Trials, Tribulations, Success

The Hanover Inn, Owned and Operated by the College Has Earned Fame Under Ford and Peggy Sayre

THERE'S A MISTAKEN NOTION abroad that the Hanover Inn fills up with festive alumni over football weekends; conducts a couple of ski schools for children during the winter; and then does nothing else the rest of the year except serve Sunday p.m. (perfectly marvelous) buffet suppers.

Well, we know that's a bit distorted albeit the Inn may be jammed to the rafters when Cornell plays football in Hanover. But, the following Wednesday—barring some ingenious stimulation to patronage the guests will rattle around in the hulk like twelve peas in a barrel.

The bane of the management's existence is the capacity collections which assemble for the opening of College, the football week-ends, Carnival and Commencement. The problem of attracting steady trade in the face of extraordinary demands has been tossed, bandied and bundled all over town, and the alumni body. Even Tillie toiling on the fourth floor back has stuck her dust-mop into the foray.

The Inn, you see, is made of brick and mortar. It's no doll house that can be expanded to suit unusual demands and be collapsed when the attack on its facilities has subsided. It has about 85 rooms for normal accommodation of 160 guests. You may have been a 204 th guest, sleeping on a mattress against the floor on a crowded Saturday night, but that's an exception.

Alumni, undergraduates, faculty and friends should all realize that the Inn is not an independent commercial venture. It is a spacious "guest house" on the large Dartmouth "estate." The management must straddle successfully the issue of public appeal as it demonstrates dexterity by supplying official hospitality at the same time. Over all a canopy of net income must protect the enterprise from being a drain on the College's funds.

That is the problem, in general, which was passed to a couple of youngsters early in 1936. They caught it and have hung onto it.

Margaret ("Peggy") Lincoln of Brookline, Mass. and the class of 1935 at Smith College had met and married Ford Kent Sayre of Glen Ridge, New Jersey six months after he had graduated from Dartmouth College in 1933.

As bride and groom, they had settled in a backwoodsman's idea of a love-nest called the Ravine Camp. It was at the foot of Mount Moosilauke in the township of Warren, New Hampshire, and they had just been appointed managers of this small but popular ski center which was sponsored by alumni of the College and operated by the Outing Club.

They cooked the meals and supervised a motley collection of Warren townies and Outing Club heelers in the performance of menial tasks. The guests made their own bunks—or else. Wood fires, oil lamps, no telephone and Chic Sale plumbing. The nearest contact with the outside world was two miles away. That was their first and most vital experience in hotel management.

The Ravine Camp burned to the ground in September 1935. The Sayres bought and remodelled a farm on top of Spy Glass Hill nearer Warren and were set up for their ski business by December even though Peggy was at the hospital that month for the birth of Ford Kent, Junior.

One bright Sunday afternoon in February after Fordie had been tucked away in an open bureau drawer to crib out a nap, Peggy heaved a sigh of relief as she glanced out the window for a visual farewell to the departing week-end skiers. But, good heavens, who was this lone man coming up the hill?

BEARING A MESSAGE

Fixed to the spot, she yelled to her husband, "Here comes Cotty Larmon! What on earth could bring him to this Godforsaken spot?" Of course, she shouldn't have said "Cotty" but her surprise was then as complete as when he ultimately explained the purpose of his visit. He was "Carrying A Message To Sayre."

Professor Russell R. Larmon, Dartmouth 1919 and astute adviser on matters administrative, had arrived to discuss the possibility of appointing the Sayres as new managers of the Hanover Inn.

He had been deliberating profoundly. He had been interviewing other prospects for the job discreetly. He had been consulting with experts, including the capable and successful Frank Dodge 'u, manager of the swanky Mountain View House at Whitefield. The experts—except Dodgewere frank in their opposition to neophytes of the Sayre stamp. "Wouldn't work. You're crazy," they told the Professor. Yes, he was "crazy," perhaps, but in the fashion of the proverbial fox.

Bucking the tide of opinion, he hewed to the line of attack to which he was personally committed and for which President Hopkins had made him personally responsible. Would the Sayres do some research work of a preliminary nature; make a report of their suggested procedure at the Inn; and generally entertain the proposition? Would they? They most certainly would! Completely surprised—but not daunted—their response was spontaneous, unequivocal and succinct.

