1942
This column is well-nigh a harbinger of summer. Well, if you'll only stop a minute and think it over. Look, I only inflict two more of these on you, June and July. And then look what a nice thing happens to you-you get two whole months' rest before you start lacerating your eye-balls on my copy again. Yup, the ALUMNI MAG desists in August and September, which means that in those months I don't drivel on for five or six typewritten pages. And that ought to make any one happy!
As this is written the full force of Vermont spring is upon us, with the usual results, colds and chilblains. Spring in Burlington is an evanescent thing, to be grasped lightly between the thumb and forefinger, lest in holding it too tightly you get frostbite. It's even more fleeting than those Hanoverian springs. The ice goes out of Lake Champlain; there is a period of minor cataracts rushing down the hills of this steeply pitched city as the snow melts; and one day it is nice and warm and the girls look pretty with ribbons in their hair.
Just as the top-coats come off, and you begin to think of flexing the old soup bone in a little softball practice, the north wind comes keening down from Canada. Maybe even from Newfoundland and the Maritime Provinces. Deceptively bright, sunny days are sharper than Bing Crosby's shirts. And that's when I lay in my supply of aspirin, mustard plaster, nose drops and Kleenex.
Maybe I'm just jaundiced about it, having fought vainly and with slowly weakening powers for the past few days against the grand-sire of all colds. And maybe I'm a little impatient for long, warm days after enduring a northern Vermont winter.
Every time I get too impatient, however, I simply scrabble through my disordered file to find a letter I recently received from John de la Montague. The superscription on same is: Grand Teton National Park, Moose, Wyoming, 21 March 1948, ah spring.
I recommend John the del's letter so heartily as a cure for long-winter blues that I here-with reproduce part of it.
"This winter there have been very few Dartmouth men around, as usual, although the skiing, skating and general winter sports have been terrific. We now have about seven feet of snow piled around our cabin here in the Teton Range, and after every snow it takes the rotary plow to get us out of our front doorstep, which strangely enough is an up step instead of a down. In the summer time the Dartmouth gang seems to hit this valley a good lick, though, and we have the good fortune to see many, the most frequent visitor being the illustrious Merrill McLane, who may well claim these alps for his own. Had a card from him the other day, also from Prager, both being in the Swiss Alps at that time. Merrill is well remembered here for his climbing feats."
(If you will just check back to that superscription you will notice that John the del was wrestling with seven feet of snow on the first day of spring. That always makes me feel better about Vermont winters.)
"Recently I gave up my job as school principal in Jackson for this great deal as regular Ranger in the U. S. National Park Service. Phoebe and I and young Cliff (10 months) are really enjoying the life tremendously. My work is involved mostly in high altitude rescue and safety right now, with minors in fire protection, control of our camp grounds and wild life management. We have been out on several winter patrols of the park to check on conditions, avalanche danger and what not, and these activities are part of the storybook job which is very rewarding. This is perhaps not considered as the same path to success as one engaged in Wall Street wrangling but it certainly has the same challenge as work in the business world. I hope our attitude will continue to dwell along these lines. Since we have snow here eight months of the year, the sight of good old bare earth would be a pleasure for a change—but as soon as the snow goes we go into our fire-danger period, so there you are.
"I wish there were some way we could welcome fortytwoers to our cabin publicly. Certainly tell anyone coming out this way to drop in. We promise a spectacular view and experience."
There it is, the sure cure for winter willies.Now, if someone from the Dead Sea regionwill only write me a letter about 120 degreeheat, I'll have a year-round panacea. I cansimply keep both letters within reach, andwhenever I'm suffering from a surfeit of heator cold, I've got the balm close at hand.
And now a report of dark doings in New York City where a desperate group of hardened characters are said to have met on or about March 30, at the Dartmouth Club. Among the ring-leaders of this group were: Dick Lippman (also known as The Lip, or Lipper), Bob Encherman, Matt Bride, MiltWilliams, Johnny Corwith (sometimes goes under the alias of Black Jack) and WarrenKreter (yclept Krete).
I have a fragment of a palimpsest which came into my hands in a curious fashion giving more details of this affair. I won't go into the bizarre history behind this document, as it is another tale, worth telling, but over-long. Here is what I have deciphered from it.
"As noted on the postcard announcement I sent you of our class supper at the Dartmouth Club, Tuesday night, March 30, herewith follows the report of what went on. Looking back I can say that for the first of such get-togethers it was pretty much of a success. Those who attended, at least, said and acted as though they enjoyed themselves.
"Anyhow we sent out some 154 announcements to all those members of 1942 who lived within reasonable commuting distance from New York City. This included New York, Connecticut, New Jersey and some from Pennsylvania. Of these we received answers from 71—which isn't a bad percentage. It was evenly divided into three groups .... those who weren't sure, those who would definitely show up and those who definitely wouldn't.
"Now of this 71 who replied, 28 made appearances at the 'Landon Room' where we gathered. At 6 p.m., they began coming in, and we tapped the first of three kegs (all of which were later consumed). A little after 7, chow was served, during which I gave a pitch concerning future gatherings, more publicity for these suppers so as to bolster attendance, and any suggestions from the floor as to ideas in running them.
