1942
If it weren't for the fact that the hillsides hereabouts are getting ridiculously gay with an eye-searing display of colors which would make Van Gogh's palette finger itch, I wouldn't believe that another month had rolled around. But there is ample visual evidence that October is definitely here, and that in turn leads me to the inescapable conclusion that I must needs chain myself to a typewriter and hack out some November notes.
High spot for me last month was the visit of one Matt Rapf to Hanover and his thoughtfulness preceding the visit in giving me telegraphic warning that he was coming. Not only the Rapper, but the Mrs. Rapper and a young Rapper named Jim who is a very intense young man. Had a fine weekend of it, despite the fact that all hands were beset with the sniffles, and I learned that Matt was East from his Hollywood haunts and not entirely sure whether he would continue producing pitchers, moving pitchers, not the kind his favorite baseball team, the Cleveland Indians, have. Although probably just as good.
Unlike most motion picture producers, I would guess, the Rapper is bearish on the future of television, or video as it is irritatingly called. Intimated that he wouldn't mind shifting to that field if he were sure he could earn enough to support his family. He reported that he had seen one of New York's shrewder business men, Al Goldman, prior to his Hanover visit.
About a week ago I verified the rumor reported herein last month on Dick Duncan. He is indeed working in a law office in Newport, N. H., and over a quick lunch he told me a bit of his plans, which at this writing include staying in the general area for law practice with the ultimate hope of hanging out his own shingle.
I neglected last month to report that the Hanover Chowder and Marching Society of the Class of 1942 this fall has added two more members. They are John de la Montague and family, late of Moose, Wyo., and Frank Malavasic and tribe. I haven't seen Johnny del, but I understand he is toiling as assistant director of admissions under the suave and indefatigable Al Dickerson. So, if you want to get the boss's son into Dartmouth next year, don't bother John, just tell the boss that if the kid's got any brains he'll get in and if he's a cretin, why he won't.
However, on one of my scouting tours to the Hanover sector, I did unearth Mai, who has returned to the boys in blue. He is now to be referred to as Lt. Cmdr. Frank Malavasic, instructor in naval science in the NROTC unit at Dartmouth.
Although I haven't seen him yet, I expect to cross beers with long, lank Gordon McKernan in a week or two. He is bringing his Pinkerton Academy football team (Derry, N. H.) up to this fair town of Newport on October 16 to engage the local high school. Lest some of you cosmopolites look down your urban noses at an institution called Pinkerton located in a hamlet named Derry, it behooves me to report the Coach McKernan is at present riding on the crest of a 13-game winning streak and his squad is defending Class B football titlist in the fair state of New Hampshire. In addition, he has pulled off the neat trick of guiding his basketball teams to Class B titles the last two years hand running.
Belatedly, for the record, I now let you know that last June two more '42s, somewhat slowed by hardening arteries, hobbled up to the platform in the Bema to receive their bachelors' degrees. These never-say-die men are Walter J. Haley of West Roxbury, Mass., and William M. McMahon of New Rochelle, N. Y. Their spirit and determination merits a small accolade, without soda. I believe that winds up all the undergraduate '42s although I haven't checked this belief with the registrar. Could easily be wrong, because a couple of weeks ago I met a fine guy named Gahagan in the class of '35 who is back to finish up his senior year. Along with him is his attractive wife and three engaging kids, aged eight, six and four. Just to give the story a nice twist, he will probably make the varsity tennis team if he chooses to go out for it.
Keeping along this line of how-old-we'regetting I received a slight shotk the other day. As is my wont, I plodded over to Hanover one Saturday last week ostensibly to cover a high school football game for the fair organ I am employed by. Got there shortly after noon and decided to eat a little something to keep the high-school-football-vertigo I occasionally suffer from away. Wandered down to the Snack Bar, a Main Street emporium new since our time which is hard by that magnificent array of Dartmouthiana called the Little Store. After I had ordered I started staring in my usual oafish style at the others in the shop. Suddenly I realized that all those kids with little green lids on were freshmen, and it finally penetrated to my consciousness that the lettering across said lids was "1952." And you know what numerals our hats had!
At this point I guess I might as well reinsert something that was left out of last month's column by reason of space shortages or something. At any rate, here it is:
One day while tooling the Austin over a washboard road leading from Sunapee to Newport (both small New Hampshire towns) I was passed on a curve by a large, sleek and arrogant Buick convertible. As it passed and I was sorting through my collection of blasphemy for a few choice epithets, I discovered with a start that it was driven by Dex Richards. He was able to bring his car to a stop after two or three miles of wild careening, and so I managed to have a little chat with him. No longer a pukka sahib with the National Carbon Company in India (Bombay, I believe it was), he is at this writing suffering through a six-month vacation before being re-assigned abroad again. Oddly enough, I learned that Dex's family are old Newport stock and that the building I work in is called the Richards Block after his grandfather (to say nothing of a school, library, etc., which are similarly named in Newport). Dex and his wife were staying at a family cottage on Lake Sunapee so I saw him several times thereafter. On one occasion he muttered something about a party the weekend before which included several '42 names, the only one of which that comes definitely to memory is Gardie Bridge.
And now to the clippings. Miss Elizabeth McKenna daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Peter J. McKenna of Manhasset, N. Y., was. married August 10 to Dr. John Grant Harrison, son of Mr. and Mrs. William Harrison of Garden City. The wedding took place in St. Mary's Church, Manhasset. Following a honeymoon, the Harrisons are living in New Orleans, where the doc is stationed with the U. S. Navy Medical Corps.: ;
On or about August 31 the engagement of Miss Audrey Hoag, daughter of Mrs. Wilson F. Hoag of Far Rockaway, N. Y., was to Harlan Strader, son of Mr. and Mrs. Budd Strader of Freeport, N. Y. The clip, from the New York Times, a reasonably reliable journal, says that Bucky is assistant to the vicepresident of the , Associated Merchandising Corp., New York City.
Two appointments to announce—those of Bob Searles as varsity ski coach at the University of Vermont and Jeff Markell as assistant director of the Academy of Arts, New York City.
Also a birth announcement, that of W. Graham Bowdoin Hill, son o£ Mr. and Mrs.Robert C. Hill, who arrived September 10 grossing six pounds, five ounces. It don't say where, though.
Visitors at the Inn Dep't: John Brewer, Frank Malavasic, Mr. and Mrs. R. A. Sprenger, Swift Barnes, William D. Hart, Mr. and Mrs. Alex C. Hooker and Peter C. Krist.
I shall close with my red-hot tip for 1948 and remember this is being written October 1. Large, successful Dave HealcL will soon be resigning his membership in the Hanover Chapter of the '42 Chowder and Marching Society.
Ha!
Secretary, Claremont Eagle, Newport, N. H.
Treasurer, 710 Linden Ave., Los Altos, Calif.
