1942
This, friends, is it. By the time you receive this issue reunion will be breathing hard upon us. And five years of this slipshod stewardship will be over. If you will bear with me a bit, I'd like to wax sentimental (if Sentimental isn't around I'll wax anybody you can find). Often, in the course of my hit-and-miss tenure, I've seemed, I guess, a bit querulous about this job. But from this terminal point I can sincerely say that, if such seemed so, it was due more to the inherent crustiness of this deponent than to any crushing onera connected with being the amanuensis of 1942.
Really? of course, I have a lot of thanks to and a great many pardons to ask. Thanks, for instance, to all of you correspondents, male and particularly female, who have kept the news flowing in to me despite my rigid and indolent practice of not answering a one of them. And thanks and, even more fervently felt, pardons to the staff of this magazine, among whom I am surely known as Old Procrastination, The Man at the End of the Deadline. Their tolerance has been a neat blend of faith and forbearance.
A few years back, a college contemporary of ours, but not a classmate, asked me, "Why do you do this class secretary stuff?" It isn't an easy question to answer, for the answer involves a vast number of intangibles. One answer, and a purely surface one, would be: "If I don't do it, who will?" This is not to say that I think the job wouldn't be done, if a small grub named J. Farley didn't do it—it is merely an indication that, as poorly as I might have discharged my duties, I think them an obligation that one can't shirk; if you're asked, you must answer.
The intangibles are harder to pin down in exact prose, but I guess they add up to something like this: Despite its faults (and you must admit the faults, or you're failing right away), Dartmouth College stands for something you happen to believe in quite strongly; and, granted that premise, you will gladly give what time and talent you have in a small attempt to back up that institution in its stand.
That's a poorly stated and inaccurately felt reason for my official existence these last five years, but it's the best I can do. The first weekend of May, the College held its alumni officers' weekend at Hanover and, during those two days, I had several long talks with another of our number who has served, more effectively than I, for five years, Class Agent AdWinship. We talked about the general idea of class service and the aid that service, if properly given, can furnish to the College. And we talked of how that service should be divided.
It is in the best interest of not only the class, but much more importantly, the College that such service should be rotated at each reunion. At each reunion, a new slate of officers should be elected and, hopefully, it should not include any previous class officers. Ad is resigning and, although he's done an excellent job as the Alumni Fund agent, it's time for someone else to do the job, even though he'll have a hard time matching it. Class Treasurer JackHarriman, from his far-flung California vaults, has expressed a similar intention his efforts, too, were unstinting and peerless. The new fiduciary man will be hard pressed to equal him. To both of them, the class owes heartfelt thanks.
One small additional note, and we're off the subject of goodbyes. This writer is alerting the class executive committee to form a nominating group and to bring in some new brooms come class meeting time at reunion. Forgive my lapses and let me say that it's been fun.
At the aforementioned alumni officers weekend one more '42 was present—Jim Mulligan, the industrial giant of New Britain, Conn., and that area's Dartmouth Club secretary. Unfortunately, Jim (yes, his wife has the same name, confusing as it may seem) wasn't with him—she was momentarily expecting to present him with their third child.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardy Bridge were also on
hand the same weekend, although in no official capacity, but merely as visitors to the Hanover scene. Both looked fit, Mrs. more so than Gardy (but then I'm working on a theory which goes something like this: Women are prettier than men).
A few days after this, I was seated in lonely splendor at the Hotel Coolidge in White River eating dinner, when Bob Searles drifted up to the table. He said he was in town with the University of Vermont golf team which had a match with the Dartmouths. Furthermore, he confided that this was the sine quanon of coaching—no Monday morning quarterbacks, no disgruntled alumni, no talk of overemphasis. Bob's UVM ski team, by the way, did the best that Burlington institution has yet done at this year's Winter Carnival, finishing ahead of all eastern schools except Dartmouth and Middlebury.
A note from the MAGAZINE office says, "Capt.Jonathan DeS. Mendes is stationed at Cherry Point, N. C. (the world's largest Marine Corps Air Station) as executive officer of Marine Fighter Training Squadron so. He is serving as instructor in the flying of jet-propelled fighter planes. He received a master of business administration degree from Harvard. He was employed as an industrial engineer with the Firth Carpet company of New York city when recalled to active duty in October, 1951." In the mail pile, fittingly small, is a card from Dick Lee from, of all places, Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia. He mentions, this wide-ranging traveller, that the langouste is very good.
From the MACAZINE office comes news that Joe Palamountain, or more formally, Dr. Palamountain, assistant professor of government at Harvard, has been appointed one of four Allston Burr Senior Tutors at that Cambridge seminary. These tutors will sit on the administrative board of Harvard college and will devote half their time to administrative duties and the other half to teaching and research. He will be tutor in Adams House.
One more Harvard note: Joseph W. FowlerJr. received his Master of Arts degree there in March.
Und so, ave atque vale! See you in a couple of weeks at the Titillating Tenth!
Secretary, The Valley Publishing Co., White River Junction, Vt.
Treasurer, 6178 Blackburn Ave., Los Angeles 36, Calif.
Class Agent, 53 Orient Ave., Melrose 76, Mass.
