Class of 1911
Back to Africa for Sam Richardson. At any rate, his new assignment sounds a bit more civilized than his last, since he has now been assigned to the American Legation in Capetown, Union of South Africa.
Good old Bob Saxton finally kicks through, although a little late for the directory, with meagre news of himself to the effect that he is living at King Cole Hotel, Minneapolis, and is an insurance agent for the United States Fidelity and Guaranty Company on the ninth floor of the Rand Tower in the same city. Bob was looking forward to the annual alumni dinner, at which President Hopkins was to be present. He said the only other 1911 man that he sees is "Duke" Dunning, and the two of them are usually present at the bi-monthly Dartmouth luncheons.
Another good guy in the class is "Deac" Trask, who took time out to give us a check-up on his recent meanderings and do we appreciate it, what with class news practically having disappeared from the horizon. Here's his letter: "In my wanderings, down the Santa Fe trail, into the Old Southwest, I have had in mind three things so far as Dartmouth is concerned: to promulgate the idea that Dartmouth was first and foremost an Indian missionary school, with proviso for free education to any Indian. So send on your promising huskies has been my talk in some of the old nations, such as the Cherokee and the Creek.
"Incidentally at the state museum in Oklahoma, in discussing antiquities, I was told of a Wheelock church, rather prim in its beauty, that seems to stem, indirectly, from our Eleazar's Indians. The commissioner of the Creek nation also referred to it in his most interesting chat.
"Along the above line, though on a much larger scope, I am principally checking on this excellent idea that lies behind the Orozco murals on the walls of Dartmouth College: the coming inter-marriage of the Anglo-American and the Hispanic-American cultures. Dwight Morrow seems also to have been of this persuasion, so let us uphold our mural lesson, or Amherst, through a Morrow benefaction, might some day steal a march on us. Mexican-Americans, or American-Mexicans, are legion all through this picturesque world (1500 miles or so in stretch, above the Rio Grande border), and here in Los Angeles, where I have been some time, they indicate the multiplicity of problems that will arise, for this is the second largest Mexican city, barring none.
"Besides sizing up prospects for Dartmouth amongst Indian customers (they were properly our first tough customers, and no tougher than the old corduroy outfit, if you ask me—in fact less so) and checking on Orozco's brilliantly executed conception, I have run across occasional grads. At Eureka Springs, Ark., of all places, I looked out of my breakfast window to see a well-known neck (had not seen it for 25 years, mind you, and then did not know its owner but passing well); it is the neck of Paul Albert (1910) thought I, so, recalling former Dean Emerson's idea that there is nothing physical, so eternal as the nape of a neck, I stole out to discover an Illinois license plate. Yes, sir, it was Paul Albert on his yearly autumnal vacation. Had a good rag-chewing match over the breakfast table of Ozark wood.
"In crossing the wayward mountains (they are composed of disintegrating granite, instead of 'the granite of New Hampshire,' that composes some peoples' muscles and brains) to the Pacific Ocean I determined to look in on his Black Hills Nibs, Troy La Salle Parker. I found him: true to form. A potentiality come true. He is the possessor of two shaggy dogs, one cuckoo clock (of the twenty-some he possessed in Richardson Hall), two children, who flock to him like partridges, a Western Plains hat, a laugh that rattles the rented dishes, and business acumen enough to retire at 40 or before. And a philosophy that is Japanese enough to be good. And withal, he can pass for a Rotarian, a Dartmouth man, a Union Leaguer, a member of a hoss-sense posse at any old time he wants to.
"In Los Angeles (I live out in Eagle Rock and seldom go near the place) I was accosted by none other than Walter B. Gibson, looking like a million dollars. He put an automobile at my disposal (or would have, were I not loyal to my secondhand Plymouth approaching its 100,000 mile mark), and talked with the bonhomie air of a campus fellow. Later I called upon him in his place of business: he is resident partner for an accountant firm that sports four or five as euphonious names as an old lady money-bags could ask for. They hold forth on the full 12 th floor where E. F.
Hutton & Co. hold down the first. Gibby sat in his swivel chair as gracefully, talked as humbly and philosophically, and was the man of affairs as unmistakably as though he were a Harvard man, don't ch' know. His herring bone angles and those of his faultlessly placed handkerchief were so restrained that were it not for my minutely microscopic eye he might have sartorially escaped me. And were he a fellow given to singeing his hair, the twenty-five or thirty grayish tips would have been absolutely missing. He sized up as a mighty fine appearing grad.
"Well, Nat old boy, keep the snowballs rolling, while I go out and pick up my daily dozen of smudged oranges."
One of the disadvantages of being a resident of New Hampshire is that the local papers pick up all the local news, so that such men are likely to make these columns frequently. Anyhow, here is the latest on Bob Sanderson. The news broke in an issue of the Manchester Union on February 25, and was to the effect that the "Sanderson Expedition" is going to get under way in July. This is a cruise planned by two New Hampshire University students and about which Bob, upon being interviewed modestly replied that he is only a silent partner in the company. He explained, "As the cruise is incorporatedunder the Massachusetts law which requires three incorporators, I became oneof the partners merely as a formality. I canhardly be considered an authority on thecruises and educational tours to be carriedon by the young men."
The plans of the cruise as described are as follows: early in July seventy young men, a doctor, captain, steward, and first mate, will sail out of Boston harbor to visit the romantic islands of the Pacific, the intriguing native Far East, Europe, Africa, and after two short years of adventuring and study will return to the United States to follow a career of exploration and expeditioning. They will stop at 150 foreign and American ports, cross 12 seas, and touch 5 continents. The members of the expedition will replot the Dutch East Indies for the Harvard University Institute of Geographical Exploration, explore unknown lands, visit American and European people who have gone native on southern islands, and collect scientific data.
The Dodge family, including Frank, Mary, the three children, and Mother Dodge, are spending a month in Florida, having taken a house for this period near Miami.
1911's other White Mountain hotel proprietor, "Chuck" Emerson, dropped into Hanover recently between ski week-ends, much disgusted with this New England winter. "Chuck" reports a good winter in that when there was snow they were filled to capacity, but that there was virtually no snow until the last week in February.
The Washington Birthday 1911 visitors to Hanover likewise were kept away by the absence of winter. Those here consisted of Warren and Marion Agry, John and Margaret Pearson, and Chet Butts. On being pressed for class news the only items obtainable were that "Chub" Sterling was on his way to the Pacific Coast, and the Hawkridges were vacationing in Arizona. When these three live-wires report that there is absolutely nothing doing in the class of 'll, it is indeed discouraging and may make it necessary to resort to reports of week-end visits, attendance at directors' meetings, and the other minor affairs which our classmates are accustomed to indulge in.
Secretary, Hanover, N. H.
