1942
Never saw two months vanish so completely. MY typewriter hardly had time to cool, to sav nothing of resting the two typing fingers.And so now you have me again, you lucky people, for ten straight months. About the only bright spot I can think for both of us (since I don't like doing this any better than you do reading it) is that the opening of a new MAGAZINE year means that we are just one step closer to the Tenth, at which time we will all have surcease and blessed repose. Seems to me that the Tenth comes in 1951 or some other foolish time what with this new fouled-up system of having 18 adjacent classes reune with the 18 next above or below them in the odd years or the ones without Shrove Tuesdays. Anyway, 1951 doesn't seem so far off.
There isn't a great deal to be said—the mail hasn't been giving any of the Newport postmen curvature of the spine and what little I have received I've adroitly managed to lose. However, there has been one notable addition, that of a small Austin, to the Farley family. Due to this cute little charabanc, I have been able to get around with some skill, neatly attaching myself, leechlike, on various unsuspecting people who own cottages. In that way I've engineered a good quota of fine weekends and also, quite incidentally, seen an occasional '42, a rare species in New Hampshire.
Just to cover the Newport area '42-wise for you, I saw long and lean John Brill, a native of that town, punctuating a street-corner one morning early this summer. He is at present on the last lap of a law degree at Boston University and hopes to return to New Hampshire to practice. I have been informed that his room-mate at college, Dick Duncan, a native of near-by Claremont, recently passed his bar exams and is supposedly in the law office of the redoubtable Municipal Court judge in Newport. I haven't seen him, although I frequently sit in as a reporter on his alleged employer's juridical doings.
Going farther afield, my weekends have managed to connect with some enjoyed by Joe and Ann Palamountain. Joe, his physique gaining poise and dignity with the years, is studying for his doctorate at the Harvard graduate school of political economy and government, or some such institute. In addition, he is teaching some young Cantabs. Ann, if any of you wives want to find out the hottest thing from the Parisian and New York fashion mills, is a buyer for Bonwit-Teller in Boston. The Palamountains report that Dick and Barbara Levy returned safely from a Paris junket earlier this year, and that Dick is the sharpest shooter with a croquet mallet in Greater Boston. Even at midnight or later.
Another weekend was graced by the fleeting presence of a large segment of the Ford Motor Company, William J. Mitchel. If it may be reported that Palamountain's physique has gained poise, it must in all fairness be said that Mitchel's has gained avoirdupois. He was vacationing in the East when I saw him, doing an admirable, efficient, executive job of covering the Massachusetts North Shore in one day. I think I gathered a slight hint that young Henry II might have to shoulder the burden of running his company without Mitch before too long. Mitch, who is my chief Detroit scout these days, says that Dewey is not as fast in the field as he once was. He has nothing to say about another large Motor City operator, Bill Donovan, and I presume he hadn't seen him.
In Hanover one weekend I saw that lean, efficient, punctual young editor, Jerry Tallmer. And also Harry and Marie Jacobs, a charming and zany couple if ever there was one. Jerry is still at his old post as assistant managing editor of The Nation, while Harry is knocking them dead at Jules Bache in New York. The Jacobs now number four and can be found in Forest Hills of an evening.
On yet another visit to Hanover (midweek—it's only 40 minutes away) I watched Ed Hawkridge methodically belabor the stuffing out of a tennis ball. I can watch that sort of thing all day, but I'm not too strong at doing it. Either I didn't find out what Ed was doing or I've forgotten, but I do remember that he owned a new Ford, which is some kind of tip-off. Probably panning gold in Massachusetts someplace. He was visiting Harry and Nancy Bond, who are poised at this moment with daughter Kathy and dog Robie for flight into the wilds of Harvard Fort Devens. If the latter is a new term to you, don't blush, even I hadn't heard of it before. Seems that the Harvard Corporation is using it for their GI students, which is a confusing way of saying for the ex-Gl's who are married and attending school. Harry is stalking his master's degree in English starting this fall.
Other Hanover scouts report that BateEwart has recently been visiting his brotherin-law and sister, the aforesaid Mr. and Mrs. Bond. I hear that he has abruptly switched his line of endeavor this fall and will teach English and coach basketball and football at a high school in Plainville, Mass. If I remember correctly his previous experience was in a more un-scholarly line, something like selling.
Got some clippings from the MAGAZINE. One says that Rev. Robert W. Cook has assumed his duties as pastor of the Pilgrim Baptist Church in Jersey City. Datelined July 31. Another announces the marriage of Anne T. Keane of Holyoke, Mass., to Bernard F. CurryJr., of Scarsdale. The event took place, I'd guess, in.Scarsdale about July 24. Mrs. Jane Grant Baehr was married to Robert J. SmithJr., in New Britain, Conn., June 26, both contracting parties being residents of that city. Among the ushers were Jim Mulligan and Dick Baldwin. Still another clipping relates the marriage of Rosemary Malone to RichardPhilip O'Brien in Newton, Mass., June 17.
Secretary, Clareraonl Eagle, Newport, N. H. Treasurer, 710 Linden Ave., Los Altos, Calif.
