CLASS OF 1930
December has come and half gone, and still Hanover is balmy. Late autumn has lasted right up to the present writing, except for a light snow sent along for atmosphere about Thanksgiving time, and it soon melted into rain. At the occasional cloudings-up for several weeks now the prophesying wiseacres have begun to mutter about snow, but it has remained consistently crisp and sunny, and the burnt-orange sunsets that silhouette Administration row are still autumnal, and the wistful naked elms which filigree the sunset gold still murmur, Samson-like, of their late unshorn glory, and have not yet taken on their winter resignation. So much for the weather and crepuscular aesthetics.
This month—mid-November to mid-De- cember—has been quiet and mellow. The peerade season ended with the Cornell game. There was the Thanksgiving time out. And since then everyone has been trying to get things in before Christmas, resulting in a flood of Christmas parties, plays, lectures, recitals, concerts, and other casual culture.
Your Secretary went to Mt. Washington over Thanksgiving, climbed down Tuckerman's, lost the trail to the Lakes of the Clouds hut on the way back up in a big blow, got very pooped, started thinking in terms of Last Words, and finally stumbled to the summit through an unhealthy gale. Spent a pretty grim night shivering around a small fire, eating rancid bacon and dry oatmeal dipped in molasses, and listening to the winds a-hootin' and a-hollerin' around. Then of a sudden the gale stilled into a frozen dawn, and a few boys stepped out into the still cold to see a sunrise than which they will never see one more exquisite, nor want to. And so much for mountain-climbing and Auroran aesthetics.
And now to the purveying of news, and Christinas is coming and what have we here but a nice Egyptian Christmas card with pyramids and palm trees on it, and a good old English greeting. It comes from Cairo, and Fran Horn sent it, bless his heart. His address is 113 Sharia Kasr-al-Aini (not a night club), if any of you boys are collecting stamps. He is teaching something at the American University. We are wishing you a cheery Fourth of July, Fran, if this gets there in time.
Among our other pedagogues we have Dick Funkhouser teaching math and physics at the Valley Ranch School, Valley, via Cody, Wyoming, which is probably just about as accessible as Egypt.
We have three Hanover educationalists in Russ Colby (teaching German), Freddy Watson (teaching chemistry), and Bigwig Wiggin (teaching history at the Clark School).
According to the plans of last June, Win Stone was to be somewhere in Cambridge, Mass., teaching something. Snub Poehler was to be in Scotch Plains, N. J., teaching and coaching in the high school; and Henry Newell was going to teach in Derry Village, N. H.
From Shanghai we get a very oriental postcard from Nels Rockefeller. It is addressed to "Dear All" instead of "Dear Al," and we therefore infer that it isn't personal and so pass on to all and sundry the information that there is no exciting news and traveling keeps the roaming Rockefellers on the go, but it is really thrilling out there, and we are going to get a letter later.
We have had another letter from Hugh Gibbons, now of Edinburgh, changing his address (yes, already), telling what he misses about Hanover, and callatin' that Fran likes Cairo better even as he (Hugh) likes Edinburgh better every day.
We don't know whether Collie Young is with Young and Rubicam, Inc., advertising, or whether he is Young of Young and Rubicam Inc., advertising; but whatever he is, he is in New York.
Ted Tobey is still carrying on the real estate business in Hartford. He writes of attending the Harvard and Yale games, and sitting with Mac Ripley and George Clare, who talked about the brokerage business in Boston, and with Joe Guilfoy, who discoursed between the halves on what the construction business is like.
A bit of 1930 mailing matter somehow found its way to Peking, China, to the home of Mr. and Mrs. George Chang, and found Mrs. Chang at home expecting George before long. In the meantime, she set an example for 1930 wives by sending in two dollars for a subscription to the MAGAZINE.
On a snappy letterhead of 27 East 30th St., New York, we find the names of Ben Finch, Bob Noeltner, Jim Duffy, Jr. (a foreigner), and Bud Fisher, together with a letter from Ben, who sees Charley Rauch almost every day but misses seeing Ev Low now that he is married and established in Jersey City.
