CLASS OF 1929
What little we have is all yours, dear delinquent brother bucks, and we only wish we had more. In our straightened circumstances we propose a simple game of chance whose playing may bring full columns to our reports once more, and hours of delightful reading and ruminating to you of the tribe who still fill your pipes of pleasure in part from the kindred bowl of tribal fellowship. This is the game: every month we indiscriminately draw from the class list the names of fifteen men, which names we publish in the class letter under the caption: "The following men have the signal honor of being requested to contribute a letter to the next class news report. To assure the class of the pleasure of your contribution please get your letter to your scribe before the end of this month. Small favors thankfully received, large ones in proportion."
Your chance is that your name may be drawn; our chance is that we may get a one hundred percent reply from those chosen for this simple duty.
So it is with manifest eagerness and some slight anxiety that we deal out the first hand in this game, and present herewith the chosen few who make up the first scouting party whose reconnoiterings you shall all hear recounted at the next gathering 'round the council fire: Phil Mayher, Bud Stickler, Bill Alexander, Bill Page, Chuck Darling, Baird Rogers, Hy Liss, Ralph Butler, Inches Pierce, Lew Clarke, Harlan Taylor, Mike Ferrini, Phil Rising, Bob Hazard, and Mac McNamara.
That this game is now under way is no reason for any of the rest of you, who have been meaning to write ere long, to decide to wait until you are drawn for duty. If you have anything on your mind, let's have it at once. The class roll numbers many men and your turn may not come for a long time.
And now that we have made wise provision for the future, we turn back to the present and pass on to you the announcement of the arrival of Anne Robertson Carter, born March 22, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bing Carter of Jamaica Plain (Mass.).
A good letter follows: March 14, 1931
Dear Bill: You have been doing such a good job of keeping us strayed sheep posted on the doings and whereabouts of the rest of the flock that I will try to contribute a little information myself. (Ed. note. Thanks, Fy, we need and appreciate your sort of encouragement.)
I will get my own story out of the way and then tell what I know of other '29ers that you may not have heard about.
The summer following our graduation I went to summer school in Denver to get a few hours of chemistry and physics for medical school. Went back to Hanover in September, and spent three months in the saw-bones league. Financial difficulties made me decide to pull up stakes, which I did during Christmas vacation. Spent the remainder of the winter and spring up near the College Grant as a lumberjack and river pig.
Last June I came to Chicago and through Louis Leverone—Phi Gam. '04—and Howie Mullins '27 got an interview with the sales department of Illinois Steel. They decided I would do, and sent me out here to spend a year at the Gary works learning the ins and outs of steel production. I guess that takes care of me—now for the other lads.
Andy Jackson, like myself, took to the tall timber for a year, he in South Dakota, but last summer abandoned his sylvan pursuits in favor of Proctor and Gamble, for whom he is now selling soap and Crisco near Dallas, Texas.
Joe Ruff lives only a few miles from here— in Hammond, Ind. I telephoned his home about a month ago only to learn that he was in Florida with his family for the winter.
Last Wednesday night at the Chicago alumni dinner at which Prexy Hopkins was the speaker I saw Stan Friedberg, Howie Mullins, Cutler '28, and several '30 boys. Stan and Si Snider are at Northwestern Medical School. Cutler told me that Jack Boyle is a sophomore in Northwestern Law School.
A couple of months ago I saw Jim Kelly vending silverware at Marshall Field's. He said he saw Johnny Bryant and Jack Cook often. Johnny is working early and late for Alexander Legge, making mowing machines and what not for International Harvester. John Brown Cook is reported not to be allowing business to interfere with pleasure.
That seems to be about all the dope I have now, Bill. I hope you are doing as well in all your lines of endeavor as you are at keeping us enlightened. Keep up the good work. (Ed. note. Atta Boy, Fy.)
