Class of 1934
Things have come to a pretty pass. No more letters. No more news. No more dope.
I figure that these columns have held stories about some 25% of the class. Where are the forgotten men, the men who have forgotten? Drop a line to the above address and you'll never know what good may come of it. For one thing it will cheer the bleeding soul of your Secretary, who misses the uplift that used to come with the beep of the postman's whistle. And what's more .... it will keep this Lonely Hearts column from degenerating into an opportunity to get free publication of our creative writing. So unless you want to hear some lousy poames or some fine old elfin whimsicality .... well, it's up to you.
Virtue, however, is not entirely without its reward. Having given up candy for Lent, and having said an extra prayer one night for the success of the class, individually and collectively, your weary scribe awoke the next morning to the tune of a bright dawn and the following news.
Banker and class v.-p. Hedges sends these words: "Steve Meigher and I playedcollege last week-end and went to theBeaux-Arts Ball at Skidmore. We hadplanned to go to Hamp, but the weatherwas too tough. Skidmore certainly has itsgood points. (Score one, as friend Monagan would remark.) Dave Beasley was therewith his fiancee, who is a Skidmore senior.Stevie broke his right hand skiing just before we went, and was doing nicely absorbing sympathy from all the luscious Skidmorians. (We'd like to find your ski trails, Meigher.)
"Had word from Bill Baird that he hasplanted a sparkler on his old flame afteryears of waiting. The lucky woman isGrace Stares, of Des Moines, lowa, andNorthwestern University. Baird hung hispin our sophomore year, so it's an affair oflong standing.
"Went over to see the swimming teamperform against N. Y. U. Ex-managerCallaway was strutting about as a judgeof the finish of the races, and ex-athleteMeigher was a judge of the diving. TheDartmouth men were winners before theirevents even began.
"Bob Griffin spent last week-end skiingat Lake Placid, and is attending springdance at Smith this Saturday. I had toturn down an invitation to the thing because the Bank of N. Y. and Trust Cos. justcan't spare me this week.
"Jack Laidlaw just dropped in here atthe Club. He is in some sort of mysteriousbook business with his father, which consists of lying on the sand at Miami Beach,peddling (?) about in Atlantic City, andsuch light frivolity. He is going to returnto the southland for another month's sojourn pretty soon.
"Thor Fraser is now telling people howto lose their money at the bank, in a departmentcalled the investment counseland I am learning how they manage trustoperations. It will be about the middle ofthe year before I complete my training."
Art MacGregor sends tidings from Yale Forestry School that he and Lewis Grosenbaugh are both thriving, that the latter is at the top of the class by a good margin Art has plans for the blissful state of matrimony, having announced his engagement at Christmas time to Miss Blanche Magurn, Radcliffe '32 and at present in the Oriental Department of the Fogg Art Museum, Harvard. He reports that Harlan Banks has been re-commissioned instructor in the botany department at Dartmouth for next year. Also that Chuck Lippe is still hard at work studying chemistry, with the objective of entering med school next fall. And that Johnny McCoy is a self-confessed grind up at Yale Law.
A missive with Cambridge postmark and Bill Emerson's handwriting tells of the tribulations of a Harvard grad student, with only a week-end once in a blue moon to mar the joy of study. Said week-ends have included a fleeting run to Hanover with Ned Mudge, and a visit to the Amesbury (Mass.) home of the same Mudge, where, says Bill, Ned's idea of humor was to put him in a cross-country ski race which lamed him up for the next week.
Bob (ex-Playboy) Palmer finally concluded that the ALUMNI MAGAZINE is the most economical and efficient means of communication with his many roommates, who form a neatly stretched line from Los Angeles to New York. Says Palmer:
"Since a week or so prior to last Thanksgiving I have been in the employ of theCentral United National Bank of Cleveland. It was only a matter of a few weeksbefore they saiv that I needed companyand added Bob Goecke to the staff. He isnow merrily commuting each day fromElyria, which, I might add, is a job in itself. Jointly we agree that Prof. Lefler andHarry Hillman should join forces in theteaching of banking, and perhaps DocBowler could aid with a few exercises forstrengthening the arches. Yes, .... we'remessengers.
"I had the good fortune to be in Hanover from January 25 to 28, but on a veryunfortunate mission. A couple of localyokels .... that is, two residents of Hanover and environs (or perhaps it was morethe doings of a reputable attorney of anear-by metropolis) .... insisted onpressing a law suit against me which hadarisen out of an automobile accident dating back to December 18, 1933. And so Ibecame highway robbery victim No. 37, 969 and was forced by surrounding circumstances to take the cheapest way outand settle for two hundred smackers. Andthey come hard these days, too, even tobig bankers! The trial happened aboutten days too early, however, and I couldn'tstretch my sojourn over until February 8-9and the Silver Anniversary Carnival.
"Had an exceedingly pleasant surprisewaiting me in Utica on my return trip as/ stopped in the Imperial Restaurant fora bit of lunch . ... the old place whereall aood Westerners (from Cleveland, Detroit, and Chicago!) used to stop on theeve of most any vacation. None other thanBud Ballard was sitting there to greet me.He was making the most of the opportunity afforded him by a change of jobs andhad spent a few days in the East, and wasthen bound bach for Detroit. We traveledalong together all afternoon and stoppedin Batavia to have done with the partingceremonies. Only after 3/% hours could Itear him away from his glass of beer andsend him on his way, and start on the last200-mile leg of my journey. It was a realpleasure talking over the old days onceagain.
"And until something exciting transpires, our tale is o'er "
And just in time to go to press there arrived today a greeting from Jerry Danzig and another from Arkansas Stu Barber. Jerry and Gail Raphael are bending their composite minds towards the completion of a magazine article which we will hear from later. Stu is still busy flashing a wicked irony on the "Land of Eternal Spring," which phrase he pens with a sneer, and still "stripping startled countrymen of their last dimes by the simple process of threatening to pop suits on them, and spending the rest of the time dunning letters to those I'm to lazy to chase." He writes on stationery which is part of the assets of a company which one of the boys just took over in receivership, and mentions as the other tangibles a stock of hair oil, vanishing cream, prickly heat powder, and enough epsom salts to move the entire city of Little Rock down into Louisiana. "Which might be a goodidea," observes Barber, "come to think ofit."
Here insert picture of class secretary at end of his rope.
Secretary, 193 Brookdale Ave., New Rochelle, N. Y.
