1921

Here are some of his victims: Bob Blackman and Red Rolfe; Al Dickerson and Colonel Moorman, C. O. of the Dartmouth ROTC, Army; Karl Michael, Coach of Dartmouth swimming and Charlie Widmayer, Editor of You-Know-What. In the Graduate Squash Club Tournament with thirty contestants, young, clean-living, and tireless competitors, the conqueror of them all is that teaser with soft corner shots, that server of slick balls slithering along a slippery wall: Ort Hicks. A former Olympic skater gave Ort his toughest time, Mike McGean, Assistant Secretary of the College. In the final match and fifth game, Mike had Ort 17-17. Ort then whispered to his ball: Abracadabra. The final score: Ort, 18; Mike, 17.

Hunters are curious people. Take Ellis Briggs. In print he blasted a certain kind of duck because it eats brook trout which Ellis likes to eat. its trout flavor, if joined to that of white wine, being titillating to the palate. But the duck has a trout flavor which, wine or no wine, Ellis detests. You would think that he would hate beavers because they dam up streams and prevent trout from circulating to places where he is angling. On the contrary, Ellis is enchanted by beavers. Recently in correspondence with the Maine Fish and Game Commissioner, he seeks to be supplied for his remote lair in that progressive state with a pair of beavers, male and female, in lawful wedlock, in the hope that they will follow the Biblical precept of fruitfulness and multiplication, all on the Briggs premises in Topsfield. On the other hand, he notes, Greece is possibly lacking in beavers, although his recollection of the Acropolis some forty years ago in the company of Gordon Merriam - leads him to believe that since the days of Pericles beavers might well have been at work on the columns holding up the Parthenon and other architectural shrubbery decorating that hilltop.

Here's the sweetest trick of the month. Hugh McKay, Vice President of Refined Syrups & Sugars Inc., recently appointed General Manager, celebrates his promotion by pouring off to Arizona and California with his Honey, Marion. In this stimulant there is obviously no saccharin. Recently examined by doctors, Hugh was found to have a high content of maple sap in his blood stream.

The Secretary of 1921 in Hanover lives next door to Corey Ford, but they see each other so seldom that when they do meet every other year they must shyly re-introduce themselves, for the Secretary grows unrecognizably grayer and more wrinkled and Corey brisker and ruddier. It takes Jack Garfein on the Pacific Coast to inform Hanover what is on Corey's Hanover mind. The San Francisco Chronicle columnist, Herb Caen, says that Corey has become converted. Originally Corey was the kind of dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker who thinks that the sun rises out of the East River and sinks in the Hudson. According to the columnist, Corey once dismissed San Francisco as "nothing but a kind of vertical Chicago." The conversion came when a recent visit gave him so ecstatic a feeling that he is now looking there for a summer home. Scrutinizing San Francisco with his writer's eye, Corey is said to have quipped, "It's a lot like Hong Kong, but I like it even better. After all, Hong Kong doesn't have a Chinatown."

Because of a little angina trouble last summer, Bob Luce, lucky man living in the Waterbury, Vt., ski area, is unlucky enough to be forced to give up skiing, but he is still attracted to some of the ski costumes. Divesting himself of some duties outside his store, he is still a library commissioner and trustee of the investment funds of the Congregational Church. After a few hours daily in his store, general merchandise, he enjoys his hobbies: hardening with flowers only, furniture making with power tools, Civil War discussions with Dan Ryder, playing with his three grandsons and one granddaughter. After a couple years in the Army as a medical technical sergeant, chiefly in Germany, his son is taking over the family business.

Quartermilers trying for records and greyhounds when racing may be called lazy but not physicians. You would suppose that Doc Fleming would use his spring vacation of one paltry little week to relax by staying in bed till noon, fishing a little sitting down, and eating supper reclined at full length, soft music playing, like an antique Roman. But no. He pored over lists of furnishings and equipment for his enlarged infirmary and hospital. He faced architects and discussed bids with contractors. He needled sluggards about the deadline, September 1, when fall operations begin, a tight squeeze. With Doc on the job, workmen would no more dare dope off than Navy officers on a war-time destroyer in mined waters.

