CLASS OF 1930
This has been a copious period, verily, since the compilation of class notes for the August issue. Letters have been pouring in lavishly, while those fine. form postcards which I sent out last June continue to dribble in fitfully, and a lot of the boys have shown their cheery faces in Hanover perambulating about on our fine new concrete streets and sidewalks. Some of the latter are digging themselves in for the winter's hibernation, and others were merely passing through to Harvard and other dubious educational centers. All in all, having put this off with my usual punctilious care to a time somewhat beyond the zero hour for submitting class notes, your slaving secretary fears that he will not be able to record everything in this installment. Perhaps it might well be spread out over another month anyway, because there is no predicting how long this fine epistolary enthusiasm will survive in the scattered and for the most part busy members of 1930.
Al Fink writes that he has been wearing the carnation in Macy's which I predicted for him since August, but hasn't received any copies of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE since that time. So I might as well say for the benefit of all subscribers that the months of publication for the MAGAZINE are August, November, December, January, February, March, April, May, and June, making nine in all.
From Art Schwartz in New London a note on stationery of The New Yorker, together with two dollars for a MAGAZINE subscription. Thanks for the subscription money, Art, but you might have told us more about yourself.
From W. M. (alias Brownie) Brown, a letter narrating a summer's experience at the University of Wisconsin, and telling of present connections with Dominick and Dominick, brokers, New York. He will be in Hanover in January to take another pass at the eomprehensives. Ken Kull, says Brownie, is with Illinois Bell in Chicago, and in addition to that is amorously entangled. We have already sent our greetings to Bill Moore at Congoleum-Nairn in Kearny, N. J., together with a pun which we are rather ashamed of. Hughie Johnson and Johnny Cheney, Brownie adds, are investment brokers associated with Harris-Forbes in New York. Bill Jessup is helping out at the A. T. & T. Bill Rich is learning how to be useful to the Guaranty Trust Company in its bond school. Jack Wooster is doing something in a brokerage way in New York. Jack Deveau is pulling the traveling salesman act for some sort of insurance and securities combined, but we don't know anything about his extracurricular activities. And that is about all that we learned from Brownie.
Two dollars and a letter from Frank Gulden in New York, telling us practically nothing about himself except that we might see him up here at a game.
From Van Derbeck in Far Hills, N. J., another two dollars, together with a modicum of information and quite a few questions. Van started out some time ago as an audit clerk with the Prudential Insurance Company in Newark, and after eleven months got boosted to special work, which he is still doing and liking it. He may be up here after the Harvard game.
From the Dean's office I have received notice that sheepskins delayed on one pretence or another have been sent postage prepaid to Sam Allen, Freddy Bowes, Red Doherty, Hod Erskine, Jack Garrison, Lou Goldschmidt, Ed Hartwell, Earl Seldon, Hammie South, Doc Waters, Ted Wolf, and Max Horwitt. And I think there are a few more going through the mill.
A good long letter from Freddy Bowes, who is successively learning the various aspects of the mailing equipment business, which he finds interesting. He is with the Pitney-Bowes Postage Meter Co. in New York. We are looking forward to seeing him if by some fiscal miracle we should get to the Yale game.
Curt Glover, who, as you will remember, left Dartmouth for a Thoreau experiment in the northern wildernesses, writes from Harvard saying that his quarrel was not with Dartmouth in particular, but with educational methods in general, and that he had found Dartmouth exceedingly liberal. He classifies himself gladly as faithfully '30.
When it comes to remembering all the boys that I have seen around here from time to time, it becomes quite a problem to get them all on paper in one installment, the human memory being what it is, and your secretary's memory particularly being what it isn't.
I just saw Ellie Gilbert running around down by the new Tuck School in a picturesque Model T with red wheels, and he is working in the advertising department of the News Bureau in Boston. He was in town for the B. U. game.
