CLASS OF 1918
While pounding the pavements of Manhattan in search of local dirt for the columns of The New Yorker, our reporter Stan Jones plucked a few apples from an unemployed vendor at a corner and gave a thought to our own destitute 1918 notes. As a relief measure he unburdened himself of the following class gossip, which we present in his own words:
"Among other visitors recently noted lounging around the municipal soup kitchens was none other than Tom Proctor, who once held the flagpole record (up and down) at '18's Frantic Fifth. Tom still has that hale-and-hearty outdoor Zanfe Grey look to his countenance. Beside him, indeed, such local pansies as Morey, Barr, Garratt, Tarrant, and Jones remind the casual observer of nightblooming fauna brought up under a flat stone in the shade. Let him quit bossing ginnies out in the open air, though, and start crouching over a desk and drinking orange juice with his gin . . . that's the time we're waiting for! Tom reports that he has become engaged, 'two days ago, or maybe it was two months.' (We'd like his gal to get this.)
"Among the major operations of the season was the opening of the Bth Avenue subway and the pod of S. Mongoose Morey, locally known as 'Blimp.' The Kennedy Construction Co. handled both jobs, among the largest of any season. The latter yielded up three pairs of old sneakers, an appendix, a lot of rusty hairpins, and a barrel of bran. Mr. Morey, confined to his hangar at Lakehurst, N. J., for the moment, is reported as doing well.
"H. Krausemeyer Whitmore, the ex-Wild Bull of the Campus, is now and then encountered dipping his famous beak in speakeasies adjacent to the Graybar Building. Krause complains that the cardboard and packing case business is practically nonexistent, and that his fiddle feet take up so much desk space in "the Gair Co. offices that he spends his time in beak-dipping at the request of the office manager. Sounds a bit thin.
"Ed Butts, the Human Safe, is reported as being hereabouts, though he has never appeared up through any of Manhattan's pavement in the sight of these jaundiced eyes. Where are you, Ed?
"J. S. Martinez, former superintendent of the Brooklyn Nurses' Home, has not Been seen in his accustomed haunts for nigh on to a fortnight. (British for a couplaweeks.) Since recovering from his injury sustained while a spectator at a pingpong match at the Dartmouth Club (J. S. was struck by a flying ball and driven through the northeast wall out into 38th St.) he has been a bit balmy. Friends fear that he has curled up for a nap in somebody's fountain pen and been carried out West, or up into New England.
"That Rough Rhinestone from Medford, E. H. Earley, hasn't got a sharp corner left. He was interviewed by a reporter from the Daily Graphic last Wednesday as he was making his way into the Metropolitan Opera House attired in a borrowed openface suit and even surmounted by an iron skillet. 'What's the idear?' demanded the man of the press. 'Airing a suit like that with all this depression going on?' 'What depression?' retorted Earley. 'I haven't heard anything about any depression. Besides, I'm not spreading myself. D. Basil O'Connor (the Governor's law partner) is taking me. This tail-coat was loaned to me by Mai Drane, who said they were tickled to get into the Horseshoe with their wares under any conditions. The tie is Andy Ross's, the shirt Mike Pounds's, the shoes—and don't think they don't hurt, fella!—once belonged to Ned Ross. So don't think I'm not one of the people yet. In fact, my mission in life is bound up closely with the people. The simple people.' 'I can understand that, all right,' said the reporter sincerely. 'ln fact, I have here in my pocket a policy easily within the reach of everybody—even yourself. Suppose, for instance, that you should look Mr. O'Connor's studs squarely in the eye for a moment and go blind. This will cover you. Suppose, again. . . 'l'll quit,' said the reporter. 'So long.' "
Dan Shea, vice-president of Moody's Investors Service, was actually overheard the other day mentioning a stock by name that really had fair merit. And this, after all the classmates had pecked at this oracle in vain for years with not as much as a hint of a good buy forthcoming.
The sturdy printer Ty Tyrrel was last seen at 4 A.M. New Year's morn at Canoe Place, Long Island, collecting nickels and dimes from the wilted and withered dancers for the purpose of bribing the orchestra to last through until sunup. Al Smith saw him as a worthy man, but after questioning him as to his party affiliations abruptly withdrew his support. However, he had a change of heart when Ty promised to vote for his party in exchange for the Empire State Building's printing jobs. Reports have it that Ty was still dancing with a waiter in the emptied hall at 7 A.M.
Harry Collins has been kept busy helping his boss, the Hon. Seabury, in the recent Seabury-Kresel investigations of the magistrates' courts in New York city.
We are glad to note that Melville Weston was on January 1 made a member of the law firm of Powers and Hall in Boston.
David E. McCoy was recently appointed to the position of general commercial super-visor for the Chesapeake and Potomac Telephone Company at Washington, D. C. McCoy joined the ranks of the telephone com pany in 1921, and since then has held various positions among them being sales supervisor and commercial superintendent.
We greatly regret to chronicle the passing of another good Eighteener, Walter D. Minigan, M.D., popular physician in Man- chester, N. H., who died on December 20 as result of injuries received in an automobile accident last June. The class of 1918 deeply sympathizes with his parents and sister in their great loss and bereavement.
Secretary, 953 Madison Ave., New York
