CLASS of 1931
The ball is rolling beautifully. The postman's my chum. And nothing but "time on my hands" to relay*it to you. When there's word from you'se guys, this job is a pleasure.
Ann Arbor, Mich., bursts into our colyums, viz.:
Dear Jack: This is Friday night at Michigan, meaning for most, dates, etc., mostly etc. But those damn pitiful lawyers. Here I am in a stuffy room trying to figure out the whys and whynots of contracts while that splendid Michigan band is playing down town for their pep meeting. Oh, if it were only Hanover! But bearing in mind what Prof. Wellman said at the banquet, I shall not take up that tearful cry.
Together with five other Dartmouth men, I'm struggling away for perhaps no reason at all. Here, as at Harvard, there is that ominous threat of every third seat being vacant in the fall. There are two other Dartmouth men in the Lit. School. I shall not give you the names of any, not knowing whether they fear that some woman might read of their whereabouts in the class notes.
I met Cogswell one night at the Dome Cafe in Paris this summer, and was with "Bob" Wallace on the return voyage. I saw no other '3l men until I arrived in Ann Arbor. Frank Quinn and "Spence" Cram write that they are coming up here on peerade some week-end. "Spence" mentioned Indiana beer so his entree is assured. He can conquer the University with much less than five hundred gallons.
We're all pulling for that team. For a moment last Saturday we were dumbfounded to hear that Holy Cross was tied with Darmouth (pronounced by the stadium announcer, "mouth"). I have bets on with Yale and Harvard men here in the Club. Also, with a Stanford man.
Keep up the good work on the notes, "Jack." I enjoyed them immensely.
Sincerely yours, BEN HARDMAN
The following letter was most welcome, and we sincerely hope that we will hear from the writer more often, as well as from any other mothers whose sons in '31 are not able to get in touch with us conveniently: My dear Mr. Warwick:
My son Donald is a member of the class of 1931 at Dartmouth and when his ALUMNI MAGAZINE came the other day I noticed a request for information about the status quo and whereabouts of members of the class. As Donald is having a very interesting and delightful occupation, I am writing to tell you about him, although he may already have given you the information himself.
He received an appointment by the Near East College Association (which directs five colleges in different countries of Europe and Asia) to teach English in the American College of Sofia, in Sofia, Bulgaria. He sailed September 7 on the Bremen, spent three days in Paris and several more in Austria and Jugoslavia, reaching Sofia about the 18th.
These colleges are known as an experiment in international good will, and the largest and best known is the University of Beirut in Beirut, Syria. His contract is for a term of three years, and his vacations will be spent in travel.
Very sincerely, MRS. LYLE W. EWIXG
The greetings of the class to Frank Hardinge. His engagement to Miss Margaret Mitchell of Scarsdale, N. Y., was recently announced. Frank is bringing us our newest member in January. All of the best kind of wishes.
Speaking of new members, a delightful little pink-bordered envelope postmarked Olean, N. Y., came to hand the other day. In it were more pink borders, and, most important, "Nancy Ellen Ewing, October 19, 1931." Our most sincere congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Jack.
Read the following letter, carefully noting the signature, and well:
Dear Jack: Received my copy of the ALUMNI MAG. last Saturday, and certainly enjoyed reading some news about what everyone is doing. You will have your hands full trying to keep up to date, but with a little co-operation I think it can be accomplished. I haven't seen anyone since June 17, but have good intentions of looking up Al Biesel, who I think lives around Huntington, W. Va. This is the damnedest state to live in you ever heard of, but as long as I'm managing to live I suppose that is all that is necessary. You talk about queer jobs and unexpected outcomes, I think that I am probably doing something as far from what I expected as any one. Fireman on a locomotive, one of the yard engines of the Electro-Metallurgical Cos. At least it is the fulfillment of a boyhood ambition, and it's a job, so what the hell?
I hear from Al Jones occasionally, and lie is now going to Pitt Law School. George Stevens I understand is helping out the tourist trade in Europe this winter. Bob Powell is going into the insurance game with his dad. George Acheson is getting ready to take over the reins of Acheson Brass Mfg. Co. and end the depression. That is about the sum total of my knowledge concerning the members of the class, so you can see that I wish you luck in your inquiries.
This was intended for a letter, but already I am out of news and out of ambition. If you ever get a chance let me hear from you.
Sincerely, TOWER SNOW
Glen Ferris, W. Va.
Our first real intimate piece of news from Hanover is at hand, and we are very much indebted to the writer. Surely there's more where this came from. Dear Jack:
I have been cooking up this letter for a long time, and, having a spare minute or two, I am taking the bull by the horns and proceeding to throw it. Whether you like it or not, here it comes.
As you may or may not know, I am in Hanover this winter, hibernating from the great Depression that seems to be flitting about our fair country. Life here is grand, believe it or not, and I'm not a bit jealous of you down there in Gotham. I am selling jewelry to anyone who will buy in Amidon's, during the day, and at night, I set forth with my Green Vagabonds.
