Dartmouth Club of New York
Since the last issue of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, 50 new members have been added to the Dartmouth Club. The fall season is well under way, and the last month has seen an unusual amount of activity around the Club.
For instance, there was Chub Sterling's talk that kicked off the fall season. Advertisers pay a lot of money to hear his golden words—for they are likely to fall for what he says and buy space in McCall's. A full house heard him, statistics and all.
Along came Doc O'Connor, and again the house was packed. Doc, as you would expect, threw a number of new lights on his profession—and many who perhaps had come with the conviction that the law has become the nesting place for sharpers and tricksters went away with the equally sound feeling that there was certainly as much to be said on the other side. Of course most of the people—many of them at least—who heard Chub were not those who listened to Doc, which is as it should be, for that demonstrates the versatility of the subjects and the hold of the speakers.
Last week another magazine man, not a Dartmouth man but a Yale graduate, was the speaker. And this time it was a man from the editorial end who did his stuff. Mr. Ralph Ingersoll, managing editor of Fortune, and a smooth and fluent gentleman too, was on his feet at the end of the session. As you might expect, the sidelights of editing such an unusual sheet as Fortune proved decidedly interesting to another capacity crowd.
It is difficult to announce very far in advance just who will be the men who do the talking, but you can be certain that only the capacity of the dining room will be the thing that limits attendance. Certainly in the entire life of the club no innovation has ever been so welcomely received by the members.
In line with the idea that this is a successful club and so one unique in current New York club annals—the crowd that assembled for the smoker on October 20, the night before the Pennsylvania game, nearly pushed out the walls. Maybe you could have squeezed a few more men into the living room and lounge, but only an experienced and well-trained subway guard could have done it.
When King Woodbridge started things off, Bunker Bishop and Ned Bullard were hanging onto half a seat apiece—just a pair of young fellers trying, for professional purposes, to lose their infantile resemblance to a brace of fledgling internes.
Straddling half a century in their knowledge of Dartmouth affairs were such youngsters as Dr. Harris, who walked up from Norwich just 51 years ago this fall, and Albert Hadlock, who did it a year laterand almost matching their enthusiasm was a baker's dozen of solemn young men who graduated this year. Only 50 years from then to now—and the same idea brought them together.
Eddie Dooley—whose prophecy of the next day's result was accurate to the decimal point—regaled the multitude with his inside dope. Jack Ingersoll '11, who as a skinny freshman made a team that boasted such gargantuan boys as Joe Brusse, Husky Rich, Ben Lang, Clarke Tobin, and Reggie Bankart, and who now is one of the Yankee network's star performers, did his stuff acceptably. Carl Newton proved that a decade of arguing the law with his tongue had taken but little toll of his ability to fool you even more completely with his fingers.
When the University Singers, a star radio quartet that included Roger Bird, broke loose, you could hear Bill McGrail splashing sad and bitter tears into his beer —music always does things to Bill. And the music this crew produces is so good that lots of others got a great kick out of their generous offerings.
Harry Hillman talked about the team as it looks from the coaches' bench. Red Holbrook showed his versatility by doubling on the piano. Sandwiches and coffee for the crowd finished off a grand evening.
Secretary.
