CLASS OF 1930

Nobody seems to like "Thirtyteers." A few of our correspondents have used the term without enthusiasm. Others protest against it with varying degrees of violence, some few going to the extent of calling it quite, quite wet. No one defends it. But it still remains the best—practically the onlysuggestion yet made. Someone suggested the "Dirty Thirties" the other day. This may be colorfully and conveniently abbreviated into the "D. T.'s." But we don't like it. It is awkward and unwieldy. It has no convenient singular. At least we, for one, should resent being referred to as "a Dirty Thirty." As"one of the Dirty Thirties," or "one of the D. T. 's," we are assured by a comfortable sense of group consciousness. We think of all the very superior persons in the class of 1930 who would come under this denomination, and we are reassured, even flattered. If someone should say, "I ran into a couple of Dirty Thirties the other day, Jeremiah and Dickerson," we should, privately, be tickled to death. But if someone should remark, "Who (or whom) should I run into under a lamp-post but A 1 Dickerson, the DirtyThirty "—them's harsh words!

All things considered, we feel that it is with this appellation somewhat as it was with our erstwhile Tapeworm—it may be all right for a little while, but as a regular thing it gets a bit sordid. We shall, however, give you a taste of it in this installment and await with interest to find how you like it. We shall not, though, await with "breathless interest," for, in consideration of the rate at which your letters come in, it would probably be fatal.

Well, to proceed.—The Alumni Carnival held over the Washington's Birthday weekend was another miniature reunion of Dirty Thirties (Thirtyteers, Men of 1930) and it was all very jolly. You should try it sometime. You probably remember the Alumni Carnival of last year, with lots of people in gaudy St. Moritz outfits tramping about in the mud and slush, looking not very happy about it all. Well, it wasn't like that at all this year. The temperature was not as cold as it might have been to please us—we who are accustomed to the cold, dry air—but the snow conditions were good, the sun was cheery without being over-ardent, and the skiing was fast enough, they say.

We want to take time out for a moment and tell you about the blizzard that is ahootin' and a-hollerin' and whistling around the corners of the Ad Building as we write on this Sunday evening in March. Maybe that will cure your nostalgia, if you have any. We have been walking around in mud and slush for some time now, The Dartmouth has announced the arrival of spring, and we were beginning to believe in it. But about dusk today it began to snow and gusty winds began to blow, and in no time at all things had developed into a real, honest-to-God blizzard. Now there are snowdrifts a foot deep where the sidewalks are sheltered, while the open streets are swept clean, and coming across the campus now you lean against the wind and hold your hat and duck so that the snow and sleet does not sting your face; and the white, lighted tower is luminous through a swirling mist of blowing snow, and the snow whirls and eddies and blows ripping across the floodlights at the four corners of the library roof; and the elms whip furiously about like crazy things, and the windows rattle, and the storm-door slams. And the wind whistles. Spring, comrades—-spring has come to Hanover!

Now to get back to the comparatively mild and balmy days of February and the Alumni Carnival.—Charlie Widmayer appeared and came up to the office one morning and had some interesting things to say about affairs at Harvard in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, where he is getting along toward hisTM.A. in English. He got A's from Professor Kittredge in Shakespeare, which is no mean feat, the boys tell us. Win Stone is Charlie's colleague in the graduate school. We snagged Win in the Wigwam and pumped questions at him for an hour or so and discovered that Irving Babbitt is turning him into a flagrant humanist and we tried to protest, but found that we didn't know enough about it, so gave up.

Dick Barnard came up, too, but evaded us. We hung on to Ken Johnes in the Inn lobby long enough to get reassured about the condition of the varnish business in Newark. We confess to you confidentially, however, that after a short time the neck angle that conversation with one of Ken's altitude demands is too acute for comfort. We hope Ken does not feel too bad about giving us a pain in the neck.

Pete Lillard was around, incorrigible Outing Clubber that lie is, and was so busy skiing with trustees and railroad directors that he had very little time for unobtrusive class secretaries beyond a hasty hail-and-farewell in front of George Gitsis' shining new hash house. We are moderately confident in saying that Pete is with the New England Tel. and Tel. in Providence. If we are wrong it is Pete's fault for not giving us more time.

Jim Dalglish also tore away from his telephonic responsibilities in Schenectady for a brief day or two here, fraternizing with some of his former English professors, and over a Wigwam supper he told us a great deal about family life among the large corporations.

