Class of 1902

This time we express our best wishes for a Merry Christmas, not only to the men of 1902, but to all our readers. The fact that it is necessary to pen the phrase while it is yet October makes the greeting seem a little early, but this is apparent only to the writer, who however doesn't count. A few summers' experience in newspaper work during my college days has helped in the matter of writing into the future, though I remember asking the "boss" once, "But what if it doesn't come off?" And the "boss," experienced man that he was, always could turn the thing so that all was well. So we keep our faces always turned with hope toward the future.

And now I must play Santa Claus and take out of my well-filled (?) bag the gifts for the children. What is this large bundle that strikes my hand as I reach in? Breathlessly you watch me open up a long letter from Tom Hubbard, from what is to me way out in Edmond, Okla. We thank you, Tom, and may this "struggle to keep ahead of the devil" always find you increasing the lead.

"Jim, my oldest, announced that he wasgoing to try for West Point via the regulararmy route, and is now a recruit in the 23rdInfantry, where there is one thing he doesnot like, guarding prisoners with a sawedoff shot-gun. Tom, the 'next boy, recentlytried to stop the kick of a colt by usinghis ribs, no serious damage, but no appetitefor supper and not much ambition till hehad his ribs strapped up. Then he inveigled me into a game of billards. Fromthen on his progress was rapid. [Our M.D.'swill please give Tom credit for discoveryof a new method of rib surgery.]

"Speaking of ribs, I found to my surprise that some time in my life I hadbroken two or three. I wandered back overmy career, wondering when I had beenhurt that much. The best guess was whenI fell in the 220-yard dash at Worcester insenior year. I remember I was very sorefor weeks, and I figure that was the time.It is a devil of a note to find out that I hadbusted some ribs 30 years after the event.

"Arba Irvin is so elated over being agrandpa that he is not easily reached. Theonly advantage I can claim over such ancient fossils is that I have more and youngeroffspring, my youngest being three yearsold."

You know had to put in that item about the colt, because some of you fellows have forgotten that such a thing as a horse exists, and your children don't know what a colt looks like. But again for the bag. This time we get an attractive package, bearing a brand-new business label: "The New England Fireman—devoted to the service of those interested inreducing the fire waste in New England." Our veteran newspaper man has undertaken a big job. William Carroll Hill writes:

"After fifteen years as managing editorof an insurance journal, The Standard, ofBoston, I branched out for myself in Apriland founded the above publication, issuedtwice a month. I did so at the earnest solicitation of the fire chiefs of New England,and we serve the fire chiefs, firemen, andforest fire wardens, as well as fire engineering organizations and an 'insurancedigest.' The publication is unique in thatthere has never been any paper of just thesame kind in the country. We are confiningour efforts to New England, where thereare more organized fire departments thanin any similar area in the country.

"I am the managing editor, and havebeen given the cordial support of the leading chiefs of New England. So far I havenothing to complain of."Otherwise I am living the same life,enjoying watching my boy and girl develop, spending the summers and weekends at my summer place on the shore inPlymouth, Mass., and growing older asslowly as I can."

Now you fellows who have been starting fires in New England will have to stop, or Wm. Carroll will get you. I'm not much at statistics, but I have a recollection that our losses from preventable fires would make a world of difference if the fires never happened and the avoided money losses paid to our educational institutions.

Again to our bag for another offering. This time Santa Claus finds a program, that of the thirty-second annual convention of the National Association of Supervisors of State Banks, held in Chicago during the second week of September. One of the features of the program was the address of the president, Robert C. Clark, commissioner of banking and insurance for the state of Vermont. Bob's speech was quite widely quoted, probably because he spoke straight to the point (he generally does) with reference to the matter of the deposit guaranty. He certainly had a good word for the bank "officered by men well known in the community as honest, prudent, and endowed with good judgment." I wish my space would permit me to include more of that address, but you know it was good, and we all feel proud that 1903 has provided Vermont with such an able official.

I got a real kick out of reading two letters, one of which however was not written to me but to Roy Hatch. George Graham sent him one of those doctor's epistles which are written in haste but read at leisure, a document which puts cross-word puzzles well into the shade. But both George and Denny Lyons are reliving their freshman year at college through letter! from their sons at college. As I told you earlier, George's boy is at the University of the South, while Billy Lyons is at Dartmouth, and these two youngsters are evidently calling up many old pictures and experiences as they tell of their own new surroundings. I can imagine that many of us would not mind sharing those letters. For instance, how many of you still have a piece of that football we managed to corral at the time of the our freshman football rush, or a slice of the "cane" that somehow always conjures up for me a picture of Ben Riley, or perhaps a piece of the rope by which we dragged some victorious team up from the station at Norwich?

However Dennis doesn't devote all his letter to telling about his freshman son.

"Kathleen graduated from Wellesley lastJune, and Mrs. Lyons and I went East forher commencement. We enjoyed it verymuch. She is now taking courses at the University of Minnesota and doing some reading at the Visitation Convent School,where she prepared for college."I believe that our class subscription tothe ALUMNI MAGAZINE is a good investment. It keeps all of us in touch with theCollege."

Now into the bag again. This time we pull out some thing with a very modern tinge, NRA business and codes, but fortunately for my weak mind Harry MacKinnon was kind enough not to enclose the code. Writing under the letter head of the Bosca-Reed-MacKinnon Cos., Harry says he has just returned from a drive to Hanover with Mrs. Mac and the son, Harry L., who is a senior this year.

"I had an enjoyable summer, spendingpart of the time in our Michigan cottageand some of the time chasing around thecountry in the interests of our industryand its code. This necessitated trips toWashington, New York, and Chicago. Ofcourse I took in the Fair and enjoyed it."

And enclosed with the letter was a clipped letter-head, "Fancy and Small LeatherGoods Manufacturers Division of the National Luggage and Leather Goods ManufacturersAssociation, H. W. MacKinnon,President."

I don't know just what all those long words mean, but I don't take it that the man who helped bring basketball to Dartmouth is doing anything that we can't be a bit bragful about. And as long as we don't have to read the code we can be sure that it is well gotten up and satisfactorily sponsored.

Now I have been taking presents out of the bag for you and I know you have been well pleased with them, so now you'll be in the mood to be generous to me. Christmas comes this year on the 25th of December, and if you forget that, then remember that my birthday is on the 29th of December. I think that I am entitled to some gifts; on the whole I prefer that they come for my birthday. I never had much luck on that day, it was too near Christmas, not to mention the fact that a fellow couldn't expect much for Christmas with a birthday coming so soon after. Anyhow this year I have a hankering for some reminders that occasionally I am in your thoughts. I don't want pictures of the Crestwood Cemetery with the kind message, "Wish you were here," but if that's the best you can do I'll be happy even for that.

Well, one should not close a Christmas party in that fashion, it isn't right. And there never was a better way of bringing an end to such an event than the immortal benediction of Tiny Tim,

"God bless us, every one."

Secretary, 130 Woodridge Place Leonia, N. J.