1918

"If this cold weather continues, the race of brass monkeys will soon be extinct!" Professor Emery, his eyes a-twinkle, would chuckle and slap his kneeremember? as he repeated the jest of a fellow member at the Saint Botolph Club. Frigid mornings like this one remind me of it.... To orient you in chronologyApollo 8 splashed down yesterday.... Julie, returning to Smith, will be Mrs. Eisenhower.... The "Pueblo" crew are exchanging hell for heaven....

But this month's column I'd meant to open differently, and if it's not too late, I will:

"Don't look now," leered Barr, "but your inexperience is showing." Once again I'd been summoned by our treasurer to the Bible and Drum Room to discuss a problem facing the Class. And once again the problem seemed to be Booth. My mentor went on, "As secretary you've done better than I thought you would, I'll admit. Your October inaugural was pretty good. Showed what you can do. But now you're slipping. And I hate to see it. May I be frank?" I gripped the table's edge and nodded yes. "Well, let's take your January column. What's the point of all that stuff about the appearance of the new directory? Is that the news our classmates want? And then the new faculty. If the faculty didn't 'turn over,' says you, there'd be an 'explosion.' What does that mean? I don't get it. And who on earth's this guy 'Rollo'? Nobody by that name in Eighteen. Nobody I can recall, anyway. No dues come in from him" Stump was grinning now, so maybe he'd been pulling my leg. Anyway, I interrupted: "In the January column I alluded to the directory and the pamphlet about the new faculty as part of my effort to cause classmates to realize the College is no longer a. small one, however much they love it. Wait, now. Let me finish. Of course they know it's bigger, but they don't have a truly realizing sense of how much since our day it's grown both in stature and, I believe, wisdom. On that thesis I'll be harping, I warn you, every now and again." Barr rolled his eyes. "Ed, you say you 'alluded' to the directory and the pamphlet? You 'alluded'? Ye gods, man, you stuffed half the column withHey! You know what I think? I think you were panic'd by your deadline's looming, and you had only one idea, and you had to blow that one up, and then fill out with what had had to be killed the month previous..."

Wrong though Barr was about my padding with material earlier cut, in his suspicion I'd panic'd as deadline day loomed, he did have something. He's a more perceptive reader than I thought. I really had mislaid notes about students cramming for final exams that would end the first term before Christmas. Then I'd intended to recall our leaving in the good old daysfor Christmas vacation by special trains homeward bound. Those were indeed fun journeys, and as compared with today's automobile, 'bus, 'plane day-and-night nonstop pushing through, restful and safe.

Speaking of journeys, our boy Daniels down Florida way asks me to remind y'all that he recommends a southern peerade that will bring you to Fort Lauderdale for '18's annual PowWow at the Sheraton there: dinner the evening of March 11, luncheon around noon on the 12th. Cliff's recommendation of the party, I second, but I fear I can't make it myself.

While we're thinking southland, I'm reminded that Ed and Clara Felt have, for the present anyway, retired to Texas. Their new address: 623 Jessamine St., San Antonio 78209. Ed writes that one must for status there be a hunter. He can and will knock off jack rabbits if he must, but even at Thanksgiving time the wild turkey he spares. "Up at 5:00, I sat in the blind til 7:30; then for the next twenty minutes watched the gobblers, occasionally drawing a bead on one, but always holding my fire. They're a fascinating sight, and I agree with Ben Franklin that instead of the carrion-eatmg eagle they should be our national bird. So I let them all walk off, planning for excuse to allege inability to spot one with the beard that distinguishes torn from hen." Changing the subject, Ed mentions our Golden Roundup and adds he has in mind doing an article to be called "My Various Contacts with Immoderates Left and Right." It won't get written, though, he suspects. "When for fifty years you've been limited to 125 words of print or a 60-second radio spiel, even 2,500 words for a magazine seem impossible...."

Well, Ed, and others interested, have a look at an article in the "Atlantic" of October — "The Class of '43 Is Puzzled." It's about the reunion last June of the twenty-five-year class at Harvard. A lively piece, and it contains passages that remind one of an episode or two that upset some and gladdened others of us at our Roundup. Then the January "Atlantic," just out, carries cogent letters from Harvard '43 men critical of the article, which was, after all, written by a ringer and a pro, "a secret agent of the 'Atlantic,' " as one of the letters puts it, "who bugged our... reunion."

Hanover has been saddened recently by the deaths within a few days of both John Piane '14 and Jim Campion Jr. '28. We of '18 affectionately recall Jim Campion Sr., the firm's founder, father of Jim Jr. The latter's sons Edward Ronan ("Ronnie") Campion '55 and Jim III carry on. The Dart- mouth Cooperative Society, founded by John Piane '14 et al., endures still, its executive John's son-in-law Richard Fowler '54. John's own son, John Jr. '50, heads the wholesale manufacturing firm Dartmouth Skis, Inc., the products of which have worldwide distribution.

The mail has just brought to our hands word of the death in Princeton, N. J., on November 15 of our classmate William C.("Chaunce") Wales. To his family we proffer 1918's deep sympathy. A more extended obituary notice will appear in an early issue.

Secretary, Elm St., Norwich, Vt. 05055

Treasurer, 45 Rip Rd., Hanover, N. H. 03755

Bequest Chairman,