Class of 1928
It seems that there has been something in the nature of a mistake. Old man Bill Heep was made the recipient of some propaganda on the last issue of this sheet. Funny too, because the Secretary has been under the strong suspicion that errors and omissions have gone undetected owing to the absence of serious study of the column by the reading public. We have now revised this opinion and will henceforth check each and every detail. Anyway some fiend, and will not name him as he has promised to reform, reported with a straight face that Bill had been married not so very long ago. And while we thought it was funny that we hadn't received the official announcement, news is news and in she went. And so it happened that although Bill missed that part of the class notes, some of his pals who are purveyors of life insurance did not—and forthwith the telephone began to ring tendering congratulations and the reminder that what with the new responsibility, etc., he would no doubt wish to sign an application for ten or fifteen thousand. And then my phone rang. So you get the idea, don't you, that Bill is not married. Anyway, I seem to have been the only one to profit by this deal, for I get three stories in this MAGAZINE on the same identical subject, which is a good average.
Saw Gordon Graham sing the other night —saw is the word too—for we horned in on R. H. Macy's broadcast at WOR. He is onethird of a trio announced as "Bunny, Dave, and Gordon, the three tame wild men." They sing, as you undoubtedly know, and get off some of the darnedest funny cracks, which, incidentally, they write themselves. It was great fun to see them, after hearing them as "The Funnyboners" on Saturday nights over the Columbia network. This time dispersed among the songs was a take-off on the many Sherlock Holmes "Elementary, my dear Watson" coming in for its share of the triologue. Someone is shot, of course, and the "shot" is constructed by hitting a leather pad sharply with a ruler. And when the hero-on-horseback part of the story arrives, the chief sound-maker stands in front of the microphone and pats his chest with both hands—pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, etc.—most realistic and most peculiar until you begin to figure out what the gentleman is really doing. But Gordon and his partners are ruthless in the way they jump from one side-splitting episode to another. You want to laugh like the deuce, but don't dare miss the next one, besides you're supposed to keep quiet. It's a painful predicament, sitting there trying to hold back a huge guffaw yet trying to keep yourself quiet so that you'll get the one that's on the way. They had Ohman or Arden (whichever leads the orchestra) laughing so that the tears rolled out of his eyes—and that's a good test, wouldn't you say?
The New York contingent beat the return of beer by over a week in promot- ing a beer party in conjunction with one of the periodic dinners at the Dart- mouth Club. It was Craw's idea, but through some unforseen misfortune, he couldn't attend. Everyone was pretty sorry, naturally, but it left just that much more beer, so it worked out fairly well. Our well known, by now, telephone operator, Mr. Skinner, routed out forty-three of the brothers, which was an excellent single-handed job. He even induced Bill Dietz to come out of hiding—a stunt in itself, as Bill said this was the first Dartmouth function he'd been able to attend since graduation. Bill was married shortly after graduation and has been with the New York Telephone Co. since September, 1928—is at present in the accounting department at the Bronx office.
The attendance of the lawyers was excellent-I haven't yet figured out what compelling motive induced such a high percentage o£ that group to gather round the beer keg. Bill Marx has his headquarters with Cox & Walburg at Newark, N. J. Barney Nova hangs out at 50 Broadway. Mai Halliday is with Smyth & Meleney in New York City. Bill Hobson gets his pay checks from Davis, Polk, Wardwell, Gardiner (one more), & Reed at 15 Broad St. And McGowen & McGowen have a fellow by the name of Hank Walker working for them.
Somebody wasn't checking up very carefully, and it gradually became apparent that Ed Reece (Fownes Gloves) and Vic Borella (Terminal Cab) were within arm's reach of the spigot. Ed denies that he gave an excellent speech of introduction for Vic, who is also not certain that he made a stirring address. And yet the reports are that both appeals were most moving—but about that time everybody left anyhow, so perhaps it doesn't matter.
Gerry Johnston says he gets a bigger kick out of the G.MiA.C. Credit Dept. every day. It seems entirely possible from the stories Gerry tells. It's like this—if you see a car driving along the street and if the driver has been a bit hesitant in sending you his payments for the past nine months or so, you ease up behind him with your car and when the poor fellow is looking the other way, you up and bump him smartly in the rear. If this is done effectively, maybe a fender slightly crumpled or so, the driver usually becomes quite wrathful, stops his car promptly and alights to argue. Then you divert his attention by bawling him out properly for not putting his hand out, meanwhile your partner has gotten out and into the other car (Gerry says they invariably leave their engines running and keys in the lock), then you both drive off and leave the fellow standing in the middle of the thoroughfare slightly bewildered.
Art Lane is doing editorial work with Bruce Lewis' father's Lewis Historical Publishing Cos. They publish genealogies, historical books, and "Who's Whos" for many states—and business is fairly good. Bruce, Art says, is taking care of the collections.
Lane Dwinell is still with General Motors, doing financial forecasting.
Walt Simpson looks better, than ever and is still with the Electrical Research Products, Inc. Walt says George Bell still enjoys dodging bandits in China with Standard Oil.
Art Holden is living in East Orange and sells for the Plymouth Cordage Cos.
Old Doc Hoefle, M.D., says he is no mean hand at severing the connections of tonsils and that appendices are a lot of fun too. Milt is interning at Norwegian Hospital in Brooklyn.
Secretary, Wm. Iselin & Co. 357 Fourth Ave., New York
