Class of 1918
You all must have received (though durn few of you uttered either a peep or a protest) the August issue of "The Eighteen Roar," so we'll say little about the Furious Fifteenth, other than to repeat that everyone who showed up at reunion had a whale of a good time. Oh, yes, it might be in order to list the class' new officers again, with their addresses, so here's the alleged new deal: president, Harvey P. Hood sd, 500 Rutherford Ave., Boston, Mass.; vice-president, F. W. Cassebeer, 953 Madison Ave., New York City; treasurer, E. H. Earley, 16 Court St., Brooklyn, N. Y.; class agent, Francis J. Clahane, 65 Broadway, New York City; secretary, Allan C. Gottschaldt, Palmer Bldg., Atlanta, Ga.
Your new Secretary approaches the writing of this monthly column with the w.k. fear and trembling. How to dig up news notes from all over the universe is something of a problem. But here goes the first installment. . . . Good old George Stoddard crashes through from the Coast with a peach of a letter, from which we learn:
"Chet Corilon (Pete to you, sir) with acharming home, wife, and two sons atPebble Beach, has just slayed the wolf atthe door and grasping opportunity like abowling ball has bought out his partnerand is note the number one boy of Conlonand Hudson, real estate and insurance,Monterey, Calif. Selling insurance and estates to the rich eastern folks who havecome out here to lead the simple life hasnot done the boy any harm. Having hisoffices next door to the police station wasprobably a canny move, too, although atfirst it gives you quite a shock to have oneof the minions come snorting up to Pete'sdoorstep of an evening to deliver a bottleof gin . . . Bill Wright, hero of MaryRoberts Rinehart's yarns of the handsomecowhand and ranch owner, has a cattleranch near Deeth, Nevada. Understandthat while Bill was fairly secure in hismountain domain for many years, at lastthe old mating cry floated down on himand the cattle went unwatered for a fewdays while the boss snuck down to Pasadena and corralled a grand spouse. Thiswas a couple of years ago, and now thebawling of the herd is only eclipsed by thebawling of young Bill and his brother (orsister?).
"George Mcßride you list in Berkeleywell, the able secretary of our DartmouthAssociation here tells me his last noticeshave been returned unopened. (Speak up,George, or we'll run George's surmises inthe next issue.) .... Bill Mudgett is embroiled in the real estate business in PaloAlto. Bill always has the snappy comebackto the inquiry, "Doing much business,Bill?"—without a flicker of an eyelash Billsays "Lots!" .... 7 could write a couple ofverses about Gene Markey, the best dressedman in Hollywood, but I don't want toclash with either his publicity man or histailor, so will drop him a line for firsthand info before perjuring myself."
.... George Stoddard has promised to shoot in more items to your new Secretary, concerning the boys out on the Coast. George's engraved letterhead gives his own address as 61 Beale St., San Francisco, but he fails to tell, modestly, anything about himself.
Our own No. 2 Forgotten Man, Stan Jones, drops a line about Dusty Rhodes, who has had some tough sailing. Surely hope that by the time this issue is out that Dusty also will be up and out—out of the sanitarium at Gaylord Farms, Hartford, Conn. Another one of the grand old boys that has had a rough time is Homer Bennett. Word comes from several of the boys that Homer while swimming in the surf this summer was tossed by a wave and sustained a broken vertebra in his neck. Homer is now in a plaster cast from the hips up. Your Secretary is writing Dusty at Hartford and Homer at 325 Cherry St., Douglaston, N. Y., pronto.
Harv Hood, milkman and president, pens the following: "At reunion time Sewall Strout was vice-president of the onlybank that had remained open in Portland, Me.—the Canal National. Sixty daysafter reunion it is still open EdNoyes is with the United Shoe, lives inNatick in the winter and Chatham in thesummer. Spends considerable time cruising the coast in his sloop; was recentlytemporarily lost out at sea."
Jake Bingham's wife, writing from West Medford, Mass. (one of the few breaks a secretary seems to get is that sometimes wives of Eighteeners do write him) declares that Amos Blandin went up to Bath, N. H., this summer and came down, childishly, with scarlet fever. Ruth (Mrs. Jake to you) also divulges the reason she didn't shadow Jake up to reunion. Their second youngster (Jane) arrived August 2. Congrats and good wishes!
Speaking of wives' writing your hardworking Secretary, if Mrs. Jack Slabaugh had complained directly to me about her name's not being listed as in attendance at reunion—instead of Akron's able attorney Jack writing—why, in addition to apologies, flowers and candy might have been forthcoming. . . . New system just evolved. You ducks won't send notes; I'll get 'em from your wives and use my exalted position to save me from prosecution.
Another peep from Ohio—from Sol Bloom. Says to tell O'Connell in Worcester that the swap—made at reunion—of one pair of shoes for a bottle of gin suited Sol fine. You can imagine who got the booze, I mean shoes
Ed Ferguson, Boston realtor, says that the coal codes have caused Brute Emerson to lose weight. Brute can't stand that any more than his customers can. Ed Ferguson commuted all summer between Boston and Connecticut and Maine. Imagine being able to afford a whole summer's vacation for one's wife; at least Ed says his frau spent one month in one place and another in another. (Mrs. Ferguson, please communicate.)
From Jake the Bingham we learn that World Traveler Tom Shirley, manager of the wire communications department of the First National Bank of Boston, traveled 15,000 miles on air wheels from January to June. He was accompanied by Mrs. Priscilla Shirley and their 8-year old daughter, Susan.
Ernie Earley, timid treasurer, submits:
"Morey convinced Harry Sinclair that hewas on the threshold of a change in life;so the nervous wreck (?) got a month's vacation and was the Beau Brummel of theHampton beaches until week-ends, whenthe husbands arrived. Bob Fish rented ahouse in Hanover for the summer andparked his beautiful blond wife anddaughters there, and I believe he spentmost of August up there himself. I imagine he is starting to crawl up the backstairs to a faculty job, after he finishes upthe NRA codes for the lighting fixture industry Eddie Mader, the gentlemanfarmer of Brewster (New York state, is it?Durn you ducks who take it for grantedthat we hicks know where every town inthe universe is!) announces the arrival ofhis first heiress to the Mader properties..... Eddie Garvey rekindled a war-timeromance over a 2,000-mile gap with a fluent Waterman, and raced up the gangplank for Paris, then the Mediterranean,where he intended to live in peace, aftermarrying about last July 75 JohnnieO'Gara, fearing German inflation, boughthis clothes ten years ahead and sent hiswife to Europe, all on Macy's (New York)profits."
Last minute flash: word from Hanover giving some new addresses. Cap (John L.) Hanley is heard from at last. Can't tell you much other than that his business address is 149 W. Front St., Red Bank, N. J., and he lives at the Molly Pitcher Hotel in the same burg. Write your old roomie a note—or if married, one from your better half would be even more appreciated.
Again—a plea for some co-operation in getting up an interesting and timely column. Don't be like Hal Doty, the grumbling Clevelander. Hal promised faithfully to kick through with some news, and didn't. Half a dozen personal letters to our Chicago delegation didn't bring a sign of a reply! So it goes. But I'm stuck with this job and something has to appear each month. So if you don't crash through—all of you—with news notes, I'll start a column on what you boys did at Claremont and the June and Leb, and won't that be juicy reading for your sweet wives and kiddies!
Secretary,Allan C. Gottschaldt 419 Palmer Bldg., Atlanta, Ga.
