CLASS of 1925
The balmy breezes of the past few days have recalled to the editorial mind the Sunday last June when a goodly number of '25ers journeyed down to Pete Haffenreffer's place at Bristol, R. I. Did ire ever get around to reporting that outing? No? Well it seems that, a number of us feeling the urge to commune with Nature in the well-known Great Open Spaces, Pete's place was chosen as the site for a Grand Outing and Clam Festival, and if I do say it the affair was one of the most successful ever staged in these here parts. The purpose, of course, was just a general good time, in the form of a clam bake and tournament with '24. There were feats of strength and daring aplenty, and why no one was killed remains a mystery. When the smoke had cleared away, '25 was the undisputed victor in two baseball games, swimming events, horseshoe pitching contest, clam eating competition, or "name it we have it." All this in spite of the fact that we were considerably outnumbered. Shades of the good old picture fights! Pete hadn't overlooked a thing and we suffered only one defeat but, oh! what a defeat in the tug-o'- war event. It started over the deepest, slipperiest and sloppiest mud-hole in New England, bar none, and ended the same way a half hour later after the dirtiest scrap on record. The rest of the afternoon was spent in trying to clean up and in tender administrations to the maimed and wounded. A great binge, and we're planning another just as good it couldn't be better—for the near future.
Incidentally, Pete himself has moved from Fall River to Providence, R. 1., to 29 Holly St., to be exact.
We spent last week-end in Hanover lending an official note to the opening of the woodcock and partridge season, with the aid of Bob McKennan. Besides having a very successful hunt we had the time of our lives listening to the account of Bob's experiences in the North. It will be remembered that he spent the better part of last year in the interior of Alaska studying Indian life there, traveling hundreds of miles by dog sled and having one of the most interesting, if not always particularly pleasant, times we have heard about. His stories of men and places are really "thrillers," and we regret not having time or space to outline some of his adventures for the column.
Word has reached us from Walt Irvine, who is living in Stamford, Conn. Old Wire Mill Road. Walt is healthy, hale, and hearty, married and in the furniture business there.
From the innermost diplomatic circles at Washington, we hear that Charlie Moore is gracing the Capital City with his presence, and is deeply involved in newspaper workand liking it.
Latest reports from the West bring word of Dick Gratz, who has an office in the Pioneer Building, St. Paul, Minn. How, what, or who he does has not yet been divulged, but we're hot on the trail of the facts and will report later.
Cliff Hill will teach economics this winter at the Brookings Institute of Economics in Washington. As previously reported in this here column, Cliff is also writing a book on the unemployment situation for his Doctor's degree in philosophy.
"Dune" McDougall has changed his place of residence by half the circumference of the world. He is in the Royal Air Force, and the address is Cranwell, Steaford, Lincolnshire, England. He was on single seated pursuit planes for two years, and is now instructing cadets at the Cadet College.
Al Sparks has gone and went and done itand in these hard times, too. We quote
headlines from the Rockford (111.) Register-Republic of July 1: CHARMING YOUNG FREEPORT GIRL IS BETROTHED TO ROCKFORD MAN and MISS RUTH ERFERT TO BECOME THE BRIDE OF ALLEN SPARKS IN FALL
And scarcely had this news winged its way eastward when lo! came a knock at yon editorial door and entered—the blushing bridegroom in person. He was here ahoneymooning, as you may have guessed, and we had the pleasure of dining with the Mr. and Mrs. that evening. Miss Erfert attended National Park Seminary. Al is in the insurance business back home a member of the firm of Sparks and Sparks. Tige Lyon took his vacation in Alaska this year for two good reasons: to keep cool and to side-step the conversational results of the falling market, which are worse, if possible, than the falling itself.
Ken Hill has left the Chatham-Phenix Corp., at 85 Devonshire St., Boston, and gone with E. B. Smith and Co., bankers, at 1 Federal St., Boston. Anyone having funds to invest in these times of riotous moneymaking kindly communicate with Brother Hill at the address given above. Reward.
Our Chicago correspondent reports that while cashing a place ticket on Mike Hall in the Arlington Cup one Don Cameron was encountered. Don was beating the horses by acting as a cashier at the park, between teaching and studying in Europe last year, and is planning to teach at a private school in Noo Yawk this fall.
The same source of information tells us that Jack Reeder went West for the radio show early this summer, and was entertained while in the Windy City by a few of his classmates, inter alia.
Stan Litchfield and the little woman are in Scarsdale, N. Y. Stan is with the Home Title Insurance Co., securing, making, and selling guaranteed first mortgages for the company. That word "selling" is one that intrigues in times like these, and yet we have Stan's word for it that they are selling and making money doing it. And as he so aptly puts it, "that amounts to a lot at this particular time."
To follow out this "Stan" theme, we close with a doxology on Stan Smith—married and the proud parent of two fine kids. And here's the inside dope on how it happened: Stan's father-in-law promised to pay off the mortgage on the junior Smith homestead in the event that the first arrival was a boy. It was a girl but the mortgage is paid off now. Get it?
Secretary, , 67 Milk St., Boston