Frank Gulden came up according to schedule to spend the night at Holt's Ledge. He was mildly surprised when he arrived there and found the cabin,—which we, personally, had engaged for him weeks before,—occupied practically to the extent of its possibilities. He was further disconcerted to find that others were expected, and began to wonder whether Malthusian or other steps ought not to be taken to relieve the population problem. But the others didn't come.—Frank claims he is helping to make the hot Gulden product which every housewife and hot-dog magnate knows and reveres.

Mr. Freddy Bowes of the Pitney-Bowes Postage Meter Company appeared blithely one morning. He was in from "selling" Rutland. We took him up to the attic here and asked him a question or two, and then sat in rapt silence to hear about the mysteries and marvels of modern meter mailing If we were only a sophomore with all of our old romantic fervor and the epistolary enthusiasm of that age we should surely have installed the Pitney-Bowes System then and there. As it was, we could only suggest, when he seemed to have come to a stopping place, that he step in and see Miss Ford of the Alumni Records Office, who has charge of the alumni mailing. So he went in and put on his song and dance for her, and later, we believe, put on a special matinee performance for Max Norton. He even got out his black suitcase and gave a demonstration for Max.

We went up to "Tuck, New Hampshire" for lunch, and shoved in extra chairs at the table occupied by Bottome, Carnell, Tiedtke, Blanchard, Michel, and Schneebeli. If you ever want to see a fine, serious-minded group of young graduate students sitting together discussing business problems, don't go to Tuck School and sit at that table. The atmosphere approaches hilarity. It is probably chiefly Schneebeli's fault, but Bottome is no sobering influence and Carnell is practically insane. A bearded specimen drops into the Village every now and then and immediately upon being accosted with some sociable comment on the lovely March weather or the day's cinema offering will begin babbling about the terrors of life in Tuck, New Hampshire. When we of the city go up there to visit, we go with the sympathetic interest of an exploring missionary investigating the hardships of life among the Esquimaux. And what do we find? A country club, folks, a veritable country club. One can go to the Tiedtke-Carnell suite just any time and find it full of Dirty Thirties sitting around roaring with laughter. Bottome will probably be performing his famous balance-cane-on-chin-in-this-manner trick while Carnell will be saying in a loud voice: "Have you heard this one—?" Everybody else will be eating cake-Tiedtke's cake. No books, no studies. Just cake, cane-balancing, and Carnell. It's a depraved life.

But to get back to our reunions and to rescue Bowes from this dangerous environment.—Freddy has been studying the meter mailing business at his firm's New York establishment. Now he is attached to the Boston branch and will go into selling.

Cliff Williams appeared in town today, looking very bright and cheery since his emancipation from the Harvard Business grind, but having no gossip for these scurvy columns.

Now we have a very important announcement to make. The class of 1930 and the Dartmouth College Alumni Fund are proud to announce the birth of a class agent, Milton Stewart Emrich, called Mickey by friends of the family. Mickey is going to have some colleagues in his work, whose names will shortly be ready for announcement. They will be getting in touch with you Dirty Thirties (how are you liking this name by now?) direct pretty soon.

This is our chance to make recent classes appear quite, quite mediocre, and there is no reason in the world why our record on the Alumni Fund this year should not make '29 turn a deep emerald from envy. Although comparatively few of us have attained affluence at this date sufficient to write our gifts in three or four digits at least we can be more or less unanimous in going the widow one better with our bachelor's mite, while the Rockefellers and Embrees and Adamses and Lawrences and Chases and Dobsons and any others of our married folk can go still farther with the benedict's mite. It is the number of contributors that counts. 1930 should be written right up with Abou Ben Adhem. Let's do it.

Our position calls for a certain amount of ex officio griping, and we have to keep fussing at you about letters just to play our secretarial role according to convention, but we think, privately, that 1930 is something like a record class in keeping the epistolary ball rolling, and we cheerfully invite comparison of the volume and quality of our correspondence with that of any class in history. Now the time has come for proving that all of the phenomenal eclat of 1930 is not empty chatter. So—when Mickey and his boys get around to you, shell out!

We proceed to some of the letters.— Charlie Widmayer was nice enough to sit down and write us a letter when he got back to Cambridge, which said in part: Last Saturday night I kicked over the traces and saw the Yale-Harvard hockey game at the Garden. I suspect a goodly number of '3O men were there, although Jack Hodges was the only one I saw. Ca'laway and Chilcote were in the subway going into Boston, and I saw Karl Rodi with Bill Coles at the Georgian afterwards. Most of the gang around here keep well hidden, although I see Ered Scribner, Fitzpatrick, McLaughlin, Booth, Hood, and Ryan now and then.

"I forgot to tell you when I saw you that 'Thirtyteers' doesn't ring true. On the other hand, I can't think of anything better.

