CLASS of 1919
When our golf game suddenly blows from somewhere around our handicap up to something like Freddie McCrea might shoot, and application blanks for football arrive, and people begin to talk of where they will spend Labor Day, we know that the good old summer is about done and that it's time to get on our bicycle and find out where the class has gone to. During the summer months the class seems to give its unanimous attention to what to do while the wife is at the beach, and how to take the spin off the new ball—and let the Secretary look out for himself. There is no news (not that we would do anything about it except lose it if there were), and who cares.
But after Labor Day is a different story. People begin to appear on all sides and demand to know what kind of a Secretary are we anyway, and why don't we do something, and what about the football games, and some class dinners and what not. All right, we promise to have the August issue of the Nineteen News on the press by next week, and if you don't get it before the first football game we'll give you our tickets to the Yale game. As for class dinners and football parties, they are already under way. Phil Bird phoned only yesterday to say that he had just been in conference with the authorities at the University Club in Boston and had two padded cells reserved, one for the night before the Harvard game and one for the night before the Stanford game. These are supposed to accommodate twenty, which is Phil's conservative way ever since he and Louie Munro gave that admirable party two years ago. There will be twice that many or we'll drink the punch single-handed. But it doesn't matter, if things seem too small as we start to expand we'll confiscate the main dining room. Clements will, no doubt, have something swell in New York before the Columbia game, and we suggest that you boys in the neighborhood drop in and get the details for us.
We haven't seen any Nineteeners to speak of since Commencement time. Occasionally we encounter Louie Munro, Rock Hayes, Elmer Pilsbury, and John Chipman. Aside from John, there is no news about any of them They seem to be sitting by waiting for the depression to get around the well known corner. John, however, has a new baby and a new job. Sausages seem to have gone sour along with a few other things, and John has shifted from Adolf Gobel to selling for General Seafoods or whoever it is who put out those Birdseye process things. Phil Bird has opened up a branch store in Coolidge Corner, thus making stationery that much more convenient for Society.
Recently we encountered the great Ives on the street. He had just sold his boss on a big trip up through New Hampshire and Vermont. He figured that all business could be attended to in two days, and that the only logical thing to do then would be to go over to Montreal and Quebec and see how things were. The man is little short of a genius.
Since we started all this foolishness we have learned that John Ross is also with the Birdseye outfit, doing plain and fancy accounting. Old man Birdseye must be an enthusiastic Phi Gam . . . well it was a good delegation and he could do worse than take the whole lot of them.
Now let's all get together and write the Secretary a nice long letter, telling him all the lies we can think of about our friends and our golf scores. We age, and the imagination gets less and less self-starting, and we can't make things up about you the way we used to, so what do you say—a little help this coming season.
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Secretary, 41 Winter St., Framingham Center, Mass.
