1909

Time slips by like it was on greased skids. I was thinking about reunions today and came to the sudden realization that the first of the three classes ('06) we knew in college would be having its 50th reunion, come June. It was further reminder that our is only three short years away. How mature those '06 guys looked to us when we hit Hanover. And what a thrill it was when any of 'em took notice of us peagreen freshmen. I can picture Dave Main, captain of the football team, in his green sweater with the big white "D" on it; Fat Pratt, who in those days was as big as a house and looked like a mature business man; Norm Bankart. the forerunner of our classmate, Reggie, and the younger brother, Larry '10; Doc Felt, the little guy who played the piano and the trombone and who was a comic in his own right; Shorty Neal, a sweet violinist who teamed up with Felt on occasion to give mu- sical sessions for appreciative audiences; the famous Ralph Glaze, a star in both football and baseball; Gig Gallagher, old Dartmouth spirit himself, a fabulous personality who didn't live too long after his graduation; Remmie Varick, another gent whose life span was all too short; Ned Oakford, who stayed with us most of our college course because he had such a hard time passing math; Walter Powers, another prominent member of his class; Nat Leverone, a Rufus Choater, who was destined to become a big shot in the business world and an all-round public citizen.

These and others in the senior class we looked up to with youthful admiration, and the big majority of them stood the test of living up to Dartmouth traditions and standards. They were democratic, fun-loving, and imbued with the Dartmouth spirit that leaves its mark on practically all men who have sojourned in Hanover. Came graduation time for the. '06 boys, and we freshmen who, by that time had acquired a certain amount of Hanover knowhow, felt pangs of regret to lose this fine bunch of fellows. One of our last memories of them was sitting on the senior fence with their Indian head canes, chanting the time-revered ditty, "Where, Oh where are the grand old seniors? - Safe at last in the wide, wide world."

Putting the Bite on Papa ... Most of you birds around our time remember Rollie Hastings who transferred from the University of Wisconsin the beginning of our sophomore year. He was actually in the class of '09 but he liked Dartmouth so well he spent the full four years in college, graduating with the Class of '11. He was a whiz on the mandolin and understood music to the extent that he made the musical arrangements for a couple of the class shows. Rollie passed from this earth a few years ago and one swell gent was lost to the human race.

I don't know how the younger generations touch up the old man for this or that while they're in college, but Rollie put a unique bite on his pater one spring in the form of a business letter, as follows: Mr. Samuel Miles Hastings, Evanston, Ill. Dear Sir:

"Knowing that you are interested in the science of 'thought transmission', and have practiced it somewhat, I take the liberty of citing an incident which will give us conclusive proof as to the practicability or impracticability of the aforesaid science. If the following incident seems impractical to you, let it be a warning.

"As I crossed the campus yesterday, deeply absorbed in the thought of my studies, another thought intervened. It seemed to say, 'Rollie, you had better order your spring suit now.' I tried to forget it, but still it repeated itself over and over again in my mind. Some unnatural force accompanied it and directed me to the tailoring establishment. Before I had time to reflect, I had invested $37 in what seemed to me to be the most beautiful piece of goods that was ever produced.

"After thinking it over seriously, I came to the conclusion that you had ordered your new suit, and as you were admiring it, you said to yourself, 'Now that I have my new spring suit I think Rollie ought to have his, because I would not want to better him when it came to making an impression on the young ladies.' This thought must have been transmitted to me at that instant, or perhaps later.

"I just thought I would write you and find out if my conclusion was correct, or whether I misinterpreted your thought. Thanking you in advance for your kind attention, I am

Your loving son, Rollie"

Rollie got the OK on the suit all right. Old Man Hastings was a generous soul, and he had the means to back it up. And where did Rollie buy the suit? At Burke's Tailoring Emporium where 37 bucks, in those days, bought quite a hunk of merchandise. Little Serafini, manager at the time, later bought out Burke's and started up under the name of Serry's, a store for men which still operates on Main Street where it has always been located. Serry, still living, retired from business a couple of years ago.

Spring's Near - Here Are Sure Signs ... The following piece, written by Louis Cook, FreePress staff writer, is one that you may like to share, especially at this time of year:

"Spring is almost here.

"There are sure signs that the winter wheat will rise this year as soon as the sap goes up in the sugar bush.

"There is rust in the cistern water, and the smoke is blowing back up through the stove lid.

"False teeth fit too tight, and the Herefords are licking holes through the black salt.

"The mercury has separated in the thermometer on the woodshed.

"The alarm clock is missing ticks on the bureau after midnight. Then it gallops.

"Horses are gnawing the edges of their mangers, and the hoops are slipping down the sides of the slop barrel in the pig house.

"Hens are pecking hard oil off the plow shares.

"The leather has wrinkled around the hook on the husking peg. Broody sows are looking for places out of the wind.

"The dog is chasing the shadow of the windmill, and the staples are loosening on the barb wire.

"Vinegar clouds the mirror over the wash basin. The knees of the overalls will not hold a patch.

"The clevises are wearing out the holes in the whiffle trees. There's rust on the oats measure, and a hole has shown in the bottom of the corn scoop.

"The kerosene is smoking up the lamp chimneys, and it takes more to get the cobs burning.

"Mice are gnawing the string holding the side of bacon in the spare bedroom.

"Barn cats scratch when they're petted. Crows caw at night.

"The party line rings when nobody is turning the crank, and pigs are eating coal.

"All nature is restless under the crust of

winter. Spring will be here any minute, because it's just got to." Thus is completed another chapter of '09 class notes. It's been nice talking to you.

Class Notes Editor, 141 Pioneer Trail, Aurora, Ohio

Secretary and Treasurer, Sandwich, Mass.

Bequest Chairman,