1889
In the death of Ned Dearborn, we lost one of our most loyal members. Rarely absent from Class Reunions, only last June he came to Hanover to be with several of his old friends in '89 gathered there. His life work was unique and interesting. He had a colorful personality. At future gatherings of class members, his presence will be sadly missed. Under In Memoriam in this issue appears his obituary.
"Doc" Warden attended a meeting of Di- rectors of the Associated Press at Pasadena, Calif., in January. He wants to know what '89 intends to do about meeting in Hanover next June. "Sully," shocked by the news of Ned Dearborn's death, writes: "We must close up the ranks and march on." With that spirit, '89's veterans will surely gather in Hanover in June to chat, to talk over the good old days, and enjoy the pleasure of seeing each other again.
Clarence Moulton reports plenty of snow in Montpelier, the thermometer registering 20 degrees below zero the day he wrote. He has an ample supply of coal and keeps fit by attending to the furnace. His physician says he is in good condition.
Harry Frost, deeply regretting Ned Dear- born's death, refers in his recent letter to that Saturday rainy night at the Inn last June when we all dined together and had such a good time. Ned left early next morhing to return to Littleton, we little realizing it was to be our last meeting with him. Early in January Harry was confined to his bed about a week with the "flu," but is well again.
George Bard took a short winter vacation the middle of January. He met his son Robert in Atlanta, Ga., and they motored from there to Florida, visiting Clearwater, St. Petersburg and Miami, and then up to Jacksonville, where he took the train back to New York.
Our big snowstorms this winter have set people to talking about the Great Blizzard of March 1888. It was in our junior year—60 years ago. With the means of transportation and communication existing at that time, Hanover was shut off from the outside world for several days. "Doc" Warden, who has lived in Montana ever since leaving college, has become so accustomed to deep snow and winter blizzards that he has hardly any recollection of the 1888 blizzard and the difficulty he had in wallowing through the high drifts in getting to his eating club at "Ma" Swett's from his abode in Conant Hall, where he and the two Hazens then roomed together. "Fush" Hazen, another long-time resident of Montana, who is hibernating this winter in southern Calif., where the thermometer recently registered in the upper eighties, also recalls little about that blizzard. However, in his belief that college activities were not interrupted, his admiration for President Bartlett appears to fortify him to such an extent that he writes: "I am sure no chapel or classes were suspended. Prexy Bartiett-—that good old soul— would not stand for anything like that." George Bard was rooming in the Swett house with David Blakely. When he awoke the morning after the storm, the fence about the house had entirely disappeared from sight. He cut chapel,, all classes, and challenged Morrill '88, who roomed there, to a game of high-low-jack which lasted from morning till bed-time. "E. 8." Davis, also rooming in the Swett house, recalls a long walk he took the next day on the icy crust over the snow-covered fields. Arthur Chase was teaching in the Holderness (N. H.) School, where the heavy snow-fall completely obliterated all fences. His parents had gone to Boston from their home in Claremont, N. H., to attend the funeral of his grandfather held day before the blizzard. It was several days before trains were operating to enable them to return home. While parents were away, his two sisters remained in the Claremont home, which, fortunately, in the old New Hampshire tradition, was well stocked with food—and that, too, was in the days of huge wood-piles, so there was no shortage of fuel. Harry Frost also was away from Hanover teaching at the Cummington (Mass.) High School in the Berkshires. Completely snowed in, his school"was closed for three days. The highway and Main Street were opened by a crew of men and two yokes of oxen drawing a wood-sled, with a log fastened between the front runners. Clarence, Moulton was snow-bound on a weekend visit to his home in West Randolph, Vt. Rail traffic from the North was stopped there so long that he had to remain home beyond time he was due back to College. Never has he seen trains blocked so completely by snow and wind as in that storm. "Ferg" was rooming at the Currier house. He recalls that the snow fell heavily during the afternoon and throughout the night, with winds of gale force. The sky was clear the following morning. Trying to get to the Crowley Club for breakfast that morning, he remembers wallowing through the deep snow and how it "blowed" he was on reaching there; also that it was two or more days before trains from Boston even reached White River Junction. "Slugger" Currier and Sam Kenard were rooming in the Gates house. According to "Slugger," both he and Sam grieved that they had to cut chapel that morning, as they both loved to hear the organ and see President Bartlett gesture with his chin whiskers. He remembers the big snow roller and that he and Sam were glad there were not shovels enough to go around. He also recalls that "Jabe" Ellis made his 8-mile run that morning and that nothing would stop him from doing so.
Perhaps the most amazing recollection of the March 1888 blizzard comes from the pen of WalterSullivan—our gifted "Sully," whose art in writing graphic descriptions had its inception in college days while he was serving on the editorial staff of the then swanky Dartmouth Literary Monthly. "Sully" writes: "You know the first fall of snow was about three feet deep, then we had a thaw, followed by freezing weather, which laid a thick floor of snow-ice on the path leading from the Chapel to the Inn. I was standing in front of the Inn and saw 'Chuck' Emerson gaily start on the frozen path—only his hat was visible above the last fall of snow—then, all at once, half-way from the Chapel, he disappeared from sight, having broken through the crust concealed beneath the last snow-fall. I waited for him to come up for air, and soon his head appeared."
His letter then went on to say that the blizzard obliterated all fences as far South as "Prexy's Chapel" on the Lebanon road, and left only a sea of white. In closing, "Sully" said he remembers being told that "Pa" Leeds the day after the blizzard was "barging" down Faculty Avenue and encountered a lady headed north. Each dodged to the right until "Pa" Leeds stepped on the brakes and said: "Madam, if you will stand still, I will turn around and go home."
This concludes the reminiscences of all now living who were members of our class at time of the much-talked-about blizzard of 1888, except Henry Blair, who roomed throughout his course at Miss Sherman's. In College his nickname was "Toughy," meaning a person of great endurance, hard to tire or overcome or tackle. Having these distinctive qualities, we perhaps should assume that the blizzard made too little impression upon Henry for him to recall anything to write about, however much a letter from him on any subject is always appreciated whenever the spirit moves him to write.
Secretary and Treasurer, 108 Mt. Vernon St., Boston 8, Mass. Class Agent, 12 Clinton Ferry, Dobbs Ferry, N. Y.
