Class of 1897
Bernard A. Rowe is one of the highly regarded executives of the Plimpton Press in Norwood, Mass. He has been interested throughout the years to maintain class contacts. In a recent letter he speaks of a reunion in the fall with the Thyngs and Christophes. He also visited Mrs. John Poor, and met very happily Mr. and Mrs. Shaw shortly before Cap's death.
THAT SENIOR WINTER IN THEOLD ROW
Dartmouth Hall has been burned and rebuilt twice since the winter of 1896-97, when ten men from '97 with 20 others were hibernating on its third floor.
My room was number 2 at the northeast corner. A windy study with a small bedroom, a closet, and a .coal bin. Each room had its individual stove and its coal bin closet. We raised our coal to rear windows in coal hods by a rope and pulley. There was a lavatory in the basement and a pump for drinking and washing purposes if needed in the backyard.
The most desirable suite was number 1, the northwest corner. It had a large living room, a bedroom, two very small studies, and of course, a coal closet. In this room were Poor, later professor of Astronomy, and Schwarm, now teacher of English in a Rochester, N. Y., high school. In the next room, number 3, were the Brooklyn boys, Day and Thorne. Thorne is now a department head in a Brooklyn high school, and Day is a doctor, but we trace him with difficulty as he moves frequently and never reports his itinerary.
In the third room beyond, were the Hinsdale boys, Bailey and Richards. Richards became a doctor and died some years ago. Bailey is a teacher of science in the Brockton high school. In room 13 at the southwest corner were the Bacon brothers. One is now a college professor in Syria and the other director of adult education in Danbury, Connecticut. All of the rooms opened into a dark corridor with loosened floor boards. This thoroughfare, called Bedbug Alley, was misnamed, I steadfastly believe, but the frolicsome Bacons could roll a heavy ball the entire length and hit Poor's door three out of five times. The third try was guaranteed to bring John out of his logarithmic study in a vigorous protest.
It was traditional that a Rowe should have the Bell Room, number 8, and our Brainard slept for four years with the bell rope within his reach, and his accuracy today as an executive of the Plimpton Press is the result of carefully rendered service.
In Wentworth Hall roomed Sibley, now a Worcester lawyer and judge. In another room were three classmates—Keating, mayor and judge in Stamford, Conn.; Lull, an executive vice president of the Southern Pacific Railroad; and Sargent, a retired clergyman in Newburyport.
In Thornton, Heald, the Massachusetts state supervisor of agriculture; O'Malley, until his death a teacher in Jamaica Plain; and B. F. Adams, a Washington city official, roomed together. In other rooms were Cass, the retired Manchester school teacher; Gilman, in business in New York City; and Remus Robinson from Bermuda and lost to class knowledge now for nearly forty years.
Living conditions were then of the pioneer type in Dartmouth, Wentworth, and Thornton. This was not the condition in Reed Hall. This dormitory was the last word in modernism, and there was "a bathroom on each floor." To room in Reed indicated wealth and social position. Christophe, Manchester physician; Foss, Secretary of the Pennsylvania Chamber of Commerce; and Merrow, a New York architect until his death were roommates •in number 1. Coakley, Cambridge lawyer, was in number 3. Lewis, the Montana cattleman, was in number 4, widowed when Maloney moved to the Casque and Gauntlet House. Tuttle and Ham, engineers and builders in Boston and Bridgeport, were in number 17, and across the hall were the Brown brothers, keen business men from upstate New York. Merton died some years ago, but Jay still prospers, with home and office in Syracuse.
It was a friendly group that winter of 1897. The evenings were long, and there were no radios, no victrolas, no skis, no automobiles. Everyone had colds nearly all winter. These rooms were never really clean, but it was a satisfaction to learn from some worn catalogue that you were occupying the same room that your uncle had in 1867 or your grandfather in 1845.
Secretary, State Capitol, Hartford, Conn.