That much accomplished and justifiably pleased with prospects, Cotty buckled on his ear-muffs and headed back to Hanover in the twilight.

Subsequently, the research was completed; the report was rendered and approved; and the appointment was made effective May 18, 1936.

Down from Spy Glass Hill trooped the excited family. They traversed the badly gutted roads of that spring. They brought their few belongings, their baby boy, an excellent recipe for green salad and a fortitude that not only licked the actual obstacles during their journey to Hanover but has been squelching the figurative obstacles of their subsequent professional existence.

Two rooms on the second floor of the "old section" in the Inn were set aside as the Sayre residence. There they've lived ever since. Bright Penny ("Margaret F. Sayre" on the town records) came home from the Mary Hitchcock Hospital in September 1937 to join brother Fordie. Late in 1939, Robbie the Rotund ("Robert H.") made it a family of five.

Not long after you read this, the Say re quintet will be established in a duplex apartment which is a remodelled expansion of their former quarters and which the College insisted they should have. Much as friends have felt that a separate residence would be more agreeable for family life, Ford has been adamant in his adherence to the precept that the good hotel manager must be on 24-hour call if he's in town.

Since their installation—Ford as manager and Peggy as assistant manager—they have made the necessary experiments fearlessly; have brought about personnel changes deliberately and effectively; and have worked incessantly to "lift the Inn by its corner-stone" and make it succeed.

Figures from the College books are tangible evidence of results and the degree to which the energy, ingenuity and personality of the management inspired its staff and its sponsors.

On June 30, 1940 the Inn showed a profit of $88.01 for the preceding fiscal year, with repairs and renewals included. That ended the long string of annual fivefigure deficits. The "plus" was no flash in the pan, for the fiscal year of 1940-1941 produced the pleasing black figures of $5056.47. Just another figure or two and the story will continue. January has always been an "off month." In that month of 1935' 'he total house-count was 489. The first Sayre January in 1936, the registered tally was 1845. Progress? Yes, indeed!

Two cardinal principles of sound business philosophy have been established by and for the management.

First, real profits for the Inn shall be derived from new sources and not from a frantic effort to accommodate everybody during a peak period. Or, to put it another way, when "capacity" is attained, there is no room for the disappointed patrons who must be refused accommodations before or after reaching Hanover. They, we'd guess, could amount to as many as 500 people on some week-ends. A simple device for correction is the Sayre effort to distract attention from those periods of peak patronage and direct it toward other times in the same season but of equal charm.

Second, what's good for Hanover and for Dartmouth is good for the Inn. "Sell Hanover First." Get your guests to register once, then make 'em like it so well, they'll come back and bring friends with them. If it s impossible to "house" any guests, help them to find suitable quarters. To that end, Ford Sayre is determined to maintain the best possible relations with all surrounding hotels, overnight camps, lodging houses and other sources of accommodation for his inevitable over-flows.

Mrs. Sayre's ably worded and attractively presented publicity-she writes the Inn advertisements in this magazine-all supplement this sales philosophy. Every part of the Inn's carefully planned and adroitly executed exploitation is aimed to increase business during lulls when College official and athletic attractions are not competing for attention.

For example, the foliage in the fall is also lovely in mid-week or on off football week-ends. The country is a nice place to be for Thanksgiving. The Christmas holidays, including the turn of the New Year, find Hanover without students but with freer skiing slopes and a more leisurely life. There are many days during the winter when the wary automobile traveler should smother trepidations on this assurance that the New Hampshire roads in the dead of winter are a state-wide lattice of smooth, clear and safe ribbons of macadam or concrete.

Summer-time gets its share of justified plugging too. This reporter has seen the new Hanover and the reborn Inn at every period in the year. It seems that summer is more appealing than ever and the publicity which solicits our attention to that fact is no whimsical nor synthetic excitement. It's genuine and fully justified.

Ford is president of the Hanover Board of Trade and president of the New Hampshire Hotel Association. When he holds office, it feels his hold. No gentle grasp for superficial and political reasons. He's a real worker! However, such extra duties all serve to ingratiate him and the Inn with their friends in the business and in the community.