'I didn't intend to get on to this second sheet of paper, and now I'll have to fill in with some inane remarks. Irving Babbitt is in rare form these days, blasting away at everyone from H. G. Wells back to Plotinus. A lottery on the number of authors mentioned in his lectures has grown up, and last Saturday he is reported to have referred to 73. T. S. Eliot calls Babbitt the most learned man in the country, and he certainly can't be far wrong. I went vagabonding to hear I. A. Richards on Bridges (the poet, silly) and between his English accent, his long tresses, and the repeated use of 'delicious' I had an uncomfortable time, especially since I got up to hear him at 9 o'clock. He promises to take up 'Lady Chatterly's Lover' (my spelling may be wrong because I don't read such books) before the course ends, so. I will drop around in May.

"I fear that spring is upon us, and it is going to be a mighty big job to be a student. I have just been given a stall, however, in the math section of the library stacks, and that should be depressing enough to offset my spring fever. I still revel in the spring, or rather expect to, for the conditions are somewhat cramping in the Harvard Yard."

From Kyoto Hotel comes the following: Dear Skip:

I'm just in the mood to drop you a line, so here goes. The class of 1930 is cutting a wide swath in the world in its youthful endeavors to be heard. Sis (the new Mrs.) and I have been batting rather sketchily through the Orient, and having a swell time. We missed the Nelson Rockefellers by a couple of months, but the Orient has been charmed by their personalities, and those who met them speak very highly of them to me. I thought that the enclosed picture might be interesting class news. It appeared in the Leader, a paper published for Tientsin and Peiping, China. I'm sending a copy to A 1 himself. [Picture of A 1 Marsters, "Dartmouth allAmerican grid star, (who) is now studying law at Harvard and although he enjoys his school work very much, he has experienced the football urge again. Pining for the feel of the pigskin, he is seen here leaving the law school building at Cambridge, Mass." That's what the caption says.—A.I.D.]

In three or four days we will be in Tokyo, and we shall meet none other than the redoubtable Fuji. We have an appointment to go on a motor trip with him through the Izu Peninsula, and I expect it will be lots of fun. I'm very anxious to see him again.

There are a number of fine Dartmouth men out here. Some I have had the pleasure of meeting, but have unfortunately missed some others.

I suppose things are "going along" in Hanover. Ever in my busiest moments I think of it, and I get homesick for the place. It has a curious hold, hasn't it? I guess I'm silly and sentimental, but I can't help thinking about it.

We'll be home February 25, so I guess this won t beat us much. Best of luck, and regards to the bunch.

Sincerely, HANK EMBREE

Kyoto, Japan

Shorty Long writes from Brooklyn, saying that he is being paid a salary by the Western Electric Company, Brooklyn—a function of the Bell System. "At the last 1930 dinner," he says, "I met several brother 'Dirty Thirties' (another name) who are also fighting for service under the blue flag of the Bell System. They are employed by the N. Y. Telephone Company, and are all over weight from too much sleep and too little exercise. One guy was Jack and the other Herb—egad!

"At the same dinner I saw Russ Sigler, Charley Rauch, A 1 Fink, Dud Day, Tom Dunnington, Ad Rugg, and others. They were all sleek and sedate—I was quite out of place.

"George Violante is wasting some valuable time taking graduate English courses, at Columbia. I ran into Shelley Stark last Christmastide selling Florida sun in Macy's basement."

Shorty concluded with some nice words about our secretarial efforts and a terrific limerick.

Haffenreffer didn't go to Wilmington after all, and did write to tell where he did go, on the letterhead of the Herreshoff Manufacturing Company, as follows:

Dear Al:—(may I call you Al?) I am so sorry that you couldn't attend the Commencement exercises of the class of Thirty-and-a-half, for it was just chock full of lots of good things and there was a distinct message in the baccalaureate sermon—or is it bacchanalian?

Well, as you can see from the above letterhead, I got a job and they let me use their stationery. I am allocated (until orders to the contrary) with the Herreshoff Mfg. Co. . . . and in case you're not a seafaring man which I trust you are—I will tell you just what we do in this here place. We admit right out that we are the yacht builders of theday and age (the italics are my own), having built all the successful America Cup defenders since some date like 1893. You have heard—why even the average school boy has heard—of the Reliance, Resolute, not to mention the Enterprise, which so thoroughly trimmed Tea Magnate Lipton (with apologies to Time) this past autumn. Skip, of course you realize that I can't take any of the above glory unto myself, but I merely mention these facts for identifying purposes only . . . and in case you should get wind (an olde phrase of the sea meaning "hear") of any of the Dirty Thirties, or whatever you call 'em, who have accumulated piles and want something in yachts, just send them to me—we have a barque for every bank roll.

