Class of 1922
From the first time since Dick Wood began to compete, he has failed to win the gold mashie for the best Christmas card submitted toyoureditor. He competed again (and very creditably), but the prize this year went to Sumner Dudley Kilmarx, 96 Fox Meadow Road, Scarsdale, N. Y. Mr. Kilmarx' creation shows the entrance door of his home, with the Blue Eagle outlined against the wall, and a very timid-looking wolf in retreat. Beneath this pen and ink drawing was some of that incomparable verse which received its greatest recognition in that law case several years ago when Killie wrote his epic on the jury system. The verse is as follows:
"We hear that things are looking up.There will be wine within the cup.That industry has turned the cornerAnd business no more needs a mourner.That stocks and bonds will rise and soarAnd hook us as they did before.That farmers soon will raise their wheatFor something more than just to eat.That labor's ills have gone to stayAnd we should love the N R A.That simple folk can smile once moreThe Big Bad Wolf has left the door.
"We hear all this and we don't doubt it-In fact, we're all pepped up about it.We feel so good we want to cheer-And wish you all a GREAT NEWYEAR."
We called on Jim Moody in Los Angeles recently and found him well content with the way his investment counsel business is going. He and two or three others are in the business solely of advising investors and managing their holdings. This clearly takes-Jim out of the class of people referred to by Ogden Nash in his "Quartet for Prosperous-Love Children," and we therefore do not hestitate to report in a family paper the sort of activity that Jim is engaged in.
We thought you would like to know how they run the New Yorker, so we tightened our tippet recently and called at their offices. Headquarters for this whimsical advertising medium are at 25 West 45th St., New York City, a building not half so gay and hotsy-totsy as one would hope. Upon leaving the elevator we saw before us an open slide in the wall which appeared to be the result of cross breeding between the peephole of a speakeasy and the aperture through which one Greek shouts at another when the order is ham and eggs. We asked for Mr. Clifford Burrowes Orr because we had been told that Mr. Orr worked somewhere behind this hole in the wall. We told a disinterested young woman who was sitting at a telephone board that we would like to see Mr. Orr, but we were prepared to be told that Mr. Orr would not see us or anybody else. However, the young lady did some telephoning and then announced that we could be admitted. Apparently she pressed a button because a lock of a door at the side began to buzz and we passed into a waiting room a little larger but not any more cheery than our dentist's. Mr. Orr swam into our ken. We discovered that like all other humorists we had ever known be was a very melancholy, sad-looking young man, and about his eyes lay minute shadows of bad lines that he had kept out of the New Yorker. Mr. Orr was very kind to us and took us into the more secret places of the office, such as his own fastness, where there is a dusty typewriter on which he is supposed to confect some of those oh-sodroll bits that are as real to Gothamites as if they had happened. He also showed us four or five bales of assorted boners from country newspapers sent in by contributors who think there is more money in that sort of thing than there actually is. He said he had to look at as many as a thousand of them in a week; and he said it as if he wished we had to look at them, and not he. Albeit Mr. Orr was very kind, there was an atmosphere of tenseness about the office, a whispering in the walls that said that we had better not take up too much of an editor's time or something would happen. Mr. Orr left the office with us. In his professional capacity of reporter he had to go to a class at the newly founded College For Bartenders. We thought you would like to know how they run the New Yorker.
The Jimmy Hamiltons have announced the birth, on December 29, 1933. a daughter, Cynthia.
We have been supplied with a few new addresses:
Llewellyn D. Smith, 42 Ascadilla Road, Worcester, Mass.
Earle Dow (Bass Horn) Smith, 11 Angell Terrace, S. Portland, Me.
Howard P. Almon, 4604 Date Ave., La Mesa, Calif.
Art Coakley is in the general contracting business in St. Johnsbury, Vt., and is living in Whitefield, N. H., a fashionable residential suburb of the metropolis of northern Vermont.
Secretary, Dept. of Justice, Washington, D. C.