Much as he has already learned, there's one unsolved problem that stays face up on the desk of the manager. How can he pacify the irate alumnus who, oblivious to sound reasoning and all else, expects and demands impossible service.

For instance, there's the case of slipchested Joe Turtleneck, famous right slap-back on that championship team of "naughty-naught" who barged up to the desk for the first time in six years but on the Friday night of a Cornell game. The clerk politely asked if he had reservations. "Reservations? Hell, no! Look, son, I guess you missed the name. It's 'Joe Turtleneck' —Tell Ford I'm in town unexpectedly and that I'd like a nice double room in the new section and facing the campus."

"PRESSURE" PROBLEM

Who's going to put Joe and his frequent counterparts in their places. Certainly not the "little ladies." They're as proud of their big heros as they are of themselves. What's more, the problem is not infrequent even if the cantankerous customers are not erstwhile athletes or alumni.

These episodes are thinning Ford's hair and turning the survivors gray.

What about the maintenance of the dual American and European Plan policy? That's another "headache" for the management. Both plans are available—except at capacity periods already listed, when American Plan "under contract" must be uniform. As Ford puts it, "Nobody wants to be rid of the American Plan more than we do. If we can find a way to do it without losing our shirts, it'll be done."

It should be remembered at this juncture that the College cannot permit competition between its own eating establishments. The Commons and Thayer Hall have trade which should not be diverted. It may be fun to pass money from the left pocket to the right, but there's seldom any profit in it. To set up the main dining room in the Inn as a restaurant for a la carte service may be a fond hope of Mr. and Mrs. Sayre but it's all tangled up in stout College policy to the contrary.

So, it is necessary for the management to rely upon its apparently infallible ingenuity. It must placate the public; please the administration; and produce profits. The prodigious progress already made is more than encouraging, it's a reliable pattern for future expectations.

Ingenuity has already produced innovation after innovation.

If there isn't a natural incentive to patronage, make one. If there's nothing doing in town to attract customers, do something.

Duncan Hines, that peripatetic purveyor of epicurean facts, reports in part, on the Hanover Inn, "Especially noteworthy is the buffet supper on Sunday night which always includes New England codfish cakes." Yes, those suppers are something! Started under the aegis of a chef who was more of a culinary architect than a good baker, they have survived to become the biggest Sunday meal in Grafton County.

The menu is immense. From oyster stew to demi-tasse, it's a galaxy of gastronomical delights. One serves oneself, so it is yours to have or to leave in the quantity and variety your eye dictates, even though the tummy rebels. "Thirds" and even "fourths" are permitted to the jeopardy of profit but to the enhancement of good-will. The managers were asked if they had overheard any interesting comments by satisfied customers. "Just burps" was the terse, significant report.

The Inn stages College banquets, fraternity dinners, professional and business conventions and meetings. Dances, benefits, bridge parties and teas provide additional

activity and income. Occasional musicals, movies and lectures in the lounge are gratis for guests. Liveliness in the common rooms of a hotel is always a good sign. A "dead" inn repels business like a haunted house.

The chef reaches into the community for further fields to conquer. Many catering contracts are brought to his desk by the alert solicitors.

Several names are on the patent application for "Hanover Holidays." Whoever designed the pattern deserves credit but to Ford and Peggy go plaudits for the promptness with which they have supported the ideas. Incidentally, the Winter Holiday is destined to be as pat as its summer counterpart.

The Children's Ski Schools share the spotlight with the buffet suppers in the outside world. Incongruous associates, to be sure, but both very potent in their broadening and good influence on the Hanover Inn name. There are now literally hundreds of youthful graduates (?) of this "Academy of Stem and Sitz" who are constantly circulating ecstatic reports of their experiences at the schools. That's invaluable publicity. It even helps Dartmouth, to say nothing of the Inn.

Jack Durrance, as expert a skier in many ways as his more famous brother Dick, is and has been the Sayres' chief assistant at these schools. He has a most fortunate way with youngsters and his studies at the Dartmouth Medical School have permitted his service for pleasure and mutual gain.

The oldsters and guests of the Inn come in for their share of attention as well. Their instruction is supervised by a woman, but don't let that fool you. Deborah (Debbie) Bankart, personable daughter of Larry 'lO, is the best woman professional in the country.