"Bud Fisher and I," writes Ben, "are engaged in preparing for foreign banking service in the European division of the National City Bank. When we are not losing the bank's money we are losing ours, and consequently we often long for the simple life back in Hanover. Bob Noeltner is transcribing music for Leo Reisman and Guy Lombardo, and finds his work not too lucrative. Ev Low is doing fine at Lord and Taylor's, and has a hard time preserving the dignity of his married life among an excess number of salesgirls, over whom he is lord and master."
Harry Perkins writes from Honduras to subscribe to the MAGAZINE and tell us that he is employed by the United Fruit Company in the farms department as a timekeeper, and at present is on Uchapa Farm.
From Fred Moller, vice-president of the Northeastern Air Service, Inc., New Canaan, Conn., the following interesting letter: Dear Al:
Sorry that I haven't had the time to get this off to you sooner. You know it is a good policy to "make hay while the sun shines," and winter means much bad news in this flying game. I have, therefore, been trying to turn over all I could before cold weather set in.
Tasker and I were in Hanover a week ago for a couple of hours on our way to the woods for a hunt. The trip was cut short, however, as the woods were too noisy for any real hunting. We are planning to come up again in a couple of weeks if I can manage to get away from business for two or three days. In an effort to sell me the idea on a hunting trip, Tiny came down here and proceeded to make himself useful by spending a whole day pulling the "prop" on a motor that refused to start. The next day I flew him to New York and then up Long Island to a couple of ports where I was scheduled to make a few demonstrations. It was Tiny's first hop, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.
We are at present working on a deal to move the location of our activities on to a port of two hundred acres, at which time the company shall increase its stock issue to one million dollars. There shall be three passenger lines running out of the new port, supplementing our present activities of flying instruction, airplane parts and supplies, airplanes sales and service, cross-country flights, sight-seeing flights, hangar sales, etc. At this new location there shall also be organized the Northeastern Air College, which shall offer courses in ground school instruction meteorology, navigation, airplane pilots' instruction, airplane mechanics' instruction, and airport managing. This new project should be completed by the end of next summer.
With kindest personal regards, I am, Sincerely, FRED.
This same Tiny Tasker, mentioned above, has beamed on us frequently this fall in hunting togs, usually going into Dudley's (now called the Wearhouse, Inc.) to buy shells, and complaining that he hasn't got a deer yet.
George Alderdice comes across with some good mail, a subscription to the MAGAZINE, and a praiseworthy movement for an appearance in Youngstown of the Musical Clubs, which may or may not come to something.
Ed Frost is bravely trying to run a oneman Dartmouth Club in Nashville, with the occasional support of an itinerative Twenty- Niner who is in the Air Service. Ed is associated with the parental firm in doctoring sick credits hither and yon about the country through twenty branches. Adjustments and credit surveys are the line.
Speaking of Dartmouth clubs, we are reminded that we have had no more news about the 1930 Luncheon Club and Bull League of New York, which was incipient last month and which we hope to see to a pink and healthy maturity.
Gordon Hoxie is learning the candy business with W. F. Schrafft and Sons, and is living in East Milton, Mass.
Dick Barnard returned from a summer in Europe to become associated with Lee, Higginson, and Company, investments; likes his work, enjoys seeing all the Dartmouths around the Hub, and gets homesick for Hanover along with the best of the boys.
Rusty Morrill may Allah reward him! has blossomed beautifully into a fraternal scribe and sent me the following prodigious letter. Rusty got together with his roommate, Bob Larkin, and they mutually confessed to a secret yearning for publicity, and compiled a substantial amount of news as justification. They rate it all with the following news:
B-25 HAMILTON HALLHARVARD BUSINESS SCHOOLBOSTON, MASS.
