LETTERS

Our "Growing Peril"

To THE EDITOR:

Your copy is of the greatest in terms of world balances of power, 1930 - where the U. S. was not "carrying the ball." As of 1959, your copy, for a College which was imbued with the pioneer spirit which made this country what it is today, is no more aware of the basic problem than my youngsters in secondary school. If we cannot look for originality, based on comprehension of our present problem, from men who have the most to lose - and I do not mean financially - then where will it germinate? How much time and effort do you devote to evaluating the tremendous threat from abroad, to what we should do to combat it, and to how we should proceed to combat it?

To point up the problem, Dartmouth should take the intellectual and educational initiative to launch a school of foreign service which would be second-to-none in the world. Such a school of public service would have terrific impact on the whole educational direction of the College.

Powerful leaders are urging business men to go into politics - there could be no more ridiculous course of action. They are simply not equipped. The British have long realized that public service is one of the highest professions. Through the excellent humor of Will Rogers it has been reduced to one of the lowest and poorest paid.

It seems about time that Americans of substance stop "playing with dolls" and start borrowing some of the wisdom of the past. We have had, as a country, to grow up alarmingly fast - no one is to be blamed for anything — it is just an historical first. However, if we prefer to play like boys in short pants then we sure deserve "to lose the ballgame"!...

If Dartmouth cannot rise in a substantial way to lead and to act, then it had better sell its birthright and retreat to the turf. Can men be so busy chasing the dollar that they become unmindful of their growing peril?

You don't win a game on the Princeton gridiron by steeping your mind on press clippings of what you did on days that are strictly dead! From my short "look-see" at Russia a few years ago they appear to me to be a team that can only be whipped by an Earl Blaik!

Let's get off the proboscis that for most of us may be too plushy - President Eisenhower has by the Killian (16,000 word report) Committee effort written a blueprint for survival —it only states the problem. Now let's go for what we need for a smashing victory and then, how we are going to do it!

Framingham, Mass.

Canine Celebrity

To THE EDITOR:

Praise to Bill McCarter for his ever-so-amusing Dog Tales of Hanover in the May 1959 issue.

In addition to his list of dog-notables, perhaps Bill will recollect the white Phi Gam French bulldog, circa 1915 or 16. I'll mention two episodes in which he figured prominently and which, I think, qualify him as a Hanover Dog-Great.

Episode 1 - When some Phi Gam pranksters rouged the dog's cheeks, heavily pencilled his eye-brows, and black-crayoned him with parted-in-the-middle hairdo, worthy of Max Factor. To this make-up was added a buttoned-on, stiff white linen collar and black bow tie. This almost-human perp was then taken to chapel (then compulsory) one morning. Prof. Ben Marshall was conducting services in his usual efficient manner when he spied the curious creature promenading up and down the aisle directly in front of the pulpit. Ben didn't bat an eye, and carried through the sermon despite his convulsed audience. I never did learn if the tricksters were brought to justice, but my guess is that kindly Ben enjoyed the fun as well as the rest of us and let the matter drop.

Episode 2 - A cold dreary late fall day when the Phi Gam dog was serenely surveying the situation from a vantage point in front of Harry Wolverton's bookstore (now the Inn Coffee Shop), next to Campion's. Coming from the direction of Commons, he spotted "Skeet" Tibbetts, then the college bursar, attired in a long raccoon coat and closely followed by his little pet, shaggy pooch. Skeet was headed for Storrs' bookstore for his evening paper.

The Phi Gam dog suddenly developed an urge for delicate dog meat, and with the ferocity of a lion, leaped across the street and sank his fangs into a tender portion of little Fido. Skeet unhesitatingly rushed to separate the dogs, but immediately became enmeshed and entangled in the folds of his great raccoon coat, and fell to the ground on top of the two animals. All four contestants, Skeet, the two dogs and the inanimate raccoon coat now rolled on the ground in what appeared to be a big ball, raising a cloud of dust as the battle waxed furious. The yips and yaps, the squeaks and shrieks, and the growls and howls reached a deafening crescendo.

Skeet never did separate the dogs, but the crowd did pull out Skeet, pretty well disheveled and minus his coat.

Then with the same suddenness with which the battle began, it ebbed. The Phi Gam dog, sated with tender dog-meat, dropped his helpless foe and quietly retreated to his usual observation post. Skeet, now wearing his bedraggled raccoon coat, fondly picked up "man's best friend," tucked him lovingly under his arm, and trudged back home, wiser, I'm sure, in the ways of dogs.

Ask Bill if, on the strength of these two episodes, he doesn't think the Phi Gam French bulldog rates as a Hanover Dog-Great.

Newton, Mass.