1948

Huck Newberry's last day in Hanover was when he graduated in June '49, and it was a breath of fresh air to talk to him again recently, some 28 years later. Huck lives in Fort Worth, practiced principally leasing law for a while out of his home, and now works with his geologist brother Beegie '49 in putting petroleum lease ventures together in various parts of Texas. Huck sounded great, still has his first-rate sense of humor, has kept in touch with some of his '48 buddies, and provided considerable news. He recalled rooming in Russell Sage, just up from the still popular "Gold Coast" of Gile, Lord and Streeter, with his borther and Bob Bastiaa, and reported that he had seen Bob (now living in Chicago) in Texas several months ago when the latter was on a PR or TV assignment. He also recalled Gino Pierleoni (owner of a heavy construction contracting firm in New York City, resident in Scarsdale) and Dick Repko (believed to be still with Caltex in Japan, where I last saw him in 1967) who also roomed in Sage in the early years of '48 history. Don Casey, now a businessman-lawyer-golfer-jazz pianist in Chicago who has clearly led a busy life since Hanover, was phoned by Huck not too long ago and Huck also sent his regards to his old fraternity roommate, George Michalek, a wholesaler of kitchen and tableware in New York. Huck recalled with pain that freshman trip to the Ravine Camp and Moosilauke in '44 when he climbed his first (and last?) mountain, when his feet got so sore from those stones on the trail back down that he could hardly walk — not too surprising when his upbringing on the flat Texas plains is considered. Huck said he's ready to retire, but then reversed himself in reporting that two children are now in college with a third to enter next year. We recalled with gusto the story of how Macartney, about to graduate in February '4B, had traded off with mutual friend, Bill Meeker '49, a case of beer for the girl Mac couldn't take with him. Bob Douglas of Houston, roommate of Bill Burke of Springfield, Mass., and the departed JackHamilton, was also cited as an old friend whom Huck occasionally sees.

As these notes are being written in the course of a business trip to south Florida and its warm sunshine, deep-sea fishing and golf, one is forcefully reminded that at this moment the snows and winds of winter are ripping across Hanover's cold and whitened plain, and that many an undergrad is enjoying the remaining days of Christmas vacation in literally attacking the steep slopes of some of the more memorable White and Green Mountain ski runs of nearby areas in New Hampshire and Vermont. Does it make you just a little nostalgic to think back to some of our exciting, frozen days of yesteryear on those narrow slats of (mostly) wood as you whipped and hung and zoomed and dived your way down some of those mountainsides, usually in company with a motley bunch of Dartmouth buddies all of whom held that just plain guts and plenty of laughter had to be common denominators of the action? Certainly this writer remembers those experiences with lan Macartney, Fink Thronton, Dirk Kuzmier, Keith McLoud, Don Drescher, Dave Miller-Walt Cairns, Colin Stewart, John Wood, Lou Clarke, Bill Malone, Harry Wood, Woody De Yoe, Pete Owen, Bill Jones, Bos Kirkpatrick, John Lanzetta, Bob Tracy, and the many other '48s and men from other classes with one great amount of zest. These memories are accompanied by the hope that the increasing timedistance between those years and now does not deaden the desire within many of us again and again to find some portion of that intense outdoor winter force in the hoped-for years ahead. We who were lucky enough to know those days at Dartmouth can also hope that our kids today have similar opportunities to participate in such activity which, considering its outdoor theater, must be pretty close to mother nature's heart.

Reminds me of the time when Fink Thornton, whose ski exploits have been previously mentioned in these columns, was one of a group who skied Cannon Mountain one winter vacation in '45 or '46 when we stayed in a primitive cabin across the road from the foot of the aerial tramway. Man, it was cold! (And the poor guy who had to start the fire in the wood stove in the morning!) But what great powder (in some places) and skiing! Mac, Dirk, Cairns, several others and myself (identities uncertain now) had stopped part way down a long stretch of steep, twisting trail between the trees to wait for Fink who was unaccountably somewhere out of sight above us. We weren't worried, but it was abnormal for Fink, a daredevil of limited, but growing, ski skills, not to be in the van of his peers pouring down the mountain. Also we had some notion that he wouldn't be behind for long. He didn't disappoint. As we craned to see up the trail, Fink suddenly shot out of the woods above and onto a fall-away corner which dropped onto the long steep chute which fell past us. He was barrelling! Trouble was that when he went by at something only slightly less than terminal speed he was frantically struggling in an off-balance position, one ski perilously moving in the air above his head, his eyes bulging and his mouth wide open in acute terror, totally out of control. He was a maniac heading toward irreversible destruction below. Unbelievably, Fink somehow, someway got that airborne ski back onto the snow, worked his weight forward, and by an inch missed the trees on the outside of the sharp curve at the bottom of the chute. How he managed to survive we don't know, but he miraculously kept his feet and was an ashen faced, shaking wreck when we got down to him. He had caught up. Haven't seen Fink in a long time, but in 30 years or so I haven't forgotten that incident. Dare say Fink and the others there haven't either. Just one of many similar incidents of those days, but perhaps it will remind the '48 reader of others that are still worth remembering. Let me know if you want them cited in these notes as your old friends could enjoy the recollection.

Ail for now. Enjoy the winter, wherever you are. And if you are in the snowy hills, please have a run for those of us who aren't.

Secretary, Gulf Trading & Transportation Co P.O. Box 3726 Houston, Texas 77001

Treasurer, Apt. 3-H, 7300 Blvd. East North Bergen, N.J. 07407