1936*

While most of us, like the unforgettable Herby of Hanover dogdom, chase beer cans into wooded glens across the continent, the warm sun beats down on the flood plains of the Pompanoosuc.... almost as health-producing as the ultraviolet sun lamp under which I have been gathering my Bermuda burn for this season. It is a tempting thought, to drop everything and once more join those scantily clad ranks on the hill below the observatory and bask in real sunlight. And with a few deep draughts from the pungent nostalgia plant behind my wardrobe trunk, this last column until next September hits the keys of my trusty Remington portable.

Plug of the month goes to ski-fan LarryJump, who pens a lengthy letter from the International Labor Office in Geneva. "Just back," he writes, "from Easter vacation down at Val d'lsere in France, almost on the Italian border. One can see Chasseur Alpine troops and Mobile Garde men everywhere. .. .and they aren't there merely for their health. It's a tough life, when one is skiing down a 12,000-foot peak and hears artillery cannonading in the distance and doesn't know whether or not it means that war has already begun while we were climbing. But the place is an inestimable ski paradise; undoubtedly the best in Europe, barring perhaps Davos. The mountains are damn high, no trees, miles and miles of ski slopes, champagne at forty-five cents a bottle, most of Paris there enjoying things in the easy French way, and so on ad nauseam.

"Summer has arrived here since our return. It's strange, but there is no spring in Geneva; one day you see snow on the nearby hills and the north wind tears down the lake; the next the men are putting out the pansy beds, and the rowboats and cafe sidewalk tables appear, and over- coats disappear."

In case anyone in the class passes through Geneva this summer, Larry lists his address at 2 Rue d l'Ancien Port, Geneva. He promises to conduct tours through "the old Calvinistic city....and show them how it has changed."

News of the engagement of Frank"Poppo" Nairne to Miss Dinny Hodges arrived some time ago, via the newspaper clipping bureau, but no city was cited on the squib which reached our hands. Of interest to almost any good Dartmouth man, however, is the following quote from the story: "....By way of celebration 'Dinny' and Frank gave a party for a few close chums at the Pump Room, which has been one of their favorite haunts for quite some time now."

Beyer has blown back down to earth from Pan-American Airways to tie up with Young and Rubicam advertisers and writes: "When I missed your lino-cut Christmas card of you diving through a sugar-coated Christmas wreath, I thought perhaps you had at last gotten caught inside one of your architectural atrocities and had thus been cut off from contact with the outside world."

His letter goes on to report a spring tour through the Middle West, stopping off with the Donovans, Porters, Hatchitts, and Erions. Of the first three: "It was a toss-up whether they would serve their ale out of a mug or a nursing bottle."

This column generally makes it a point not to take up the torch for any political group or international organization, but our representative from the West Coast, Morris, has passed on a Handy Guide to the various "ISMS" now guiding the world's destinies; and we feel called upon to publish it here: to wit:

SOCIALISM: you have two cows; you give one to your neighbor.

COMMUNISM: you have two cows; you give both to the government, and the government gives you milk.

FASCISM: you keep the cows, give the milk to the government, the government gives part of the milk back to you.

NAZISM: the government shoots you and takes both cows.

NEW DEALISM: the government shoots one cow, milks the other, and pours the milk down the sewer.

CAPITALISM: you sell one cow and buy a bull

And while I think of it: regarding the Alumni Fund: you have maybe only one cow. . . .and perhaps a little bull. . . .but you give the College $81.66, and Shertz rides again, the bells of Baker Library play your favorite swing tune, Dr. Seuss immortalizes you in a Flit ad, Dang Scherman drools off a titheful squib in your honor, and a bust of you is placed in the Tower Room for freshmen to rub your nose before exams in Economies. Re ember now: all for $21.66.

Have a good summer. See you in the fall.

P.S.—Dink Gidney writes in re 1936 Strawberry Festival: "Plans now call for busses to leave George Washington Bridge (Jersey end) some time in the morning, Saturday, June 24; proceed to old marble quarry in Sussex County, N. J., where swimming is excellent and soft ball and sundry shouldn't be too bad. Definitely a co-ed party. Idea is that everyone brings his own food and the committee will see that a keg stands on third base. Details will be mailed to everyone in the New York area, so be sure to keep this date open."

Secretary, 32 High St., New Haven, Conn.

* 100% subscribers to the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, on class group plan.