1942

I guess it's all up between the city of Greensboro and me. For a brief, heady bit I thought there might have been a chance of something real growing out of our friendship .... but now, now, it's only another blasted hope in this wretched, yet happy, life of mine.

You see, last month by what is called by some an egregious blunder I listed Greensboro as Greensville or Greenville, maybe. What others call an egregious blunder I call Kismet.

It has been carefully pointed out to me in monosyllables of the most crystalline sort that Greensboro is in North Carolina and Greensville or Greenville (I wish it would make up its mind—these variant spellings are a terrible bore) is, on the other hand, in South Carolina. It has also been as carefully pointed out that Bud Dutton is not in that vague South Carolinian city but in the North Carolinian one.

I was right, I proudly point out to bolster my claim that you can fool 50 per cent of the people 50 per cent of the time, in saying that Mr. Dutton is in the department of planning of a Carolinian city that has the color green in its name.

Now that we've got that settled and Greensboroville—pardon me—will go its way and I'll go mine, we can get down to sterner things.

If you have a feeling that there's a hand about to go into your wallet pocket, why then you're psychic, Jack. This is the time of the year when, as the sun spins past the vernal equinox up the long climb to hang at the summer solstice (X know some say the earth does all this—l just happen to be a Ptolemaist), well, this is the time of the year when the Alumni Fund corps swings adeptly into action.

To get rid of that uneasy psychic feeling about foreign manubria about the hip, why don't you just make it easier for yourself and keep away from the psychoanalyst's couch by reaching for the wallet yourself. Not only will you feel better, lose those brown spots before your eyes and clear up that liverish complexion, but you will also make easy the life of one Ad Winship. This Marblehead worthy (that has no relation to the specific gravity of his cranium; it's a place in Massachusetts) has the unlovely task of working like a dog for a better part of each year in an attempt to make you people part with a little of the right stufi to aid in the continuance of a place that dispenses some pretty right stuff of a more ethereal kind.

I say it's an unlovely job not because 1 think the basic premise of working for free for something you think is worthwhile is anything to be ashamed of. I'm pretty firm about my perverse notion that, by and large, I think Dartmouth not only was, but is and will be one of the more important things in my tiny existence.

But it's tough, unremitting work in the field of praise, more likely to reap curses than cheers. If that were the only level, of importance to the thing, Mr. Winship and his part in the Alumni Fund would and should deserve some consideration.

I think you all should know after these first seven years the part the Fund plays in the machinery of keeping a place called Dartmouth running. I also assume that all of you rather fancy the notion of keeping Dartmouth running.

The demands of education are ever-widening in this world in which we are experiencing the peculiar and dizzying feeling of horizons widening and shrinking at the same time. More mundanely, prices, as far as my unpracticed eye can determine, are still up despite this imperceptible phenomenon the economists call "softening"; and coupon-clipping is, by standards of the past, a relatively unrewarding activity. Dartmouth is affected by both of these economic factors. Her need is greater than ever before, which in plain, simple, uneconomic terms means that we, gentlemen, must come up to the mark.

The lecture is ended. Let's ante up!

In my despatch from the Etymological and Nomenclatural Study Club of the Carolinas it is mentioned that Bill Buchan is located somewhere in that coastal area.

A week or so back Art Cox of the Washington, D. C., Art Coxes visited Hanover and his parents. Along with him came Steven, a buoyant and engaging nine months if I remember my ages rightly, and Joya. The last-named to my great sorrow I did not see, since I functioned with all my usual cabbageheaded deftness in trying to arrange a small alcohol tolerance test involving the Coxes and some of the more regular denizens of the Hanover Plain. However, Art, Steven and I had a long chat one balmy afternoon hard by the cloisters of Sanborn House about the ECA. and its component parts, one of which Art is. Technically speaking he is classified with all the delightful rarity of capital prose as a "senior economist with the Eastern European Section, ECA."

Whatever the title—and Art himself doesn't believe in it—he said he holds some hope of getting to Europe this summer, which should be an exciting and rewarding experience for the Coxes and the ECA., Art being the inquisitive sort our government could well start drafting. As for other Hanover visitors, I saw Bud Allen just a day or so ago, wandering through the Coffee Shop looking somewhat stricken. Seems it wasn't the place that sold beer anymore. After I straightened him out on that—it's the basement of College Hall now, men—he told me he was in town for an interview with an insurance company representative at the college personnel bureau. At present he's teaching at Windsor, Vt., High School, but I take it is ready to switch to more remunerative fields. He confirmed my earlier report that Armand'Guarino is also teaching there and, in fact, hinted that the whole place was indeed a hotbed of Dartmouth people. (Please note, Colonel, if your Mr. Griffin has some time on his hands.)

Just yesterday, while doing some washing in Sachem Village (I occasionally drape myself with foo yong and, cleverly disguised as a Chinaman, scout this area), I discovered that Jim Robinson and family have indeed come to Hanover. Jim, a doctor, is only lately from the hinterlands (Ohio, I believe), and now begins a residency at Mary Hitch. He preceded the rest of his family by a day or so and surveyed the land while staying with Jack, Betty and young Jackson Chandler, the nominal head of this clan also being a medico here. Jackson and I a small talk the other night, and, although quiet, this three-month-old is by no means taciturn. We found several large areas of mutual interest and agreement and I look forward with great anticipation to further exchange of ideas.

Now, it seems I have some clippings. These nice ALUMNI MAGAZINE people are forever sending me clippings in the fond hope that I'll use and return them. It never seems to work out quite that way. Let's see, where did I put? oh, yes, here, under the coffee pot.

Weddings—Miss Shirley Bowman, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. A. D. Bowman of Dover, N. H., to John Richard Burns, January 8, St. Joseph's Church, Dover. They are now at home at 231 Mass. Ave., Arlington. The new Mrs. Burns is a former member of the Ice Follies and the picture of her accompanying the clipping well, my heart just slipped back into low gear now.

Also, Miss Carolyn Elizabeth Ayers, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Roger H. Ayers of Parsonburg, \Del., to Samuel F. M. Adkins Jr., son of Mr. and Mrs. S. F. M. Adkins of Salisbury, Md., at the Bethesda Methodist Church, Salisbury, Jan. 22. They are living in Richmond where Sam is on the editorial staff of the Times-Dispatch.

Another clip tells that Ford Coffman has been named assistant to the pastor of the First Congregational Church of Webster Groves, Mo. The article goes on to say that Ford will continue his studies at Eden Seminary, which I assume must either be in Webster Groves or hard by it. And still in the theological world, another item says that Bill Perry, who conducted that very appropriate memorial ■service at our fifth reunion, was recently guest preacher at the First Baptist Church of New Bedford, his home town. Bill is minister of the Congregational Churches of Newfane and Dummerston, Vt.

Recent Inn guests included Mr. and Mrs.Frederick Slack of Southhampton, Pa., and Robert Searles of Burlington, Vt. The latter I saw for a very blurred instant during Carnival time when he had his University of Vermont ski team down here, an outfit that was well coached I have since learned from more knowledgeable ski experts than myself.

I've done it again.

Secretary, Howe Library, Hanover, N. H

Treasurer, 710 Linden Ave., Los Altos, Calif.

Class Agent, 53 Orient Ave., Melrose 76, Mass.