Class of 1914
Are you coming back to Reunion? We are not going to urge you or apply any high pressure stuff. It comes but once in five years. There are but all too few in a lifetime.
The past five years have gone and we are still alive. Perhaps the burden of the day looms heavy. Perhaps a lot of things. . . . . You'd better come.
Good times have been planned—not too many. The expense is not heavy. Think it over And we hope to see you.
X14X
MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO
Once when as a scribe we were very young we recounted in our accustomed puerile manner the values compensating the absence of our Mr. Robert Carl Hopkins from his business premises. In short, we made bold to set forth the purely business advantages of employing a charming receptionist. Now, from time to time, confirming word has reached us from those who went to look see.
The most recently reported visitor found Bob "out," of course, but when told hemight return about five, it then being noon, attempted a mild psychic leading to an approach bid by inquiring how he, a stranger, might while away the intervening hours.
Ah, but yes—it would be a pleasure to be of aid. Nearby one might glance at the murals in Rockefeller City. Then perhaps an exhibition of French paintings at the Metropolitan—a bit daring, but one should examine the continental point of view, don't you think? And across the park at the Natural History Museum the world famous collection of tropical fish from the Galapagos. And last, to top it off, a trip to the Battery to view the harbor, perhaps one would glimpse a big liner—Yes, the Aquitania was due about four-thirty, which would leave just time for a dash back uptown in a characteristic subway rush hour.
"Thank you so much"—and the visitor, a born and bred New Yorker, in fact a man about town, backed out making for the nearest bar. But such was the convincing influence he blandly boasts that he actually made the rounds exactly as suggested for his first trip to the Battery in a score of years.
Paraphrasing W. S. in re Sylvia by the Real Boy in his Diary—"Brite and Fair!"
X14X
ATHLETIC NOTES
Win Snow still plays basketball and skis and swims. He has sent a challenge to Margeson to engage in a declathon at the Reunion. Win allows he will take on all comers at any games they know.
A classmate, who shall be nameless because we agreed to declare a news moratorium, but who represents a prominent national magazine, recently and without benefit of wager discomfited a couple of Yale men when a party in Winchester rumble-seated from one house to another about two A.M. by successfully transferring a highball in either fist without losing a drop, the feat being more remarkable in that besides the chauffeur and our hero the car was occupied by five ladies.
We are a class of bum golfers; that is, in arranging for a tournament at Reunion and asking for handicaps no one has yet admitted to less than twenty-four with at least half asking for the limit.
X14X
WAH- WHOO - WAH- WAX!
Life is so complex these days. Details become staggeringly important. Everything is so organized and articulated that to excel in the hitherto simple things one has to correlate the wide horizon of specialized knowledge lest his negligence of one some little bitty this or that lead to his undoing.
Consider the sport of skiing—as good Dartmouthers you know the rules—snow, long wooden runners, straps, poles, old clothes, the Vale, thrilling jump, herringbones, spills, the glory of New Hampshire winter sunsets, the log fire Them were the good old days! Then the efficiency boys took it over, and now ....
This saga on wax was provoked by a recent visit from John Piane, who regaled us with the amazing technical development achieved since we flopped about the golf links. Take ski-bindings. There are scores, which represent many schools of thought, materials, designs, and color harmonies, and which come from a dozen countries. Some are as intricate as the fourth dimension and are horribly expensive. But what bowled us stiff was the discovery that John carries over forty sizes, colors, scents, and so forth, of ski-wax.
It appears that with the modern skier (this spelling doesn't look right) wax is everything. Given the best of equipment in every degree but the wrong wax, and phooey—all is lost. One selects one's wax or waxes, as you shall see, much as the inveterate trout fisherman chooses a given fly from his myriad variety.
To illustrate the extreme significance of the proper wax John related how, in a recent fourteen-mile ski race near Mt. Washington, five undergraduates beat two very highly rated Norwegian pros largely through their better knowledge of wax. It seems that the Dartmouth ski-coach, arising at dawn, had reconnoitered the terrain, noted the condition of the snow at certain vital stretches of the trail, measured distances and elevations, had temperature and barometer readings and radio weather forecasts. These computations were then factored and integrated into an equation which called for the use that day of three separate and distinct layers of wax. The home stretch required high down-hill speed, and wax No. 17 was therefore applied first. Next a layer of No. 27, we recall, selected for its efficiency on powdery snow at high altitudes. And last, and to be used first, No. 39, a climbing wax which gives a fine purchase on hard-packed or icy snow.
They're off—our boys with their spiked wax quickly outdistance the pack on the long initial climb, while the others not so accoutred must needs slip and herringbone, thus losing valuable ground. Arriving at part two, the heavy climbing wax has now been expended, and the secondary
surface presents itself, propelling the boys in green to the further discomfiture of their competitors. Now for the grand downmountain rush. The final wax gives them marvelous acceleration, and Dartmouth wins in a walk—track fast, won driving.
This will give you a rough idea of how it all works. What happens if the weather changes suddenly or if one makes an error in the number work we don't know, but undoubtedly there is a special wax provided for just such a contingency.
X14X
THIS AND THAT
"Skin and Bones" is the title of Thorne Smith's newest novel. It is hilariously funny, as you can see from the plot, culled from the Chicago Tribune.
The hero, a professional photographer who loves his wife so much that they fight incessantly and with bloodshed, and whose closest friend is a little square dog named Busy, through his experiments in making a film which will photograph fluoroscopically, suddenly finds himself turned to a skeleton.