Yours, EARL "FY" FYLER
715 Polk St.Gary, Ind.
After seeing us floundering around the corridors of the Law School beseeching news, the scent of the game aroused the old urge in one whose nose remains as keen as of old, to which the following bears witness: April 8, 1931
Dear Bill: I just finished reading the Twenty-nine column in the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, and with that came a mighty resolve to do what I have been intending to do for some months. I know Bill, that you are a hard working Harvard Law student like myself, with not much time to spend in garnering news from stray sources; further, reading column after column of 1930 news made my blood boil to think that Inskip Dickerson, the "Grover Whalen" of the Administration Building, could monopolize the MAGAZINE, not because of his better journalistic ability, but because he had more time to diddle with a typewriter. So, the mighty resolve to write you a letter. When the deadline for your copy rolls around and there is no news, I know how you feel; I've experienced the same depression when the time came to send a story down to the Boston Herald, and nothing appeared on the horizon. In those days, Phil "Your Scribe" Sherman and I used to pilfer stories out of the Dartmouth news-editors' basket, right under their very noses, but this avenue of escape is not open to you.
Much of what I am going to tell you may not be news to you, but it may be to some of the other Twenty-niners scattered where they may be. In any event I hope it will swell our column next month and induce others to contribute a bit.
Tonite I had dinner with two customers of "The Yard" and was initiated into the mysterious order of those who gulp their food here daily. At the stroke of six, Lougee, Dick Clark, and Ken Graf close their books and hie themselves over to this eating emporium, there to growl and gripe at their fate in being condemned to the law. All three with Squeak Redding, and myself on occasions, clutter up the reading room of Austen library, but more about others:
The other nite in the Georgian at Harvard Square, I stumbled over Herby Levy and Dick Robin having a midnite snack. Robin comes to town at regular intervals, and, attired stiff collar and all, sallies forth for about three weeks, selling high-priced surgical instruments to the leading hospitals about Boston, separating them from liberal portions of their endowment by his suave salesmanship.
Herb Levy and Marv Braverman share an apartment, which, believe it or not, is used solely for study and lots of that. They join up every so often with Hy Liss for an evening meal. Hy is the super-economist with Scudder, Stevens, and Clark. And right here I might add that Hank Stein is living at home in Brookline, and commuting to law school via the family car.
When I wander from class to class the sight of "Skip" Sullivan (who seems to be leading a lonely life) is certainly cheering. No one would ever accuse Bob Austin of being a sentimentalist, but the other day he stopped me on the street to tell me that he had a great longing to see Hanover in the spring, and incidentally to tell me that I was getting fat (it's true, but what can I do about it?). Coles Russell, Naylor, and Kirkpatrick add a tinge of Hanover to my classes, but there isn't much time to loaf about, it's hurry to and from classes.
John Dickey and Mort Jaquith are rooming together this year. Jaquith pipes up from time to time in Evidence class, and in this way I know he's still alive and kicking. Dickey has a part-time job with the City of Boston in the Criminal Correction department, using his law in a practical way.
A week ago I inveigled Sim Cantril, Marv Braverman, a Brown and a M. I. T. man into attending the Dartmouth Glee club concert at the Hotel Somerset. A handful of Twenty-niners showed up, but I could have been attending a Princeton dance for all the people I knew there. Judging from some undergraduates that attended, the Selective Admission plan is not working very well. In addition to Sullivan, Hodson, Brisbin, Jaquith, Architect Chris Born put in his appearance. I ran plump into that Brockton banker, Dick Barrett, at the dance. Haven't seen Dick since a hockey game in New York about a year and a half ago. He promptly invited me out to Brockton for dinner, but you know, Bill, that as much as I'd like to go (haven't had that privilege since Thanksgiving dinner of freshman year) a day off to go up to Brockton would be too much vacation for Dean Pound to grant.
Cantril and I have sort of lost touch with Ray White, who, being ambitious and out for a Master's degree at B. U., doesn't have much time to associate with mere seekers of LL.B. and M.D. He certainly makes himself scarce around Boston.
