Barnard School for Boys - Bric Yearbook (Fieldston, NY)

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. , 4 7 ss 9 nr .- Class Prophecy t , LW WINCED as he gave his verdict. i With your teeth in that condition, Sam, he said. My advice to you i my kd: both as your dentist and your friend is to go to New York and be treated f-'bits'-L, by that famous specialist Harold Frees. f A Twenty-five years of living in London had dimmed my memory of New York quite a bit, but nevertheless the name Harold Frees struck a familiar chord. Harold Frees, I mused. Why of course, Barnard! The class of thirty-four! I decided then and there to make the trip. The boat schedule made it imperative that I make my plans with great haste, so hastily in fact, that I rushed aboard the boat with the shrieking of the final whistle ringing in my ears. As our graceful streamlined ship glided out of its berth I leaned against the rail and smiled as I realized that during my hectic rush for tickets and visas I had not even found out the name of the liner. I glanced at the nearest life- preserver. 'iCharlotte , it announced. My goodness , I said, grabbing the nearest steward by the hair and throwing him at my feet, who designed this ship? , Theodore L. Ferris, sir , he answered. I might have known. The second day out, I felt the need of a little exercise and upon enquiring the whereabouts of the deck tennis and shuflleboard I was informed that these games had been eliminated in favor of a new and more exciting sport, and that the inventors were up on the poop deck exhibiting their new pastime. I was rewarded for my walk to the poop deck by the sight of four portly gentlemen with kind faces fEditor's Note: What kind?j who were tearing hither and thither around the deck tossing a rubber ball from one to the other. A scoreboard at one end informed the spectators that L.I.U. was leading Upsala by three points. just then a whistle blew indicating a rest period and I called to the contestants who gave up all thoughts of the game when they recognized me. Peters! Rush! Moran! and good old Kanovitch. Gee whiz, it's been twenty-five years since we saw you, said Peters. Yeah, it seems like only twenty-five years, added Kanovitch. It took me little time to find out that Kanovitch was returning from a command crooning performance before the King and Queen of Bulgaria, and had taken his manager Lester Moran along with him. They had planned the trip so that Peters, who had just finished a long Broadway engagement playing opposite Katherine Hepburn, the grand old lady of the stage, and Charlie Rush, who was taking a needed rest from counting towels in his laundry, could go along with them. The landing at New York was uneventful except for the fact that the usual rig- marole of getting through the customs was facilitated by the welcome aid of Inspector Phelps, head of the customs department. My surprise at seeing him was softened by the remembrance of his knowledge of tariffs and customs rules while at Barnard. My first thought was to go and see Ted and impose upon him the role of guide. I found him in his office. You're looking older, he remarked after we had disposed of the usual greetings. Never mind the reparteej' I answered. Tell me about someof our former classmates. That's easy, he said. Take a look at this suit, look at the label-Kenneth Rolph, Fifth Avenue. And look at that sunburn-the Faiella Dude Ranch. And do Tl-lEl934BARNARDBRIC

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TI-lEl934BARNARDBRlC , e t you see that religious look in my eyes-Bishop Schultz. He passed to watch the effect of his recitation. And this letter he continued, reaching down to his desk, His an invitation from Brown-he's coach up at Colgate now-to go and see the Columbia-Colgate football game. We'll both go . . . We got down to the Grand Central Station a little bit early, but our wait was not without interest, for a crowd had gathered at one end of the station to watch the ejection of a rather ruffled individual who had curled up and taken a nap in one of the berths in the Pullman exhibit. 'Tm tallink you, he's de most slippy guy in de woild, volunteered one of the colored porters. Ees he doing dees all de time? I asked lapsing unconsciously into a Southern dialect. You ought to know, Sam, said a gruff voice at my elbow, that's Horton. I turned and found myself staring at the amused face of John Black who, as it turned out, spent most of his time commuting between the intricacies of a wife and a thriving tobacco business. Aren't you going to have one?', I asked as I accepted one of his products. No, he said. I never have smoked. It's bad for you! ' At the half we wandered down to the locker room to see Brown who was chuckling happily over his 21 point lead, and we gathered the information that three of our mutual friends, Selway, Sheldon and Ramsay, were in the stands. A little later we saw Clinton, who seemed to have gone the way of all Columbia graduates and become a rabid rooter, sitting on the Columbia side and alternating depressed looks between the field and the scoreboard. Selway and Sheldon we missed in the crowd, however, although a fight between two elderly gentlemen in the upper stand brought back memories that made us suspicious. That night Ted said he was going to introduce me to a little night life and another old friend. As we drove up to a district which, if my memory was not failing me, looked suspiciously like the Bronx, a big red sign proudly shining the information that KINDY'S HOF-BRAUN was just inside gave me the clue to the next reunion. George greeted us royally, and we sat down to some of his best ale. We toasted Barnard, the faculty, the class of '34, Freeman, and then after wasting fifteen minutes trying to remember the names of the other two waiters, started in at Barnard again. Speaking of Blue Ribbon, said Ted glancing at the label on one of the bottles, I read in the 'Timesl-- Stop boasting, said George. I read in the 'Times' continued Ted ignoring the interruption, that the Arns' Kennels had placed three prizewinners in this year's dog show. Gentlemen, a toast to the Arns' Kennels. I proposed. And while we're on the subject of our old classmates, said George picking up one of the bottle-caps that strewed the table, do you know who manufactured this? I It wouldn't be McManus? I said. Why wouldn't it. He always was a corke.r said Ted sliding gracefully under the table roaring with laughter. U Well, anyway, the beer is good I said consolingly to George. I-Ie nodded . . .