If he could be sure of being a skeleton always, life would have been less of a burden, but sometimes he suddenly gets back his flesh (which wasn't much to boast of anyhow), and finds himself stark naked in moments when a Paisley shawl is not handy. A long white beard which the village mortician gave him when he was fitting himself to a coffin helped him out of some of his moments, but it also helped him into others—when a gangster in his cups mistook him for the returned haunt of a gentleman he had dispatched.
When Busy knocked over a bottle of the chemical compound destined for the films and became a skeleton of a dog—which scratched with horrid scraping of bones, the plot, up to that time about as thick as anybody ever met, practically jellies into guffaws.
Perhaps the chemical would not have worked so well without the saturation of
alcohol which everyone concerned met with. Anyway, the reader reels with amazement and laughter through 306 hilarious but utterly mad pages.
X14X
We hear from Page Junkins that Herb Gridley has been broncho-busting in Montana. Herb says, "I was put on a horse forthree days in succession, on the last ofwhich he was too iveak to object."
Vogie and Jane Stiles have a daughter Shirley who is entering college this fall.
Associated Press dispatches from Shanghai report that Lay Little has been given the post of customs administrator for the Port of Canton. Lay's boy now at Tabor is developing rapidly in high-jumping. We have just heard that Lay has recovered from a serious illness of pneumonia.
Dean Emerson took us apart for not using metal fasteners to hold together the class bulletins. As a reminder, threat, or reward he sent us the loveliest box of chromium-plated pins for which we hereby express thanks.
Sid Hayward's bulletin reports that a famous painting is to remain in Hanover. It is a still of Dean Laycock and Clark Gable done in Hollywood. It was recently put up at auction at the Country Fair for the benefit of Mary Hitchcock Hospital and bought in by John Piane for—because our copy was blurred—$2.50 or $250 or2500.
X14X
ENGINEER-RED CROSSER-RADIOCROONER
The name is Bertram Cogswell Wood, and he is the crooner, and of all birds to end up twenty years out of college. Well anyhow, here's one crooner who isn't a pansy. Bert, as you may know, got all cracked up in an accident soon after leaving college. As a result he was unable to enlist for regular service. However, he joined up with the Red Cross and served mightily in all our major engagements. We once went on a leave with Bert which if properly recounted would be quite a yarn in itself.
Now he turns up as a star performer on WWJ—Detroit, having just completed his hundredth broadcast. Big-time panners write his stuff, which, by the way, runs the whole gamut. Recently Bert starred in the Tavern Scene from Tolstoi's Redemption
Bert s car registration is D1914, which lie plans to sport at Reunion. His fan mail is tremendous, which we can appreciate after receiving the press photos he sent us.
The Reunion Committee will miss a bet if they don't sign Bert for an act while in Hanover.
X14X
Charlie Batchelder makes tents. Makes them right side up and likewise upside down. Makes them small, makes them big. Whatever your tent problem, see Charlie. Here's a little job his firm took in stride all in the day's work.
"INDOOR LAKE CANVAS LINED"
Made by C. H. Batchelder & Cos., Pioneers in Canvas Business
"The hunting and fishing show, now under way at the Boston Garden, is attractingwide attention to the many people throughout New England. Thousands have alreadyattended the afternooti and evening performances during the past few days andwere overjoyed with the skill of the variousguides.
"The most important feature of the showis the world's largest indoor lake. Thislake measures 198 feet long on the surface,56 feet 4 inches in width, and 2 feet 8inches in depth. This indoor lake is linedwith a No. 6 duck canvas, specially waterproofed and weighing about 3500 pounds,and contains 2000 square yards of canvas.Total amount of water in the indoor lakeweighs SJ/2.5 tons, approximately 220,000gallons. C. H. Batchelder & Cos., makers ofeverything in canvas, of 214 State St., Boston, made the canvas lining for this monstrous indoor lake, and used the finestcanvas with a special water-proofing substance to keep the indoor lake tight andfree from leaks."
X14X
OH-YOU LOVIN' MAN!
Imagine Ted Marriner the causecelebre in a love affair—and international at that. Here's the low-down.
"MARRINER'S RECALL URGED FOR HIS'LOVE OF FRANCE' "
"Washington, April 14—Demand for theimmediate recall of J. Theodore Marrinerof Boston, counselor of the American embassy in Paris, was voiced today in Congressional circles.
"Marriner, in an interview in a Frenchnewspaper, was quoted as saying: 'I lovethe French more than I love the Americans.'
"From the ship on which he is returningto his post, Marriner radioed that the interview was garbled. What he said, heaverred, was: 'I understand the Frenchpeople better than many Americans do because I am a direct descendant of a Huguenot who emigrated from France after theEdict of Nantes and settled in Boston.'
"Whichever version is correct, said Sen.Dickinson (R) lowa, it shows that 'Marriner is unfitted to represent the UnitedStates in Paris and should be brought homeat once.' The lowan added: 'Perhaps Marriner understands the French policy ofwelching on the war debts due the UnitedStates. Americans at home understand thatposition to be dishonorable and resent it."
X14X
With this issue your Secretary lays down his pen, no longer to face the haunted calendar with its constant reminder that it's the tenth of the month and no alumni notes sent in. Thanks a lot for your help, boys, but treat the next scribe even better. Bricks without straw is tough.
If our attempts to be funny have sounded otherwise or have given offense, we beg your humble pardon. Bill Slater ordered that at all costs the column must be filled. We have done our darnedest. See you in a couple of weeks.
Sincerely,
Secretary, 367 Boylston St., Boston
