Class of 1919
The great snowless winter goes on apace, and we in our turn put our feet up on the radiator and laugh at the skiers who have been telling us all fall what a shame it is that we wouldn't be able to risk our feeble joints sliding down hills this winter. And what a break for Gale, who had challenged us to a slalom down the side of anything this winter. And speaking of skiing, every piece of literature we have picked up this winter has given credit in one way or another to our own Jack McCrillis, whose own book written with Otto Schniebs still remains about the best of them all, selling out edition after edition.
Only '19 event we know of since our last was the gathering at the annual dinner in Boston. McCarter, as new director of athletics, had to don the black tie and sit at the head table with the big shots. He was ably assisted in the tie donning by an earnest little group of '19ers who lolled about his hotel room until they thought he looked quite presentable. Those sitting democratically with the rank and file were Crosby, Hall, Eastman, Bird, Fleming, Strout, Davis, Munro, Chipman, Bingham, and Bixby. Bill White was to be there, but he must have got an SOS from some good woman just before the battle. Our table was way up in the back corner, and the boys kept dashing out through the waiters' exit—taking turns holding up a big sideboard out there, which must have been about to fall over. Even as we left we looked into that little room, and some of them were still there struggling valiantly.
Elmer Pilsbury has been a highly important though little-heard-of factor in the Community Fund drive which Boston has just put over to the tune of some $4,400,000. Elmer has charge of their large office and all clerical personnel. We called him about the annual dinner and found him, as we expected, working twenty-four hours a day, Sundays and holidays included. We had no sooner reported that Rock Hayes had offed himself to the West Indies than we had a post card from Spider Martin, depicting a sunstrewn fairway in front of the Southern Pines (N. C.) Country Club. There is no doubt about it we are in the wrong business. After his return, he wrote as follows, "If any '19er gets on route Iand heads south, he will sooner or laterpass through Southern Pines, N. C. If hewill look sharply to the right and notice theonly bank in town, he will see the cashiersitting at a desk which is virtually a showroom so that all going by may see him. Thecashier is Doc Hodgkins, and he is alwaysglad to see any '19ers who may be passing."
Munro tells a typical Munro story about McCall's Red Washburn whom Mun met at the Yale game. The Washburns on from Chicago were to meet the Munros at what Mun called The Hollywood for dinner after the game. "It's right as you come intoHartford," said Mun. However, when Mun got there he could find no such place, and remembered that it was about six years ago that he was last there. He sighed a sigh for Washburn and his attempts to find the place and drove cheerfully on toward Holyoke, where he was spending the weekend. Just as he was coming into Spring- field, miles from the scene of the rendezvous, he spotted a sign which read "THE Hollywood," and decided on the spur of the moment to try it out for dinner. He had no sooner got seated and cast an eye over the wine list, when the front yard filled with motorcycle cops and screeching sirens. Being married now, Mun took this with a new-found equanimity and scarcely missed a sip until the door burst open with a clatter and in stormed Washburn with the wife on his arm just as if he'd known this was the place all the time. It seems Red had had a little difficulty finding the place so he had, in that direct Western manner, got some motorcycle cops and told them to show him where it was.
The Alumni Records Office, which can always be counted on to be helpful, has turned up a bit of information which may be of assistance to those Nineteeners who are struggling with the Social Security business. They announce that Richard N. Wilder '19 is now in Washington, a member of the Social Security Board. Mr. Cunningham, Bill to you, out over the air, took a shot at broadcasting the Outdoor Night of Carnival last Friday evening. Bill did it in great style, describing the scene, and jumping about introducing people right and left. He made us feel just a little old, however, when he stood right up there in front of the whole American continent and called the Carnival Queen, "dear." We like to think that we are still young enough to have to sneak her off to that divan behind the ferns before we call the Queen dear.
Secretary, 27 Coolidge Hill Rd., Cambridge, Mass.
