CLASS OF 1928
Well, gentlemen, another fall, and ALUMNI MAGAZINES and football games start whipping into shape. Already has the Secretary willingly parted with eight bones in anticipation of the Harvard game, a short three weeks away. But by the time this reaches you in November, a goodly section of the schedule will have been sliced away—that's the worst of this compulsory headstart on the publication date, you can't connect easily with current events at the time when the MAGAZINE emerges from the chrysalis, whatever that is. Perhaps after all, I'd better forsake the literary perambulations and deal out a few facts which, however stale when I get them—and deliver them—are always brand-new, if you haven't heard about a fellow for many moons.
A few fancy cards from the married boys with dates, names, and places, to wit: Ben Heftier and Elizabeth Huetwell on September 6 at Detroit, Woody Houghton and Marian Holden on September 29 at Hartford, Lawson "Van" Van Riper and Kathryn Stoddard on September 27 at Ansonia Connecticut, I believe. And then what should drop through the mail slot t'other day, but a heavy one that looked like it had real engraving on it, suggesting that old man Gow gets married to Alice Tread way on the 24th of this month (October) at Trinity Church, New Haven. And we had an idea that Art went down to New Haven for the sole purpose of manufacturing rubber.
Heard Gordon Graham on the radio the other evening—came as quite a surprise after half-heartedly listening to a silver-toned announcer eulogizing the next "number" to hear him say "Gordon Graham"—and after that I squinted an appreciative ear at the horn and basked in reflected glory each time the announcer announced—for I knew him when—.
Incidentally and pecuniarily they say that a person can very successfully keep the wolf off the front steps in that business. Incidentally, again, that isn't analogous with the textile business.
Had a long talk with old Boogy Norris a while back. He has been taking a training course at the National Shawmut Bank in Boston since graduation from Harvard Business School last spring. Boog says that Larry Martin is going great guns with the same organization.
Sam Bassett is, from all accounts, still busy picking corpses apart to find out what makes them tick at the Washington University Medical School, St. Louis. And Joe Kelly is doing the same darn thing at Boston University. To think that I used to sit at the same table and pick torn cats apart with these gentlemen—a most enjoyable job.
Phil Orsi is a clerk-correspondent for the National City Bank in New York.
Frank Thurston has thrown over the U. S. Rubber Cos. for American Woolen.
Johnnie Frankland teaches Latin and English at Seabreeze Private School at Daytona Beach, Fla. John married Nell Williams last January.
Wendell Phillips wrote from Jacksonville, Fla., a while back that he had been in the contracting business with his father for two years, then assistant manager of the Personal Finance Company until last March, and at the time of writing was foot-loose and seriously considering the sale of insurance "up north," which location is all too distant from Havana.
Parker Chick traces the evolution of a bond salesman with Harris Forbes: messenger Sept. '28—Dec. '28; counter clerk Dec. '28 Apr. '29; assistant stock clerk, Apr. '29— June '29; senior stock clerk, June '29—Dec. '29; special stock clerk, Dec. '29—March '30; bond salesman, Mar. '30 to ?. And we had an idea that purveyors of the gilt-edged com- modity were born, not made.
Doc Simonds was a clerk for the Aetna Insurance Company at Hartford for a couple of annums, and since March this year has been a salesman for the Southern New England Telephone Co. Doc became engaged to Mildred Johnson last March, but I can't swear that they're not married by this date.
In case you can read between the lines, gentlemen, you will notice that this is spread exceedingly thin and made to cover much territory without the apparent fault of tautology, which is the same thing as dragging out the same item four or five times, dressing it up a little differently each time and sending it merrily on its way—in other words what I'm doing now. But that all comes back to the proposition that it's very nearly time that a couple of the local postmen bent their weary steps in this direction. For in the next few minutes I'll be totally without the wherewithal to cook up another hand-out for next month.
ASSISTANCE, GENTLEMEN!!
Secretary, The Waypoyset Mfg. Co., Pawtucket, R. I.
