CLASS OF 1930

We have just recently got through a splendid Carnival up here, graced by a great deal of snow on the ground, sunny crisp weather, a record-breaking number of gorgeous creatures, and an unbelievable amount of propriety. It was no end of fun.

Carnival was something of a reunion for Thirtyteers. For three days we (secretarial "we") tried to get ourself into executive conference with Booth, the exchequer kid, who came up from the Cambridge law school grind for a little bit of high class relaxation. The executive conference never happened, but everything is ship-shape anyway, as we had found out on a trip to Boston not long before.

On this excursion, we traced Pete Callaway to the business school library, and found him hiding behind a prodigious pile of great big red books. Exams! But we routed him out and wormed out an invitation to lunch, and sat down in one of those sunny dining rooms connected with that big Harvard fiscal incubator beside the Charles in the company of Neff, Chilcote, and mine host. There, also, was Jack Holme. And everybody was muttering about examinations. It was sort of depressing.

After hearing a great deal of incomprehensible chatter and hot dope about business problems and examinations, we started up the street to prod about the law school for Booth. We found him and Dick Hood and Karl Rodi in one of the law school clubs, eating. Karl, by the way, after leaving Dartmouth, picked up some learning in Europe, and is now at Harvard for a law degree.

The number of steps that one climbs to get to the Booth-Hood apartment on Irving St. is like an unemployment figure. It is that big and that tragic. For a mere business conference, it is hardly worth it, especially if Booth is going to run off in a few minutes with the governor's son, as he did.

We are going to publish a treasurer's report, to date, next month.

Now to get back to Carnival.—Bill Moore was here, with a beautiful Southern person from Oklahoma via Pine Manor. Bill has been moved from Kearny to the New York branch of Congoleum-Nairn, and a little brown-eyed cousin of ours who is on the inside says that he rates with the bosses. He is rooming in South Orange with Hal Booma. What Hal is doing now that football is over slips our mind for the moment. We are angling for a letter from him anyway.

Lee Chilcote was appearing at the Carnival parties with a gorgeous creature. Most of the other boys were doing solo merry-making. Tragle appeared several times with the same girl, and if he didn't have a date he should have. The same goes for Earl Seldon. Arch Clark was up playing Outing Club. Arch, by the way, appeared with Blair Wood in the Sunny Corner during the Christmas vacation, looking out-doorish and happy, after doing some time in Eranconia and Agassiz cabins.

Dick, alias Scum, Hood was here, and Red Doherty and Bill Lucas.

The hoary head of Mem King appeared in the Wigwam one morning, but he checked out without giving us a word and ain't been seen since.

Stan Osgood dropped in on us en route back to New York from Berlin (N. H.), but Hanover was too much for him, and he went to Dick's House and stayed a week. He is unattached for the moment, having lately left the business of cinema distribution.

And now Haffenreffer has left. Carl, who has been at Tuck, now goes to join the Duponts in Wilmington. If he doesn't go there, he is going to write and tell us where he does go. So that stands for the time being.

One of those flashy females who come out of Cleveland to Carnival was remembering with avowed and apparently sincere pleasure the Christmas visit of Pete Callaway to that charming center. And also, at the risk of making these notes sound like the weekly "locals" from Etna and Lyme in the Hanover Gazette, we should mention the Christmas vacation of Jim Irwin. Jim, who is at Johns Hopkins learning to be a medic, heard of a pleasant and hospitable girl who lives in Florida. So one balmy December morning he presents himself with a genial Great Falls (Mont.) smile at the given Florida address and asks for the girl, who isn't at home this Christmas, but her sister, who is at the door, is and goes so far as to suggest to Jim that he come in, which he does and, to make a short sentence long, stays for a fortnight, sweetened by all the joys and comforts to be found in Florida estates and hospitable sisters, with such additional conveniences as one expects to find in such a place, for example, as the Forty-Fourth Street "Club." That, anyway, is the story that we heard.

Jim, by the way, has been exonerated from the suspicion of being the Thirtyteer who sent the postcard out into the cold world without a name by the following letter from 3346 Gilman Terrace, Baltimore, signed by a certain "Assistant in Botany, Johns Hopkins University":

Dear Al:

I've not taken to the woods, nor am I in hiding in this big city of Baltimore. I'm just playing the role of the absent-minded professor thirty years before I have any right to it.

