Class of 1919
Monopoly has descended upon us and we have come to the conclusion that it is so named because it monopolizes all the time regularly set aside for sleeping—and there was never any too much of that. Recently, after much too much dinner at the Chipmans', we were told enough about the game to make us legitimate game and then set upon by the Chipmans and the Bill Whites. Bill went at it like old man Astor and soon owned everything in sight except John's 1918 Essex.
Winter having smeared New England again with inches of beautiful and extremely frigid snow, we have taken up again the burden of maintaining 1919 in the field of winter sports. We suppose the McCrillises are somewhere leaping from mountain top to mountain top in the approved manner, but we saw nothing of them on the annual Boston trip to Moosilauke, and we felt awfully alone as we humpty-dumptied over the hillsides. But there is one other he man in the class and that is Bill Eddy, recently appointed president of Hobart College. We found Bill at Spy Glass Hill Farm that Sunday. To be sure he was intrenched in the best chair with his feet against the warm stove—but then the poor fellow was all worn out from watching his wife and children swooping and turning down one schuss after another like a whole flock of Durrances, At least he was there.
A bear for punishment and the back of our neck being thoroughly chapped anyway, we made a second expedition—this time to the Dartmouth Alumni Outing Club Cabin at Groton. There, we got a little help from Rock and, Alice Earl Hayes. Alice Earl, a product of the Sunny South, thought it was all great fun, but complained bitterly that the skis were just in the way, especially going up hill. In spite of the fact that snow down the back is inordinately cold, and that the wear and tear on what is politely known as the small of the back is terrific, it is all great fun, and to those who can reach either place we recommend the Cabin at Groton and Spy Glass Hill Farm as ideal places to go and get acquainted with the snow again.
The whole class and most of his college generation will mourn the passing of Freddie Ives, who died very suddenly about three weeks ago. Feeling a little off color, Freddie stayed home from work. After lunch he was more himself and skipped up stairs for something and dropped dead on the top stair. There are many who would wish to die this way, but 37 is altogether too young for a man to die, and particularly Freddie. We attended the services with Rock Hayes at Cohasset. Alex Warden and Bill Stedman were pall-bearers. Flowers were sent to express the sympathy and sincere regret of the class. It was significant of Fred's great love for the College that he had arranged for his ashes to be buried in Hanover.
Secretary, 87 State St., Framingham Center, Mass.
