1909

The handsome guy in the basketball regalia, whose picture appears in this issue of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE, is none other than GeorgeWarren Grebenstein '07. Although he's turned 72, he's one of the lads from around our time that you'd still recognize. He retains his trim and manly figure. He's got sparkle in his eyes. I don't know whether he's got his original teeth, but if he hasn't, those that he has are a reasonable facsimile. He's full of pep and zest for living, and he's all man.

As undergrads, those of us in '09 didn't get too well acquainted with members of the '07 class. They were juniors when we were freshmen and had outgrown the sophomoric tendency to dominate the incoming crop of arrivals on the Hanover scene. We respected and looked up to the prominent birds in the class of '07. Among them was Greb. A man of imposing height and aristocratic bearing, he'd stand out in any crowd. He was captain and one of the star performers on the basketball team, and on top of that he played third base on the baseball team, and was first bass in the Glee Club. Although Greb could have qualified for membership in the great and glorious frat, Psi Upsilon, for some reason, known only to himself, he elected to become a member of Delta Kappa Epsilon, commonly known as Deke. He was a member of Sphinx senior society.

A bunch of fellows from around our time make it a point to return to Hanover each June at reunion time. The classes of '07 and 'OB have had informal annual reunions for a matter of five or six years, and a few members of '09 have returned for the last three years in succession. This group was considerably larger in 1955 when we celebrated our 45th with '10 and '11. And so we have had a chance to fraternize ith and get better acquainted with certain members of classes that preceded ours.

It is the consensus of these ancient and honorable reunioners that music, furnished by '09, has been a big factor in bringing the classes closer together. For the past three years we've had a trio going that consisted of Big Chief Black Bear on the violin, Childs on the banjo, and this last June an accordion player by the name of "Woodie" Woodward. This group has a repertoire o£ well over a hundred o£ the old-time songs that strike responsive chords in the hearts of the old boys. Like most Dartmouth guys, the crowd loves to sing, and Grebenstein is among the singingest. He's got a rich, strong, melodious voice, and he puts his heart and soul into the job. Greb has been dubbed the "man with the vibrating tonsils," for if you watch him while he's knee-deep in a songfest, his throat vibrates like Nat King Cole's. It takes a real singer to get that worked UP.

So, over the last few years, I've got to know Greb better, and the admiration I had for him the two years I was with him in college has had cause to increase. He's been in semiretirement for three years or so, but that don't stop him - never will. Around his home town, West Upton, Mass., he's mixed up in about everything - chairman of Red Cross drives, head of Civil Defense, a town official. Anything that comes along where they want a gogetter to head it up, they call on Greb, and he responds with whole-hearted enthusiasm.

Greb's little woman, Ethel, is an ideal companion for him. She likes to do things he likes to do, and accompanies him wherever he goes. She must have Irish in her makeup, for her sense of humor is keen. Her eyes are always atwinkle with enjoyment. This last summer, she and Greb spent some time up around York Beach, Maine, where Greb and a number of the Dartmouths played baseball on the hotel team. Among the guys in our class who participated were Dutch Schildmiller, Mickey McLane, Jess Hawley, and Cad Cummings.

"Gregarious Greb" is a title that well describes the subject of this discourse. He likes to be with people, and the Grebensteins are saturated with hospitality. They welcome friends, find a spot for them at the dinner table, or a place to spend the night. Dutch Schildmiller dropped in on 'em after our 45th in '55, before heading back to his retirement spot in Florida. This type of hospitality is not too common these days.

Some men lose the Dartmouth touch. They tell me they don't get a kick out of seeing old classmates, and that to talk over old times is boring. To me, they've lost a vital part of their "lives. It's not necessary to indulge in maudlin sentimentality in regards the College, or cry into the mug of beer when the name of Dartmouth is mentioned. The get-togethers we enjoy as the twilight years come and go combine the past with the present —a past that is dear to most of us, and a present that is enhanced by a meeting with kindred souls. George Warren Grebenstein is one guy I know who will never grow old in thought, who will live the full life right up to the final summons, and whose presence in a group will tend to revive lagging spirits of faltering brethren.

What Was Said 40 Years Ago

Have we got inflation! Think nothing of it. Back in 1916, Ralza Cummings wrote to Emile Erhard, who was then Class Agent: "Class tax $2.00! You must be in the munition trade, or have class expenses gone up on account of the war - or am I mistaken in thinking the tax used to be $1.00?" (Note the use of the word "tax" instead of "dues." The American public has become well familiar with "tax" during the last 15 years.) Ralza continues: "However, I am enclosing a check and hope you get a lot of them without writing a dozen letters for each . . . and so save the few remaining hairs to your head.

"The chief thing of interest to happen to me since I last wrote, was getting married last May (to Genevieve Warner) - which now leaves Fearing the only 'man about town.' Fat says he can't find any of his old friends now when he wants to spend an evening in town. ... I do wish you would telephone sometime to find out if we are at home and then come over. I haven't seen you since you stole my soup at the Dartmouth dinner."

Whether Emile and his wife, Leonie, ever got over to visit Ralza cannot be substantiated by either of them. Ralza left these parts on July 12, 1937, and Emile on October 2, 1948.

Although Sandy Hooker is a Vermont native, occasionally, when he's out touring with his little woman, Lillian, he'll get confused about the way to certain spots. One day last summer, he asked a local character, "How does one get to East Overshoe?," making certain that his grammar was correct. He got this answer: "Wal, down this road quite a fur piece, thar's a covered bridge. Ye turn left 'bout three miles afore ye git to it."

And now, friends, I'll give you more explicit directions about sending news items for this here column. Address 'em to Jack Childs, 141 Pioneer Trail, Aurora, Ohio. If your conscience bothers you for not having paid your class dues, remit 'em to Bertie French, Sandwich, Mass.

George W. Grebenstein '07, captain of the 1906-07 basketball team, is the subject of a write-up in the 1909 class column.

Class Notes Editor, 141 Pioneer Trail, Aurora, Ohio

Secretary and Treasurer, Sandwich, Mass.

Bequest Chairman,