Class of 1914
Sunday is a day of rest for most of us, and justly so. While you are doubtless stretched in front of the fire with pipe and slippers on a blustery evening, discussing with the little woman the latest surrealism of Bali or the possibility of not having to purchase another dance frock for the young lady, there being only six more dancing school lessons anyway this winter, you can be pardoned for giving little thought to those forgotten men who must needs be laboring. Such public servants as railroad workers and telephone operators we might even think of, but totally forget perhaps the unseen radio army, not only the performers but those tireless laborers for soul-less sponsors—even advertising tycoons whose time is never their own. In fact, they have no family life at all, but burst from here to there in plane and pullman in order that within the snugness of your home you may be entertained.
Well, anyway, this comes to us via our class roving reporter who has a friend, a sheep rancher in the wilds of Wyoming, who, out of sheer ennui, entered a radio contest and won a prize therein, the same being a group of tickets for a radio broadcast of Beetle and Bottle in New York. Being unable to use same he sent them to our reporter. So after a hasty raid on the icechest this particular Sunday (an adventure we are usually denied because of a penchant for synthesizing things in a chafing dish based usually on stewed cheese from which we have to pick peppers, pickles, pimentoes, and other persiflage, all of which we detest) our reporter arrived at the suburbs of Radio City and eventually was ushered into a gorgeous theatre seating perhaps five hundred.
Of course you have all been present at major broadcasts and recall that reserved booth in which are seated the Rajahs of Radio, those mysterious individuals—the Sponsors—a subject on which we speak feelingly, being occasionally a very tiny sponsorette of spots between sustainings. Anyway, there emerged soon from this sanctum a figure at once familiar, and with his accustomed poise strolled across the stage, down the aisle, and in a few moments emerged again, escorting the most beautiful creation that our reporter had seen in ever so long. The lady was the current rage from London now glorifying the New York theatre world, and the escort none other than our esteemed Class President. The identification of the lady was immediate on the part of our reporter's household companion, and under envious eyes the two entered the sponsor's booth, from which they enjoyed with evident satisfaction the program that soon began.
There really isn't much point to this tale beyond taking up space and recounting how one of the other half lives, from whom we have often heard his life moves at a terrific tempo, and the sympathy that will undoubtedly go out to Kay, who must spend her Sunday evenings at home with, of course, the radio tuned to Beetle and Bottle.
Another one of our secret agents who was passing through Providence recently called on Monsieur Slater, whose coat of tan matched the deep mahogany of his office desk. We had already known about Bill slipping down to Florida for a weekend, and we are informed that he is verybuoyant on the prosperity of Florida. This boom seems to rage in all directions and even, we trust, in the particular activity pictured on the post card which we duly received, the same being the finish of a race at Hialeah Park, particular visits to which we hope were also prosperous.
Our agent, emerging from his visit with Broker Bill, bumped into Ray Trott, whose glowing accounts of the industrial future of New England so thrilled our agent that he was on the point of rushing back to Bill and buying blocks of blue chips generally, but in the meantime the office had closed and so he took the train to Boston, dropping in to tell us of his afternoon adventures.
We regret the unpleasant duty of recording the first break in our numbers in two years, occasioned by the passing of Bill Currier, whose death occurred December 25, further details of which are found in the Necrology section. We recall rooming close to Bill and remember his quiet personality and often dry humor. The class extends to his family an expression of their sincere sympathy.
Pine cones and congratulations to Enders Voorhees on his election to the directorate and appointment as vice-chairman of the finance committee of U. S. Steel. Quoted is a summary from the New York Times of January 13. Best of luck, Enders!
"My on C. Taylor, chairman of theboard of the United States Steel Corporation, announced yesterday that E. M.Voorhees, vice president of the Johns- Manville Corporation, had been appointed vice-chairman of the finance committee ofthe steel company. The announcementfollowed, a meeting of the board of directors at which Mr. Voorhees was electeda director until 1938. Mr. Voorhees hasbeen with Johns-Manville more than nineyears, being consecutively general auditor,treasurer, secretary, vice president, anddirector. He was born in Amsterdam, N. Y.,forty-five years ago, and was graduatedfrom Dartmouth College in 1914."
Secretary, 367 Boylston St., Boston HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES
