1920
These notes are begun in a mood quite different from the normal one, because the shadow of an unusual and talented man hangs over them. Ray McPartlin, admired and loved by all of us who were trying to be something of the newspaper man that he was more than 50 years ago, died just a few days past. And the brief summary of his career which appears in the back pages of this issue can convey only a little of the feeling that his friends have always kept for him.
Mac "made" The Dartmouth Board, in a walk, his sophomore year. Probably no heeler had ever before, in so short a space of time, seen so many of his words in print. Once his name was safe on The Dartmouth masthead he haunted Robinson Hall. As often as not he put the paper to bed all by himself, out of the pure joy of reshaping copy, creating provocative headlines, and making exact words fit exact spaces. After a few months' suspension of this enthralling activity in the fall of 1918, Armistice Day turned Mac loose on Main Street, selling advertising, writing copy while he roamed, goading Ed Boyle and his press into action in the dark basement of the Musgrove Building. A special edition of the paper was on the streets before the cease-fire bells had stopped their clamor. Through his three years on The Dartmouth Mac was an exciting example to all who were associated with him and who learned new journalistic tricks from him.
Spreading the news remained always a passion with him. Doing a new job well, as the first radio news broadcaster in New England, he collapsed from the strain after one of his broadcasts and awoke to find himself the victim of a strange disorder. Terror of the outside world, from that day on, kept him within the protecting walls of his home. Yet nothing could keep him from the ingenious ferreting out of news and the inspired presentation of it to readers of the Globe. A part of his paper's own tribute to this modest man, who would have protested against anything of the kind while he was alive to see it, surely deserves reprinting here:
"Ray McPartlin was that rounded personality— a reporter and writer who also had an editor's judgment and technique. The average Globe reader, noting his by-line on Sunday Globe editorial page articles, or feature stories, or, latterly, 'TV Diary,' with its penetrating comments, would never guess on how many other columns of the same edition McPartlin's pencil had played its part.
"For many years his talents were employed as a copy-desk editor, working nights. He had a Quick eye for a headline, the knack of editing a story to the requisite length, while preserving its individual flavor and content. Failing health never diminished the outpouring of editorials and features from his far-roving mind, nor dulled the lucidity and charm of his succinct style. From adversity he created opportunity, putting to use the extensive study he had pursued through the years, as a hobby, of history, biography and travel.
Ray McPartlin had the capacity to carry out routine faithfully, without having his fresh approach to the subject matter lost. He demonstrated jus in his series of reports on "What the Russians Are Saying.' No one who has not done such work can comprehend the deadly boredom of listening, hour after hour, through static and atmospheric squeals and heavy foreign accents, while taking accurate notes and simultaneously making intelligent association with correlative facts."
Ted Marden has favored us with a mostwelcome letter, courtesy of Roc Elliott, expert news gatherer as well as dollar collector:
"Sorry to have missed the June party and the gang. Thought perhaps some of you would drive back around the mountains and drop in. Saw Paul Richter in Concord this fall and Pete Potter at the Fordham game. We have two granddaughters now—Jane, 5, and Sara, 2, the children of my older daughter Betty who married John Hyde '43. They got me skiing on Cannon last Easter—first time for 20 years, I guess. No broken bones. Have also been playing a little golf this summer and fall."
Far and Near. Charlie McKenzie seems to be proceeding according to plan, for the news has come back from England that he is safely enrolled in the London School of Economics (address Aldwych, London, W. C. 2, England). ... Charlie Crathern has returned permanently to his native New Hampshire and his native town of Mason.
Gotham Gleanings. This year's president of the Lawyers Club of New York is Carl Elbridge Newton.... Warrie Gault's son Thayer is with the civilian administration in Korea.... Sam Stratton, Stan Newcomer and Pete Potter all checked in at secretarial headquarters the last week in November—not, however, in each other's company. Other Twenties venturing to the Big Town are encouraged to do likewise Clint Johnson, back (as Ernie Earley explains it) from "touching all bases in Europe," is referred to by the Herald-Tribune as "genial head of Chemical's foreign department." In that capacity Clint now has Chemical Bank & Trust Co. ranking third among the banks of the country in volume of foreign business. Since January, 1938, when he stepped into his present job, Chemical's foreign volume has multiplied ten times over.
Down South. The Old Dominion has claimed two more Twenties, thereby doubling the quota which had previously consisted of Dutch Schlobohm of Hampton and LeeHodgkins of Richmond. New Yankee arrivals down there are Art Pierce and Dick Welch. Art has gone to live in Arlington, for easy commuting to the Pentagon, where he is Civilian Deputy of the Organization Planning Branch of Manpower and Organization, Headquarters, USAF. "We work on the missions, organizational structure and manpower of all units and echelons of the Air Force," Art writes. "The work is challenging and is quite different from educational administration and its related fields. Don't let anyone kid you that the people in the Pentagon do not keep busy." As for Dick, he hastens to explain that his "migration southward is due neither to old age nor to a desire for a warmer climate." The fact is that he is general superintendent for Craddock-Terry Shoe Corp. of their women's shoe factories and in that capacity will henceforth be located in Lynchburg. Dick is just a little lugubrious on the subject of trips back northward. "Since I have had sons at Dartmouth during much of the past ten years (Dick Jr. '45 and Josiah '51)," he says, "I have been to Hanover rather frequently. Now I've run out of Dartmouth material and from this distance it appears that my trips back will be few and far between." Dick's letter was written from 2525 Rivermont Avenue in Lynchburg.... Bill Nelson, "living permanently in the great country and climate" of Aiken, S. C., will welcome the chance to say a cordial hello to any Twenties who may be passing through.
Secretary, Blind Brook Lodge, Rye 17, N. Y.
T reasurer, i Windmill Lane, Arlington 74, Mass.
i Bequest Chairman,MB 121 South Broad St., Suite 1717 Philadelphia 7, Pa.
