1921
Upon returning to Hanover, no matter what the occasion, is there a Dartmouth grad who upon looking across the Dartmouth campus hasn't repeated to himself the words that Sir Walter Scott made famous:
Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land it's Dartmouth!
Sometimes a story comes to your secretary which is too good not to feature in our class notes. Such a tale came to us from a classmate who received it from his friend Dick Schmelzer '28, who is assistant to the president of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute at Troy, N.Y. This imaginative tale was written about 1700 by Joseph Addison, editor, with Richard Steele, of the famous SpectatorPapers.
the tale is entitled "The Vision of Merza," and in it, the author imagines a long bridge on which millions of people start daily to cross to the far distant other side that is lost in the mist.
These millions start out happily, singing and laughing. Occasionally arrows are shot at them by archers, but they are poorly aimed and most of them miss, so very few people worry about them.
But as the people proceed across this bridge over an infinitely deep gorge, they notice that the archers are improving their aim. More and more people are hit by arrows and fall off. After traveling for many years, relatively few are left. Now their chief concern is the arrows and the steadily improving aim of the archers.
Eventually, as they approach what seems to be the end of the bridge, the arrows never miss. And no one makes it to the end.
This tale tells us clearly how our medical profession has exploded with new ideas and methods for healing the sick. Thousands are swarming across that bridge and collecting Social Security checks.
On January 19, President and Mrs. McLaughlin gave a reception to honor the 60th wedding anniversary of Lois and OrtonHicks. A photograph of this happy occasion was featured in last month's issue of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE. From all your classmates, Lois and Ort, come heartiest congratulations.
Down in Cincinnati, that lovely city that faces the swift-flowing Ohio River, lives our happy classmate Vance Clark, who sent me a card announcing that all is well with him.
Hearing from him brings back memories of the late twenties when I walked into my Brockton bank, and sitting behind a desk with a sign "Trust Officer" proudly displayed before him was Vance Clark. I don't think I ever asked him (a Midwesterner out of Evanston) how he happened to land in Brockton at that time still a growing and thriving men's shoe manufacturing city. Nevertheless, he became prominent in the bank's affairs. One day I learned that he had moved on to Cincinnati, where he has remained ever since. Vance, thanks for the memories.
Tommy Griffith, who learned to jump off that ski platform before he learned to ski (is that correct, Tom?) has written that he and his good wife have left Vermont for a warmer climate, having moved to California. Why not Florida, Tommy; we have more bugs that bite in Florida than you do in California. Warmer weather isn't always what it is cracked up to be there are lots of discomforts with which to contend. However, thank you for the card. Enjoy California and good health.
When we listen to the horrors that go on daily around the earth all committed by supposedly civilized people and all in the name of liberty can we comment any better than Du Partas (1554-1590): For where's the state beneath the firmament That doth excel the bees for government?
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