I can't give you any real dope about any other D. T. (see above) except that Julio Herrera ex-30 is working in his home town, Paris, France, for the Chase National and is doing nicely, thank you.

My regards to the boys and please, oh, please don't let the fe'lows up at Tuck pick on Little Herm Schneebeli.

Love and kisses, C. W. HAFFENREFFER

P.S. It might be of interest to you to know that my official monicker here is secretary and Assistant to the President (you know the kind). Regards to all the stool squabs. C. W. F.

Bristol, R. I.

"Heave-ho! the jib halyards!" said grayhaired old Aunt Hettie Herreshoff with a sly wink as she poured him his third cup of tea; and the old salt boomed back in his blustering way "Two lumps, please," while One-Eyed Oscar, the mate, slunk away to lee'ard (leeward) knowing old Capt. Humpf-Haffenreffer too well to brook him in such a mood. "There'll be h—l to pay now," murmured Oscar over his pate de fois gras. "The 'old man' is in his cups!"

There is probably no one who enjoys a little quiet patting on the back more than do we ourself, and so we print the following: Dear Al:

If you want a good town to live in these days of so-called depression, Al, (outside of Hanover), take a trip to Austin; but if you're an out-door man and long for the mountains and snow—well—you know the solution yourself.

I've been working in the beef department of Geo. A. Hormel Co. since November, after experiencing the four months prior to that time as a student in the Hormel plant.

I'm a misfit here as far as the scenery and terrain is concerned, but happy in my work and various extra-packing activities.

The ALUMNI MAGAZINE has been very interesting through its pages of college life, past and present, and especially through "Skip's" column. People will drift apart, get married, and what not, so here's my $2.00 contribution to the ALOMNI MAGAZINE for what it is doing to keep us together.

Those stories of a real successful carnival amid the most favorable of conditions and with a corking good winter sports team nearly got me, but I'll be back East next February, so if you're in cahoots with the weather man stick in a word or two for me.

My best to all the boys and more power to the ALUMNI MAGAZINE.

Yours, HERM SANDER Austin, Minn.

We thank you, Herm, for the MAGAZINE as well as for ourself. We also send your money back and in explanation file the following:

NOTICE

Because of the philanthropic urges of some of the brethren resulting in the dispatching to us of checks for $2, we wish to call attention to the fact that all Dirty Thirties (Thirtyteers, Thirty-ites, Men of '3O, or what you will) both graduates and nongraduates, who were in Hanover last June and who paid their senior tax at that time, receive automatically and gratuitously a year's subscription to the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, terminating next August. So save your money, boys, until August. These priceless columns will not come to you always free like this.

On a swell letterhead containing the names of Lever Brothers, Lux, Rinso, Lifebuoy, Lux Toilet Soap, Pears' Soap, Glycerine, and Chick Pooler, we receive notice of Chick's change of address from Newton to Belmont and the assurance that he is still alive and kicking and has not fallen into any ink wells or soap vats.

From Tuck, New Hampshire, we get a communication from Howie Ziegler pointing out the obscure fact that the Zeigler who is seen by Paul Duback as a menace to Northwestern co-eds is not Ziegler but Zeigler, and that while he (Ziegler) is hibernating in the snow-infested Tuck School he does not wish to be accredited with Zeigler's delightful diversions, when in cruel fact he himself (Ziegler) is so far removed from them. And we don't blame him.

From Bob Monahan '29 comes a clipping from the New Haven Journal about the irrepressible Jeremiah, who is beginning to approach Capone as a publicized poissonality. The occasion was the victory of Jerry's New Haven hockey team over Yale, 8-1. "By golly, I feel great," says Jeremiah to the press. "I've been playing on teams against Yale for five years now, and this is the first time I have ever been on the winning side."

A little later, Bob sends us another clipping We bet, by golly, Jerry didn't feel so well. The story: Yale, 3—New Haven, 1.

From M. I. T. to Professor Scarlett to us conies this impressive notice: "Dear Sir: It is my privilege to inform you that Glenn W Poorman, who received his A.B. at Dartmouth last June and is now enrolled as a graduate student in chemical engineering here, during the first term at the Institute secured a perfect scholastic record. . . . This achievement was equaled by but one other student among our 135 graduate students in chemical engineering."

All of which would make Wallie out as an old brightie, and our hat is off to him.