How energetic can a doctor be? Paul Sanderson at sixty has delivered just under 10,000 babies, and in his spare time he has been president of the Longmeadow Country Club.

Alertness and energy may not be necessarily confined to the medical profession. The mother-in-law of Connie Keyes, no doctor, is 86 years old. She and Irene are zooming off from California to Washington to visit Irene's daughter and her family.

And speaking of California, one may say that it will be welcome news on the West Coast to persons like Guy Wallick and Jim Wicker, Jack Garfein and Connie Keyes, Furb Haight and Henry Palmer that Van Shaffer and Mary plan this summer to explore California in leisurely fashion and devote a whole month just to San Francisco and adjacent areas. Last summer it was New England.

Art Ross should be included in the California group. Retiring from the Air Force in January, he with his wife in a 1958 Ford drove to California to settle about a mile from the ocean at 2601 Poinsettia Ave., Manhattan Beach, where his wife's daughter and grandchildren live. Art has had a pleasant social evening with Bill McAdams, who has now lived in California for some twenty years and is working for North American Aviation.

Stan Oliver, an adopted member of 1921, has a loyalty as true green as any. Here's proof. After practicing dentistry for 46½ years, he retired September first. And can you guess how he and Ethel spent their first months of freedom? Of course you can't. They hotcarred it to Hanover to watch September football practice and arrived even before some of the players. This they have done ever since 1936. That's proof #1. Proof #2 is that they attended all football games on the Dartmouth schedule, at home and abroad. Proof #3 coming up. As much as the games themselves, they enjoy reunions with the regulars: Jim Dodge and Dan Ruggles, Bill Perry and Reg Miner, Russ Bailey and Chick Stiles. Proof #4 concerns Florida. Is it possible for a northerner to retire and go neither to California nor Florida? Of course not! Stan and Ethel chose Florida. Here's the Dartmouth spirit in Stan's own words: "We toured Florida. Very nice. But I guess we like New England for a steady diet."

Fitz Fitzgibbon and Margaret have a son Jack in the freshman class at Dartmouth, and the boy is proving himself a true Fitzgibbon. With bright red hair, a member of ROTC, he makes a colorful coxswain of the lightweight crew (second string). He is getting congratulations from his classmates on his election to the editorship of next year's Fresh man Green Book. At Du Pont Fitz, no longer in cost control work, is Cost Estimator for the Fairfield plant. Now 59, Fitz notices only minor physical changes in his appearance but none in spirit.

Having felt its oats, 1921 is feeling its age, some men in one way, some in another. Some classmates are vying with one another for the honor of being the oldest man in the class. Marsh Whelden first claimed the honor on the strength of his reaching 66 on his next birthday, March 1960. But he is nosed out by a gray whisker. Stan Oliver on his, also March 1960, will be 67. But the champion of them all is Hugh Penney, who wins by five white whiskers. On his next birthday, October 1959, he will be 71. And he feels wonderful. So does Bob Loeb. On his next birthday, March 1960, Bob at 59 will be a candidate for the youngest member of 1921. In 1917 he could have been called the class baby. He was 16 years old.

Some of the happy '22s at their "alittle reunion " Rear row: Marje Smith, Charlotte Marshall, Haskell Cohn, Bill Bullen, John Olie Olscn, Len Morrissey; Middle row: Spenny Smith, Peg and Haŕy Bruckner, Pat Mckoan, Elspeth Olsen, Carter Hoyt; Front row: Nan Dwight, Alie Hoyt, Haŕiet Andy Marshall. Margaret Morrissey was the photographer.

Secretary, 33 East Wheelock St. Hanover, N. H.

Class Agent, 2 Wall St., New York 5, N. Y.