1940*
caps and gowns along the sidewalk of Dartmouth Row, half admiring, half laughing at the preposterous dignity of the robed faculty marching between our lines, Malcolm DeSieyes was lying on the bank of a river in France with three friends and a machine gun, and the battle of Paris all around him. This is his story and he writes it for all of us in two installments of which this is the first.
"The month since my return has gone by as a day and the letters that I have meant to write to many of you have gone unwritten. Now that I have a few minutes I am writing this note to all of you who are interested, so that you will know a small part of what has happened to me.
"When I sailed that morning last April, there was a big lump in my throat not because I was leaving to do something that I did not want to do, but because I could not forget what I was leaving behind me. I thought of Hanover and all of you worrying about comprehensives—that made me laugh because mine were all over, but somehow I would have given anything to be in your place—and then graduation. We had looked forward to it for so long, and it was the one day when we all wanted to be together. But as we nosed into the river I tried to forget what was behind me and to look ahead towards what was to come. That was pretty uncertain.
"We sailed into St. Nazaire which looked so peaceful in the spring sunshine. Where was the war? True there were fewer lights at night, but the cafes were full and all seemed gay and unconcerned. But the young men were nowhere to be seen and from time to time I could hear people speaking of Henri or Jacques from whom they had or had not had news lately. However there was little to worry about as no one was being killed. It was truly "une drole de guerre."
"I had heard much concerning Paris in the spring but never dreamed that it could be as beautiful as it was said to be. Here again there was no sign of war except for the conglomeration of different uniforms of all regiments and countries—Polish, British, French. Here a Polish cavalry officer with a huge sabre gash on his face and just next to him a British captain entering the same hotel with four canteens and a golf bag! That boy certainly wasn't worried about anything. I wondered later if he ever got that golf bag out of Dunkirk and back to England.
"But I could not remain in Paris forever, and after three days I was on the train headed for Chamberg in the Alps and a period of training which would, I hoped, be terminated and see me in action. It's strange being in barracks for the first time as many of you will soon learn, especially when your training is being speeded up, for there is no rest and no respite from the continuous drilling, marching, target practice, grenade practice, and so many other things that I couldn't put them all down in ten pages. It's just plain hard work and sweat but we all took it with more or less of a smile for we knew that we would soon see action which we all craved.
Then the German march into Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, and finally France. The French and British armies were being swamped in Belgium and northern France. The situation was becoming desperate. Then came the darkest of all days, June 10. The Italians had decided to try to get their share of the spoils before it was too late. So on that day the legions of Mussolini started the most gallant fight in their history.
"My battalion left for the front, but I, and about thirty of my comrades, considered as embryonic officers, were hurriedly shuffled into a train and headed for La Rochelle which we reached after some 56 hours of riding in freight cars. The tracks were so congested with hospital trains and refugees coming from the North that we often had to wait four hours at a time for the tracks to clear. As we later found we were going to La Rochelle to embark for England, but as we arrived there was a change of orders, and we were taken out to await further decisions.
"Several of us soon got tired of the inaction and the sight of the thousands of refugees and soldiers going, going, going towards a destination which none knew. What could we do? We couldn't just sit and do nothing. There was a solution. A few scattered groups of troops were still heading for the front. Possibly we could volunteer to go with them.
"Our captain was very receptive to the idea so the next morning we were turned over to the bearded captain of a Moroccan regiment and off we went towards the North.
"At last we were going towards the conflict and not away from it. What was in store for us? None of us knew, but we all had dreams of valiant deeds, and felt that at last we would be able to justify our appelation, soldier.
CHICAGO DINNER
Since June, mystery man of the Class of '40 has been Theodore Richards Ellsworth of Dubuque, often called "Berry." Rumors that he was married, engaged, working for Montgomery Ward in Chicago were unpegged by any message from Ellsworth. Meantime the fact that 1940 in Chicago has not yet held a dinner hindered the Ellsworth search.
But last month came a postcard from Chicago, bearing a gruff and friendly scrawl: "Tell Babcock to get off his tail in this town. You know what I mean." It was signed simply, "Berry."
His indictment was clear. In New York the class has held two dinners and a successful dance under the direction of Cross, Bob Dingwall, Cecil Moore and Don Schott, with decorations by Dryfoos. In Boston Don Fox, Gerry Sullivan and John Moody long ago announced a dinner date, had to postpone it, will soon announce another. But from Chicago and Babcocknothing.
Then hard on the note from Ellsworth, came a message from Babcock: "Saw Ellsworth on the street yesterday. Didn't know he was in town. Dinner set for February fourth."
A terse man the Berry, but effective. Babcock is off his tail.
FELICITATIONS
This month go to Doris Hartney and Robert R. Gensel who were married in Douglas ton, Long Island, on Nov. 28, to Anne Stewart and Arthur S. Congdon who were married in South Orange, N. J., on Jan. 4, to Sue Spinney and HarryS. Ramond who announced their engagement on Nov. 26, to Katherine Jahn and T. Joseph Dunford who announced their engagement Nov. 24, and to Margaret Bartlett and Frederick M. Brecht who announced their engagement December 29.
Sammy Snow, who once gave his all for Dartmouth hockey by donning goalie pads against Princeton is playing with the junior Olympics in Boston. Danny Sullivan is with the Olympics and according to Don Rainie plays a rougher game than at Dartmouth. Off the ice he sells insurance
Country Life, associate edited by Dick Glendinning, will soon publish an article on country auctions. The author is Melvin S. Wax Dave Powers is working for American Air Lines in Boston Hans Joachim Heinz, to the best of my knowledge, is in the German army Richard Krolik says that upon graduation he will enroll with the Class of '40 rather than '41. Naturally There is a note of pathos in the only word I've had from Roger Herrick: "Please send back my tux pants. You borrowed them junior year."
Don Rainie writes in to agree with terence the termite (whom Mr. Dickerson denies) not about the beat boss hayward campaign, but about the class notes. Don says they're not personal enough.
Maybe so. There is a class secretary at Mount Holyoke who dropped everything when she got out of college and has spent the past sixteen years travelling from home to home among her classmates, staying a week or so with each family "to really get into their lives and become a part of them all over again."
Where do I start?
Secretary, 6407 RCA Bldg., Rockefeller Center New York, N. Y.