If you want to put a name in front of that unclaimed Baltimore address here it is:

WIN HATCH

A card engraved with beautiful simplicity comes from Glens Falls, bearing the name of Philip Russell Peck and Elizabeth Ashmead Mitchell. That is all. And that is plenty. It is with a warm feeling in the alleged cockles of our heart that we welcome you, Liz, into the cheery fold of Thirtyteers.

Spen Foster has the impressive address of "Metropolitan Museum of Art, Egyptian Expedition, Luxor, Upper Egypt." He sends us a weird oriental picture-postcard written upon as follows:

Dear Insk (pardon familiarity): I read your rag with no end of avidity. 1 just thought you might like to know what '30 news means to a 'SO man 'way out here in the barren wastes. (See picture.)

Moreover, just to see my own name in print, I am posting this to tell you that here am I out in Egypt. By a coincidence, there is another '30 laddie out in the land of the fairy-ohs. Fran Horn's the name, sir. But you probably already know. He's up in Cairo, or down in Cairo, about 400 miles north. We haven't connected yet but when we do-rowdy-dow!

Best regards, SPENT FOSTER

And this from Russ Sigler:

Dear Al: Have been intending to write to you for the last two months, so I fear what little I have to say is old news. In my wanderings about town as a credit investigator for the Central Hanover Bank and Trust Company I have bumped into any number of prospective 1930 bankers and brokers.

Not so long ago I ran into Brownie Brown and also Bob Walker, the former being with Dominick and Dominick and the latter with Otis and Company. Also saw Alan Bolte one day in the process of soliciting some advertising. Had lunch the other day with Charlie Rauch, Ben Finch, and Bud Fisher, from whom you have heard. Bud has been transferred to the credit department of the National City. Have also had word from Les Griffiin, who is working for the Eastern Steamship lines, and from Len Schmitz, who had been informed by Johnny Marsh that he intended to come to the big city to take up the insurance business. However I am still waiting for him to appear.

Am enclosing a clipping which I thought might be of some interest. It was taken from the paper as of December 14, 1930. Hope to see you on the 28th.

Sincerely, Russ SIGLER

Scarsdale, N. Y.

The aforementioned clipping read that "the engagement of Miss Nolda Warmolts, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Arnold H. Warmolts of 914 East 28th St., to Charles Russell Sigler, son of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Emmet Sigler of Scarsdale and formerly of Brooklyn, was announced at a bridge and tea at Miss Warmolts' home yesterday."

At last we have heard from Benedict Adams (Charles H., 2d) and learned the name of the girl who was responsible for his being a benedict. She is the former Miss Velma Gilbert of El Reno, Okla., which is not to be confused with the famous center of post-graduate work for advanced degrees in matrimony, located in Nevada. The Adams-Gilbert merger took place in Oklahoma in July, and the company immediately went on the road. The present home office of the firm is at 1623 Taylor Ave., Seattle, Wash.

Bud French is the man who persuaded Chuck to come across with the dope. Ted McDonald also sees the Adamses from time to time, in between trips to the University of Washington campus for purposes not mentioned or even hinted at. Chuck says that Ted is doing well in bond circles, but what that has to do with the U. of W. we don't know. Ted ought to be warned, anyway, about running around in bond circles. No matter how well one is doing at it, one never gets anywhere running around in circles, especially with a co-ed college on the circumference. But perhaps we are leaping at conclusions.

"Bud French seems to be deriving quite a boot out of his work," says Chuck, "especially when the foreign boats dock and he is sent down to watch storage of his company's fruit cargo. You know these stewards are quite kindly fellows sometimes." The inference is that things sometimes go on inside the twelve-mile limit, and one immediately pictures Bud sitting on a ship's rail eating pineapples with convivial stewards.

Phil Troy has amplified a meager previous letter, giving little more than an address, as follows:

Dearlnskip: Your prompt reply and good wishes were received with a great deal of pleasure on the part of yours truly. What bothers me this morning, though, is why did you let Princeton take the boys over Saturday night? That indicates lack of control from your office, even if it is in keeping with Carnegie Foundation Reports.

As for the particulars on me you asked for. I am just one of the many thousands who flock to Wall St. every year and begin to amass the first million. My specific job is in the Industrial Department of Lehman Brothers, a really big and first-rate banking house. The present remuneration, being quite small, is equally quite in keeping with my knowledge of things and present ability to produce. However, I consider that I am learning rapidly, am aware of the fact that I am really studying for a change, and am located in an excellent position to go ahead just as fast as I can show I know my stuff. The work is very interesting, and my business associates are certainly a bunch of smart babies, all of them college and business school graduates. There are two other Dartmouth men with this house, both of them in my department, who rate very highly—W. I. Levy '19, and E. E. Richards '25.

I am living at the St. George Hotel in Brooklyn, which is the haven of all homeless waifs from the Wall St. district. Everything is going great with just enough dough left to squeak in a movie now and then. It perhaps is a good thing for me to be strapped, as I am more or less forced to stay around in my own company and study.

Well, that is the whole story. I am highly flattered to think some of the boys had inquired about me, and certainly send my best to any you happen to run into.

Yours, PHIL TROY

New York, N. Y

Brud Crosier comes through with a letter containing considerable entertainment value and a minimum of information: Dear Al:

Since you are doing such a good job piloting the scattered gang, I am writing to you for advice about a matter of not a little importance. At this sitting I have three openings—potential jobs, you know—and I want you to help me decide into which of the three I would best fit. The first is the unusual offer to achieve the title of a life underwriter; the second big chance now mine is to get in on the ground of the only growing business in the country—that enjoyed by the undertaker alone. However, if I should decide on the lot of an undertaker I would not be able to accept my third offer, i.e., to step into the vice-presidency of a local concern that manufactures rubber stoppers for hobbyhorses. Of course I realize that your relation to Emily Most is rather distant, but I thought you might be able to help me solve this perplexing problem. Do you think I could handle all three if I merged? Remember, I majored in sociology.

Also, Al, always allow all. [Ed. Note: I ask you, men of '30, does this make sense?] (This will have to be your slogan if this wet note is ever to reach the other "Mystic Sights of the Knee"—a confidential suggestion for a clubby title for our gang, and all the more keen when it is remembered that we collectively solicited to that style revolution last spring.) For now I want to let you in on still another secret. You can't imagine how much I am enjoying Carnival this year, just reading about it, for with only twenty-six or so letters in the alphabet I find it impossible to arrange them in combinations that will express how completely and suddenly my envy of you and your position in Hanover has evaporated for the week-end. Maybe I am getting old.

And one other suggestion. Now that you have been so good to us about relaying letters from Busty Morrill, Ed Jeremiah, etc., why don't you get out a warrant for Sam Adams and some of those boys. We are almost worried. And, if you will take time out and correct spelling, etc., in this above I will let you print it, too.

Waiting for your advice, I am,

BRUD CROSIER

North Adams, Mass.

Now that is one of the more puzzling letters that has come to this quiet and sedate secretarial desk. We wish that some of you fellows that go in for that sort of thing would try getting a bit tight some night to see if that would help understand it.

A letter from Win Durgin at Lewiston, Me., tells us that nothing much happens up in those parts more exciting than frozen radiators, but he is soliciting insurance and eating three times a day, and well. Which is not the least of blessings.

Word has come to us that Gene Magenau, Bob Kohn, and Hank Salisbury are living "in oriental luxury" in Boston. Prom 306 Biverway writes Gene: Dear Al:

Whenever the ALUMNI MAGAZINE comes, I always reverse the usual procedure and readthe last pages first. Your columns, and forthat matter the whole magazine, are alwaysrefreshing. I'm a Bostonian now, and heartilyenvy you and a few other lucky Thirtyteersfor still being Hanoverians.

I am engaged in the intensive study ofarchitecture at the Massachusetts Instituteof Technology, where I intend to completeanother year or two. I am consumed withpity for the Tech sophomores and juniors,with whom I have classes, for never havinggone to a real college. From my associationswith them, and with other transfers fromother colleges, I am becoming more and moreconvinced that Dartmouth is about as fine acollege as exists anywhere.