Being located in one of the local emporiums or, on the street, as it were, I have unusual opportunities. I see the fire apparatus from my front window, and to be sure the fire apparatus is something to watch in Hanover. They threw away the old Ford that Johnny Piane used to tear around in, and have purchased a new superdeluxe Ford with all kinds of brass gadgets for Buster Brown to shine up. Then again, I get a good chance to watch Chief Hallisey bawl hell out of the innocent violaters of the law. But in addition to all these advantages, I have an excellent chance to contact with returning members of '31. Thirty-Oners is horrible, but I have no alternative. They all manage to come into the store for something or other, and we yell "Howareyaguy!" back and forth with real alumni vigor. Let's see if I can't recall a few.
Scarface Joe Barrington sneaked in the other day and put me on the spot. I can't remember what he said he was doing, but I do remember his saying that it wasn't important, so I guess it won't be such a bad slip! Eddy Elmer has been back several times, and says he is doing well in Hartford, teaching music to all who will learn. Gay Bromberg is working out at the field with the varsity, showing them how to hold Harvard, Cornell, and Stanford. Here's hoping. And the smiling face of Abner Epstein arose in front of me as a startling surprise in the campus. He claims to be working at art this year, and that may mean .anything. Bob Barker, Ralph Hunter, Eric Wollaeger, and Sol Sherman are all medics, and poke about with satchels under their arms, and congregate at a special table in George's. It is ghastly how they talk shop. They not only rave about their own operations, but everyone else's!
Rod Hatcher came in the other day, and says he expects to finish his requirements by the middle of the year, but will probably stay through because the English department claims it costs them three or four hundred dollars to make up a Comprehensive, so there you are.
Damn near drove into a telephone pole waving at Bill Steck some weeks ago—he was in town for a game. He has that musty look that suggests lots of law-books being opened and shut, in dark corners of libraries where no one but a law student would dare to go. Hank Burroughs popped up today and almost sold me some life insurance. He says the racket isn't so bad, and I guess it isn't, because he looked like a perfect well-dressed inhabitant of Manchester—not smooth, but prosperous! Doug Woodring and the Missus stopped over today, and I had breakfast with them. Doug is studying law too, I think, but somehow he hasn't got that musty look; I wonder why? He says that Jack Ewing had a baby—oh, you know what I mean,—and everyone's quite happy. By the way, I also heard today that Sher Guernsey got married to Margaret Ransom. It was quite expected, but all these marriages do make one feel bald-headed, to say the least!
Herm Buxbaum is in Hanover this year doing something or other. I understand he is finishing his novel with a fellowship from the College. And the other day he gave a review for an English 1 exam. Lucky freshmen! I can remember way back, four years ago, when he gave a review for an English 1 exam and didn't charge a nickel. That was over in Richardson, and business was good. I suspect he has become mercenary!
Got a letter from Hubie Glass the other day, and he claims to have picked apples or weeded apple orchards or sprayed, or some silly thing. He is going to Ohio State in January if he doesn't get married before then. Doug Morris is peddling a grand and glorious kind of insurance called group insurance, down in Pittsburgh. He trained in Hartford all summer, and nt>w is out trying to prove something. He says the women are great, but didn't say a thing about business!
Beany Thorn is with the firm of Craig Thorn, in Hudson, N. Y. He visited me this summer, at least I keep telling him he did. Jim McElroy also was over this summer. I don't know what he's up to, but I hope it's safe. When I last saw him he was still going to be a minister. Imagine!
Saw Dick Knight the other day and it looked quite natural. In fact I said, "Hello, Dick," as if he were nothing but an undergraduate. He was quite nonplussed until I came to. Charley Engstrom is in Hanover, why, nobody knows. He claims he actually is working, and has plenty to do, but no one knows what it is, or anything about it, except turning the crank of a movie camera every now and then for Sid Hayward.
Nick Oleksiw is down at Harvard Business School, taking a whole fog of statistics, marketing, and other bewildering subjects—and probably losing weight just like all Harvard Business students. I have come to the conclusion that if we don't know where any of our classmates are, it is safe to say that they are studying law or business at Harvard!
Charley Babbitt and Hank Gorsline are in Thayer School, and out around the country surveying hayfields and cabbage patches, trying to figure out how straight a straight line should be and when does it become an arc.
And there's a bunch of others that I can't recall right now, but I probably will later on. I must get to bed, for I just heard the last street car rumble along down West Wheelock St., and Charley Meeks has put the police station cat out. I'll write you again later.
Yours, ROG B BuRRILL
Hanover, N. H.
Make it soon, Rog; letters like this are real contributions.
Guess we are all quite proud of Bux Buxbaum; that was a peach of an article in the MAGAZINE last month. And we are all looking forward to autographed copies of that first novel.
