1916
So many things are happening to so many people in so many places at so many times, including me, that it seems the only time I can get to write these notes is when I am on a night watch in the Admiral's office. Beside me on the desk is my suitcase full of pajamas, shaving kit, letters from you guys and your general managers and vice presidents in charge of raising the children, and GeorgeDock's article from the New York TimesMagazine, "Majesty and Mystery of Our Migrant Birds." Which gives me an opening for my lecture.
Recently I have been reading Road to Survival by William Vogt—in fact the book is right here in my suitcase, too. It has made a tremendous impression on me, otherwise I would not plug it in the DARTMOUTH ALUMNI MAGAZINE. The only connection the book has with Dartmouth is that Dartmouth men, as the recognized leaders of thought in the USA, must see to it that our natural resources, including George Dock's birds, are conserved, or else we shall all be starving to death within 200 years. Listen to George:
"Each new encroachment of human population upon the wilderness brings its perils to the animals that make the undisturbed earth, forest and sky their homes, hunting grounds and travel routes. Every highway and suburban development, airport and skyscraper, drainage project and lumbering operation levies its special tax upon wildlife. Even the lives of a few thousand birds are important to us, if not by their beauty of color, flight or song, as they are to many people, then certainly for their competence in dealing with the billions of insects, whose unchecked increase in a few years would devour the plants and trees by which mankind is clothed, fed and housed."
Now listen to William Vogt and notice how he checks with G. Dock Jr.: "A national resource which we treat like the bow-legged girl at the picnic, is our wildlife and its habitat. How can one assign a cash value to the heart's lift at the flash of a scarlet tanager, the outpoured song of the solitaire, the towering of white ibises over the Everglades, or even the homely chattering of the dooryard wren? What of the blue sweep of crowsfoot violets across the prairie, the indescribable scarlet of the cardinal flower, the dainty perfection of Dutchman's-breeches and moccasin flower, the spring tocsin of the humble skunk cabbage? Can any Old World architecture equal the living arches of our southern swamps, where prothonotary warblers dart like living jewels? How many times have people asked me what a wildflower or salamander or bird is good for. What is a sunset good for? Or the salt tang of wind off the sea? Or the deep velvet of hoarfrost on a weeping willow? Or the ringing of tiny bells beneath the ice of a January brook? .... A consciousness of nature has influenced our culture more than any other people except, possibly, the British. We need as never before to turn to the healing hills and forests, with their rich company of plants and animals. Yet we have neglected and abused and destroyed that company. The list of species whose existence hangs by a thread is a long one .... that we have not lost more of them we may attribute to the size and richness of our country ....
but now, with the stockmen seeking the ultimate blade of grass, the sawyer the last great tree, and the engineer sites for enormous reservoirs, protection for our wildlife requires constantly increasing thought and effort."
That is only a sample of one man's analysis of the waste of our heritage. George Dock has done a real service in pointing up one facet of this national tragedy. Don't miss reading Road to Survival. I am indebted to JohnAmes for sending me George's story.
On the day I write this, Stew Paul's plane is due back from Europe. Mrs. Paul made the trip with him. Because of Stew's absence we could not arrange a farewell party for JessFenno, who retired today from the Civil Aeronautics Administration to live the life of a squire at Orford, N. H., a great vantage point for following the Big Green teams, also the rise and fall of an outdoor thermometer. When I talked to Jess by phone yesterday he told me his son John, now in second year Tuck School, was married September 11, to Grace Christopherson, Smith '48. They live in one of the vets' villages, which one Jess wasn't quite sure. The second boy, Lincoln, is now a sophomore.
Sojourning at the Hanover Inn in recent weeks, dates unknown, were Ken Henderson,Mr. and Mrs. T. W. Rutledge, from Macedonia, Ohio; Ken Ross, and, naturally, H. Clifford Bean.
Stan Lyman, writing from Minneapolis, and taking up my suggestion that you have a lot of fun in the 50 to 60 decade, says: "Yes, I believe that is true, and we had better take advantage of it. Just a year ago we started to build a house at Lake Minnetonka. So far we have moved into the basement, with no radiators for the coming winter. It may be another two months before all the headaches are over and we have settled down. We don't think of it as a hardship at all because it has been a lot of fun. Nevertheless, building a house today is unusually difficult compared to ten years ago. When you are all through you are happy and have one relief—your income tax will be considerably less the rest of your life." Just when I'm thinking of doing that very thing.
John Borland Cxemer Jr., who bosses the Red Cross in Cleveland, writes that he became a grandfather for the fifth time on September 5, when his younger daughter Margaret had a son, described by grandpop as looking like "a little urchin who has just come in from playing a hard game of baseball on the back lot."
Lucile Deneen Cole, vice president in charge of everything in the Livy Cole establishment, tactfully calls my attention to the lack of calibration between my typewriter and the blank space on the green sheets used for the Balmacaan Newsletter. I never seem to make the copy fit the paper. Says Lucile: "This empty sheet must be a hangover from the paper shortage days during the war when we civilians grouched about Washington's use of paper We went to 'Dartmouth-in-Chicago' when the Glee Club was here and Livingston (her short name for Livy) picked Ruby McFalls' boy right out of the chorus on stage. He had never seen him before, nor has he seen his former roommate since graduation. The young man was charming and the evening was gay. Ken Henderson was there but for the rest, most of them were from later classes, as is usual." Thanks, Lucile, for making the copy come out even.
Ed Knight, famous engineer and canine connoissuer of the Kanawha, writes as follows: "Mrs. Knight succeeded in dragging me away from business and the farm for a week with her brother and sister-in-law at Virginia Beach, where I had three very good days of fishing, catching a 26-1b. Channel bass on light 3/6 tackle and a 40-1b Cobia on 6/9 tackle. I also hooked on to a rather heavy fish with my 3/6 rig and played it for two and three-quarter hours, covering about three miles of ocean, but never got to see it as it went into a hole in the reef and we had to break the line to get free. I was in Washington briefly the latter part of July when my son was married to Miriam Marjorie Whitley at Alexandria. I would liked to have called you up but you can readily realize the limited amount of time at my disposal on such an occasion." Needless to say, I can realize no such thing, readily or otherwise. (This is all the space we are entitled to, but you'll have a newsletter before you read this. Keep that news coming to me.)
Secretary, 2721 Blaine Drive, Chevy Chase 15, Md.
Treasurer, 370 So. Westmoreland Ave., Los Angeles 5, Calif.
Memorial Fund Chairman, H.
