CLASS OF 1930
It is with almost no tears that we contemplate the fact that with this issue we cease the pandering of bright chatter and dull gossip until autumn. It is a good thing, because you gentlemen are obviously tired out. The correspondence this month has not been heavy.
The secretaries' meeting in Hanover just took place this last week-end, once more at no expense to the still solvent class of 1930. Your Secretary with the magnificent generosity for which he is justly famous assumed his entire traveling expenses personally.
It is with some pride—but not much—that we announce the doubtful distinction of finding ourself in second place with regard to gross wordage when the merit badges, gold stars, and engraved typewriters were being passed around to the year's most prolific secretaries. We were runner-up to that veteran scribe, Hap Hinman 'lO. We tell you this in the hope that you will get a certain dull glow of martyred satisfaction out of having read more inches of class notes than any other class save those gluttons for punishment, the Tenners. There is no getting around it—24,096 words are 24,096 words. That is no trifle, as even Leo Tolstoy would admit.
There are several projects for next year to be cogitated over during the summer.
First, we plan to imitate the successful plan of the '26 secretary in asking each month certain men in the class to write complete letters accounting for themselves and the Thirtyteers in their neighborhood. We are going to start off with the executive committee, and therefore warn John French, Herm Schneebeli, Bob Booth, Pete Callaway, and Mickey Emrich to start warming up their typewriters for the next issue, to be followed by Fran Horn, Eddie Jeremiah, Milt McInnes, Nelse Rockefeller, and Dean Wiggin.
We hope that early next fall luncheon and dinner organizations in Boston and New York and other centers will get started and arrange Thirtyteer parties at pleasant intervals through the winter. This year's gestures in this direction had no results until finally Charlie Raymond has taken things in hand in Boston and arranged an experimental luncheon for Friday, the thirteenth of this month. Unless the building falls in on this auspicious occasion, or the place is raided, or something, the party ought to be good, and it is too bad that it will be too late to report on here. More agenda for the autumn.
Now we will list the handful of items that have collected this month, and sign off for the summer. Most widely publicized of them all is the state of fatherhood attained by Nelson Rockefeller. We do not have a clipping at hand and thus cannot give you the exact date and sex; neither can we give you the name. Another item for autumn.
The New York Times of today bore reference to Nelse's election as a trustee of the Museum of Modern Art, which brings to mind an interesting event at present taking place in Hanover. That fine modern artist, Jose Clemente Orozco, is doing a fresco on some forty square feet of Dartmouth wall space, located at the end of the corridor which connects Carpenter Hall with the Library. Orozco was appointed by the College to show the boys how frescos, the most permanent and in many respects the most interesting form of graphic art, are made. Incidentally he is leaving Dartmouth in possession of one of two, so far as we know, frescos on the walls of colleges in the United States. The other one is a fresco done by Orozco at Pomona College in Claremont, Calif.
Speaking of events in Hanover, spring, that tardy season, has just tome, the elms are beginning to bud, the pleasant May lethargy is taking hold, canes are being carved, and the vernal sun is producing the annual roof-tanned crop of sunburnt C & G's —the product of the exclusive Corner toasting process.
Other Hanover events include the arrival of Carl Haffenreffer with his frau (a Bermuda romance) and Dismal Desmond, the mascot. Si Chandler, that second of our powerful trio of class agents, has put in his appearance twice, once accompanied by Pete Lillard, that key-man of morale among the Brockton telephone girls. Then Brud Crosier came up to see his girl and promised to come often- the two of them were met on Main Street. Merle Kimball, that Claremont pedagogue, dropped in one day and gave us a chance to meet his wife, the former Elva Jeannette Battles of Fremont, N. H. Charlie Raymond came to town but didn't give us a break.
Larry Richmond, the music man, writes from Chicago concerning one of those chance encounters: "Chancing into the Palmer House Coffee Shop last evening, I expected no unusual incident. That is, nothing more unusual than a fair dinner at that emporium. Somewhat surprised was I then to see a familiar face saunter in—attached, of course, to the proverbial body, legs, and hands—sit down, order, and look quite satisfied.—I looked quite satisfied, myself, and I was wondering, too. Making the usual long story short, it turned out to be Alex Hughes, whom I remembered from our native haunts; and he seemed to have that warmth of the Dartmouth man gone West.— He tells me that the majority of his activities are on the outside—which can mean anything. By direct comparison, my activities are all on the inside—which also has a multifold meaning. To you, it's just 'an inside business man.' "
Fred IJhlemann is an insurance adjustment man and lives at 606 Stratford Place, Chicago. Jerry Howard submits an address in care of the Campbell-Ewald Company, in Detroit, whose business we have no inkling of. Ted Childs, whose marriage was reported last month with the Childs' new "at home'' address on West 10th St. in New York, is another insurance adjuster, whose office is at 100 East 42d St.
Then there is Paul Ford with Socony Vacuum Service in Rochester. And Stan Osgood who, after colorful connections with the cinema industry, is now back with the Osgood Studio in Berlin, N. H.
Rosenberry is an uncommunicative soul, but one way or another we manage to keep some sort of track of his movements. The latest flash on this lumberman is the Rock Island Lumber and Coal Company in Wichita, Kansas.
To get into simple unadorned addresses, we find Jerry Goodman at 3740 Sheridan Road, Chicago; Chuck Perry at 3044 Pleasant Ave., Minneapolis; and George Simpson silent on an unknown street in Darien (Conn.).
Cribbing from a tardily returned questionnaire, we find Tom Dunnington with N. W. Ayer and Son, in Philadelphia, advertising, and calling himself a merchandising expert, bearing up as best he can in a Princeton environment.
This seems to be about all. Now before the springtime valedictory, a word about the Alumni Fund. Carl and Si and Fitz are doing a swell job as class agents. And the class is coming through like the fine guys you really are at heart. A recent report of Fund standings showed the class with more actual contributions in number than any other class- which doesn't mean a great deal. What was gratifying was that, reckoned according to per cent of contributors, 1930 was ahead of all classes on the sunny side of 1916. In amount of money received, we were ahead of all classes around our time. This is a great beginning. Now please give the agents a hand, so that when the whistle blows June SO we will be up there around the top. If you are really broke, send anything—any sound U. S. coin from a quarter up—so that you will have a part in the Fund and boost the class standing.
One more thing—after you have made your Fund ante, keep a weather eye out toward the renewal of your subscription to the MAGAZINE next fall.
Secretary, . Administration Bldg., Hanover, N. H.