December 5, 1930
Dear Al: The desire to see my name in print has finally overcome my inhibitions. My cultured modesty must fall. For two months I have waited patiently, and hoped. But after divulging my secret yearning to the roommate, Bob Larkin, I was overjoyed to find he was secretly nursing ambitions for publicity too, and so here goes a bid for space in your column. My only justification in the eyes of God and my public for thus forcing my petition is that I have certain unpublished information regarding the activities of our tribe. If I should by accident repeat already published information, you can chuck it that's your job. I'll avoid mention of those at the Business School, since that matter has already been dealt with sufficiently if not completely. (But for the love of the lost Charley Ross, work Larkin's and my name into your next report even if you have to list us as attending Johns Hopkins.)
It seems that Chase got away with his Delt news letter, so I'll try the same racket. Saw something of Bud Fisher in New York a few weeks ago. He is being circulated through the National City Bank for some reason and likes it. He is rooming with Bob Noeltner and Ben Finch. The former is doing some writing for various musical interests in New York, and Ben I gathered was being circulated with Bud Fisher and as far as I could see with no ill effects. Vague report had it that Bud Ackley had a job. I realize that is not circumstantial evidence. Had a long letter from Ed Sprankle. He is working for a coal, wood, hay, grain, ice, etc., company in Cleveland. His particular position involved many things, but I was impressed by the fact that he had to get up at something like five o'clock in the morning to make the grade. He seems to be playing around with George Fisher (who is sorting potatoes for the Fisher Bros, grocery stores) and Nels Ranney about whom I have no information. Spen Foster has gone to Egypt with a digging expedition from the Metropolitan Museum. I don't think that this is a permanent job,just a temporary set-back. Had a letter from Pat Weaver sent from some place called Libia. It was really on the postmark, although he gave his locus scribendi as " . . off Bingasi, riding long sea swells and jibbering." Maybe that will mean more to you than Libia. So do I. I'd repeat more of the letter except that it is just a little incoherent in about a dozen places—ended up with a request for news, but failed to give any address other than that indicated by the above. Actually, there is doubt in the best informed circles as to where he has been or where he is. Jerry Pearre, who was traveling with him all summer, returned from Europe several weeks ago without him, and with no particularly definite information about him except that he was headed for Egypt. Looks like digging with Spen. Anyway his (Pat's) letter closed with the statement that he would be in New York about "middlish" December with vague intentions of working.
After a brief visit with his family, Jerry will return to New York about the middle of December to work for the Guaranty Trust Company. Contingent upon the return of Weaver they are going to housekeeping (?) with Bud Fisher. Scheller is continuing medical work at Columbia.
Ed Butterworth just appeared on the scene. It seems he is across the river working out in the lawyer factory. I occasionally see various members of the law school but have no dope. Oh, I ran into Dave McCloud the other day. Having left our class and come down to Harvard, he graduated therefrom last June and is now in Law School.
Pardon the typographical errors, but you know how it is.
Yours, Rusty Morhill.
The above information, while not guaranteed, is taken from sources believed to be reliable. R. M.
We are getting pretty bored speaking of you guys as " '3O men" and "Thirty Men" and "Men of 1930," and we do wish that somebody would come across with a sterling suggestion as to what should be done.
We recently resorted to slander in these columns, hoping thereby to elicit a protest from Dud Faust, who has consistently neglected to write to us at all. We are now moved to apologize for employing such vicious tactics, and report that Dud is engaged in an interesting work in the advertising department of the Chicago (we think) Tribune.
The boys returning from the Stanford trek report, from the Chicago stop-over, that Sam Adams and Johnny Hahn are still having their fun, and that Al Trostel is engaged in selling some kind of seltzer water or something, and that his work entails demonstration of the felicitous results obtained by mixing his product with other popular beverages. We are led to believe that Al is very much absorbed in his work.
Bob Bottome has thousands of eager heelers working for him in the conduct of the travel enterprise started by him and Charley Rauch last year. Bob will sell you a tour to Peoria or Peru without batting an eye. This is free advertising—dammitall or maybe we could get together, Bob?
