Class Note 1938
Issue
Jan-Feb 2020
One of the memories I have taken from the many mini-reunions I have attended is the talk of Winter Carnival, which has had no comparison in the past 25 to 30 years. The following letter is from a ’38 freshman.
“No snow; and Carnival begins tomorrow! Still, we’ve managed to assemble enough granulated ice upon the golf course hill and the ski jump to hold all the scheduled skating, skiing, and outdoor evening events—if it doesn’t rain tonight. The town is filled with ski competitors, also a team of German skiers that will compete. The College is a converted place. Lithe forms dressed in bright clothes trip along the sidewalks uttering cooing music to the he-men swooning at their sides. I never saw anything like this up here, but someone told me they are a strange species called ‘women.’ The festival is well underway. A bunch of us went out to Moose Mountain, where the downhill race was held on a steep, narrow trail. We had some mattresses put around the trunks of certain crucial trees; in spite of them, one poor lad was taken off on a toboggan. Not all skiing is like that—no one would think of skiing on this tree-lined sheet of ice unless it were a competition. Dick Durrance won the race. When I saw him, he was going fast with feet wide apart, ‘stemming like hell!’ Dave Bradley took a second, ploughing his way along with a good deal of damage to the forest—I think Dartmouth leads in the team score. Outdoor evening ended with a display of fireworks, which, had the secretary of war seen it, would have sent him foaming at the mouth to the president. The blue bowl of the sky seemed to be disintegrating into fiery pieces and falling upon us. But I’m darned tired. Let others fight their way into tuxedos and clamor for a dance with Avilla Brooks, the recently crowned ‘Queen of the Snows’—I’m for a quiet bed. Freshmen cannot belong to fraternities and so must content themselves with philosophic comments. Still, philosophy is but a poor substitute for madness—wish I were a sophomore!”
—Jean M. Francis, 2205 Boston Road, O-139, Wilbraham, MA 01095; jmfcarmel@charter.net
“No snow; and Carnival begins tomorrow! Still, we’ve managed to assemble enough granulated ice upon the golf course hill and the ski jump to hold all the scheduled skating, skiing, and outdoor evening events—if it doesn’t rain tonight. The town is filled with ski competitors, also a team of German skiers that will compete. The College is a converted place. Lithe forms dressed in bright clothes trip along the sidewalks uttering cooing music to the he-men swooning at their sides. I never saw anything like this up here, but someone told me they are a strange species called ‘women.’ The festival is well underway. A bunch of us went out to Moose Mountain, where the downhill race was held on a steep, narrow trail. We had some mattresses put around the trunks of certain crucial trees; in spite of them, one poor lad was taken off on a toboggan. Not all skiing is like that—no one would think of skiing on this tree-lined sheet of ice unless it were a competition. Dick Durrance won the race. When I saw him, he was going fast with feet wide apart, ‘stemming like hell!’ Dave Bradley took a second, ploughing his way along with a good deal of damage to the forest—I think Dartmouth leads in the team score. Outdoor evening ended with a display of fireworks, which, had the secretary of war seen it, would have sent him foaming at the mouth to the president. The blue bowl of the sky seemed to be disintegrating into fiery pieces and falling upon us. But I’m darned tired. Let others fight their way into tuxedos and clamor for a dance with Avilla Brooks, the recently crowned ‘Queen of the Snows’—I’m for a quiet bed. Freshmen cannot belong to fraternities and so must content themselves with philosophic comments. Still, philosophy is but a poor substitute for madness—wish I were a sophomore!”
—Jean M. Francis, 2205 Boston Road, O-139, Wilbraham, MA 01095; jmfcarmel@charter.net