Jim Hodson and Tom Stokes have a suite over a music studio right around the corner from Harvard Square. I run into them in the Georgian Cafeteria, having breakfast with Prof. Scott, who taught German at Dartmouth and is down here doing graduate work. Tom breezes in about one minute to nine to gulp a breakfast and work himself into a fine state of indigestion getting to class on time. Jack Gunther is another steady patron of the Georgian, in fact he usually has a reserved table right near the water fountain in the famed Harvard eating place.
Rog Horton still has trouble in making nine o'clock classes at the Law School. Julius "Barker" Morris has collected in admiring group of law students from other colleges, and nightly keeps them rolling along the sidewalks of Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, with his impersonations. Incidentally he did some work with the Cambridge Theatre group (if that is the right name).
In a class known as Agency there is a regular Dartmouth group consisting of Hankins and Langdell '28, Nelson Hartstone and myself. Hartstone comes to class with a new story of his activities. He is either playing badminton, poker, "Sardines," or entertaining at the University club, and he makes it a point to tell us about it each morning with malicious intent, inasmuch as he knows we "boarding" law students can't manage to work in such luxuries.
Outside of Sim Cantril, the only other Medical School man I have seen is Jerry Harris, who seems to be doing nicely. But for my medical advice, I turn to Sim Cantril, who is doing some fine work at Harvard. As for the Business School men, I have been over there several times, but couldn't seem to find a trace of them, they avoid the Law School delegation like poison. Let's hear something about the boys across the Charles river, who are learning to be "big business men," which to me means corpulent merchants, stockbrokers, and whatnots.
Some of this is mere drivel, some of it sounds like malicious gossip, but the truth is that I've just pounded out what I have seen in the past month in order that our class may have a larger amount of space in the next ALUMNI MAGAZINE, and beat out the 1930 column of "Grover Whalen" "Skip" "You Know Me Al" Dickerson. Here's hoping that some of those Twenty-niners that can push a pen or pound a typewriter will drop you some news. Those married classmates (lucky stiffs) can get their wives to drop you a line.
It won't be long now before the Stanford-Dartmouth game at the Harvard Stadium— that ought to bring lots of them to town, eh, Bill?
HERB BALL
Harvard Law School.27 Hastings Hall,Cambridge, Mass.
We have just received the following challenge. Let's see what you're going to do about it: April 9, 1931
Dear Classmates: Did you see the challenge the Dirty Thirties flung at us in last month's ALUMNI MAGAZINE?
They haven't been out in the world as long as we and therefore possibly aren't so broke— but are we going to let them beat us in the Alumni Fund drive?
We will beat them on the total amount, and they won't be able to touch us on the number of contributors, for every one of us can give something, and will give something, so long as Twenty-nine exists, which is for .quite some years to come.
The class agents can't get around and see each one of you personally, but you know this is the time to send in your checks, and that Dartmouth not only deserves your support but that you owe Dartmouth a debt.
Let's go, and clean up these Dirty Thirties.
JERRY SWOPE P.S. Send contributions to your agents or direct to the Alumni Fund, Hanover. 52 Garden St.Cambridge, Mass.
In conclusion we are delighted to be able to tell you how the old proverb, "and the last shall be first," has come to pass in our midst: Marv Braverman, whose chief distinction as a contributor to our first Alumni Fund appeal was that he wound up the campaign of the high-powers, Coles-Dickey-Swope, with a surprise aftermath gift late in July, thus ending the 1930 season with a pleasant zest, has again achieved distinction by speeding the first arrow of gold into the charm bag of those heap big medicine men, Coles-Dickey-Swope.
Draw ye bowstrings and guard not too stingily ye scanty hoarded wampum of thy early foraging parties! '29 UP ! !
Secretary, 114 Pleasant St., Arlington, Mass.
