1916
While the rest of the Class is celebrating New Year's Eve sedately in their homes, or less sedately in the hotels and night clubs of our wide and handsome country, I am again isolated in the office of the Director of Naval Intelligence, which is a good thing in one way, in that it gives me a chance to write these notes, which might otherwise have to be written at the last moment. Although, no matter when I send in my notes to the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, a note comes back to the effect that they were a day late. It must be done with mirrors.
Anyway, I have phoned the other three Humm-Buggs who are having a party without me, and at midnight I will phone Betty and wake her out of a sound sleep to wish her a Happy New Year, and then turn in, hoping that the Chinese Commies will let me sleep.
It was a great pleasure to gaze again upon the freckled map of Perc Burnham, in Washington on Army business, and looking fat and healthy. John Ames called me up, and after blowing a bugle to give proper solemnity to the occasion, informed me that Perc was in town, with Mrs. Perc, and that he had had them at the Army and Navy Club for a sip of the local nectar. You will recall that when the news of the marriage of Major (now Colonel) Burnham of the Army, to a WAVE lieutenant in the Navy, was featured in the Seattle papers, I called your attention to it. The newspaper clipping I saw had a picture of Mrs. Lieutenant Burnham, and any girl who could look that good in a newspaper photo had to be good. John Ames informed me that Mrs. Burnham is as lovely as her press notices gave out, and I was prepared to believe it, but did not have the pleasure of meeting her, as she had some business of her own while Perc and I wrecked a blueplate at the Pentagon restaurant. It looks as if Perc is anchored on the West Coast for some time to come, and what with war in the offing, so to speak, he is not likely to get East often. However, vagaries of military assignment officers might shoo him over to New York, Boston or even Sioux City. By the way, Perc mentions seeing Hank Blaney once or twice, Hank being one of the oldest citizens of Seattle, having settled there before the first glacier.
Erwin Gifford, lunching at Essex House with Arthur Stettner, New York's top society photographer, glimpsed Ed Riley across the room, taking a few prandial exercises. If Gift was on the ball, we ought to be seeing a candid shot of these two '16 stalwarts shaking hands across a bowl of steaming lobster or something, and where would Art Stettner get two more notorious subjects for one of his compositions? Incidentally, he did a good job with Chet Woolworth's photogenic daughter Sylvia, who was honored at a luncheon at the Stork Club in New York. I have already told you of her engagement to Mr. Prentice Talmage Jr., of New York.
Roger Evans, back in Fox Meadow Road, Scarsdale, after flitting hither and yon around the globe, writes: "This acknowledgement of your thoughtful birthday card really should have been sent you from somewhere along the Egypt-Pakistan - India - Ceylon-Singapore-Indo- nesia-Siam-Philippines-Japan circuit from which I just returned. Rather a record in one way since I met only one Dartmouth man, H. F. Clippinger '39, the whole way round."
Every once in a while I get a letter from Shorty Hitchcock who always has an interesting slant on this or that, and who described his operation to me so vividly that I had to take novocain to kill my imagination. That was some time ago, and it is a relief to report that Shorty says the excavations into his jaw bones and gums have been completed some time back and apparently he is chewing his fodder again and enjoying life. Shorty says:
"I wish I were so situated that I might at least occasionally see some of you fellows. Somehow I have a helluva time getting to see the '16-ers in this area who occasionally gather. The trouble is that the retired lads, Eskeline, Bell at al. come down here usually on week-days, and I am out traveling around my territory and cannot make it. A few months ago they gathered to welcome JackEnglish's wife. I was able to talk to her on the phone at Dan Dinsmoor's house just as she arrived. I have never met her but she sounded like a swell person and seemed to be as peppy as I remember Jack being. Sorry to have missed meeting her.
"Your new home sounds interesting. I am a lousy gardener, and your talk of your honeysuckle troubles reminds me of mine in trying to get rid of a sort of Myrtle deal that wanders all over the place here. I just make a pass at gardening and do not know a damned thing about it. I can trim trees to beat hell, if I do not have to climb them. I have just finished trimming a lot of dead wood and new shoots out of our fine lemon tree. The best thing I do is assume the Special Agent's position, which is flat on my back in the shade."
Shorty has been ordered to active duty for two weeks in the Navy, at, as he says, "of all places," the Pasadena Training Centre. Shorty sends his regards to all Balmacaaners.
I shall make you all envious by stating that Ev Parker, the Pike's Peak Paragon, forwarded to me another of those ice clumps of Colorado celery again, and the chomping season is on. You may be one of those guys who can take his celery or leave it alone, or you may be like me, who toys with celery like salted peanuts, and I keep on chewing celery as long as there is any in sight. But this Colorado stuff tastes as if it were raised with sugarcane and we are chomping it in the Wilson household with a view to making it last (except for a stalk we gave to Larry Pope '18, who also is a celery addict with no hope of breaking the habit). We have saved the label of the celery foundry which turns the stuff out in Denver, and as soon as Ev's box is gone we are going to order them to shoot us another load.
This column seems strangely devoid of exciting news of our classmates. What can I do to get letters from such interesting and wellremembered Sphinx-like guys like CharlieEverett, Jack Geran, Tuck Flanders, DesperateDesmond and the universal Phinney? Looks as if it is about time for me to make my annual appeal to my feminine associate editors, Lucilles Cutler and Cole, Peg Bean, Mrs. Jock Fletcher, etc. At least Cap Carey is still on the job, and comes through with a message from Providence now and again. Say, can that be spring I smell in the air? Well, whaddye know?
Secretary, Dartmouth House, 8608 Broad Brook Dr., Bethesda, Md.
Treasurer, 27 Concord St., Nashua, N. H
Memorial Fund Chairman, Hampton, N. H.
