1900

Many things in college life have, over the years, undoubtedly faded from memory, but the chapel talks on Sunday evenings by President Tucker and others are still a vivid, precious and glowing recollection to the men of 1900. This is well pointed up by Bill Edwards in a letter to me in which he says: "I recall the, shall I say, tiresome attendance at Rollins Chapel. Yet time and again in my life I have recalled Prexy Tucker, Clothespins Richardson, and others saying a few words that have stuck in my memory. I can hear the fellows singing 'Holy, Holy, Holy' and sense the scene lighted by the stained glass windows." Perhaps no other single requirement of college life was so effective in moulding character and instilling the thought and the will to civic service as these same chapel exercises.

Charles Proctor, son of our Charles, who has been stationed for many years in Yosemite Park, Calif., has been appointed recently as a member of the Organizing Committee for the Skiing Olympics to be held at Squaw Valley in 1960, and he has also been made "technical advisor" on officials for that event. Charles' main job is that of purchasing agent for the Yosemite Park and Curry Co. which operates various hotels and camps for the accommodation of visitors to the valley. During the summer some thousands of people visit the Park to enjoy and to wonder at the beauties of nature spread out for them. Charles also has charge of the winter sports activities at Yosemite which attract some 2,000 enthusiasts each winter. In this way he maintains his active interest and participation in skiing. His two daughters, one of whom is a sophomore at the University of Colorado, are enthusiastic and proficient skiers; chips off the old block shall we say.

Arthur Downing's son Allan and wife, who were staying at Cocoa Beach, Fla., had the great thrill of seeing "Explorer" launched, a red letter event, I believe, for the United States and discovering the mysteries of outer space. It may be hoped that this is not just a contest for preeminence between the United States and Russia to use outer space as a means of destructive warfare, but rather as a serious effort to attain knowledge which will aid in the building of enduring peace in a tortured world.

Lem Hodgkin's daughter, Ruth, has kept the railways, highways, or airways busy this winter. In January she visited her sister, Ginger, in San Antonio, Tex. While there she and her sister and husband took a motor trip to Phoenix, Ariz., Las Vegas, Nev., and Los Angeles, Calif. To what extent they participated in the alluring pleasures and mildly wild diversions of "The Strip" in Las Vegas is not revealed. In late March Ruth and her husband met Ginger and husband at Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla. While the two men burned up or dug up the golf course, the two women patrolled the beach, reveled in the sun, and enjoyed the swimming.

On March 7 Herbie Trull and his wife motored to Sebago Lake, Me., on an errand of mercy. Mrs. Trull's only cousin who had been hospitalized for some weeks needed help in looking after the house and her two daughters during her period of convalescence. In spite of winter weather with uncertain driving conditions these two valiant people made the long trip into Maine. The drive to Sebago Lake was not difficult, but on March 20 when they returned home they had the misfortune to encounter the big snow storm which made driving hazardous. I am glad to report that they arrived home safely without suffering any more serious difficulty than having to drive slowly and carefully.

There is an old but very good story about Bob Jackson's political know-how. This story, says Bob, has appeared in more than 200 newspapers in this country and it has also been printed in the Havana Post in Cuba.

The locale of the story is the celebrated "21" Club of New York City. Now the "21" Club is an ultra-swank eating, and, shall we say, drinking resort which is patronized by the "great and near great," a fine array of celebrities. During prohibition it was quite hush-hush, and in order to gain admission one had to know the right people, be glib with the proper password, and face careful scrutiny of noticeable brawn posted at the door, the watch dogs of the major-domo. Today the door swings open with greater ease and with less obstructive tactics.

Some years ago Bob was lunching with a group among whom were George Nathan, Charlie McArthur (Helen Hayes' husband), John O'Hara, John Steinbeck, Leonard Lyons, and Herman Mankiewicz, and the talk turned to politics. Bob has the reputation of having an excellent inemorv of the names of candidates for public office. On this particular occasion one of the party scoffed at Bob's knowledge of political history. "I'll bet you $1,000," he challenged, "that you can't name the man who ran for vice-president with Bryan in 1908."... "John W. Kern of Indiana," said Jackson.... "How did you know?" asked Mankiewicz. somewhat shaken.

... "I ought to know," said Jackson, "I nominated him." Like many stories which are repeated over and over again, this story has lost nothing in the telling and is shot through with inaccuracy and exaggeration. Bob writes me that the original bet was $1O, and that he never nominated John Kern although at the time he was present at the convention as a member of the Democratic National Committee. But why spoil a good story? In a somewhat wry footnote Bob says the bet was never paid.

Secretary, 3 Pleasant St., Hanover, N.H.

Class Agent, 34 Carruth St., Dorchester, Mass.