Class of 1928
Well, the big news this time is Prexy Phelan, or maybe we'd better call him Poppa Phelan, because that's what has happened. Pearl and Jack sent me a card the other day introducing small Martha as a candidate for the 1928 Junior Ladies' Auxiliary. The young lady appeared on deck last Sunday, October 1, with a tonnage of six lbs. 2 oz. and a pair of bright blue eyes.
This seems almost like a coincidencefor the next item emerging from the hat is Bucky Stoler, ice-president of CraigMusgrove, Inc., of 1350 Broadway, who are selling agents for children's and infants' underwear. There you are, Jack, it's always well to know someone in the business—the only trouble is that Bucky will probably begin talking in carload lots and we'll have to give Jack a little more time.
Bill Monaco appears to have tossed over the lawyer business, at least for the time being, as his new business address mentions the Equitable Life Assurance Co., 285 Madison Ave, New York City.
Bill Hunt has left the Psychiatric Institute in New York, where he was doing psychological research, and is going to be an instructor of psychology at Connecticut College.
Johnnie Frankland and Steve Davis have plenty in common when it comes to selecting difficult places to live—John teaches at Canandaigua Academy, Canandaigua, N. Y., and Steve ranches at Sanguiguela Ranch, Sapello, N. M. Spell those without peeking.
Ted Granville-Smith is working like one of those Bronx Park beavers with a' partner, whose name I can't remember for the moment, establishing a business selling novelty fabrics, gauzes, etc., to the theatrical trade in New York City.
Bill Cogswell is a customers' man for Francis I. DuPont, a New York stock exchange house.
If you heard a funny noise just then, don't be alarmed—l just found a swell letter from Roy Myers that I thought these damn movers had lost for meHeart failure, that's what it almost was.
Box 46, Lexington, Va
Sept. 13, 1933.
"Having a change in position and address and having had a rather thrillingsummer, I thought I would write and tellyou about it. As you may or may not remember, I have been at the Johns HopkinsUniversity for the past five years sincegraduation. And, speaking of five years, Iwant to say that I was very sorry not tohave been able to get the reunion on myprogram in June. Towards the end ofMay after a strenuous winter, I receivedmy doctor's degree in Romance languages,'with all the honors and privileges pertaining thereto.' (Been trying to find outjust what they were ever since!) I then setout in somewhat of a hurry and with asigh of relief for Chicago, stopping for awhile in Michigan, on the way. After afew weeks visiting friends and the Fair, Ifollowed Horace Greeley's advice. Mymethod was the gentle art of 'bumming.'Having the means to assure myself of agood night's rest and a reasonably fullstomach, I determined to see how far Icould go without too much inconvenience,and incidentally, without spending anything for travel expenses. I made somewhere over 8,000 miles, from Chicago toChicago; the cost was 50 cents. I got offthe main road in Minnesota, due to thekindness but lack of foresight of a charming native couple, and so from Iuanhoe,Minn., to Lake Benton, I took a bus. Mylongest ride was from Wells, Nevada, toChicago. That, I believe, is a record. Furthermore, it was with two girls from California who were headed for the Fair, andrue had to ride three in the front seat, forit was only a Ford Coupe. In a word theitinerary was this: from Chicago to Madison, via Milwaukee; to Minneapolis andthen zigzagging down through the stateof Minnesota to Huron, S. D.; north againto Aberdeen, S. D., and through N. D. toMontana; Miles City and Billings. Downthrough Yellowstone, out into Idaho, toNevada, to Salt Lake City, then southeastthrough Colorado to Manitou and Pike'sPeak. Back to Chicago via Lincoln, Omaha,Des Moines, etc. There is one importantthing that I left out: from Mcintosh, S. D.,to Billings, Mont., I rode the freight trains,in two laps, on two different lines and sawsomething that the NRA is probably tryingto cure. I will not go into it now, because Iwant to write it all up more clearly andperhaps if I am lucky get it publishedsomewhere. But the number of fellows onthose trains and the conditions underwhich they ride and live are at the sametime appalling and amusing. I spent severaldays in Miles City, over the Fourth, andsaw what some consider to be one Of thebest rodeos in the country. It was good,I'll have to admit it. But I think that thedays of good old rodeos as we read aboutthem and hear about them are over. Mynext stop of any length was in Cooke,Mont. It is a little town buried in the wildsof Southern Montana, about a mile fromWyoming and four miles from the northeast "Exit" from Yellowstone. I