1918

From the frozen fastnesses of Vermont came Professor Booth's request, politely phrased yet with overtones of command, that we (Gene Markey) take pen in hand and review the situation in the Sunny South (Where the sun has not been seen since August, 1969). The actual title suggested by the Nawab of Norwich was: "Florida from where You Sit."

Well, sir, from where we sit, by a roaring fire (in the electric heater) Florida is a winter resort second to none. Unless possibly Aspen, Colo., or the Canadian Rockies. We do not offer dog-sled races, but our streets are jamed with racing tourist automobiles, bumper-to-bumper, and the cacophony of crashing bumpers often rises louder than the roar of jet planes skimming our t.v. antennae.

As to sports, we've had a busy season. Ice-boating on Biscayne Bay (which is rapidly replacing Baffin Bay in popularity) has been doubly exciting and hazardous due to the presence of Navy ice-breakers. And the race-tracks are given over to ski-joring.

A bright-tinted Chamber of Commerce brochure informs us that Florida is a land "blessed with sun and balmy breezes yearround." (Ah, there, Admiral Peary!) Among the "attractions" listed:

"... Laugh at the antics of macaws, parrots, and cockatoos." (We failed to laugh; their only antics were flapping their wings to keep warm.)

"... Actual venom extraction from the most poisonous snakes in the world." (One assumes that this is purely a spectator sport.)

"... Maybe your kind of relaxation is dancing barefoot on the beach." (In answer to that we wrote a pamphlet, "Chilblains Are Really Fun.")

"... Watching a Seminole wrestle with an alligator will bring a gasp from the most blase." (And a prize for each visitor who can decide whether the Indian is more blase than the alligator.)

However, the endless Arctic winter has had one salutary effect: it gave our snowbound brethren in Florida a reassurance of togetherness. This was achieved by the newly-formed "1918 Symptoms Exchange." Any classmate whose wife is tired of listening to his complaints may now telephone to a classmate and exchange symptoms. It works this way:

A. "Hello? Charlie? Howza boy?"

B. "I feel terrible."

A. "Me, too. That stiff neck again?"

B. "Today the pain's in my shoulder."

A. "I had it in my shoulder yesterday."

B. "How are you for Excedrin headaches?"

A. "I'll have one by tonight."

Operator's voice: "Your three minutes are up."

B. "So's my temperature!"

A handy feature of the Exchange is the Answering Service. If your classmate happens to be out, the Answering Service will listen to your symptoms. All toll-calls are paid for by Medicare.

The poet (who obviously had never wintered in Florida) wrote... Can spring be far behind?" This windy promise has kept us alive through weeks of frostbite and frustration — and only yesterday the first harbinger of spring arrived. As we huddled in our igloo, munching hors d'oeuvres of seal-blubber and pemmican, a fur-shrouded postman (his ear-muffs had prevented him from hearing about the strike) mushed in behind a team of huskies to deliver a letter. "Pow!" I shouted. "Wow!" cried my wife. And sure enough it was an invitation to the Pow Wow! Good old Cliff Daniels, bless his hospitable heart!

We turn you over now to our Man on the Spot, Howie Park, the Laureate of Lauderdale.

Oh, Eleazar Wheelock was a very pious man When he opened shop in Hanover to teach the In-di-an.

His mind was on the task at hand, and little did he think Of Pow Wows in Ft. Lauderdale, complete with food and drink.

The Braves of Nineteen-Eighteen thought they had a good idea:

"Let's meet down in Ft. Lauderdale in March of every year.

"Let's look back fifty years or so, to when we all were young, "And ponder why some did so well; why others were not hung."

The tocsins sounded far and wide, smoke signals filled the sky, Some Braves said surely they'd appear, some others said they'd try.

They gathered up some wampum beads, their squaws, and jugs of rum, Cranked up the old jalopy and to Lauderdale did come.

The Hilton was their Big Tepee, they got inside with ease, But to penetrate the Council Room they first had to appease The Keeper of the Wampum Box. He, stationed at the door, Extracted beads from every Brave, then looked around for more.

To spread the word thruout the tribe, so each may know who came, Without regard to meter we'll list each and every name.

Cliff Daniels was the Sachem, and with Adeline at hand He welcomed each and every guest; the job he did was grand.

John Donahue, the Pride of Lynn, arrived with features glowing.

Said he, "I'm glad that I am here; in Boston it is snowing."

Al Gottschaldt, with his Pipe of Peace (a big cigar, still smoking), Claimed he had lost some thirty pounds, and that he wasn't joking.

Russ and Gene Howard won the Prize, an evening cruise and dinner Aboard the spacious "Jungle Queen"; Russ always was a winner.

The Joneses, Tom and Marty, also Charles, Tom's quiet brother, Were very much in evidence, all speaking to each other.

From Delray Beach the Johnstons, Ann and Jasper, motored down, Altho, Ann said, the traffic made her gasp and Jasper frown.

Our widely-known Establishment was there in all its glory:

Mahoneys, Steve and Dorothy, Syl and Minetta Morey.

Ben Mugridge, Northport Councilman, elected by acclaim, Refused to grant an interview on how he won that game.

Nor would his charming Betty explain the whys and hows:

Suffice to say Ben overturned old Northport's Sacred Cows.

From Miami's southernmost enclave came Ann and Howie Park.

This year they used an auto rather than their trusty barque.

Tom Robbins and Elizabeth arrived from Sarasota; They could have paddled a canoe, but thought it best to motor.

The Rosnells, Jack and Doris, fled Cape Cod's bleak icy weather, Told one and all how glad they were to be down south together.

The happy Stoddards, George and Pat, exuding animation, Had entertaining tales to tell of Edenlawn Plantation.

Pat, of her doorprize, crowed in glee, "The first I've ever won!"

But then George copped the and she groaned, "Son-of-a-gun!"

Neil Sheldon never missed a trick, he'd left his Lenah home.

And Scotty Whipple left Helene; these boys seem prone to roam!

Our doughty Baron, George von Kapff, Alumni Fund in mind, Begged "Contributions early, Boys, if you will be so kind."

As if to prove that Eleazar's teachings are immortal, Squaws of departed Braves appeared and entered thru the portal.

Ruth Glover brought her sister Grace, and also Caroline, Art Conley's widow, D'16; all three gals looked just fine.

Lest it be thought we'd overlook our friends of by-gone days, Nineteeners one and all take note, your classmates Rocky Hayes And Charlie Warner did appear. Then Ed and Vera Curtiss Of Nineteen-Twenty's Dauntless Dekes most kindly did alert us To watch for The McGoughran and his bride. Ed had a hunch That Charles and Frances would show up in time for Wednesday's lunch. And since no Pow Wow is complete sans Nineteen-Twenty-two, To Grace and Monty Mountcastle, we raise our glass to you.

H. M. P.

Secretary, Elm St., Norwich, Vt. 05055

Class Agent, Lower Troy Rd., Fitzwilliam, N. H. 03447