1909

Dartmouth Guys I Have Known

A note from Pineo Jackson '10, called to mind one of the brilliant members of the class of '07, Harry Blythe, whom I got to know pretty well during the two years our classes were together in College. Harry came from the Chicago area — Aurora, Ill., to be specific. Emmet Hay Naylor, sometimes known as the "Duke," and I were the gift of Evanston (Ill.) Township High School to Dartmouth. Being fellow-Illinoisians it was natural for us to get acquainted with Harry.

In Harry's senior year our friendship was further cemented. We all went back to Illinois for our Christmas vacation and we talked about getting together for lunch and dinner one of the days. On December 27,1906, a special delivery letter came to me saying that Harry would arrive in town that morning and he hoped it would be convenient for us to have the session as planned because it was his only available time. Harry's penmanship was a la John Hancock.

Naylor and I did see Harry; we did have lunch and dinner together and we enjoyed some good old Dartmouth beefing. For some reason or other I kept that note from Harry and pasted it in my Memorabilia.

Besides being a delightful companion, Harry was a man of many talents. In College he was a champion pole vaulter; played on his sophomore football team; was president of his freshman class and vice president of the senior class; he won prizes in literature; was editor-in-chief of the Dartmouth Magazine; wrote the class poem for Commencement. He joined Delta Tau Delta and was a member of the Masonic Lodge in Lebanon. After leaving Dartmouth he studied law at Harvard, getting his degree in 1910.

A man of Harry's accomplishments simply couldn't miss carving out an illustrious future for himself, but Fate ordained otherwise. In less than three years after his graduation from law school, and only a few months after he was married to Lucile E. Bodwell, his number came up and he died February 27, 1913.

The cause of Harry's death was something that would never happen in these times. It was a collar button. In those days, men wore detachable white stiff collars. Collar buttons fitted through slots in the back and in the front and came in direct contact with the skin. In Harry's case, the back of his neck, as I recall it, became infected from the collar button and his death resulted.

Pineo wrote: "I cherish a volume of Harry Blythe's poems, now out of print. He showed great promise before his untimely death. His verse about the College is particularly appealing. The enclosure is typical." And here it is:

The Spirit is True

Where is the old time Dartmouth, the Dartmouth that once had been?

The sweatered race with its grizzly face, and the rawhide booted men?

From the campus it all has vanished as the snow that melts through night,

And now in its stead you hear the tread of the lads who are dressed just right.

Through the streets where a farmer's oxen once moved with a stately jar,

You may hear the whir and behold the blur of a passing motor car;

And out in front of the Commons, where the tides of youth still run,

You may estimate the fashion plate as he gleams in the morning sun.

There are few who chew tobacco, though some still follow the cards,

But in spite of the range of this great change, these men are as good old pards

As any who walked in rawhides in the long lost days of old,

When the bearded boys with their corduroys were the keepers of the fold.

For whether in eighteen-fifty, or whether in nineteen-ten

You measure their fame, the heart is the same in all good Dartmouth men;

The march of the'angel, Progress, has burnished the outer man,

But the spirit is true in me and you, though we be more spic and span.

- HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE

Harry, as his name implies, was indeed a "blithe" spirit, full of the joy of living, and ever ready to sample what life had to offer. When we were in College, the "dress-up" era had not arrived. We wore corduroy pants and flannel shirts; we chewed tobacco; we played cards. I remember my first chaw on a hunk of Piper Heidzic and how proud I was that it didn't make me sick. Harry chewed the filthy weed, he liked to play cards, and he was Dartmouth to the core.

I intend to browse around some of these second-hand book stores to see if, perchance, I can glom on to one of his books of poems. This, I would cherish as I cherish the memory of the man. And to Pineo I'm sending the letter Harry wrote me over 51 years ago.

The write-up on Dan Watson, that appeared in a recent issue of the Alumni Magazine, stirred memories in the mind of Charles Jackson Fay '10, who wrote:

Dan's grandparents, the Thomas Watsons, lived next door to my folks in old Roxbury. Our families were friends for three generations. Dan was one of a group that went to Roxbury Latin School and then on to Dartmouth. Others included Kid Richardson and Bob Rugg '08; George (Knuck) Kennedy, Anson McLoud, Gordon Weinz '09; Harold Kelley, John Vander Pyl, and yours truly '10.

Dan and I kept up our close friendship to the end. He died while I was on a business trip to California and I did not know about it until my return a week later. . . . Thank you for doing, such a swell job about a grand guy.

They tell this story about the eminent Dr. Ben Burpee, Hippocrates' endowment to Manchester, N. H. I can't attest to its authenticity, but here goes:

Several small boys were standing around the old Doctor's Model T that was parked at the curb, laughing and poking fun at it. Pretty soon the Doctor came out of his house, climbed into the seat and said in a quiet voice: "The car's paid for, boys." And looking slowly from one boy to another, he added, "But you're not... you're not... you're not."

This reminds me of another doctor story that might apply to Tom Uniac '04, Paul Felt '06, Dinnie Black '07, or any number of Dartmouth medics. The good doctor, who had lived a life of service to the people in his community, had a sign on the building where he held forth, "Dr. Tom Uniac, Office Upstairs." After his death his good friends and neighbors, whom he had served so faithfully during his lifetime, had the same sign placed on his tombstone.

Word to all '09ers: Plan to be back for our informal reunion next June. Buy your Golden Anniversary book matches from Al Newton, 154 Atlantic Avenue, Boston 10. He's accepting new and repeat orders. Pay your class dues to Bert French, Sandwich, Mass.

This will cost you a little effort, but no dough: Send your news items to Jack Childs who now bids you farewell until next month.

Class Notes Editor, 141 Pioneer Trail, Aurora, Ohio

Secretary, Sandwich, Mass.

Class Agent, 21 Walden St., Newtonville 60, Mass.