Class of 1902
A Happy New Year to all men of 190 a and to all others who read our gossip. Of course I may need to remind some of you that academically speaking the new year begins in September, so the greeting is quite timely.
A busy summer now makes way for a still busier fall, and we must catch up with ourselves and find where we are. My running notes record some items of interest dating back to the time of the secretaries' meeting in Hanover. While there I had some interesting chats with some of our distinguished faculty classmates, Professors Murray and Watson. Also I got a fleeting glimpse of Professor Griggs, driving bareheaded on the road to somewhere. Later I had a visit with Mose Perkins, who is living in the Bartlett house for the present.
And I should not omit mention of my great pleasure to see the assembled secretaries, and particularly to hobnob with those of classes in college with us. Some of those men I hadn't seen since leaving Hanover. You know that is one of the disadvantages of our reunion scheme, you never meet another class of your own time. Still, if you want to know, the secretaries of the classes above and below us are mighty fine fellows.
On my return I stopped in Keene, and met Maurice Duncklee on the street. Maurice and his wife were attending a ministers' conference.
Another welcome letter arrived in May from Arba Irvin. It seems that Arba didn't get lost after all, but claims to be a poor correspondent. That's all right, Arba, by comparison, you are superlatively loquacious. (Concealed hint for everybody else.) Arba spoke proudly of his second grandchild, a small girl having arrived in his daughter's family on February 28. Further he had seen Tom Hubbard on one of Tom's visits to Tulsa.
Letters from Frank Drake and Guy Abbott both gave sincere praise to Irving Winslow, whose unexpected death was recorded in the last number of the MAGAZINE. And a letter from Harrison added words of appreciation for the life of Charles Wattie. By the way, don't you think Guy deserves just a little extra praise for his efforts to keep our group somewhere in the picture on the Alumni Fund? And then we have again to take off our hats to the loyalty of our non-graduates in that same respect.
Too bad more of you weren't listening in on May 37 for the ceremony of lighting up Chicago's Century of Progress by using as finger on the trigger the light from Arcturus. Any Dartmouth man would have been thrilled to hear the short address given by one of Dartmouth's most distinguished alumni, Professor Edwin Brant Frost (in private always Eddie to us), and after that the ceremony seemed to be wholly under the capable management of our own Phil Fox. If any of us had the idea that Phil was only an astronomer, that broadcast was sufficient to dispel it. We thoroughly enjoyed that talk, and didn't miss a word from the delightful little tribute to Eddie Frost clear to the very end. Apparently the radio audience was served much better than was the crowd actually present, since Guy Abbott did not get Phil's talk as clearly as I did. None the less Guy agrees with me that he got a big kick out of the exercises.
On June 5, there arrived the neat business announcement of the formation of Percy O. Dorr & Cos., Inc., to deal in highgrade investment securities throughout Western Massachusetts. The new company occupies the offices formerly those of the Chase-Harris-Forbes Corporation, which has discontinued its business. Of course 1 was tickled with the attention, because ordinarily college professors are not supposed to be complimented in such fashion. It is like being asked to change a hundreddollar bill. However, I think I get fully as much satisfaction in noting the development and progress of Percy's two daughters as they advance more and more to the center of the Dorr stage.
We were grieved to read in the June number of the sudden death of Milton Adams, the son of A. E. Adams, a former member of the class. Our deepest sympathy goes to the entire family.
The class expresses its sympathy to Mr. and Mrs. Leslie B. Farr on the passing on April 17 of Mrs. Farr's mother, Emily D. Wellman, a wonderful old lady who had made her home with Leslie and his wife for twenty-four years. This lady, known to many Dartmouth men, would have been ninety-two had she lived to May 15. Bob Elliott rusticates in a very happy wav, that is, he tells me about it:
"My wife and I are now settled in ourlittle summer home out in Westford, andI a,m getting once more my customarythrill out of tending fruit trees and planting a vegetable garden. Westford is a smalltown ten miles on the westerly side ofLowell. Apples are my specialty, and, hailing both soil and climate in my favor, Iam able to tur?i out some handsome ones,—if I do say so."
Go ahead, Bob, say all you like, but I don't know how our doctor classmates are going to take this hobby o£ yours. Further I am sorry that my job has been so pressing that I couldn't get to Westford, or any other place in New England, on my program this summer. But hold that invitation open, and give me a little more time.
Then I just missed a call from Julius Arthur Brown, and while I got him on the telephone later, we haven't yet been able to get together. Julius is trying to pick up a lot of old threads and get readjusted to the States again. In the meantime he is with his family in Hanover, though he expects to spend some time at Harvard during the year, adding to his astronomical lore.
Colonel Pillsbury has again been transferred, and is now at the Army Medical Center, Washington, D. C. I don't know who will get the prize for greatest mileage and most travel, but Cap certainly is one of the candidates.
My own doings are hardly a matter for me to present, it is not in good taste for one to use such valuable space for selfish ends, but here you will overlook the sin, as my excuse is at least plausible. Business connected with an experiment on which I am working compelled me to go to Alabama in August, and I discovered that Birmingham was on my path. So I wired to Dr. Graham to turn out the band. Well, he didn't do that, but he did about everything else. The busy doctor and his wife did all they could to show me that there is no myth about Southern hospitality. That is why I am now trying to find some excuse for going to Birmingham again. But perhaps some of you wouldn't include in your ideas on entertainment a catechism by the members of the laboratory staff, a quiz on molecular dimensions, and requests for abstruse calculations of difficult nature. Still the doctor is versatile enough to conjure up such a variety of other pastimes that he is sure to find something to appeal to everyone. George's boy enters the University of the South at Sewanee, Tenn., this fall.
I think that it is only fair to add as I close a note that among my other surprises in this job is the number of requests which come from outside the class for information about addresses, news of individuals, and the like. Apparently one is expected to be able to help out in this respect, and it is perfectly all right. On the whole it seems to give added weight to the old saying that "old friends are best."
Secretary, 130 Woodridge Place, Leonia, N. J.