Spent an evening with Shep Wolff and Charlie McAllister the other night. Shep's been an important cog in the Brooklyn Union Gas Company's machine—they call him a cadet, which might mean anything. However, he's found time to scout Cornell for the approaching game. Together with Gay Bromberg (now coaching the freshmen in Hanover), they brought a lot of important information to Hanover before the Yale and Harvard games. Skeffington is with the Schrafft organization in New York, and I might add that he and his wonderful mother haven't changed their famous Hartford hospitality one teeny weeny bit—even though they have moved to Brooklyn.
I promised to tell you more about "Chauncey" and the Gruen-Briggs outfit. Well, 's true—he's their man. I know, 'cause I almost stumbled over him shelling beans on the floor one night. But the elegance of this thing has to be seen to be appreciated.
The following epistle is an answer to my challenge of last month, and a "goodly" answer too:
Dear Jack: Please pardon the stationery and the use of the typewriter, but I can explain myself. At the present moment my father is out of town on business, and as I am now out of work Dad sent me down to his office to help out during his absence. So here I sit, none too busy, and in need of typing practice. I consider myself explained.
Thanks for your write-up of me as a financier, but I really must beg to differ. My bank folded up about three weeks ago during the Pittsburgh financial panic, or at least damn near a panic, so I'm running around in bread lines, and seriously contemplating selling apples on street corners. I've discovered that jobs aren't growing on trees, waiting to be picked, but maybe something will turn up soon. Sure am glad that you like your work.
As I know you are primarily interested in the doings of our noble classmates, I might as well let you know the few things that I know. Had a letter from Clif Power the other day, and he's moving a little nearer East from Colorado to Terre Haute, Ind. Incidentally Clif has got himself a job with a large chain bakery concern, starting the first of the year. His prospects seem quite fine, and he is very well satisfied. Also Clif has taken up aviation, has been soloing since September, and will get his pilot's license this month. Bill Minehan is in the office of a big insurance company in Milwaukee. I think it's the Northwestern.
Around town here I have run into three members of our class. Bob Powell is working in the office of a large insurance agent, apparently preparatory to going into his father's business in his old home town of Uniontown. Doug Morris is working for Etna Life, and appears frequently at the weekly Dartmouth luncheons. He seems quite interested in his work—selling, I thiijk. Last of all, Al Jones can be seen around town almost anywhere as he is attending the first year of Pitt Law School. He has all Pittsburgh for a campus, as classes are held in a building down town here. Dick Hood '30 is his constant companion in his labors.
Perhaps you remember Dinny Dinsmore '29. He was in town over the week-end, and seems to be doing well, selling for United Carbide and Carbon. Also he's enjoying himself.
The Big Green team may not be so strong this year, but they sure are giving them all a run for their money. I'd give anything to have seen either of those last two games. I sort of miss the fall season in Hanover.
As for myself, I haven't been doing much since I lost my job except look for a new one. A couple week-ends ago I managed to get down to Lehigh with a couple of friends of mine, and we made a dying effort to play college again—for a couple of old men we didn t do so badly, if I do say so myself. It was quite a "hoe-down."
Tried a new sport the other day—hunting. I armed myself with a trusty fowling piece and set out for the forests. I trudged about from about seven in the morning until 11, but as a nimrod I exuded an unpleasant odor. I saw one beast, a ringed-neck pheasant (I'd like to wring its neck). The thing jumped out from under my feet and scared me so damned bad that by the time I'd shoved my heart back down my throat removed the safety catch (which all us careful hunters use), and fired my trench mortar, the pheasant was about 200 yards away, and looking back laughing at me.
Being a business man now, I really must cease. I know it would be impossible for you to answer all your correspondence, but sometime when you have a lot of spare time I sure would enjoy hearing your weals and woes.
LITTLE NEDDIE CAMPBELL
P.S. Bill Farley ex-'31 is also in the army of the unemployed. For some time he was running a Kiddy Kart factory in Rochester, but unfortunately the rapid circulation of birth-control literature and the current price of wheat did for the factory, so the kids will have to ride scooters. Bill is seeking a job and new loves to conquer.
Pittsburgh, Pa.
Now, then, gentlemen—will you all kindly give me your attention for a brief moment. This is not Tony Wons, nor is it the R. J. Reynolds folks down in North Carolina—'s a plain simple announcement:
The first get-together of the New York and vicinity members of the class of 1931 will congregate (no less) at a most informal dinner Wednesday eve, December 9 at the Dartmouth College Club at 24 East 38th St., New York city. There will not be speakers, 'cept them amongst yez who has speeches to make to them alongside of yez—see? It will cost the round sum of One dollar and twentyfive cents (the twenty-five cents has a purpose). The time we eat is at 7:30 P.M. Any member of the class happening to be in or near the city at the time is most mostest cordially invited for $1.25. There will be pictures shown of the class movies. This is the first of these and we are all looking forward to a good turnout.
For Thirtyoners who would like to organize a similar procedure elsewhere your Secretary will be very happy to furnish you with any dope which may be of help.
Keep up the good ink spreading, fellers; we'll make this colyum taste like vanilla yet.
Secretary, 405 West 23rd St., New York
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