1937
The calendar says it's April. A robin which has been around our place all winter says it's April. Don't believe it! As we glance out our window, we can only think of Tuckerman's Ravine during spring skiing. The only sure sign of April is the arrival of the first mailing indicating it's Alumni Fund time again.
That brings to mind a parody we wrote for this column in April 1950. With apologies in many directions (and one up-date), here it is:
The Fund is my shepherd, it shall not want.
It maketh me compete in Green Derbys, it needleth me through my class agent, it raiseth its goal. It leadeth me on the paths of deductions for its own sake.
Yea, though I duck through the alley like a shadow, and deaf, I will fear upheaval for thou outwit me. John Kemeny and staff they gumfoot me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my checkbook, thou anointeth my head with oil, my "YUP" runneth over.
Surely, participation and percentage shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the House of the Regulars forever.
This time we have a new twist to complicate matters - our 40th reunion gift. Fran Fenn has practically covered the country from Canada to Mexico, Maine to California, at his own expense spreading the gospel of our still unannounced goal. At this writing the accumulated gifts and pledges exceed $250,000, all of it a spontaneous out-pouring from classmates to whom he has made his inspiring presentation. The bulk comes from urban areas where he has been able to concentrate on small groups of classmates (thanks to local help from his committee members). Many of us are scattered in all parts of the world, rendering his personal touch impossible. From now on our goal will have to be attained primarily from the response of individuals contacted in the next three months by phone or in person by Frank Robin and his hundred assistant agents. The rule of thumb for your gift is five to seven times what you gave last year on this one-shot deal for the 40th, and the results so far show we are running well in that category. One new thing is a $25,000 matching gift program that will be explained in the mailings.
By now you have the cards to mail back signifying your intention to come to reunion. Our kids are grown and gone. Our day-to-day expenses are reduced. It's time to do something for ourselves. Actuarial statistics tell us if you ever plan to attend a class reunion this had better be the one, not the 50th. Read the Mint Bag for news of those long-time friends who are coming and make plans to join them. We have attended all but one reunion, and each time class enthusiasm mounted higher. Don't wonder if you will "know" anyone. Within the hour after you arrive you will be swept into the illusion of reliving your Hanover days seeing all these familiar faces circulating around town. Forget the changes you may think exist, most are in your imagination. The buildings are all in place, trees the same, weather like you remember it, duck boards gone, and beautiful. Get up a little early and saunter around that quiet town. Shut your eyes and drink in the smells and sounds of a New Hampshire morning in late spring. Just that will rattle your memory book. Sure, Tanzi's has gone, the Nugget moved, no more MuttRays or Latta McCrays in their pajamas hanging onto the back of the fire engine as it screams out of town at night with its volunteer staff. But the fire whistle down at the central heating plant will still whoosh you out of your warm bed at night (if it happens). All professional firefighters now. The Connecticut river still runs under Ledyard bridge in the same direction joining the White River in the same place even though the flood of '36 did all it could to change that. Pompanoosic remains, go take a look. The board walk to Northampton never got built but who needs it now anyway. Lake Hitchcock is missing but the varved clay of Geology One is there.
The new hockey arena is awe-inspiring, the giant Leverone Field House, the Hanover Inn, two traffic lights, parking meters, and Hanover dogs still obvious despite the leash law. It's all there, the old and the new — just like us. Come see!
(Oh, yes. About those youngsters in last month's 1950 photograph - here's the list of the 137 men who gathered at Bill Brown's Gloucester clambake that summer day: Dayt Morgan, Larry Brooks, Ed Loveday, George Roewer, Norm Marshall, Wes Wallenius, Monk Amon, Carl Lang, Bill Brown, Jim Luttrell, Fred Mayo, Al Bryant (wifeless), Johnny Latchis, and Bib Bankart. Incidentally, my only news appearing on the notebook in the space reserved for "notes on clambake" is a heavily underlined squib to the effect that "Loveday had four pieces of cake and one brownie," whatever that means.)
Secretary, 10 Colby Road Wellesley, Mass. 02181
Treasurer, 14 Burling Ave. White Plains, N.Y. 10605
