CLASS OF 1929
Once upon a time not so very long ago, when the tribe was very young and the mantle of steady settled living had not yet descended upon the shoulders of the young bucks, so recently yowling papooses, there came a season of poor harvest and the tribal records were bare of any good tidings, even of any greetings at all. It seemed that the gods had frowned and that the tribal scribe must sit with folded arms and have nothing to do but ponder over the passing ill fortune, and pray and chant the ugly omens away. And while he sat beside his roaring winter fire and tried to suck solace through the long much-bitten stem of the pipe his forefathers had given into his hands to keep burning fragrantly and everlastingly for the glory of the tribe, he harked back to the beardless papoose days in the hill village where his tribal generation had its birth and training in the ways of the Wah-Who-Wahs. Many joyous memories crowded back upon his mind, and while the smoke of his pipe and the smoke from the fire spiraled out through the slit in the tepee to be whipped away by the wintry blasts and lost in the icy darkness he was back once more among the companions of his youth, and they were all around about him, and the breath of summer was in the air and the sky was a laughing blue. He remembered most clearly the great and festive day whose simple grandeur and quiet ceremony had conducted him and his comrades out of the ranks of boyhood and into the higher order of warriorhood: they had all filed away that day, following many different trails from the village pitched on the plain of the valley, and as each one departed the newly-won feather entwined in his hair had bobbed buoyantly and hopefully, matching his stride. They all had left the haunts of their youth and become scattered and lost in the vastness of the country beyond, but what had become of each and every one, what arrows had begun to find their mark? The tribal scribe has pondered and pondered, and still waits for an answer.
We now are very glad that we saved a few of last month's items for such an emergency.
Harlan Taylor writes that he is still a rock-hound, with his nose pretty close to the ground. He is with the Sinclair Oil Company in Kansas, doing field geology work, it seems, from the colorful name of the post office which forwarded his mail; Medicine Lodge.
Charlie Goldsmith reports that he is more than alive and kicking. He is room clerk and cashier in the Hotel Whitehall, corner of 100 th St. and Broadway, where he is learning the hotel business from start to finish, and where he will more than welcome any of you, whether you are lost, in trouble, or just hard up. He is living at home in Freeport. Charlie reports that Dick Robin is foreman of a group of workers in a surgical instrument factory in Rutherford, N. J., and that he saw Turk Turkevich having his hair cut in the Grand Central barber shop the other day. He says that as far as he can make out from Shep Cohen's letters, Shep is enjoying himself immensely in Berlin with his books, music, and an occasional sup of beer. Thanks for the letter, Charlie.
Wen Barney is in line for our congratulations. On New Year's Eve he was married to Miss Bobbie Robertson of Richmond, Va., where they are making their home at 1535 West Ave. Wen is with an investment house, doing investment analysis and mortgage research. He writes that there are no '29ers within calling distance, though there are several Dartmouth men in the city, and extends a hearty invitation to all of you to stop by if you happen to be down that way. Some of our traveling salesmen ought to remember that welcome. Wen writes that Red Hein is now with the Dutch Shell people in New Haven. Thanks for the letter, Wen.
Ray White is with the Walter Woods Travel Bureau, located in the Little Building, Boston.
Danny Danforth is at B. U. Business School^
Quite a few of the law and business school boys returned to Hanover for Carnival. Herb Ball reports seeing Joe Ruff and Ed How over from New York state. And it seems that Charlie Dudley in the goodness of his heart has made a very generous welcome to any of the class to drop around for a meal while in Hanover. Charlie lives on Rope Perry Road, and Mrs. Charlie is a wonderful cook.
To get back to New York, our demon reporter Keyes failed us this month, but Dick Rogers mentioned quite a few interesting items, among which are the following:
Eddie Plumb is writing arrangements for the Kolster Radio Hour, which is broadcast Wednesday evenings from 10-10:30.
Harry Enders, who has been in New York with Gorham Company, is now traveling the South from North Carolina to Texas, with his headquarters in Atlanta. Bill Alexander is in the retail department of Gorham Company, in store of Black, Starr and Frost.
Mike Sherman had an undefeated team at Peddie last fall. Nice going, Mike!
Dick says that he is on the road himself now, route: Greater Brooklyn, Trenton, Newark, Jersey City, and neighboring speak-easies.
Chris Born gave us the following list of men at Tech: Ted Gurney, Lloyd Kent, Don MacCornack, Bob Sprague, Frankie Weeks, Bill Dodge, Rush Schutte, and Charlie Prichard.
Bob Waddell is studying law at Pitt and living at home in Jeannette, Pa.
Class luncheons are being held on the first and third Thursday of each month from 12:00 to 1:30 at the Ambassador Restaurant, 41 Winter St., Boston. A good chance. Don't miss them.
The big Boston alumni dinner will be held Saturday evening, March 1, at the Hotel Statler. President Hopkins heads the list of speakers.
Secretary, 114 Pleasant St., Arlington, Mass.