Living with me in an apartment at the above address are two lads who were too bashful to write to you about themselves. One is Hank Salisbury, who with the greatest efficiency and sang froid is learning how to design aeroplanes at the Tech School of Aeronautics. The other is Bob Kohn, the temperamental Denverite, who is devoting his attentions to the pursuit of law at Harvard. Was it you, Skip, who said in an early issue, that no good would come of our living together in a "smooth apartment," or was it your informant? Anyway, we have been living a pretty steady bachelor's life, our greatest regret being, as in Hanover, the scarcity of desirable women.

I have met a few of my classmates around here. Heimie Heimbach is at Harvard Business, Arch Clark and Walter Birnie at Tech. Two Twenty-niners, Chris Born and Lloyd Kent, are also studying architecture at Tech with me.

Best wishes for Carnival and thereafter, and also to all our mutual friends.

Sincerely, GENE MAGENAU

Boston, Mass.

Modesty prevents publishing the letter received from Paul Duback, who says kind words about our secretarial efforts—modesty, that is, together with the numbness of our typewriting fingers at this point and the fact that we are late again in getting these notes written up. Paul wrote his letter from a hospital bed, shortly after being bereft of his appendix. He is at the school of commerce at Northwestern University. Ziegler is there too, he says, "and still thrilling the ladies."

"I've seen Kull three times," continues Paul; "he was waiting outside the Kappa house at Northwestern each time I saw him. New Rumpf is working in Chicago and living at the Evanston Y. M. C. A. I've seen* Emrich, Schmidt, Adams, E. Smith, and Faust."

Bed Doherty has a brother up here in '33. Which reminds us, that Bob Kimball also has a brother in '33, who played splendid football for Dartmouth last fall.

From Columbia, that stupendous center of education on the sun-kist slopes of Morningside Heights, the following:

Dear Al: I finally pinned my clutches on a copy of the gospel from Hanover and found a lot of publicity was being handed out to a bunch of guys like Pat Weaver, Spen Foster, and Fran Horn, who got as far from Hanover as they could, as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Why run off to Egypt to collect the dirt when you've got some worthy guys right close to home to tell about? There's a few of us down here in Noo Yawk that's jealous as [Ed. Note: Sorry, old man, we can't print those words.] about that. We ain't busted into print yet, and we're being awful careful not to mention whose fault it is.

If it hasn't leaked out yet, Tom Dunnington, Hank Wood, and myself are learning the fine points of high finance from Mr. Columbia's business department, with Tom earning his subway nickels from Lord and Taylor's on Saturdays. Jack Humbert's got a smooth desk and chair (and secretary—not so smooth) and is swindling pay out of the Bank of New York and Trust Company. Lee Eisler, Joe Epstein, and Milt Fleischman are in the Columbia law factory, learning how to become ambulance chasers.

I'm just before taking mid-terms, and, since the misery's all mine, I won't pass it on. Sincerely, CHAKLIE HUMISTON New York, N. Y.

Now, just to polish off this page, a few notes gleaned from new addresses sent down from the Alumni Records Office.

Hank Newell is teaching mathematics at the Lewis High School, Southington, Conn.

Jerry Howard is in Kalamazoo. Think of that.

Jim Dunlap is an embryonic financier in the aforementioned Harvard fiscal incubator.

Bob Pratt is with the N. Y. Tel. and Tel., living in Bronxville.

Al Phillipson is southern manager of the Klip-spoon Company. His address is still given at Yonkers.

Ev Fox is in Pueblo, Col., pursuing a career as a wholesale druggist. His firm is the Fox-Vliet Drug Company.

Hank Gilbert is another financial foetus in the frequently aforementioned Harvard Business School.

Dick Royce is assistant manager of Joe-Ann Togs, Inc., Cleveland, Ohio.

And here is something that really impressed us: Thomas H. Shartle, president Texas Electric Steel Casting Company, Houston, Texas.

Don Cole is a sugar broker in New York, living on Long Island.

Bill Galbraith is with the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, New York city, and living in Short Hills, N. J.

Don Howard is a grain speculator in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Lowell Lomax has transferred to Howard University, Washington, D. C.

