1935

It will quickly become apparent to the more perceptive readers of this column that someone other than Fitzhugh has his fingers in the pi this time, and right you are. Bill is visiting his daughter who is studying with the Hollins College group at the University of Paris as we go to press; so since this temporary filler of Fitzhugh footwear has no mailsack from which to extract notes regarding assorted classmates, I can only predict that what follows will probably be different from what you usually find here. In addition, I reached a sort of entente cordiale with Uncle Reg this past weekend as to who would report on the Fall Reunion. It was agreed that this is proper grist for the Tear Bag's mill, particularly since I would prefer to read about it than be responsible for an accurate and complete report thereon. Experience has taught me that I am often inclined to render a rather strabismical version of what actually transpired.

It could hardly have been a more wonderful weekend than it turned out to be. The autumn foliage was at its peak, a good two weeks earlier than usual, although many of the natives felt that it was already on the wane when we arrived. Rather than the customary brilliant colors that have often been described, it seemed to me that the leaves were more on the pastel side and at times were even fluorescent. I thought it unusually beautiful, and I'm sorry only a large handful of us were on the scene to enjoy it.

When you had once drunk your fill of the countryside, there were other sources of thirst-quenching at which to marvel. I don't know how prices are where you live, but at the risk of breaking some sort of rules of the College or the State of New Hampshire, I merely want to mention in an unpromotional way that a fifth of Dewar's White LaBel Scotch requires the most reasonable outshelling of only five and three-quarter dollars, and an equal portion of Milshire Gin amounts to five cents less than a three dollar bill. Those of us who live or work in or near the large cities sometimes become conscious of the imbalance between what part of the luncheon check is expended on liquids as opposed to solids, and an assist such as I have mentioned goes a long way toward reversing this. Just remember to eat, or else nothing is gained.

One of the most enjoyable things about a gathering such as we had was the opportunity of seeing so many familiar faces among the Thirty-Fivers assembled, as well as getting better acquainted with others whose paths didn't cross ours as frequently while we were undergraduates. The identification badges are always a welcome crutch to all of us, and there was no noticeable embarrassment on anyone's part when looking for the right way to address an obvious member of our group. Let's face it. Some of us have been victims of such maladies as lordosis, rugosity, alopecia, and varicose eyeballs, and consequently you could conceivably be talking to the guy who lived next door freshman year before realizing he was no longer the melanotrichous athlete you remembered from days of yore. Come around often enough and you'll eventually know most of them from a good distance. My good wife has observed for many years now that I ought to consider myself extremely fortunate to have such a great bunch of fellows as classmates, and, that (mirabile dictu!, coming from a woman) they married such wonderful girls. The latter, particularly, is certainly an understatement. However, my main complaint is that one just never gets around to talking enough with everyone, and you leave town feeling that so-and-so may think you were avoiding him, which is far from the case. The best means of overcoming this was accomplished by the necessity of splitting our group into six different motels or inns where we could gather informally before or after the formalities and accomplish in a small way what was impossible at the larger get-togethers. Anyhow, it was a real success as these affairs are judged, and I hope we keep it up with ever-increasing attendance. Where the accommodations will be provided is anyone's guess, but that problem will be met if and when it becomes serious.

Ed Mitchell has a much shorter title these days. For the past year and a half or so he's been general manager of the foreign operations department (Eastern Hemisphere) for Texaco, but now, according to a recent announcement by the chairman of the Texaco board, Ed is assistant to the president. Ed first joined Texaco in 1936 and, after various assignments in the treasury and foreign sales departments, was assigned to Africa. Subsequently he served in the Latin American division as manager in Haiti, Jamaica, and Brazil before a series of stateside promotions beginning in 1960 and leading to this latest boost up the ladder.

The only shred of local news I can pass along is that Dr. Cliff Mills, the "Mom-n-Pop"-ular obstetrician of Westport and vicinity, will soon become the new Potentate of Pyramid Temple Shrine. I'm probably making a mistake in mentioning this, as I will probably reap my reward by gaining an appointment as one of his Oriental BandAides. And on this unserious note, it might be well for me to follow Bill Fitzhugh's suggestion that this need not be a fulllength column. When even I start yawning, it must be high time to call a halt, which reminds me that this draftee has neglected to furnish you with name, rank, and serial number. Well, since it is unlikely to give aid or comfort to the enemy, this has all been the brainless child of BoB NARAMORE. Fitzhugh, hurry back!

Secretary, Room 703 521 Fifth Ave., New York, N. Y. 10017

Treasurer, 305 Grosse Pointe Blvd. Grosse Pointe Farms, Mioh.