say"Exit," because "Entrance" would be justas inexact a word. It is necessary to passthrough Yellowstone Park to get to theplace, and once there, the only thing todo to get out is to turn around and comeback. The road ends. They are buildinga new road now which will be completednext year, from Red Lodge to Cooke, andthey say it will be one of the most beautiful rides in the country. Cooke is an oldmining town, once boasting of 3,500 population, many 'bad' men (and women!) andnow harboring a bare fifty people, who,most of them, since it costs $3 to take acar into Yellowstone (if they have one atall) stay there all the time, because thereis no other way out! The new road and the NRA give them hope. Already thereis big talk about opening up the goldmines, prospecting all over the surrounding country. I spent a week roamingaround the south end of Absaroka (pron.Absorkie) and Beartooth National Forests,where fishing is good, in fact excellent,and the mountain climbing would delightthe heart, if not always the legs, of anymember of the Outing Club. The mostamusing thing was a 'shindig' given oneSaturday night, to which everyone within,it seemed, miles and miles was present.The floor was possible, which can hardlybe said for the music, which consisted ofthe tinniest piano, somewhat reminiscentof the one in Robinson, on the third floor.... (with apologies); a sleepy farmer (hemight not have been a farmer, but helooked like one), who strummed in or outof tune as his fancy deemed wise, now on aviolin, now on a mandolin, then on acurious instrument resembling a concoction of a guitar, a banjo, and a lute; andanother who pretended to keep time onwhat I suppose would normally be termeda drum, although it had long ceased to bedistended and could only utter rather startling burps which reminded me of LionelBarrymore. The ladies, and no quotationmarks needed either, were dressed in everything from riding boots to the most decollete evening dresses. One even had ongaloshes, which she laboriously strove totake off before dancing, while her escortcalmly watched her. One cute little lady ofabout forty-five and four-foot-five wore avery intriguing Indian suit, with plentyof wooden beads, which reminded me ofan episode in a banned book in Hanover,so we won't go into that. All in all theparty was gay, there was some drinking,but not much. The only drunk was aSwede, who had a habit of singing somewhat in the same manner as a Norwegianbos'n I once knew: 'lreland mus' be heaven,cuz my mudder came from dere.' It waswell worth the fifty cents which they hadthe injustice to charge and then thankedyou by pinning a little delicate pink ribbon on you to show that you paid.
"If you ever want a good vacation in thewilds where at night moose, elk, antelope,and all other manifestations of wild liferoam about, to say nothing of the bears,stop in or around Cooke. Lake Abundanceis well named; there are handy littlecabins, clean and well built, which arebeing put up at Silver Gate, which is justone-half a mile from the Yellowstone Gate.Scenery unsurpassed, warm days, andyou'll need six blankets at night.
"The only other things of interest, thatis of telling interest, was a climb of Pike'sPeak for the sunrise, and of Mount Evansin a snowstorm, and of Aurora Borealison Lake Huron. I will not go into themethods as I have 'studied' them (a Ph.D.must always study conditions, you know)concerning the art or science of bumming.Let me tell you two more things, one ofexceptional beauty and the other somewhat embarrassing. The first was a moonrainbow, seen from a freight train abouttwo in the morning, as we rolled along theedge of the Yellowstone River; the mostdelicate colors I have ever seen. The otherwas when, dressed rather well (as you knowmaybe, it's the only way to be successfulon the highway), with a small valisecovered with European stickers, I got intoa box car with about twenty 'bums' (realones, I mean, 'cause I was only a hoax compared to those poor fellows). It was anamusing sensation, out of which I did mybest to lie.
"Hardly was I back, towards the end ofAugust, when I received an appointmentat Washington and Lee University, teaching French and Spanish. It is a beautifulcampus and reminds me a great deal ofDartmouth. So I'm anchored for a while,and should any '28ers be in the neighborhood, I'd like to hear about it.
"Rowland M. (Roy) Myers"
Darn good letter, what? Roy gets our personal vote for the man who's done most for Dartmouth. Don't you guys ever get an itch to grab a pen and send off a shipment of news? By gosh—we'll even supply pencils, paper, a coupla 3 cent stamps and the first paragraph—merely send in your name on an unopened Barbasol package—the side with "Indianapolis" on it.
Secretary, Wm. Iselin & Co., 357 Fourth Ave., New York
