Class of 1886
We are aware of no rule forbidding a class secretary from pulling the doorbell of a classmate whenever and as often as he feels like it. A shake of the hand with a glance of the eye and a good laugh is worth a dozen letters anytime. It was with a feeling like this that the present Secretary ventured to try it out during his wanderings over New England the past summer.
His first hazard was with Chaffin at Scituate Harbor, where he has been postmaster for many years and is likely to remain, notwithstanding his political hue, for many administrations to come. With his rehearsal of fistic exploits, it did not take us long to bridge the gap that separated us from college days, and to forget the strain and stress, the losses and the failures, that have made life a nightmare for so many of us during the last decade. We found him well, full of courage, and ready as ever for the next round in this battle of life. For old classmates twenty is not far from seventy.
The next landfall was Hanover. Gil Frost has changed as little as any man of the class. A Boston paper has been showing him as the patriarch of the town, but we could not see that he was any other "Gil" than the one we used to go in swimming with fifty years ago. Our attempt to inveigle him into a ride around New Hampshire in a "tin Lizzie" ended in a hike about the town which he knows better than any man on earth. Genealogist, storehouse of local tradition, background against which sixty classes have come and gone, he still teaches medicine in the College on the Hill. He is by no means a withered leaf on the tree. In the words of another, his eye is not dim, neither is his natural force abated.
In the "wee house" on the Hill, we find the Fairbankses. They have just returned from a long sojourn in the South of France, which has been a season of trying illness with slow and discouraging recovery. But Arthur is gaining rapidly and expects to pass the winter in Cambridge, where the ties are strong and the friends are many. Few men of his range of knowledge and breadth of culture combine a more lively interest in the processes of nature and the homely cares and sorrows of a troubled world than Arthur Fairbanks. The man is by no means lost in the scholar. If anyone thinks so, himself is the victim of the limitation that looks upon scholarship as necessarily the negation of human- ity.
George Fowler, whom we always called "Jim" for what reason no one ever knew sat for us as quietly in his bank at Pembroke as he did in Professor Lord's classroom half a century ago. A little stouter grown, we could easily see why his fellow citizens, when there was anything to be done worth doing, were glad to let George do it. If he has been greatly disturbed by the depression he did not show it. Evidently his working days are anything but over.
By a slight detour we found it easy to see three of our class in a single journey; Bittinger at Northfield, Rose at Greenfield, and Wiswall at Newfane, Vt. "Bitt" had just returned from Florida to pass the heat of the summer in the familiar shade of his old home and to renew connection with friends and neighbors of a lifetime. To our surprise we found "Sammie" Rose recovered from his infirmity of previous years and making the most of his renewed strength in the care of a garden. Few of the class have suffered less from the ravage of the years than he. He was especially happy in the memory of a visit from the Kellys in their annual migration from Jersey to Vermont. It was a red letter day for "Wissy" with both Jenks and Williams at his door within an hour. He has lost something of his avoirdupois, but nothing of the chuckle and the cheer that made him a favorite in days of old.
We could not resist the invitation to the French-Rockefeller wedding at Woodstock, Vt. A happy affair in every sense of the word, with reporters galore and friends filling the ancient church and grounds of the famous Billings estate to overflowing. Both families were represented to the limit. It is a long time since Vermont has seen a gayer company, or one of greater distinction than the one which gathered about the Frenches on that memorable day. Even John let himself go in the joy of the occasion. On our way to Woodstock we saw Ellis at Claremont. For him life tells the same old story few frills or modifications.
At York Beach we found our old roommate, Marden, and a few miles away at Ogunquit, Newton, our class president. With the burden of the years, and the sorrows as well as the joys they inevitably supply, "Mard" faces life patiently yet bravely, making the most of whatever it brings. "Billy" Newton has renewed his youth. With a winter in Florida and plans for a residence there in the future, his face lights up with a joy that still sees visions and dreams dreams. Not only is he an ideal classman, but the College has few sons more thoroughly steeped in the traditions or more eager for the welfare and fame of Dartmouth than he. What he does not know about his Alma Mater is soon told, and as soon forgotten. And few are they of the class who have pased into the great Beyond without a touch of his sympathetic hand. He is not only classmate but big brother.
We saw Richmond at Hingham, Quimby in Boston, and Burley at Epping, N. H. All were well, and enjoying as much prosperity as times like these allow. "Pete" has had a fine summer, wandering over New England hills, and in spite of sorrows grievous to be borne is as enthusiastic for Dartmouth as ever. Quibe's parting word was "Tell the fellows to write me. I shall be glad not only to hear from them but to return the compliment. With big business on his hands for the government and several farms to manage, Burley's days are full and his nights not always free.
In an ancient mansion on the shore of the Merrimac at Lowell, the Woods grow old gracefully with interests in art and literature that preserve them from the proverbial rust of the riper years. At Hudson near Nashua, Henry Smith plays the part of autocrat of the town. With many irons in the fire, and wide contacts in church and state as well as in medicine and in the history of his neighborhood, there is little danger that Henry will die of ennui. What a boon it is that a man as the birthdays accumulate and he no longer cares to follow the strain of professional activity or the business of making financial ends meet, has something to save him from the doom of idleness by the sleepy fire.
Nor did we wholly overlook the families of our classmates whom here we see no more. Mrs. Whitehill with her heavy infirmity not only ponders the past but with serene faith fronts the life that now is, with a sister almost as much of an invalid as herself, thankful, rather than complaining, for the mercies life still yields. Dr. Ransom has no idea of standing aside for a younger generation to take her place. Still with her as with his classmates, the memory of George Ransom remains. We missed Mrs. Snow, but had an hour with Conrad, the son who is taking his father's place not only in the law but in the heart of Rochester. By a private secretary we were made aware as never before of the large place Leslie held not only as a servant of the people but as a friend intimate and dear to all who knew him. For a secretary to say that during ten years of intimate association she had never heard a hasty or unkind word pass his lips is a tribute few of us can boast.
At Woodstock we saw Mrs. Kelly. "Biff" had reached his summer home much improved over his winter condition, but during the last three weeks had been in bed with a return of the disturbing symptoms. She was hopeful, however of ultimate recovery.
Secretary, 80 Richmond Ave., Buffalo, N. Y.