Have you ever had a picnic in the snow? Neither have we. That's not because we haven't had the chance, because during the recent Winter Holiday Ford invited us to join one which was part of the Inn's program of entertainment. At two below zero, he served stew and fixings for a coterie of braver but shivering alumni. Some fun, eh what?

The Inn has its own skating rink now with its ice luncheons a la St. Moritz and skating instruction k la Henie. It's abaft the dining room and although not large, is sufficient. Its agreeable proximity to the fireplaces of the ski-hut and the lobby is fortunate. Many of us remember when skating in Hanover was a combination of manual labor and exercise. Occom Pond had to be cleared by the "customers" and it was a case of—no shovelee, no skatee. That's different now and to the pleasure of the Inn guests who want more of a sweep for their dashes and "eights" than the Inn rink affords. The town clears the pond with powered plows, scrapers and brushes.

With the advent of milder weather come the tennis and golf tournaments in which guests may compete. Instruction may be obtained from varsity coaches Red Hoehn and Tommy Keane respectively.

If peace comes then there will be further thought of a swimming pool to the east of the Inn. There the parents and older children may frolic with an eye on the kids who may be attending the nearby, outdoor nursery school which, by the way, is a boon to Hanover mothers also.

Alumni are now streaming into Hanover in ever increasing numbers and at all seasons of the year to visit boys at College; to attend the famous Eye Clinic; to ferret out a farm in the environs; or just to "get away from it all". All of which means new revenue and new friends for the Hanover Inn and for the Dartmouth Region—which the map says is "Grafton County."

GOOD STAFF MORALE

The importance and meaning of these innovations, events and natural attractions is recognized by every member of the Inn staff. From manager to bellboy, man to woman, young to old, the appreciation is keen and the association with success is contagious.

Each person works diligently, constantly, and efficiently under the supervision of intelligent management and sympathetic ownership. The official family discourages any distribution of honors. "It's like a swarm of cross-country runners breasting the tape with arms locked." There's no other thought than victory for the common cause.

As far as Ford and Peggy are concerned, they are as interchangeable as some of Peggy's expensive ski underwear which she discovered her husband wearing at the time of this reporter's interview.

Ford's curley mane is part of the streamlining for a very nervous man who speaks briefly but not abruptly and who leaves awisp of conversation trailing behind him like a thread of smoke as he steams off in the direction of some duty. He's human, dynamic, shy and direct. He's the opposite of his placid wife who is veritably the Bonnie-Face of the Inn. Her forthrightness, her affability and her ease at conversation are invaluable assets on the Inn's ledger. She's as winsome in a wet ski-rig as she is attractive in evening gown or daytime tweeds.

Their responsibilities are capably supplemented by Mrs. Adele Hall Ives, widow of Freddie Ives '19. Since 1936 she has been a resident of the Inn and since 1939 she has been assistant to the manager. Her duties are rather indefinite from the guest's point of view, but the organization chart is explicit. She's a smallish person with a deepish voice who is about the only member of the staff without interest in skiing. With her hustle, her acumen and her urbanity, she is a touch of civilization when all about you seems to have gone "Slalom" or "Now for the great outdoors!"

The front desk is manned by "Buddy" Lynch as chief clerk with George Butler and Dick Little assisting. These are the men who are trying to fill Lon Gove's shoes and who are doing a good job of it.

The public also encounters many members of the undergraduate body who are serving as bellboys, busboys, kitchen assistants and catering supervisors. Some of these men have achieved no little fame as experts in their field. Familiar faces for years have been those of Jerry Hickson and Ai Peavey in their various capacities before the desk, behind the desk, on the bell row or doing ski duty of one kind or another. The dining room is under the supervision of Miss Kay Clarke who, as head waitress, has capably managed her staff since 1937. Miss Mary Moran is her assistant.

All are young people. So too is Georges Lalanne, the chef-steward of the Hanover Inn. This lord and master of the culinary department is a bright-eyed, pleasant and very efficient student of his science. He is French. He's the sort of chap who would take as much delight in meeting guests as they would in meeting him. The guest must make the advance, however, as that's proper etiquette. Much of his kitchen staff accompanied him when he attained his exalted position in 1939. They're still there!

