Class of 1916
Congratulations and good wishes to Balmacaaner Roswell Foster Magill, newly appointed Under-Secretary of the Treasury. President Roosevelt and Secretary Morgenthau have spent twelve months looking for a man who could help on the Treasury's big problem, taxes. To quote Time, that careful, accurate, and timely purveyer of timeworthy events, in its February 1 issue, —"For nearly twelve months since T. Jefferson Coolidge resigned—the job of undersecretary of the treasury has been vacant. Last week, giving up futile efforts tofind for the job an expert in the techniqueof floating government bonds who had noconnection with Wall Street, the Presidentsent to the Senate the name of RoswellFoster Magill. Not a bond expert, but a taxexpert, Mr. Magill, a professor at Colum-bia, noxu only 41, advised the Treasury inframing both the tax bills of 1924 and1934. Three years ago, he made a study ofthe British income tax system for SecretaryMorgenthau. He advocates: simplifyingthe tax lazvs, to save taxpayers much needless litigation: putting the Bureau of Internal Revenue on a career, instead of apatronage basis: an entirely new methodof taxing capital gains." Paraphrasing the comments of Hen Green, the 5' 2" Dallas giant, we should get more and better taxes. As it stands now, a man can't afford to die and it is our hope that one of the UnderSecretary's first acts will be to authorize a bond issue to cover the cost of tin cups and smoked glasses, to be used by us boys with all the entrenched wealth.
Maybe we at the 1916 table, at the Boston alumni banquet, January 28, weren't proud. There was our Dick Parkhurst, presiding as president; Les Leavitt, Joe Newmark, Howdy Parker, Gran Fuller, Larry Hayward, Gil Tapley, Joe Carleton, Sam Cutler, Ken Tucker, Bill Mott, and J. Patrick English sat at 1916's table. We were more than happy to welcome Les Leavitt to his first Dartmouth banquet in twenty years. Les is headmaster of the American University Prep School of Beirut, back home on sabbatical leave, studying for his Ph.D. and bemoaning the fact there is no snow in New England so he can show his youngsters how he used to ski as an undergraduate. Les is the proud father of four, Howard 16, Dan 14, Margaret 11, and Helen 8. Les told me there is skiing on Mt. Lebanon, about an hour's drive from Beirut. Unlike Cliff Bean, Hobey Baker, Jake Mensel, and Ray Devoe, Leb trotters of old, Les had to wait until he reached the Near East to know there was a Lebanon.
Wives of 1916. I am very sorry to relate, that your ideal type of unattached, manly beauty, is about to renounce single blessedness. In the presence of those attending the Boston banquet, Bill Mott said, "I am going to be married in a year." Naturally, we asked him who was the lucky girl, and Bill replied that he didn't know as yet but he was looking hard, with the lovelight in his eye.
Where, oh where were the pea-green freshmen from Nashua, N. H., at the Boston banquet? The Nashua Gummed and Coated Paper must have been working over time, since Bob Brown, Jim Coffin, and Ralph Parker failed to show up.
Balmacaaners, Chicago has come to life. Joe Larimer wrote me a newsy letter, and reports that he sees Bob Sherer, his fellow Evanstonian, occasionally, saw DeWitt Stillman at the Princeton game returns, but seldom if ever sees Livy Cole, the stove maker, Ditto Inc. president Ken Hender- son, or his side kick, Joe Cheney. My, my, I could tell a story if I wanted to, about Hugh Livingston Cole, the American Warbler, who thrilled the fluttering hearts of the French mesdemoiselles at the University de Montpellier, France. Really King Cole, you should write me. Joe Larimer couldn't make the Twentieth, but is looking forward to the Twenty-fifth, when young Joe, now 13, first year high, will be a freshman at Dartmouth. Joe's other son Emmet is only seven. For awhile Joe was an attorney for the G-men in Chicago. Now, as secretary to the Chicago Bar Association, he gets after bad little lawyers who need spankings.
The illustrious class of 1916 continues to furnish the world with guiding brains and brawn, this time to the Cleveland Alumni Association. Prof. Fletch Andrews reports that Cleveland's new prexy is Carl Holmes, with Ruby McFalls as second vice president. Already Carl has doubled the luncheon attendance.
The destiny of the schools of Dedham, Mass., has been in the hands of Fred Bailey, who was just recently reelected for his second three-year term.
I didn't learn until it was too late, that Ed Ozite Kiley was sick with the flu in a Chicago hotel. Ed is back in New York and on his feet, but a little bird whispered to me, he is going to Florida for a month. I hope you do, Ed, and for Pete's sake forget about work and business, and just rest.
Balmacaan G-2 was right on the job this past month. Max Bernkopf came through first, with the announcement on Ros Magill. Lewis Gove brought in a clipping, as did Sam Cutler. Now if a few more would only send me bits of news, this would be a swell job.
It's no wonder Ed Riley is a General Motors tycoon. Those who lived in Middle Fayer freshman year could have told you even then Ed would go far. He had the entrepreneur mind. Ed figured out that the cost of pressing our only suit for Sunday at 50c per suit was too costly. Ed then organized the Fayerweather Pressing Club, to which all of us subscribed the initial capital of 25c per share. The liquid capital was invested in an electric flat iron, cost $4.50. The proof of the pudding was in the eating, so Ed proceeded to demonstrate to us how easily a suit could be pressed. One suit pressed, 100% dividend. Out came Ed's Sunday suit. Now it was necessary to have a wet cloth. Ed searched and then produced his best and only dress shirt, the tail of which he thoroughly dampened. His desk became the pressing table, shirt tail was wet, pants were in position, the iron was hot, and the enterprise was launched. One leg was pressed perfectly. During the pressing of the other leg, Cap Carey started to tell a story. The tale was funny and it was long. We came to with the smell of fire. That nice shirt tail was scorched brown, the pants-leg split apart like paper, and the mark of the iron was impressed on Ed's good desk. No more Pressing Club, no dividend, and receivership were the re- sults. But that failure taught Ed a lesson, believe it or not, Ripley. Look at Ed now.
Secretary. 37 Maple St., Stoneham, Mass