Again it is our pleasure to give an advance welcome into our fold to one more MostWonderful-Girl-in-the-W orld:

Dear Al: Though the fact was casually mentioned in the February issue of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, in the 'O5 column, now that the announcement has at last been formally made perhaps a few lines ought to be devoted to spreading the information among the "Thirty teers" (if you like that word—I don't) that I have succeeded in getting myself engaged to the most wonderful girl in the world—namely, Mildred M. Best, senior at Mount Holyoke, resident of Baltimore, formerly of Montclair, N. J. All this in spite of the fact that it's going to be years and years—centuries, I think—before I'm ready to hang out my shingle, and more centuries before anyone is likely to notice it. But I haven't flunked anatomy yet, anyway.

Sincerely, WILLIAM F. PUTNAM Hanover, N. H.

We recently had a few minutes of chatter in the Wigwam with Porter Haskell, apostle of the faith of Scudder, Stevens, and Clark, in Hanover with his brown portfolio to spread the evangel of sound investment. We are also reminded that Rog Ela passed like a ship in the night, or a ferry in the fog, during the George Washington week-end.

TELEGRAM

A telegram has just come in from Class Agent Emrich to Secretary of Alumni Fund Strong, as follows: SAM ADAMS FRED SCHMIDT AND HANK EMBREE HAVE ALL CONSENTED TO ASSIST ME ALSO ALL FOUR OF THEM WILL BE PRESENT AT THE DINNER THURSDAY NIGHT.—MICKEY.

Mickey had better count again. He might get six. But knowing Sammy as we do, he probably is about right after all.

Much power to our Class Agents!

Appended hereto at some convenient place you will find the treasurer's report. Appended to it in turn you will find a brief account of your Secretary's expenditures to date. $lOOO is chalked up as the Secretary's fund to keep the class running until 1935. This one grand we are leaving tucked away in Bob Booth's sock for safe keeping. We are playing it pretty safe in these days of collusions and investigations.

It should be pointed out that there are a few expenditures yet to be made, notably in the matter of senior movies. We are, however, comfortably within our budget. Also, it will not be much of a drain on the class treasury to send the Secretary to the Secretaries' Meeting in Hanover in May. Our traveling expenses will be limited to taxi fares, if any.

Frederick Chase, Junior, 1930 class baby, was presented to the class by Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Chase in Hanover, Thur., March 19.

Secretary, Administration Building, Hanover, N. H.

TREASURER'S REPORT CLASS OF 1930 March 1, 1931 Balance on hand April 15, 1930 $ 98 Total Collections $7,131.44 Bad Checks (5) 95.00 $7,036.44 Total Expenditures $4,980.41 2,056.03 Secretary's Expenses 1;000 00 51,056.03 Balance on hand November 1, 1930 $1,182.11 I. Senior Suppers Expenditures Budget Suppers (3) $ 846.00 Orchestra 27.00 Incidentals X 0.25 $ 883.25 Barbecue: Food & Drink 124.25 Busses 50.00 Lot Rental 15. oo Incidentals 5.65 $ 194.90 $1,078.15 $1,200.00 11. Commencement Ball Programs $ 125.88 Orchestra 400.00 Pianos 44.00 Attendants 38.65 Punch & Patronesses 83.00 Attendants: Flowers (corsage) 43.00 Decorations 68.50 College 250.00 (1.) Gym rental (2.) Carpenter work. Ball tickets & coat checks 15.00 Incidentals 50.00 1,118.03 * $1,118.03 $2,196.18 $1,300.00 111. Class Day 500 Class Books $ 203.95 Clay Pipes 75.00 Sachem Outfit 10.00 Labor 11.35 $ 300.30 $ 500.00 IV. Commencement Exercises Announcements $ 239.01 Programs 306.00 Incidentals 9.00 554.01 Credit (extra programs) 53.20 $ 500.81 —— $ 550.00 V. Class Movies Films * 147-81 Titles 1°-52 Incidentals 20.79 $ 179.12 — $ 550.00 VI. Band over Commencement 1>000 •00 rTTTTTT «pljUUU. uu VII. Collection Expenses 34 •00 50. UU VIII. Subscriptions to Alumni Magazine 770.00 850 00 $4,980.41 $6,000.00 IX. Secretary's Expenses 1,000.00 $7,000.00 SECRETARY'S EXPENSES N To March 1, 1931 May 9, 1930 $ 10 75 June 22, Printing circular letter and return postcard • July 13, Florence McCann—addressing and mailing above 4.80 July 13, A. I. Dickerson—fund for stamps and incidentals 10.00 August 5, Filing cabinet August 11, Printing 1,000 filing forms ~5 ■ ™ October 16, Printing corner cards 500 stamped envelopes ™ nn January 14,1931, Printing 300 circular letters and return envelopes to non-graduates 17.00 $122.05