Charlie MacKechnie has done a number of colorful things since leaving Hanover. He is now in Hollywood, writing for Paramount-Publix Corp.

Nels Blake is a graduate student at Brown. Wade Safford is "Master of Modern Languages" at Pickering College, Newmarket, Ontario, Canada.

Joe Stone is a trader in the brokerage office of J. F. Trounstine and Company, New York city.

Rog Townsend is a bond salesman with Chase Securities Corporation, Chicago.

Al Hayes is studying on a fellowship in English at the graduate college of Princeton.

Dick Howell is with Dennison Manufacturing Company, Framingham, Mass.

And that's enough for this time—

And here is a last minute communication from Jeremiah, which we must run in before the presses start to buzz:

Dear Al: Perhaps the ALUMNI MAGAZINE is being sent to my home. If so, it's news to me. However, to play it safe, please send me the one best seller of the month.

We've only won six games all year. We've been in an awful rut, and I doubt if we'll ever get out of it. Naturally, we are in last place, but some one-celled sage proclaimed that we are the strongest team in the league because we are holding the other four teams up.

Now that Carnival is over I suppose you and "beaucoup" other snakes have exhausted your supply of it.

I may drive up after the hockey season. Simplicity, please; no extensive preparations for my homecoming. As ever, JERKYNew Haven, Conn.

And, finally, here is another last minute letter, one from John French, which we have been waiting for for some time: Dear Al:

Thus does your request of last December bear fruit. The blood, none the less, is on your head. Unprodded, I might have written you eventually, but I fear the present is too early for a final judgment on things English. Early last fall I could have told you all about Cambridge; but that was when my illusions about England were still intact; since then they have crumbled, one by one, and definite opinions are slower to form.

I am trying to do the LL.B. course in two years. It may, or it may not, be of practical value when I get back to the States. The methods of teaching are quite different from those at Yale or Harvard, and I am planning to use the course here more as a preparation than as a substitute for an American law school. More emphasis is put on the historical and the philosophical approach, which would seem to correct most of the shortcomings of the case system. Ordinarily one starts in with large doses of Roman law, but I was able to eliminate this and am now buried in the same subjects as the brethren at Harvard —contracts, torts, real and personal property —with legal history and jurisprudence thrown in for good measure. Next year I shall be able to spend most of my time on international law and the history of international relations. If I did all the work that was expected of me, 24 hours a day would be far too short; as a matter of fact I haven't been able to figure out yet just how much is expected, because such things over here are rather vague. At the beginning of the year I was given, or rather I bought, a lecture list, and can go to as many, or as few, lectures as I choose; I meet my supervisor for an hour a week, when we may, or may not, discuss matters relevant to the law; and I am due for 18 hours of exams in June. Beyond that I am entirely on my own. Nobody seems to care a hang whether I work or not, which strikes me as a rather healthy state of affairs. Contrary to my previous ideas, most of the Englishers are not averse to occasional studying. The theory is, I think, that if one can learn to work at Cambridge the rest of the world will hold no terrors, because Cambridge is a town of unlimited and overwhelming distractions.

This is a wonderful place to live, there's no doubt about it, but from what I have seen thus far I can't see that English university education, as such, deserves all the worship that it gets in the U. S. A. The English public schools should get most of the praise. Work done up here is in most cases a continuation of work started at school; there are no freshman requirements, and you can start specializing immediately. Without the part the public schools play in developing initiative, Oxford and Cambridge would make our best country clubs blush with envy.

But the chief advantages of Cambridge, as I have found them, are not so much in the work itself as in the recognition of other factors, especially the social elements. The majority are not up here primarily to pass examinations. They are here to have as interesting a time as they can before they get tied down to the business world. All this means much talk and liquor, many parties, theatres, concerts. But there is no stroking of chin or wrinkling of brow. The one sin ove? here is to be dull. The aim is not so much to be instructed as to be amused. A decadent point of view, perhaps; but a colorful one.

Sorry to have drooled on so aimlessly, Al. My best to all the pals at Hanover. I shall hope to see you again this June, when I come back to the States to walk down the aisle.

Yours, JOHN FRENCH, JR.

Clare College, Cambridge

Secretary, Administration Building, Hanover, N. H.