CLASS OF 1914
As the new year commenced, the first epistle to find its way to your Secretary's desk was the following expression of the season's greetings:
1898—1928 THIRTY YEARS AGO WE REMEMBER when eggs were three dozen for 25c, butter was 10c a pound, milk was 5c a quart; the butcher gave away liver and treated the kids to bologna; women did not use paint and powder, smoke, vote, play bridge, and wear step-ins.
Men wore whiskers and boots, chewed tobacco, spit on the sidewalk, and cussed. Beer was five cents a glass, and the lunch was free. Laborers worked ten hours a day, and the tip grafter was unknown; a kerosene hanging lamp and a stereoscope in the parlor were luxuries.
No one was ever operated on for appendicitis, bought glands, or ate vitamins; microbes were unheard of; folks lived to a good old age, and every year walked three miles to wish their friends
A MERRY CHRISTMAS TODAY YOU KNOW
Everybody rides in automobiles or flies, plays golf, tries to keep up with his neighbor, goes to the movies nightly, smokes cigarettes, drinks Rukus juice, blames the H. C. L. on everyone else, never goes to bed the same day he gets up and thinks he is having aH— of a time.
These are the days of suffragetting, profiteering, road hogs, excess taxes, and prohibition. If you think life is worth living we wish you
A HAPPY NEW YEAR
For those of you who do not know that Boston is still the intellectual Hub of the Universe, just glance over the following paragraphs outlining the activities of the "intelligentsia" of the finest class that ever graduated from Dartmouth College.
"Pen" Aborn manages the employment bureau of M.I.T. All worthy students desiring worthwhile jobs sifting ashes, waiting on table, street cleaning, etc., look to our Pennell for vocational guidance.
"Herb" Austin, the same who skidded into a few broken ribs at the Yale game, in addition to assisting your Secretary, operating and announcing for radio station WBSO, statisticizes for Roger Babson and receives his financial emolument therefrom.
"Alex" Skakle sways public opinion in the watch headquarters of the world, where he conducts the business of the Waltham Newsand Tribune.
"Ed" Leech reads his newspaper in the palatial offices of Jones, McDuffie, and Stratton, exporters, importers, converters, and dealers in new and second hand china and glassware.
Parker Margeson and Ev Barnard contribute their services to the Sulloway Mills in Franklin, N. H., and the rest of the world respectively. We might add that they both have "socks" appeal, but we understand that humor (?) of this nature is not allowed in the MAGAZINE.
Smiling Bill Barries' and Sully Sullivan, both grey-haired and sapient appearing, sell bonds, pardon me, investment securities for the National City Company and White, Weld and Company, respectively. Bill positively does not wear a derby hat.
"Ducky" Drake has a good stand for his medical practice, being located on the boulevard betweep Boston and Nantasket, one of our far famed spas. Ducky says that business has been good of late, thanks to Mr. Volstead. Don't be misled by this blurb.
Jim Gregg imparts financial wisdom and advice from the office of Parkinson and Burr. On Saturday afternoons Jim puts up clothesline, (ask him about it), sifts ashes, and performs all of the necessary jobs incident to being a good father and husband.
"Em" Barrett manages the Maverick Mills of East Boston, manufacturers of voiles, etc., whatever they may be.
"Fran" Pooler lives in the beautiful suburb of Weston with his wife and numerous progeny. He draws his weekly stipend from the coffers of the E. D. Sawyer Lumber Company of East Cambridge.
"Clyf" Chandler and John Burleigh deal in high grade lines of safety appliances for widows and orphans.
"Roge" Rice, real estate operator, genial host, and loyal rooter for 1914, is passing the winter in Boston, hanging his hat in the office of Silver, Burdett, and Company, publishers of compendiums of knowledge and learning.
Way down east, in Wolfeville, Nova Scotia, George Boggs raises apples and runs a boys' summer camp. Once a year lie migrates to Boston to keep in touch with the intellectual and cultural side of life.
"Bert" Symonds passes on credit at the Second National Bank of Boston.
"Bill" Fletcher is a personnel counsellor of high order, being the proprietor of Wm. L. Fletcher, Inc.—not an employment agency.
Myron Files and Win Loveland are the local dispensers of knowledge,'—Myron at Tufts and Win at Boston University.
"Rudy" von Lenz is manager of the Boston office of General Dyestuffs Corporation. We don't see as much of him as we'd like to. He and Bill Barnes lived two doors apart for a year and didn't know it. What a sociable class.
"Luke" Giles and "Chick" Grant are the oil barons of the city. As neither have been mentioned in the Washington dispatches, we assume that they are still honest and aboveboard and have not tampered with the Senate or Congress. They are with Gulf and Socony respectively.
And speaking of oil reminds me that Jack Dellinger sent in another of his most interesting letters: In order that you fellows who drive cars and operate cigarette lighters may have an opportunity to learn the hardships under which the combustible fluid is obtained we quote a part of his letter:
"Life down here is a queer mixture—I never will be contented to live here, but I know that when it comes time to leave there will be many regrets. Had a devil of a time getting home for Christmas. Was down at Puerta, Mexico, a trip I generally make by boat. A norther came up and the port was closed, so I had to make a four day trip on the train via Mexico City—one derailment—two nights sitting up in a day coach, but got to Tampico by Christmas eve.
"The oil business in Mexico is at a standstill except these companies I am with. We are running thirty drilling rigs, mostly on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, where we are the only company operating. Manage about one game of golf a month, and try to muddle through my work practically single-handed, whereas a similar job in the States would have a number of specialists to handle the details. So there is plenty of work and new stuff coming up, even though the organization is lacking. Expect to be back in the States in another eight months."
Turn backward, turn backward, oh! Time, in thy flight—just read this one from Bill Slater:
"Win Snow and I have just been talking about Riegel's run in the California-Georgia Tech game, and Win says it reminds him very much of the basketball game between Williams and Dartmouth in which Marge tied the score for Williams by shooting a basket from the middle of the floor. According to Win's version he then had to shoot three baskets himself to win the game."
An interesting item from a Providence daily records the following: "Winthrop J. Snow won the second event of the weeklyprogram of the local 'Y' two-state 500 point aquatic contest last night at the Broad St. Pool, when he took the 20 yard breast stroke in 11 3-5 seconds. Snow, a former Dartmouth College star, was followed closely by C. S. Sowder in 11 4-5 seconds. Both Snow and Sowder broke the record at the local pool of 12 seconds flat."
Bill Slater says that he can highly recommend "Twenty Songs from Mother Goose" by Bay Wilkinson. We all know Ray as a composer, and he has done a particularly good job in this publication. I do not know whether or not you can buy copies in the shops; if not, his address is R. L. Wilkinson, Salem, Mass.
And from the Department of State, Ted Marriner sends the following: "I sailed on August 1 to make some preliminary arrangements for the signing of the Kellogg Pact in Paris, and was taken ill there about September 1 with a severe attack of pleurisy. I remained in Paris through September, and spent October and November in Switzerland, returning to this country from Genoa, and have now taken up my duties again here in Washington as chief of the Western European Division of the State Department."
You have now had copious items from the New York and Boston groups. Is there no Middle West, Far West and South? And Philadelphia, Sig?
Secretary, 159 Devonshire St., Boston
'14's15th B-O-A-R-D!
