such throwings-together, inspired by our dance committee headed by Dick and Mrs. Cooley, 1918 soon became one big family. The Green Serenaders outdid themselves for the class, and the saxophone tooters furnished no end of peppy blasts for the carousel's. Due to the ever-present stag line, it soon resolved itself to a marathon dance for the women, who seemed to enjoy such long unused attentions immensely, and immediately voted the party a big success.
"Saturday morning brought out the fine athletic spirit of the class. I say spirit, as I know nothing else athletic that we can claim. A ball game had been fixed with 'l3 or '93, or some class, for that morning. Coach Gustafson called for try-out of material, and he got 60 percent of the gang.
"The boys looked pretty hot in bunting practice in front of the dorm. Bob Fish, Dick Holton, Gus, and A 1 Gottschaldt sent stinging grounders that ambled into the hands of what looked like veteran fielders and basemen. Johnny Johnston and Axel Proctor warmed up as a possible battery. Dusty Rhodes made a few passes at the ball, and was then excused on the ground that he had done his bit for the class the night before. The hospital would have been over crowded by game time, probably, if the management hadn't thoughtfully provided an indoor ball. But even an indoor ball can hurt, or so say several of the wives, who suffered from wild throws and much wilder hits.
"After an hour of warming up Gus concluded that the boys were about as good as they could be, although he confided to reporters that there was plenty of room for improvement, and he led a gallop to the campus. The team victory went to 'lB, hands down,—by default. The opposition never appeared. But the crowd (the wives of the 'lB team, a Western Union messenger, and two hack drivers) clamored for a game. There was nothing for it but to fight among ourselves, as distasteful as this idea is to any member of our class. So Gus and A 1 Gottschaldt chose sides, with the former showing much better judgment in picking latent talent, as the results later proved.
"Gus stayed on the side-lines, so that he could better use his voice, and he talked his team right into victory. Not that A 1 didn't talk too. He gave the gallery some of. its best laughs, but he was in no position to bring full verbal force on the umpires, Axel Proctor and Mel Weston. The boys did well to last five innings, and the spectators to last any. It was all over by noon, and Frank Clahane, score-keeper, pronounced a verdict of 12 to 8, or thereabouts, for Gus's outfit, and the price of short leads at Allan's for Al's. Along the marble bar the winners had long leads and the losers short leads. When the check came around it was surprising to discover that 25 men played on Gus's team and only 7 on Al's, and there were no non-combatants whatever. Awfully forgetful, some people"
Again we'll digress from Morey's story long enough to mention the bread and butter throwing carnival which was held in the Commons dining-hall that night under the guise of an official 1918 Class Dinner. Syl was there, because we saw him, but apparently he later failed to remember what transpired.
About 8 o'clock, with the women safely shipped to Webster for the ''Green Peach," a pack of hungry 'lBers,—whatever it was they hungered for,—began to batter down the doors of the Commons. Unsuccessful in their first onslaught on the oaken doors, they roamed the campus for ten minutes looking for prey. Then there was no holding them, and they stormed the dining hall. Inside the happenings were a replica of the fifth reunion and no one emerged from the fray without having his face marred by food or flying utensils. Toastmaster Gustafson tried in vain to put on an entertainment, but having lent his gavel to Senator Moses at the Republican convention, was totally unable to restore a semblance of order. He called on Zulick to give us a song in the hopes that music hath charms, but they didn't in this assemblage. In justice to Zulick we will say that he has developed a wonderful mellow voice worthy of considerable listening to, but the boys just didn't give him a chance. Gus gave up in disgust and was not seen any more in town after that. A hot dance with 1923 and most of the seniors in Robinson Hall ended the evening.
It was a sober and much subdued gang of Eighteeners that put in an appearance Sunday noon at the Bradford Inn for the class outing. The weather was warm and ideal, just the kind you want for a quiet day in the country,—and quiet it was. Needless to say that this time all the food was properly consumed and even the music of the Green Serenaders appeared soothing. Immediately after dinner all our golfers,—and there were a lot of them —were impatient to get a shot at the golf prize donated by our wandering milk merchant, Harvey Hood, so that it was difficult to line them up for any really good class picture on the nearest slope. However, they were took. The big tournament then assumed an aspect of such importance that Stan Jones sent the following at its conclusion to all metropolitan sheets:—
Boys and Girls Together A house-party of 150 had three days of perfect weather to assist a well planned program.
At Eighteen's Tenth The ten year class got away to a fine start and kept going with two dances and a picnic as high spots.
Topliff was the caravanserie which aroused the hundred eighteeners and the fifty better-halves, when they weren't going places and doing things.
The shots on this page were caught by Fred Cassebeer's camera. Lack of space prevents our identifying the subjects, much as we'd like to.
The Picnic at Bradford
