Reminiscences of an Old Dartmouth Stage Coach
One of the principal exhibits in the new DartmouthMuseum (which should be seen by all returning alumni)is the old stage-coach just inside the main entrance. Theeditors of the Magazine have pursued this old coach fora story for a long time, but the creature has been mule, forsome reason or other,—stubborn as Dudley used to saywhen the brakes wouldn't work on the hillside and thewhole Holy Cross football team coming up for a game wasrolled over an embankment. But the new supervisor of themuseum, Frederick H. Burleigh, agreed to "ghost-write"the old coach if he could get it talking. How he did this wedon't know, but one morning he approached us, smilinga broad smile, with triumph in his eyes. The old coach hadgiven in at last. And here's the whole business transcribedfrom Burleigh's shorthand.
WELL, here I am in the College Museum in Wilson Hall. Little did I think that I would ever be a museum piece, or a mere curiosity I can't quite decide as yet, but at any rate they're trying to make something out of me. Of course I appreciate the new coat of paint and all the things that have been done for me, but I don't quite like some of the remarks made by some of the undergraduates of today (even we stage-coaches have our ego, you know). Sarcastic remarks about body by Fisher, and only two wheel brakes, and that sort of thing make me rather sore. If I could once get out of here and give them a lift, I'd show them what a real ride is. But that is Life!
There is no getting around it I have had a chequered career. After ten years spent in oblivion in the Chase Barn, I was almost sacrificed to the gods of football one night, when, as in every good melodrama, I was rescued just as I was about to be thrown on a huge bonfire. Then I was sold to a junkman last year for a mere trifle and was dragged to Wilder, only to be again rescued by some kind-hearted member of the Administration, who decided that I deserved more respect and better care. I received a coat of maroon paint and here I am, my worries at an end.
When Charles Nash, my old driver, came in the other day, he set me to thinking. Since then I have been indulging overmuch in memories of the good old days. But what old-timers don't?
I remember when Roosevelt was running for VicePresident and came up through this part of the country. He was to make a speech at the Windsor Fair; so we, Charlie and I, took him to the Fair Ground. After the speech, as we were leaving for the station, another coach thought it was going to beat us off the field, but we raced it and won. Roosevelt thought that was great, so of course we did.
Supervisor of the Dartmouth Museum
