CLASS of 1924
It's quite possible that a long neck is the only thing which saves reportorial ability where a football game is in progress. Either the class is assigned a section two rows deep and half a mile long, or your correspondent gets his application balled up and spends the time between halves diligently looking for familiar faces that have gone out to limber and warm up just about that time. Stan Lonsdale was completing a siesta of some five days when the Holy Cross game transpired, and with dark corduroys, a wool shirt, and a ski jacket he might easily have been taken for a pledge.
Bob Hayes with wife and undergraduate brother-in-law was also enjoying a vacation, fully earned, of a week. Bob just landed in Providence for the New England Telephone Cos., as traffic manager of the city. Luit Luitwieler took in the festivities for the weekend only. Gilly Thornton had Mike Branch in tow with the Mrs. (plural). Received a false tip that Ockie Hecht sat near, but it didn't materialize.
Let the Yale game be a lesson. Many of the gang stayed away, fearing the worst, and thereby missed the biggest eyeful of football presented to any audience, including the patient souls who have attended six consecutive years in hope that victory was at last in Dartmouth's hands. Hank Hartshorn whispered good-bye at the end of the game, he couldn't have spoken a word, and it was quite easy to notice a slight stoop in Mrs. Hartshorn from the manual cheering bestowed upon her after his voice was gone. Paul Wright came in from his dairy farm in Orange to the Bowl for his third game, and was particularly pleased at the outcome. Ax Coffin took a running jump from Chicago on Friday, and boarded the train again Saturday night for home.
Jim Kirkbright, fresh from his new M.D. quarters at 150 East 49th St., New York city; Jim Wright, Gus Caldwell, Whit Gowrie, flower and feather bedecked, Hal Brandt, thin but looking well, Ham Fish of Keene, and Buts Crouter were round and about, all with wives. Spider Martin came out from under his hat long enough to be recognized between the halves. Larry Harter, Bob Hayes, Larry Marshall, Prenny Gallup, Stan Lonsdale, Brad Stafford, Phil VanHuyck, and Harr Ranney rose or turned far enough to be spotted. Bevo Beers, viewing his first game for several seasons, took it all in eagerly. Howard Booth, assistant spotter both at the Yale games, batted about .500 on this occasion, but slightly lower on the later date.
It was plain frigid at the Harvard game, and everyone rightfully moved to keep warm on the slightest provocation. There was no before-game rally or dinner to bring the gang together but there were easily forty from the class in the Stadium, if not more, including as longest traveled Whit Whitaker, publisher of Madison, Wis. Dick Ludwig came out of the Maine woods for a respite, and Cav Cavanaugh got a ride down on the special from Concord, N. H. Dave Perry, Roger Phinney, Stan Lyon, Gordy Richards, Putty Blodgett, Jack Jackson, Dick Teel, Brad Hersey, Rus Letteney, Norm Everett, Tim Lyons, and Sandy McClintock were among the chilled. Granted these are only a few of the forty estimated, but with a few more scouts, and Pinky getting more experience all the time, a complete list should be forthcoming at the Cornell and Stanford frays.
Dave Dyche has settled down from his country-wide travels with the National City Bank at 55 Wall St., and taken quarters at the Blind Brook Lodge, 66 Milton Rd., Rye, N. Y.
Ken Walker oversees the rations of the Bell Telephone Laboratory forces at 463 West St., New York city. His home is over in Staten Island, 27 Norwood Ave., Clifton.
Art Adams turned his educational endeavors to the Saugus Junior High School, Saugus, Mass., and not only teaches but runs the whole school in the bargain.
Charlie French gave up the lumber business recently to become sales promotion manager of the Container Corporation, 111 West Washington St., Chicago.
Unfortunately a stirring report from Curt Bird has been allowed to rest in the thin archives for some little while, but it does not seem to have lost all of its flavor yet. He writes: "Haven't done anything I'm proud of in a business way since I last wrote except appear for the firm in a contempt of court action in Greenville, S. C. Fortunately the judge just couldn't make up his mind. If I have to go to jail I will write you a voluminous letter on penitentiary conditions. In an extra labor capacity there have been some local triumphs. A year ago a couple of other fellows and myself hired a sixty-foot yacht and spent our two weeks' vacation on it. One of the boys brought his wife, and the other fellow and myself our girls. It was as you can see a pleasant party of six, except that my bachelor friend had to row his girl ashore every night to phone her mother, and I worked so hard on the motors that I lost four pounds. The married one kept the books in his best executive manner, so he returned after a real restful two weeks. We went all over Long Island Sound, reaching an extreme of Nantucket, from which point we proudly sent postcards to everyone who doubted our yachting ability. I did not marry the girl after the trip, nor did my friend who rowed, so you might say the trip was no good to us."
Secretary, 7 Harvard St., Worcester, Mass.
