Our Own Glass Notes Class of'—
OUR CLASS OF is glad to report that it has its reunion problem all straightened out. Our class being what it is, we were not quite sure just what reunion this one would be; but the class of 1921 (which is beyond doubt the most superlative class ever to graduate from Dartmouth in 1921) has generously solved our dilemma for us. This will be our Twentieth.
On the other hand, the fact that we are joining ranks this June with '2l does not mean that our own Class of is losing its identity. For our class has a purpose; and, despite the occasional flippant Notes it files with this MAGAZINE, it takes that purpose pretty seriously. About a year ago, we summoned up enough courage to ask Dartmouth whether we could get in. We should have known that as good a gang as the alumni of Dartmouth wouldn't say no. Ever since that time, whenever we strolled around the campus, we've had the warm feeling that it was our campus, too; that we had a right to sing its songs; that we could feel a common ownership with other Dartmouth men in the white bricks and green shutters and tall elms that are the tangible evidences of something which was said once, and once and for all, by McDowell. I mean McDuffee.
And it seems to us that, if we feel that way about Dartmouth, there must be a lot of others who would like to feel that way, too: people like ourselves who did not graduate from Dartmouth, but who have a genuine regard for what it stands for. People who admire it for its saneness and humor and urbanity; for its fighting quality—it's a fighting college when it gets aroused about something it believes in; for its friendliness. People who feel that its President is one of our truly great Americans. People who like it just for the beauty of its campus and its songs. People who came a little late, maybe, but learned to love it all the same.
That's the purpose of our class, really: to take care of people like that. That's the membership of '—. We'll never be counted, probably; a lot of us may never make ourselves known at all; but we'll be there in the background, proud of our adopted college when she displays another fine bit of sportsmanship such as she showed on a certain November afternoon last fall, happy when she gives a ringing undergraduate answer to isolationism and defeatism in our troubled times. We'll have little unscheduled reunions of our own when the sunsets are red over Hanover in the fall, or when the skis squeak on the packed snow, or when the duckboards are out and the softball starts in the spring. We'll be thinking of Dartmouth.
So anyone desiring to become a member of may address his application to our Class Secretary. He'll be found this year, we hope, at the table with the celebrants of 'si, or, anyway, under it. Just ask for Fred.
P.S. We note that, in his testimonial to Dr. Hopkins, President Roosevelt speaks of himself as "an adopted alumnus of Dartmouth." Okay, Franklin, you can be a member of our class, too.
Secretary, COREY FORD Freedom, N. H.
