1930
The DAM September issue, despite a happy Eddie Jeremiah on the cover, as well as pages 30 and 31, unfortunately had an unenviable record of six 1930 obituaries, going back to last December. Of our neighboring classes, only 1936 had more, with nine.
You have to recognize that necrologist Garven Dalglish and I have strict space limitations and do our best with what's available. However, Dartmouth Medicine, our more affluent cousin down the road toward Lebanon, with smaller student and alumni bodies, is more generous with space. As a result, its obit on Herm Sander, almost one and a half columns, does justice to Herm's distinguished life. I'll gladly send a copy to anyone who requests it. Herm's passing is also mentioned in the DMS '36 alumni notes, which I'll include.
Too late for a September obituary was the death of Ev Low on July 6, from a recurrence of lymphoma, which had been in remission. A letter from Dot brought me the news initially, after which I had a good phone conversation with her. She sounded well and said she is well physically, but, of course, misses Ev very much, not surprisingly after 65, almost 66, years of marriage. Married on September 13, 1930, they were among the first Thirties to take the plunge. Ev was class president 1980-85, and you can blame him for his selection of a class secretary in 1983. They were among the few Easterners who made it to an Ojai reunion.
I've just been blessed (there's no other word for it) by a letter from Win Stone, still, at that time, in summer quarters at Alton, N.H. One of the distinct pleasures of being there each summer, Win says, is the proximity of a classmate or two—possibly reflecting a recent visit by Bob Keene, whose Thirtyteer probably will have reported the visit. Concerning himself, Win says, "I muddle around across the state, gradually pulling out of community affairs." And he quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson's words that seem to express his status: "It is time to be old. To take in sail.
"The God of bounds who sets to seas a shore
"Has come to me in his final rounds and said: No more!"
But Win then goes on with his own "in gles, a bastard kind of verse," he says, which some day we'll have to pit against Ted Wolfs.
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