Class of 1928

As a matter of fact one day seems to follow along after another in dam fast shape—all of which goes to prove that in a very short time it will become necessary to turn one's thoughts frequently to the idea of Hanover and Commencement. I received a letter just the other day from Prof. Lingley in which he said that his hope, as expressed at one of the class dinners, that '2B would become Dartmouth's "first 400," had been more than realized. At graduation we numbered only 383, but now that all the odd hours and points have been caught up the number on the books is 415—and there may be more to add to that! And the surprising thing about this figure is that it makes '28 the largest class ever graduated—all the more surprising, if you will remember the other record established by the class at mid-semesters sophomore year—one hundred and eight hopeless flunks (of which the Secretary was one—and well he remembers Dean Laycock's genial greeting). And all that comes down to the fact that with its head start in numbers the noble class of '28 should and will be overloading the B & M trains and crowding the highways along about the middle of June to set up a few records for Reunion 1. Joe Smith says that he is coming from Florida—and Prof. Lingley says that two hundred will be expected. Think fast, for the month of brides, final exams, and whatnot will be here in a day or so.

It's lucky we get the newspapers here in this town, or I never would hear about some of you bashful guys. Bob Rockhill has won one of the ten Harvard Law School association scholarships, carrying away a good section of the total awards of $12,000. Looked around for the names of MacPhail and Phelan on the list, but there must have been some misprints somewhere, because I couldn't find them.

The Daily Dartmouth infers that on February 23 Jim Hubbell and Miss Julia Velma Jones of Kansas City were married. And if anyone happens to be in the vicinity of 68 Van Cott St., Hempstead, L.I., congratulations may be extended personally.

Gordon Adams is working as an order clerk in a brokerage house in Wall St., and Fred Cole is running errands for one here in Boston.

In addition to collecting greenbacks for the Alumni Fund, which by the way closes on June 30 and which deserves a little wellplaced attention, Dan Hatch and Bill Kimball have unearthed information which might otherwise have remained hidden for centuries. A letter from Jerry Pitts (inclosing a check for ten) says that he is in the chain store business in Tulsa, Oklahoma—The Southwestern Stores. That brings to mind the idea that Gasoline Grimes, who resides in that section, ought to drop around and say "Hello." A letter from George Pitts says that he sees Elly Jones now and then, who in turn gives him the dope on Jack Carson, Win Taylor, and the Stone brothers. Also that he met Gene Ramey, who was at the time singing in an ensemble at the Chicago Theatre. Art Gow writes Dan that he is with the Seamless Rubber Company in New Haven, a subsidiary of the United Drug Company, and that he is actually enjoying the job. Walt Simpson sent ten rocks with the further note that it cut his weekly emolument exactly in the center. Walt Brownstone's letter bears the heading "Collins Company—Office of the General Manager." And Jack Collins, the dirty bum, says that he'd rather be in the class of '27—can you tie that? Paul Knowles claims to be working for the Allis-Chalmers Company in Milwaukee for 45 cents an hour —and yet it is rumored that he drives a LaSalle coupe to and from work. Ed Abbott occupies the position of cashier-in-chief of the Butte, Montana, branch of the General Motors Acceptance Corporation.

The Alumni Office sends in a few notes on some of the non-grads. Charley Stearns is doing landscape gardening in San Francisco. Ralph Howey sells books in Los Angeles. Bob Andrews is in the printing business in New York city. Red Fauntleroy works for the New Orleans Corrugated Box Company at some place called Bogalusa, La.

Johnny Lawrence has been transferred to the W. T. Grant store at Medford, Mass.

Mai Beal writes a darn interesting letter from Beirut, Syria. He says the place has street cars by General Electric, running water, electric lights, a police force, and a fire department which doesn't work very hard, since the houses are all of stone. The American University, where Mai teaches, has an immense campus overlooking the Mediterranean, and twenty large buildings. There are about twelve hundred students in the college and graduate schools. All in all a sizable place. In the classes there are Syrians, Arabs, Persians, Jews, Abyssinians, Greeks, Russians, Turks, Swedes, British Indians, Egyptians, Americans, Canadians, Armenians, Bahreinians, British, Bedouins, and four or five others that he can't remember off-hand. Religions and languages are likewise numerous, but they get along in fine shape in spite of it all. Mai loafs around teaching first, second, and third year English, ancient history, special form history (actually a course in English) second year Bible—very, very easy. He has heard from Eino Johnson, who has been married for seven or eight months and is teaching school in Danielson, Conn.

Howie Whitmore, whom I have seen several times in Cambridge, is the mainstay of the Harvard pitching staff this spring.

And right while you think of it, why wouldn't it be a fine idea to turn the calendar ahead a month and put a few red check marks on the reuning days in June. Prof.Lingley expects two hundred!

Secretary, 70 Mt. Vernon St., Melrose, Mass.