CLASS OF 1919
The Nineteen news was hardly in the mail, carrying with it the board of the Proud Poppers Club, when we received a letter from Bunny Burnett. Things are now in an uproar. Bunny has been quietly watching things from down in Middleboro, Mass., where he makes Sun-Flower Shelves, and biding his time. He now comes forth from his seclusion and bursts like a bomb shell or even better.
Trying to be very casual, he applies for membership in the Proud Poppers Club, and says, "My qualifications are—one boy age eleven, rather closely followed by five girls." He does not mention their names but it is entirely possible that one has to look them up when there are that many around the back yard, and no real business man would keep the family Bible in his office.
As he said the other night when we saw him this ought to make him something. Bill McMahon's job is threatened, to say the least. What will be done we do not yet know, but some action will be taken soon and a satisfactory arrangement made before the next issue of the Nineteen news.
Sam Ewart has changed his job. He is now with the Marshall Field Company, Century Building, Pittsburgh, Pa. He is sales manager in charge of Western Pennsylvania and parts of all the surrounding states, bosses seventeen men, and likes it.
C. E. Phillips, known to every Nineteener as Hap, has been among the missing for several years. We now learn that Hap has been suffering the past six years from a very serious sickness. In every sprint we ever ran for Dartmouth we looked longingly through the dust and cinders at the more and more distant Phillips back, as did all of Dartmouth's opponents. It is hard for us to picture Hap as anything but a streak of lightning on a beaut iful pair of legs. We suggest that Nineteeners write to Hap at Box 162, Rutland, Mass., making it clear that no answer is expected.
Hubie Johnson is major and commandant of the Connecticut National Guard Aviation Squadron, and recently led his gang in a flight from Hartford to Miami and back. If it had been us, we would have been a little less proficient. Engine trouble would have developed necessitating a month's work by several greasy mechanics, and we would have landed back along with the second or third robin. Maybe that's why we are not a major.
Jim Jewett is in Hartford, Conn., and mentions that he is about to sign a contract with a young lady who will thereafter be known as Mrs. Jim Jewett. Go right ahead, Jim, and our felicitations.
Today we received a letter from Bill Hoard, which leads us to believe, because of its genial tone, that he has not seen the ALUMNI MAGAZINE in which we attempted to give his letterhead the honorable mention it deserves. We noted, however, a few minor changes, for which we take no credit. The bed spring leaning up against a hay wagon which confused us so completely has gone, and in its place is a tractor. It is evident that the mad pace of progress is not going to catch Hoard'sDairyman asleep. Another improvement has been effected in the scene where the five cows jump, like a vaudeville team, over an enormous star. Probably because of some astronomical discovery of which we are still ignorant, the star has been changed from white to red. The change is a pleasant one and quite startling.
Last week the class of Nineteen gathered at the Hotel Statler for the Boston alumni dinner. There were twenty-one there, and we are told that is about a 500% increase over last year. This, it seems to us, indicates something or other. Bob Proctor, who had to leave a little early, was stopped just outside the hall by a reporter from the Herald, who, holding him with an eye that would have made the Ancient Mariner feel very small, told a thoroughly garbled tale of insults, speakeasies, torn coats, nights off, silver slippers, Hoppy's speech, and his dearly beloved pal Hennie Moore. Wearied, we went back to the table, but as we all filed out Proctor was still there spellbound.
Staff Hudson burst in entirely unexpected and announced that he too is coming home to Boston. Louis Munro remarked when someone said that Staff was in the insurance business, "I hope it isn't 'Life'." There was a chorus of amens.
Since coming back to Boston it has been even more forcefully than ever brought to our attention how many Nineteeners are in the insurance business. We should estimate that fully 90% have chosen that as their chief diversion, possibly some as a means of earning a living. In his speech, Hoppy said that it was not the purpose of the College to teach men to make money, which made most of us feel a little less ashamed of our connection with the College, but the insurance men seemed disappointed.
In the account of the affair the next morning it said that AL Crosby had been elected treasurer of the Boston Alumni Association. We herewith extend our sympathies.
The roll-call which was taken with the aid of the three men sitting near us and may be anything but accurate follows: Bob Proctor, Louis Munro, Phil Bird, Rock Hayes, Dutch Guy, Bunny Burnett, AL Googins, Al Crosby, Art Havlin, Dennie (the other one) Sullivan, Howie Cole, Bob Roland, George Bingham, Jack Reilly, Ray Hinds, Jigger Merrill, Paul Carrigan, Staff Hudson, Jim Davis, Art Stackpole, and Dr. Bill White.
Secretary, Brush Hill Road, Framingham, Mass
