Class of 1925
We've heard it takes a good man to admit an error, and so it is with bowed head and hushed and reverent voice that we announce your Secretary has got what it takes a double dose, in fact, because we start this issue with apologies for two foxes passes.
First and most grievous was that in our February issue we married the already happily married Tiger Lyon to another girl, whereas the marriage we should have reported was that of Barry Lyons. Our sincere apologies and belated and heartfelt good wishes to Mr. and Mrs. Barry. The second mix-up is really to be pinned on one of our out-of-state newshawks, who
reported that Chet Bolles was being married. As a matter of fact, Chet Bolles was being married—but it was not our Chet. Oddly enough, it was another Chet Bolles, a Yale man, with much the same background, and the confusion, while embarrassing, is quite understandable. Again our apologies.
We received a letter from Deak Blodgett the other day in which he regaled us with an account of the testimonial dinner for Dean Laycock at the Plaza in New York. Among those present: Don Cameron, Chet Bolles (the right one), Eddie Blake, Ralph Shineman, Terry McGaughan, Frank Brick, Bob Reynolds, Pete Kelsey, Al Perkins, and Paul Brundage.
Don Cameron is teaching in a prep school for prep school. He has spent his last few summers traveling all over the globe and has certainly had some interesting experiences. Spent a summer in Russia and one in Germany, hiking with the new youth movement—and last summer visited Japan, which, incidentally, he thinks is a grand country.
We understand that Warwood Mason is the chief officer on the Exachorda of the American Export Line, and as Boston is now their first port of call, we hope to see him before long and get a few details concerning his trips to foreign ports.
And speaking of foreign ports, Jock Brace and Mrs. Jock just returned from a trip to Central America. Jock reports a swell trip. He said it was quiet and restful, but went on to tell how they were almost wrecked by a drunken section gang while touring through the jungle on a little gasoline railroad. He followed this with a Munchausen account of a fishing experience. It seems that he and the captain of the boat they traveled south on rigged up the sounding cable with a huge hook, put on a side of pork for bait, let it out a, few hundred yards astern, and trailed along over the calm Caribbean. The boat end of the cable was attached to the steam whistle so there would be ample warning of a strike. They were soon interrupted at their exercises—that vigorous routine of bending the elbow—by a terrific blast from said whistle. Far astern there was an indescribable submarine commotion and all hands manned the steam winch—but before they could start winding in the cable broke. You can imagine the size of the fish that broke a cable that had been tested for 5000 pounds! Incidentally—and pardon theseem seeming irrelevancy—Jock says the Bacardi cocktails in that part of the world can't be beaten!
About the first of the year Nate Bugbee started in business for himself, with offices at 38 Congress St., Boston. He is an investment and financial specialist—something new in that field!—and so far has had more business than he can handle. And just to make sure he won't catch himself napping he has taken upon himself the duties of the president of the Hopkinton National Bank.
Dr. Harry B. Crawford, practicing orthopedic surgeon in Rochester, N. Y., has been broadcasting every Wednesday at 6:30 P.M. over station "WHAM. He plays the cello in a trio, and the program is or was in the interests of the Tuberculosis Drive.
"Dear Mr. Wallace.
"Dear Sid:
"Dear Sid,
Secretary, 67 Milk St., Boston
