1918

MAY YOUR CHRISTMAS BE MERRY, YOUR NEW YEAR HAPPY!

Greetings to you, one and all, from your N.Y. reporter who works now and then for Tom Shirley. We have jots and tittles of news. Larry Wallis reports that he came out of retirement last summer to teach graduate courses in Shakespeare and in English Drama, 1590-1642, at Boston U. Stew Teaze, ye olde racqueter, has succeeded, in a way, of writing his life story on the head of a pin. So far as it can be puzzled out, he is going to Rancho Mirage (this is a joke?). One daughter married in Covina. One daughter at San Diego State. A son, Bob, Dartmouth '49, has two kids in La Mesa and is Chief Deputy City Attorney (gee whiz) for San Diego. (Whew.)

Consider the beauty of Bill Dutelle's prose: "Retired in July 1963, not voluntarily. Am considering other work in order to be busy." Red Wilson writes: "I and Peg are off for Greece and expect to be there through October." (Teaze could learn a lot from Dutelle and Wilson.)

At the risk of boring the brethren stiff as a teak plant, let us speak a bit about our two weeks in Hanover this fall. It was great. Weather like summer. The Bucknell game (how old is this hat now?) tightened me up and I did not become unscrewed for two weeks. Meantime, Stump and Ethel Banwere generous in the extreme to us. They have a beautiful new home on Rip Road with a cocktail-hour-view-of-the-sunset over the Green Mountains that is a killer. Their whisky ran freely and so did Stump's talk. (Ethel still hasn't got in a word.) He has a "business room" and represents Kidder Peabody and Ethel did say Stump was building up a solid trade. Why shouldn't he - who has handled investments longer? Sid and Barbara Hayward were so kind as to invite your reporter and his wife to their home for lunch on the day of the Brown game. This was our birthday - an important one. What the heck, they're all important today, aren't they? A royal repast was flushed up, and topped with a cake and candle by Barbara. The Ned Redmans 'O6 were there, too, though he did have the decency to keep his Phi Beta Kappa key in his pocket.

Then to the game. We had the good fortune to sit beside Bill Montgomery and his peewee wife, Eve. We recoiled as he gripped our citified hand is his, which is lined with Brillo. All around us were smiling faces of friends: Ed and Betty Booth, Ole Jedge andAlberta Blandin, Curt and the delightfulGwladys Tripp (a fellow Welsh-woman). Em Morse was laid up with some pox, and he and Lois missed out. Steve Mahoney was observed with two Brown men - one of them the Mayor of Scarsdale, so it was said. The neck of your reporter again tensed up like an old spring and he like to shoved little Eve out of the stadium when Dartmouth had the ball. One more game might well finish us off.

After the game, Cotty and Kitty Larmon were so kind as to invite us to their home for a 1919 party. My, my, the old familiar faces that shone up out of the smoke and noise! Here was Dr. Dan Featherston in a corner, honing a pocket lancet in case one of the party came up with a broody appendix. Here was Pettifogger Bob Proctor, wearing the last double-breasted suit to be seen in the Western world. (The rest are now worn by Turkish meter readers, who are said to esteem them highly.) There was Money Man Rock Hayes, looking untouched by the years. And Stew Russell, the fashion plate of Rip Road, and Norm Jeavons in a smashing ratcatcher jacket, and Win Batchelder, The Spirit of Darien. Chet Gale and Fat Jackson, The Big Bread Man, were eye to eye in close talk. And others too numerous to mention, though they brought back the long-ago in wonderful warmth. This party is an annual affair, given by Cotty Larmon and his charming wife Kitty. (A Dish.)

Pooping around the town other old friends were come upon. Jim Davis '19, one of the great class secretaries, whose poetry is causing Percy Elysshe Shelley to whirl in his grave with envy. What a gift! And genial Gerry Stone '20, the old glass man who still can't leave the business alone. Charlie McGoughran, another '20, was around and about the Inn. (Thought: a class with two guys like this has to be good.) George Rand, the 19er, was seen riding about in a car whose license read "MRGR." We also caught up with handsome Jack Clark, who sings like a lark and with the great John Chipman, the Music Man. Both 1919. Both deserving solos by 76 trombones.

So much for the men of 1919. We'll see them next June along with the junior lads and ladies of 1920. We have here a note from The Man from the Mountains — John B. A. Cunningham. He writes on the typewriter, Lord be praised, for his handwriting is fouler than Huntoon's: "Not doing too much work this summer... a few parties and a few fishing trips. On one trip I caught a 4 lb. 10 oz. rainbow trout on a fly along with several other good fish. Have decided, however, I am getting too old to wade the streams and am going to look into lake fishing where you can drop the caboose onto a seat and take it easy."

Ernest Earley, that great ornament to 1918, has immured himself in his cabin in the Catskills, at Woodstock. He writes: "Sorry, Tom, that we have muffed dear old Braeburn. (He means "again.") Oh, if we get in the clear and can enjoy some fun it will do us a lot of good. We are winterizing our house up here and it has been a pain." Ernest hopes to return from communing with woodchucks and squirrels early in Novem- ber. On another key is part of a letter from the Great Dane, Al Sibbernsen: "Too bad about Fats Hardie. He was a fine, generous man. I feel that Life has been such a nice ride, and the older I get the happier we should be with our lot. Grace and I have been out of doors all our lives - that alone is a great privilege."

Another Classmate has died and this is a saddening thing. Walter Ross, who lived in Port Washington, N. Y. Walt had suffered from a bad heart and his last attack came in October. He was faithful in attending New York Dartmouth meetings and was a good, quiet, faithful friend. Stan Jones's son-in-law, Irving R. Levine, has a new book just out by Doubleday. "Main Street, Italy." Levine is the NBC correspondent in Rome. The book is fascinating. It costs $6.50. (Fellows, pardon this plug!)

MERRY CHRISTMAS, 1918 GUYS AND DOLLS! Merry Christmas to Johnny Simmons, way down south in Daytona Beach. Merry Christmas to Paul and Helen Miner, whose hospitality is tops in Largo, Fla. The same to the Earleys, those shy Catskill refugees. To Bill Brillo Montgomery and his peewee partner, Eve. May Father Christmas bring her a new pair of size 3AAA dancing slippers - in gold. To the George Davises, the seagoing Paul Mathers, to Stump andSilent Barr. To Harvey and to Hoppy and to you all. May we meet again in Hanover in June!

We extend the thanks of all of our classmates to Stan Jones for the preparation of this article.

Secretary, 67 Annawam Rd., Waban, Mass.

Treasurer, Brush Island, Darien, Conn.