The manager is a firm believer in, and a tireless worker for, all forms of social betterment for his entire staff which numbers approximately 55. A baseball team for the twilight league, big dinner and party at Christmas and a summer outing for all hands are events of consequence on their calendar.

"Help's Hall" is a model of good service, good food, and arrangement. Employees eat in colorful and sanitary surroundings from a menu which is presented in a cafeteria style by a staff with no other duties to perform. A play room adjoins the dining room and a powder room of Radio City ilk is just beyond.

In 1939, Lewis Parkhurst, trustee extraordinary and able adviser on all matters pertaining to the Inn, instigated the construction of an employee's dormitory which bears the name "Brewster House," in honor of the first innkeeper in Hanover.

The physical aspects of the Inn have undergone obvious, necessary and effective alterations. Peggy Sayre had no sooner doffed her bonnet that May day in 1936, when she set about the formidable task of "lifting the Inn's face."

Downstairs, upstairs, all around the house, she was busy, is busy and—in factwill always be busy.

The Coffee Shop has been enlarged twice to include now what used to be the bookstore, the sample room and the barber shop. It's air-conditioned, and those stunning international travel posters on the walls are out of Ford's personal, priceless collection. The Shop has been made into one of the most popular, moderatepriced eating places in the village. It has its own serving staff but the food comes from the same kitchen and cooks as does that which goes into the main dining room. That may be one big reason for its success.

Another conspicuous change downstairs is in the lobby. The elimination of partitions, and the addition of new furniture, brighter colors, gift shop and ski service room mean much improvement in appearance and service. The desk, however, is the chef d'oeuvre with its modernization and the unique bulletin board, entitled "Dartmouth In Town Again," on which is posted the name of each Dartmouth man registered.

The lounge has come into its own as it has ceased to be an understuffed formal room or an overdone living room. It's a lounge, just that! The incidental music from a console phonograph is as insidious as the open fire or comfortable furniture. Beyond this common room, and keeping up to its high standard of visual comfort, is the dining room. Daylight or artificial light now falls softly against special wall decoration which has provoked more than one "Where did that lovely paper come from?" (It came from colonial Dartmouth stencil designs by Mrs. Ray Nash which were executed on paper by her husband.) The eating facilities, in 1937, were extended outward to a front terrace for summer use and to the ice rink for winter use. Ingenuity again on the march.

Flowers are everywhere at all seasons of the year. Peggy buys them and arranges them. And, speaking of floral decorations, each wife, mother, sister or sweetheart of a registered Dartmouth man receives a corsage upon arrival delivered by a bellboy who has been forbidden to accept a tip for this courtesy.

Upstairs, each room has been redecorated at least once and the process is continous. All mattresses have been renovated. Electric fixtures have been modernized and so has the current (by grace of the College power plant). The rooms are separate and excellent examples of the art of interior decoration at the command of an expert. Bright colors, chintz curtains, candlewick spreads, complementary wall decorations and practical furniture which is sturdy without emphasizing that fact, are all part of the comfort and pleasure for each guest.

The grounds have been landscaped and extended to afford pleasant retreats in the milder seasons. Garden furniture is scattered and guests may bask in the sun—or shield themselves from it by their choice. A ski hut has been built at the far end of the rear garden that serves as the ice rink in winter. Here is a supplementary and detached establishment for private parties and general use by skiers in heavy boots who wish to segregate themselves from the more formal aspects of the common rooms of the Inn.

Also, the top floor of the "old section" has been done over into bunk rooms, the better to attract the very important but less affluent ski trade. Those erstwhile quarters of the bowl-pitcher-and-jug era have been transformed into practical sleeping and living accommodations and at a price which suits the budgets of the younger men and women who are its best patrons.

Ford's motto for this crowd is "Treat 'em well today. Who knows, they may some day clamor for de luxe quarters when Life is treating them with the kindness they'll probably deserve."

Five fiscal years of the Sayre regime have gone into the records. The facts and figures stand as mute evidence that the task and tactical problem of reclamation has been successfully solved.

Now come the steadier periods with their less spectacular possibilities, their war and post-war influences which are difficult to anticipate, and their inevitable demands upon the reserve supply of ingenuity which all friends of the Inn believe to be fully adequate.