1948

A few items from widely spaced '48 brethren:

Dick Greene, one of the illustrious members of the Wheeler crew back in 1944, reports from Pittsburgh that Lynn and their three offspring are happily enjoying life, though not without the usual preoccupations and problems of an active family. As a transplanted old Bostonian, he notes with perhaps a trace of cynicism that Pittsburgh, a city in which both he and the writer developed roots, has fewer hours of available daylight/sunlight than any other major U.S. city! He says his active daughter of 14 is going on 21, and he himself is kept running by Allegheny Ludlum in trying to keep certain finance-related problems under some kind of control. Great to hear from you, Dick.

Walt Friend reports he has seen Pete Betts in the Boston area a few times recently. Pete is a professional in the field of teaching people with learning disability problems. He is attached to a famous Boston school that is a leader in research and development in this important field.

Successful author and advertising man Howie Hilton, resident of Tampa, Fla., advises that last year he was in a 30-member professional advertising group that met in Woodstock, Vt., the beautiful small town about 20 miles from Hanover that has in recent years been the center of a quietly tasteful development program led by the Rockefellers. He had high praise for the beautiful old community, particularly for the Robert Trent Jones golf course. The Woodstock Inn, whose bar knew the knee of many a Dartmouth after-Suicide Six skier, has been rebuilt, but he wasn't sure whether the bar still draws Dartmouth students today as it did in our days of yore. He reported with pride that his old roommate from undergrad days, Tom Davis, is a vice president in the international division of the First National Bank of Chicago. Old friends passing through and changing planes at Windy City airports can call Tom at his office to say hello.

Another Tampa product, lawyer Dave Kadyk, reports that life continues to be exciting. His personal injury trial work has him on his feet before juries quite often, in situations which can have much drama, and he manages to play a good deal of tennis. Last February he and his family went skiing at Winter Park in Colorado. Dave's first time on the boards in 25 years! Said it felt great and brought back those Dartmouth years in Hanover on the golf links and at Oak Hill, Cannon, Stowe, etc. Dave also mentioned fellow attorney Dick Leggat, in Boston, who, he said, does much difficult trial work.

In closing, let me relay one or two vignettes of wintertime life in Hanover. Years ago, students John Bowler '15, John Carleton '22, and another close friend stood one wintry day at the top of the old golf links ski jump in the woods out beyond the third hole and decided to do somersaults off the jump. (This preceded the existence of the big Vale of Tempe jump, but the proposed action was no less a challenge.) Once the decision to jump was taken, the only remaining problem was one of order, as they could not all go at the same time. They couldn't agree, so coins were tossed. For elimination. Little John Bowler (you will remember him as one of those wonderful doctors at the Hitchcock Clinic and Dick's House) won. He went first. Talk about thrills!

Years later, a fellow Hanover boy, Don Page '47, and I were spending the afternoon taking conventional jumps off the big Vale structure on a February day. One would jump and the other would watch while climbing up the landing below, this alternation for security in case something went wrong. Nothing fancy, nothing unusual, but it was a sparkling day for the sport. I had just climbed far enough back up the landing to be able to see that all was clear for Don at the top. At my affirmative arm signal, he pushed over the edge and began his careening descent down the awful chute. At that minute, to Don's (and my) horrified surprise, a large dog appeared from nowhere and strolled onto the lip of the run in front of the jumper now descending at something like 70 m.p.h. Don, knowing it impossible to stop on the jump, literally screamed at the dog! We both screamed! The dog, nonchalantly looking out over the Vale, flinched slightly but didn't see Don until Don went into and through him at full bore in a partially crouched position, his speed vaulting him out into space. The dog was hurled by the impact into the side of the jump, gave one highly startled yelp, and took off toward the stairs and out. of sight. Don, meanwhile, was in the air with his weight back on his left ski, his right leg extended forward, the right ski tip high above his head, and his arms windmiliing. He fought to regain his precarious balance while hurtling toward the landing. Coming down bone-jarringly hard on his left ski, to the utter surprise of us both, he also successfully brought the other ski down to parallel and managed to ride out the landing without falling. What a jump! What a landing! Don was ashen-faced when he came back up, but his next jump was his best of the afternoon. Such was life in Hanover.

Gimme news, gang. Gimme news. Please. And don't forget that the Alumni Fund deserves your earnest consideration if you believe today's students deserve the advantages we were given in Hanover. .

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