"It was generally decided to have one in October and one in February each year with everybody telling anyone they might know in this area all about it—in addition to the notices I will send out. Also you might inform your readers in the New York whom I might have missed this last time to get in touch with me at The Rockmore Company, 37 W. 57th St., and I'll change the mailing list I received from Chick Camp, which is the most up to date one available, and see that they get notified for the next one.
"After chow, Milt broke out his- projector, and we showed five reels of films which are the property of the Class of 1942, sent to us by Mr. Watson of Baker Library where they are kept. They depicted various and sundry shots of our class picnic, Commencement, hazing, etc.
# "After the movies, we gathered around the piano, with Hank Boble at the keys, and knocked off a few ditties. I believe the one who came the furthest distance to be present was Bob Smithall the way from New Britain, Conn.
"Here is a list of those present: Hugh Corrigan, Ted Leslie, Matt Bride, Warren Kreter, Dick lippman, Bob Encherman, John Corwith, Murray Latz, Fred Schaefer, Charlie Sturz, Huntley Allison, Henry Bohle, Chet Ray, Dick Remsen, Frank Harriett, Milt Williams, Charlie Weinberg, Dr. Joe Tobin, Lt. (Dr.) Grant Harrison, USNR, Jim Skinner, Camp Hopkins, Dave Warren, Dave Niven, Bob Gorman, Bob Smith, Dick Baldwin, Fred Main and Bill Gray."
And the note is signed by one Dick Lippman. It is the last that has been heard of this group since March 30. But X guess my translation is self-explanatory.
A few weeks ago this seed catalogue I work for had its 100 th anniversary of daily publication. Now, you wouldn't think that such an event would have any bearing on matters 1942, would you? Well, neither did I as I prepared to spend my one night a week off working for the company at the anniversary banquet. But that's where we were both wrong.
It seems that the national advertising representative for the Free Press is one John D.Brewer. Does that name ring a bell? It ought to; he's the father of John D. Brewer Jr. Mr. Brewer was one of the guests of honor at the affair, and he kindly kept the telephone wires warm here for a day or so before to catch me in the office when I was allegedly working. After several false starts we finally got together after the banquet.
The locale for our meeting was Mr. Brewer's hotel room where we could ease ourselves while relaxing the tongue around some very soothing Bourbon. It was a fine time, and, through the medium of Mr. Brewer's really adept descriptive powers, I learned a great deal about young John's recent history. To further confuse the Brewer nomenclature
I might add that John Jr. is the father of two sons, John D. Brewer ILL and Jimmy. John Jr. (I might even say John '42 for purposes of clarity) is working for Fieldcrest Mills, a division of Marshall Field & Company. He is living with the senior Brewers in Westchester, I believe, and is working out of New York City, covering New York and Pennsylvania.
Previous to the delightful after-dinner hours in the Brewer suite, I met yet another '42 parent at the centennial shindig. Mrs.Gladys Gleason Brooks, mother of PhilBrooks, was another of the honor guests. She had written several excellent pieces for a fairly ambitious centennial issue the FreePress put out. I learned from her that Phil is writing for the Esso Travel News, which also involves much travel, but free.
While I have space left—I hope—I'll try to squeeze in some new additions to the '42 clan which have come to my notice. Heading the list is a doubleheader: Steven and Andrew Klein, new arrivals in the family of Dr. andMrs. Robert Klein, as of March 8, 1948. No place, weights, or general conformation listed. And to Mr. and Mrs. Richard G. Smith on March 16, 1948, at Frankfurt, Germany, was born Richard Bram Smith, weight 7 lbs., ounces. And to Dr. and Mrs. LeRoy L. Eldredge on March 16, 1948, at Wareham, Mass., there came son David Lawrence Bel cling Eldredge. And the announcement of the birth of Dudley Hill Bullock on December 22, 1947, at Princeton, N. J., was received along with a change of address from Barbaraand Bill Bullock to 317 Union Ave., Scotch Plains, N. J.
While I was at Proc and Ruth Page's one night taking in some of the latter's very good food, our erstwhile secretary produced from some top secret file an announcement of the marriage of Barbara Luse to Doctor MartinS. Kleckner Jr. in the First Presbyterian Church, Oil City, Pa., on Feb. 7, 1948.
A card from Bill Lowenthal informs me of the engagement of Miss Alice Kathleen Messinger, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Messinger of Belle Harbor, N. Y., to him. Bill said the marriage is to take place in April and that they will live in Baltimore where he is working for the BVD Corp.
Reports from the Hanover Inn indicate that Dr. and Mrs. Marty Kleckner may well have spent some of their honeymoon there early in March, and that Mr. and Mrs. F. ScottMatthews of New York City also were March visitors.
Well, there it is. The third-from-last time until you get that August and September relief.
Secretary >§Burlington Free Press Editorial Dept., Burlington, Vt. Treasurer, 710 Linden Ave., Los Altos, Calif. Class Agent, 17 State St., Marblehead, Mass.
