1909
Lt. Chester Brett Jr. is just home for a twenty-five day leave from his duties in the South Pacific. He must have seen some action because I noticed five battle stars on his uniform. He told me that they had an interesting Dartmouth dinner for sixteen people which he attended at Samoa and that they regularly have a Dartmouth dinner once a month at Honolulu at which about twenty-five people attend.
Ed Ford has recently been elected president of the Marshfield Board of Trade, which is really a distinguished honor, inasmuch as this association is one of the most influential organizations south of Boston. At their annual outing our old classmate and clambake specialist, Al Newton, put on one of his famous clambakes which Ed says was a gastronomical delight. He doesn't have to tell the ought-niners how good they are.
Freddy Carroll just recently had another honor bestowed on him in being elected vice president of the trust division of the American Bankers Association. Freddy had previously served as chairman of the executive committee of this division.
I am sorry to report that George and Marion Adams lost their oldest boy, George Jr., recently. George Jr. was in the army and developed a case of appendicitis. While he successfully survived this operation, complications later set in and he passed away from a heart attack. In addition to this loss, Marion was operated on for ulcers. George has the sympathy of all in his troubles.
I ran into Mabel Avery the other day. She is looking very well and is looking forward to a trip to Florida again this fall. She is going to Del Ray. Her address is Box 807 if anyone is desirous of getting in touch with her. Mabel told me she has recently seen Mother Morawski, and she told her that her grandson John is on the sea, and Peter is somewhere in the South Pacific. The mother of the boys is still in Buenos Aires.
Miss Deborah Hazelton, daughter of Sid and Marion Hazelton, was recently married to Ens. Arthur H. Osgood of Claremont, N. H., who was a graduate, of the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis this year.
The Cleveland. News of Ohio recently listed several people in Cleveland who are rendering distinguished service on the home front. Jack Childs was one of the people so honored. Jack is the editor of the Addressograph-Multigraph Corp., and is chairman of the Morale Committee. Among the many good things said about him was the fact that "he shoots square and talks straight," and, "He is the easiest man to get help from." Norman Catherine recently received a letter from Jack in his usual newsy style. I am quoting his letter in full because it would be a crime to try to edit it:—
"A lot has taken place since you and I and a bunch of other guys of that glorious class of '09 separated that day in June, 1909, and went out to make names for ourselves in the evil world. I wonder how many of the lads have come close to their ideas and ideals, and how many have hit the course they charted then. Very few, is my guess. At that time, as I recall, I didn't have any main objective, nor even side ones—just grabbing off the things that turned up and hoping for the best.
"For the spirit of your communications which you have sent out to the boys and which, by the way, I have enjoyed receiving, you must have the same pep you had in college, and that's a good thing. I don't like to see guys get old in their minds and take themselves too damned seriously. And I agree with the philosophy of a gent named Walpole (I thing that's his name): 'To the feeling man, life is a tragedy; to the thinking man, life is a comedy.'
"Well, old timer, those were happy days we used to have over in the Beta house with you, Cad Cummings, Proc Perley, Joe Brusse, Dannie Watson, Knuck Kennedy, Billy Ruhe, and Al Newton. You and I thought we might get to be pretty good steppers, only we didn't keep after it long enough. And I remember after one Junior Prom, when the gals put up at the house, that we discovered in one room, left behind, some of those false bosoms that you blow up with air. What a time we had speculating whose it was. After we blew it up, we found it wasn't much different from real thing. That was just an innocuous way the girls had of deceiving us unsuspecting boys in those days. A dress pretty well covered such gadgets. Today, it's different. Out of that old gang, Joe and Knuck are gone.
"In the last letter I had from Charlie the Coon (I hear from him once in a great while—remember him and the vaudeville shows we used to put on?) he told me that Henry Pelton had died. The last time I was in Hanover, which was in 1930, I had quite a jam session with Charlie. I was living in Chicago at the time, and Henry seemed anxious to get away from the place and move to some other part of the country, but he never did. It reminded me of people in institutions who always are asking people to help 'em get out, but they never seem to make it.
"We've been living in Ohio going on seven years, and four-sevenths of that time I have been with the Addressograph-Multigraph Corp., doing editorial work, editing three publications for the company. It's work I like to do, even if it does 'keep you chained to a typewriter' as O. O. Mclntyre once said. We live in the little village of Aurora, twenty-five miles from the plant, which reminds me of a New England village, and that's the reason I like it. There are characters here, similar to those we knew in college, and there are folks who work in Cleveland. Aurora is the garden spot of America, and it affords homes for about 600 souls. We bought an old house, about 100 years old, and a couple of acres of ground, have fixed up the place in pretty good shape, and I sure enjoy coming back to it after the day's work. There's plenty of work around the yard and in the garden, but that's part of the fun of living in the country.
"I still play the banjo occasionally, but my principal hobby is learning to play the piano, which I am teaching to myself. That's the hard way, but I'm making steady progress, and one of these days when the old gang gets together, I'll be able to play for the singing, if they can still sing. The wife and daughter, Becky, who is almost 22, are home with me. Son John, 25, is working in Bloomfield, N. J., and living in New York. He enlisted in aviation a couple of years ago, but was sent home because of kidney trouble. It's not too serious, but they told him he couldn't stand the rigors of army life.
"Now, son, you've been brought up to date in a sketchy sort of way. One guy in the office offered to sell his life's history for a nickel. Maybe I'll give mine away. If you see any mutual friends, give 'em my best, and next year, unless some unforeseen misfortune hits me, you can count on a larger slice for the Alumni Fund. How about telling me all about yourself?"
Secretary, Wm. Filene's Sons Co. 426 Washington St., Boston Treasurer, 16 Wall St., New York, N. Y.