We take pleasure in copying the following absorbing and felicitously penned letter from the undersigned:
134 Haven Ave., New York City, 12/8/1930.
Dear Al: Somehow or other a copy of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE found its way through the devious channels of the U. S. mail into my box. In your 1930 class column I read the usual request for correspondence. Provided you can stand it kindly accept this contribution and consider yourself at liberty to repeat in your "Lonely Hearts Column" such information as you consider proper and fit.
Evidently the old grapevine system is not working with characteristic speed, for there is little gossip afloat concerning the 1930 class members. Hence with your permission I will include some brief account of myself (we won't go into detail). I am studying engineering at Columbia by day and enjoying New York by night in a modest way. Thinking in logarithms gets tiring and I sometimes consider setting aside crucible, slide rule, and typewriter, and heading for Hanover to look at Gitsis' greasy menu. With a great many others I probably belong to that group whose objective is another Carnival, but ultimate achievement will be a flat tire in Northampton (with due respect to Smith College). I saw Tom Peirce and Ed Carroll on their
return from Finland. They were in the pink physically. Peirce was particularly self-satisfied when seen behind a stein of beer. I gathered that while the voyage was successful as a romantic experience it lacked feather beds and standard plumbing. Then too I doubt that much intellectual stimulus is to be obtained from longshoremen.
In the fall Harry Dunning and self attended Yale game and experienced the common disappointment. We succeeded in getting as far north as Holyoke, but were stopped by a local bar. Dunning is forcing a lot of bum houses on local inhabitants, and has cleaned up considerable dough at the racket.
A group of Tragle, Rauch, Jessup, and others was observed in a Childs on 5h Avenue early one morning, and from all report were in pretty good shape.
The Columbia campus has a few familiar Dartmouth faces among the long noses and dark~skins of the university body. These men are easily distinguishable by the fact that they speak (in most cases) without the use of the hands.
Horace Weston sent a cryptic message from San Francisco saying he had five minutes to catch a boat around Cape Horn.
You mentioned a movement to round up some of Manhattan's 1930 men sometime in the near future. Being within the city limits I suppose I should be more awake to the environment and know something about it, but I don't. I would welcome the opportunity to meet some of my classmates, even if it is for the first time.
Sincerely, BKOOKE WILLIS.
Horace Allyn provided the interesting Hanover social note of the late autumn by getting himself engaged to Miss Mary Elizabeth Young, daughter of Professor and Mrs. John W. Young (math) of this city. Al is in second year Tuck here, and the fiancee graduated from Smith last June.
Ever since we ate corn flakes in the Gitsis gastronomic palace across the table from Hal Knight and his wife last Commencement, Hal has been under promise to write a letter about himself and family, giving names, dates, and details. Even Inskip, the Boy Secretary, eager scribe though he is, is not so faithful a reporter at four o'clock in the morning after a Commencement Ball. Well, the letter has finally come—just now as we are about to mail this to the press and we quote from it as follows:
"Since leaving college in June, 1928, I have taken unto myself a wife—as you know —have acquired a family, and am struggling up the well-known ladder of success, I hope, via the public utility business.
"I was married October 24, 1928, to Miss Elizabeth Miller of Havana, Cuba. We were married here in Charleston.
"In October, 1929, H. W. Knight, III made his first appearance, and although that time he didn't seem more than a doll he is really today—at 14 months—a fine boy, and I hope will arrive in Hanover sometime during the late 40's to pursue his studies."
Hal is with the Appalachian Electric Power Company, a subsidiary of the American Gas and Electric Company of New York. He has been with them two years, has been promoted twice, and the future looks pleasant.
Spen Foster writes in an address with the Metropolitan Museum of Art House, Luxor, Egypt, and we suspect him of trying to climb into royalty by courting Tutankhamen's blue-eyed daughter Hortense.
At the Cornell game were sundry '30 who have been hiding out in the wastes of western New York, including Norm McGrath, Joe Golan, Gregg Swarthout, Bill Smith, and numerous others, none of whom we got to speak to except for a hurried word with Swarthout. I had sat with Bill at an alumni dinner in Albany just previously. He is in Albany still learning things about American Tel. & Tel. in the training school.
Secretary, Administration Building, Hanover, N. H.
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