Al Marsters brought his B. U. backfield to town this week for a melee with the local boys. We all hoped that as an ex-wearer of the Green he would not feel too bad about his boys getting beat 74-0. He is going to Harvard Law in addition to his coaching, and he must still be the super-man that the papers used to talk about to get by with it. He was impressed by the abundance of material at Cannell's disposal, and thought the team looked pretty promising. It might be added, however, that the team didn't look nearly as good as the score might indicate.
Into a little gathering last night suddenly exploded Pete Callaway, Shawsie Cole, and Treasurer Booth. Among those already there was Honest George Lord of the Medical School. Cole is one of the local boys, an incipient engineer in the Thayer School. Bob Booth, the purse-string boy, and Callaway are foreigners from Harvard Law, reporting that Harvard Square is lousy with nostalgic Hanoverians. These two among others felt the call to the flaming Hillsides, and today are scaling Moosilauke, though I suspect that Booth is on a rock fanning himself about half-way up.
On somebody's front steps down in New Canaan, Conn., I met Fred Moller trying to sell someone a bit of flying. The airminded Moller is owning and operating a flying field in those parts, in company with his brother; and in odd minutes has got himself engaged to Miss Margaret Farrand, also of those parts. He is an officer of Northeastern Airways, Inc., is a licensed pilot, and he gently tut-tuts in a casual way when some dub cracks up one of his planes.
In somebody's garden in Youngstown, Ohio, I met George Alderdiee, who is now an officer of a steel manufactory the name of which I will look up and write in this blank space ( ) if I don't forget it.
I have had a long delightful letter from Corporal Dudley Faust of the United States Marines. Dud is studying social life among the rocker-arms of Tahiti. It is authoritatively bruited about among flashy brunettes in Northampton that he has declined a directorship in the Chicago News Bureau.
I have been eating at the beautiful paneled dining room down at the new Tuck School, and there I look about me and see such sights as Carl Haffenreffer, Bob Bottome, Herm Schneebeli, Dobbin Granger, Bob Johnson, Horace Allyn, Harry Condon, Cliff Michel, Pooch Meyer, Sam Stayman, John Tiedtke, Al Smith, HankEkstrom, Brad Carnell,Wally Blakey, Bill Blanchard, Buzz Morely, How Ziegler, Ed Warren, Chuck Perry, Dick Bowlen, Stew Warner, Dick Blun, Si Chandler, Frank Wallace, Charlie Raymond, Joe Hancort, Frank Leahy, Frank Rath, Paul Reaves, Jesse Lichter, and George Tunnicliff. Some of these are not Tuck men, but they are all after dough in the end.
Now and then emerging from academic seclusion, such medics show up as Bob Rix, A 1 Leslie, Bunkie Lewin, Phil Bassett, Hank Birge, Dolph Rabinowitz, Joe Placak, Vic Tadross, the Parishes and the Lathams, and Hub Christman.
Gunnar Hollstrom gave the Big Leagues the flip to come back and join the Thayer Engineers. Merit White, Tony Weinstein, Dick Squire, Wayne Van Leer, George Franson, Fred, Jasperson, George Kisevalter, Herb Mandeville, Griff Roberts, and George Simpson, besides others already mentioned, are putting in time in Bissell Hall doing constructive mathematical gymnastics. Bill Truex is around as a special student.
Charlie Rauch sprung a visit on us not long ago and spread himself over both ends of the extra bed in the apartments at 48 South Main St., which I share with Ping Ferry '32. We got ourselves a-straddle some nags and made cracks at one another's horsemanship among the frosty hills over beyond Norwich one autumnal late afternoon. Charlie has superlative equipment for horsemanship, because if his nag gets too ambitious Charlie can resort to bicycle tactics and drag his feet. He then took himself off on the Washingtonian and entered Wood, Struthers, and Company, securities experts, New York. He is hanging his other suit in the Dartmouth Club for the time being.
Bill Smith tooted over from Ms duties with the Telephone Company in Saratoga Springs for a short visit. I took him for a ride in my irrepressible Ford, and he left town the next morning, still quite pale.
