1933

Word came down from Claremont that Ted Allen had died in Lebanon on September 6, and the news set us to pondering the six-plus decades of happy service Ted had rendered the class of 1933 as our chief entertaining pianist. In fair weather or foul, whether in the reunion tent at Middle Mass. or the dining room at the Inn, Ted would willingly go to the keyboard and play the songs of our youth that brought a warm glow to the occasion, whatever it was. And he never made a major production of his performance; he simply played out the melodies with his clear harmonies and fetching tempos, and, whether the selection was "On The Alamo" or "Baby Won't You Please Come Home" or "Mood Indigo," he provided a spirit and entertainment which helped make our gatherings memorable. Having in mind his long, cheerful modest, and spirited contribution to '33, it seemed to us that Ted was worthy of a notice in this column instead of waiting for the curt formality of the regular obituary. Ted's life was not restricted to the New Hampshire hills. At one time, he had worked as a traffic specialist for General Electric in New York, and he had spent two WWII years in the 8 5 th Infancy, during whose offensive in Italy a piece of German shrapnel pierced his helmet and laid him low. Above all, with his family, his life was in music, and he was intimate with the greatest of the classics Up to his last days, he worked at the piano for several hours daily, studying and playing his beloved Debussy, Chopin, and Beethoven.

Almost as familiar to us as he is his wife, Laura, the 1933 poetess laureate, whose verses have had their part in our gatherings along with his music. She is coping bravely with his loss and has even written a short poem on his passing. As a last evidence of affection and appreciation, she placed with him at his burial his senior cane, his Sigma Chi pin, and his Purple Heart. For the class, I expressed to her our sympathy and our gratitude for his devoted service to 1933.

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