1909

Another year is just about to turn the corner as this is writ. What it'll run into nobody knows. Let's hope there'll be more sanity in running the affairs of this nation, that the belly-achers will take some kind of action besides belly-aching and that '09 will continue to show improvement in its stand to give Dartmouth its whole-hearted support.

In a sense, it's good to see the hectic holidays slide into history. They kind of upset the routine of living if there aren't kids around the house to enjoy 'em. Here in Aurora, the Garden spot of America, we've been undergoing a transition from snow, cold and ice to rain and thaw, and reports have it that another storm is on its way out of the Northwest. There's consolation in the fact, however, that we've passed the winter solstice, and that from here in we'll be building up to longer hours of daylight. By the time these notes reach all you eager readers, ground hog day will have come and gone.

Much of the accumulation of news has been covered in the January issue of Diddings which will have reached you bimboes ere this, but we've managed to scrape together a few items. Read 'em and weep.

Hal Pratt, the retired petroleum entrepreneur, was quite curious about an item that appeared in Neal O'Hara's column in the Boston Traveler, to wit: "Society note in the Aurora, Ohio, weekly: 'Mr. and Mrs. Harold Pratt drew the first blush at the Aurora Volunteer Firemen's Ball when they skidded on a slippery spot and landed fiat on their last name.' "

"What the hell goes on out there?" asks Hal. "Hope my namesake wasn't leading the grand march when disaster hit him and the Mrs. Tell them to wear baseball spikes in any future combats with slippery floors."

The truth of the matter is that I get out a monthly sheet for a Dartmouth guy here in Aurora by the name of Art Moebius '34. In this sheet, which is distributed to his customers for drapery fabrics, are choice bits about Aurora personalities. I send copies to my friend in Boston, John Christopher Shambow '10, who is a friend of Neal O'Hara.'Catch?

Too late to acknowledge in the January Diddings were cards from the Norm Catharins (my old side kick), Phil Rose, Bertie French and his helpmeet, Mike Readey, Ethel and Leon Morse. Then there was a card from the "Brothers in Psi Upsilon" that classy group of campus leaders.

From Dot Chase comes a clipping from the Boston Sxmday Herald of December 16, giving news of the marriage of Nancy Carroll, daughter of Mrs. Fred Carroll and our late and lamented classmate Fred, and Major Charles Wintermeyer, USAF. (For lady readers only.) The bride wore a gown of Chantilly lace and nylon tulle over white satin. Her veil of imported silk illusion was caught to a lace calot, and she carried a prayer book with an orchid and stephanotis. (Sounds like double talk to me.) Mrs. Carroll wore a street length dress of gray crepe, with a gray and purple flowered hat.

Dot is still looking for addresses of '09 widows or surviving near relatives. If you have any such information, address Mrs. Dorothea Chase, 18 Robin Rd., West Hartford 7, Conn. If she happens to be in Florida when you write, mail will be forwarded.

Although Arthur James O'Mara was with our class but two years, he made his personality felt, particularly among the sophomores whom he bedeviled all during freshman year. One of his pet enemies was Jack Corcoran, the 'OB Beta, whom Art outstared on the street one day, and Jack didn't do anything about it until he had an 'OB gang around him.

Art had the sophs on his neck to the end of freshmen year, long after other '09ers had outlived the hazing season. It must have been his freedom-loving Irish nature. At any rate, in the spring of freshman year a bunch of sophs corraled Art and Ted Smith one evening, took 'em over to Occum pond, divested them of their clothes and threw 'em in the drink.

Art never did get his clothes back, so he was faced with the problem of getting to his rooming quarters under cover of darkness. Creeping through a clump of bushes, he suddenly came slam bang into a group of faculty wives who were having a party on the greensward. When they saw this naked male they all let out a scream. One of the dames fainted. Art ducked back to cover, then finally got to Reed Hall where a guy loaned him an old pair of pants and a shirt. He then walked barefoot down Main street to his quarters on one of those back streets. That was his most embarrassing experience.

After leaving Dartmouth, Art got his B.S. degree from New York University. He taught for a number of years, then went into the insurance business. For many years he has made his home in Trenton, N. J., where he now works for the municipal government. He is also secretary of the local Dartmouth association, a job he's held for a number of years. Like all good Irishmen, he'll still fight at the drop of a hat.

Six members of our class are among the missing, but up until the time they're reported dead they are considered part of our participation index in the Alumni Fund records, giving the class a higher quota. Here's the list: Clarence Ames (Psyche) Fisk, BirchWood DeLappe, Francis Kullb'erg, Alvis Kusic,George Albert Leavitt, Big Chief Meyers, and Seymour Putnam Stearns. Got any dope on any of these birds?

It's sign-off time. See you next month.

Class Notes Editor, Pioneer Trail, Aurora, Ohio Secretary and Treasurer, Sandwich, Mass. Bequest Chairman, 75 Federal St., Boston 10, Mass.