The first '3O wife that I have seen in town since Freddy Page was here for Commencement appeared in company with Ev Low for the Norwich game. That was very soon after the big ceremony early in September, in Maplewood, when Miss Dorothea Dodge took the ancient name of Low. They went away in almost no time, however, to their new apartment in Jersey City, at an address which I carefully wrote down and lost almost immediately. Ev is with Lord and Taylor, New York.
Phil Peck came zooming over the hills from Glens Palls for the Norwich game (doing, as usual, quite well in the way of feminine accompaniment) and then zoomed away very soon afterwards for Northampton, where I saw him the next day lurking about with Richard Scum Hood "of our class." Phil says he is still a college boy after twelve o'clock noon on Saturdays, but likes the insurance business during the week.
Charlie Reed's father sent two dollars for sending the ALUMNI MAGAZINE to Charlie at the University of South Carolina.
Jack Crawford writes from Brookline saying that he is now with the P. Lorillard Company in Boston, finding out how they take the coughs out of the carloads. He sees Herb Chase in Filene's from time to time, and says that Doc Waters is apple-ranching and that Pee Wee Wallace is turning Hoopston, Ill., and adjacent points upside down looking for a boss with a good-looking daughter.
Max Horwitt is in New Haven longing for trees. He is working on a Ph.D. in physiological chemistry, and is living in a monumental structure with gargoyles outside his window.
Roly Belknap is doing something impor- tant on the Bellows Falls Times, and he is going to write me again pretty soon and tell me what it is. (This is an example of the thing called subtle suggestion. Don't miss it, Roly.) Jack Fitzpatrick has written, chiefly with an axe to grind, from Brighton. The axegrinding, which I did with admirable promptitude, was to send the address of Porter Haskell, who is in Boston in some sort of banking business, earning something prodigious. Porter was up not long ago, and sends his greetings along.
Mem King, after a pleasant summer as a counselor at camp, writes that he is with R. H. Stearns and Company, Boston. A very pleasant letter has come in from Chuck Jacobs, who is happily situated as assistant sales promotional manager of Thalhimer's of Richmond, Va., the finest department store in that section of the country. After leaving Dartmouth, he went to Europe and got married, or vice versa.
In Jim Taylor we have a father. Jim went off and graduated from Ohio Wesleyan and got married. Now he is teaching psychology at Ohio Wesleyan and has a half-year-old son. He has seen Carlos Nestler, who is also married and visited Jim with his bride, described as a "pippin."
And here is a little advance nuptial dope. Most of our matrimonial news is terribly expost facto, but Hank Embree has been good enough to notify us in advance that he is to marry Miss Ruth Borden on November 8. They will go to Honolulu, Hong Kong, and Japan on their honeymoon. A merry Michaelmas and many happy returns, Hank!
This man Embree has been a darned good guy about writing, and has sent in two letters full of news. He has seen Ed Varley, George Stone, Chuck Simmons, Ken Kull, and John French, the latter being on his way to a dude ranch early in the summer. Hank took some eccy at Northwestern, and later entered the family lumber business. He has written about Faust and Emrich and Townsend and Ziegler, the latter two going to Northwestern. He also mentioned Rosenberry's matrimonial venture, without giving me the dope about names and places which I have been trying to get concerning Rosey's marriage.
A good letter from Pitter Fraser, who is at Holy Cross, where he will take a Ph.B. next June preliminary to medical study. With him at Holy Cross are Paul Tracy and Tony Collucci, the latter holding down a firststring job in football.
Paul Thompson writes in his new address at 1004 Lincoln Place, Boulder, Colo., where he is taking a master's degree at the University of Colorado and teaching a couple of classes in English.
Bill Wilson sends in a subscription to the MAGAZINE and a note saying that he is assistant -cashier at the Nebraska City National Bank, Nebraska.
Bob Kimball is playing pedagogue and administrator, so help me God, as assistant headmaster of the Woodstock Academy, Woodstock, Conn., where he teaches sundry classes and runs the athletic program, among other things. He promises to come up and put a pair of Number Tens on my desk one of these days.
Kelly Richards, the movie-man, dropped in up here to say hello before going down to the Harvard Business School.
Tiny Tasker dropped in early in the summer sporting some blisters from alleged work —probably golf—and talking about trekking west to the Stanford Business School. He came up again this fall, but didn't get a chance to talk about trekking or anything else when we stopped our respective cars in the middle of Tuck Drive to pass the time of day.
I have had some nice letters from Lou Mourey, who was delayed in his return to Rutgers by an operation. Lou is still a good '3O man in spite of Rutgers.
A good letter and a subscription to the MAGAZINE from Dick Ziegler, who will graduate from Northwestern this year. He is also a good '3O man, and is one of that wild gang of Chicago alumni who have so much fun.
Buzz Whitelam was in Hanover about the time of opening of College, taking another fling at the comprehensives before undertaking a projected trip to Brazil. He flitted away without saying "so long," but I'm not harboring any grudge.
Earl Seldon writes a pleasant letter from the Babson Institute, where he is studying after a summer at the University of Michigan, polishing off his degree. Earl is going to be dropping up here one of these bright days.
After busting Columbia wide open, in the company of Jack Garrison and Ted Wolf, Capen Farmer now writes that he is in the Standard Oil training school at Floral Park, L. 1., for three months beginning with September, after which his movements will be in the hands of God and Standard Oil.
Pete Hamm is here finishing up on his degree after an interim at Duke University. Horace Blaine Chrissinger is rooming with Pete and doing the same thing. In kindred pursuits here are Ed Troidle, Doug Humphreys, Bill Hardy, Bill Hirschy, Clark Denny, Harry Casler, and Dick Bacon, and one or two others whom I shall probably think of immediately after I have mailed this.
One must not forget Hank Lawrence. Henry, be it known, has spent a very successful summer. He married Miss Louise Bartlett of Tulsa, Okla., in Cuba, N. Y., early in September. He is setting up his establishment in Tulsa.
Bob Jordan and Dud Day said hello when here on fleeting visits. Bill Stearns was here for the Norwich game, and wanted to sell his coonskin coat, saying his college days were over. He was just about to go to work in Boston with some impressive firm which he told me about, but which I forgot with remarkable expedition. It was banking, as I remember.
A good letter from Stu Seidl, who is still very busy learning the grain business in Minneapolis. Among a number of other things, he supposed that I had heard of Chuck Adams's marriage to a girl from Southern parts, which I hadn't. I have heard of it since, however, several times, but no one yet has been able to tell me who the girl was. The boys are frightfully careless about getting married and not letting a fellow know.
Brevity is not, I think, the soul of correspondence, but Henry Kohn thinks so, and sends me a note stating the bare and unadorned facts that he is Schenectady correspondent for the Knickerbocker Press and his address is 432 State St.
Jack Herrick writes that he is "working so that others may play" as a bulwark of P. Goldsmith's Sons Co., sporting goods, Cincinnati. Alex MacEarland dropped in on him en route from the western wilds to Harvard. Alex also dropped in on us, and looked very chipper, and, so far as I could tell, was.
Bob Lee writes from Lexington, Mass., just as he is about to crusade Boston for a job. He says in part: "Letters received from my two former roommates, Len Schmitz and Russ Sigler (the latter with Central Hanover Bank and Trust Cos., New York city) contain very little but personal news. The great Green Dribbler says, 'I see most of the '30 alumni around Chicago . . . Emrich is working for the Harris Trust. . . . Freddie Schmidt is working over at the County Building. Fred will probably end up as president of Cook county or mayor of Chi. Gerry Goodman is on the 7:35 daily—working for his dad.
And this, although by no means all, is, I think, enough.
Secretary, Administration Building, Hanover, N. H.
