Governors Academy - Milestone Yearbook (Byfield, MA)

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T H IC M I I. IC S 'I' O N IC CLASS I'ROI'lll'lCY VVICNTY long years had passed since the Class of 1925 left llummer. It was the summer of 10-IS, and as I started on a short business trip to Paris, I wondered if I would see any of my old school-mates. I even tried to visualize each one in surroundings befitting his former characteristics, Ray as an eminent professor, maybe, Paul Capron, a renowned author, a man of leisure, Andreani, a noted scientistg Wiatkins, a financier, and all the others equally successful. The first step of my trip ended at New York. At one of the many busy news-stands I bought an evening paper, and the large headlines immediately caught my attention. 'flackson Traps Tobacco Smugglers. I unfolded the paper and beheld the familiar features of 'Qlackf' Below the picture was his ofiicial title, Chief Inspector Ii. R. jackson of the U. S. Tobacco Prohibition Squad. The title did not seem to fit him, and I wondered what circumstances could possibly have brought him to such a position. 'The next morning I left for France on a great trans-Atlantic air liner. VVhile sitting on the deck, I heard the barbarous wail of modern music and wandering inside, I saw the laboring orchestra at one end of the long saloon. The agile antics of the leader, whose back was turned to me, drew my admiration. His urging gestures called forth the utmost efforts of the players, and the frantic waving of his arms produced an harmonious battle of instruments. The piece ended amid shrill notes and sonorous crashes, and the leader turned to his audience and bowed. I immediately recognized my former roommate, Lornie Vfihaleng and I went forward to greet him. He joined me later on the deck, and our conversation in time turned to our old class. H 'Barney' Ray went across on this ship last week, he said. Is he some big professor now? I asked, wondering if my guess had been right. A professorf' he laughed, Haven't you heard of 'Ray's Fleet' yet? Oh, a fleet, I said. I suppose he's in the fishing business. Well, not exactly, he replied. He's the greatest bootlegger the country has ever known. I-Ie's made his fortune now though, and I guess he's going to give up his business. I heard him say that he would like to try detective' work. Barney as a bootlegger was quite a surprise, but I secretly hoped I Would be able to get in touch with him before he went out of business. Tell me about ff. E.', he said. I haven't heard of him for years. I'lI tell you about him, I replied, but I'm afraid you'll be rather surprised. You see he has his degrees as Doctor of Letters and Doctor of I25I

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T H F M I L F S T O N E fill

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T H E M I L E S T O N E Philosophy, and he is now studying Paleantology and Neuropathology, and doing a little work in Phagedaenology. He also writes a bit on the side. This news was, I believe, a little too much even for I,ornie. I landed at Paris the next morning and went immediately to a hotel. That same afternoon as I was strolling down one of the wide busy streets, I noticed a large gilded sign which read, f'Le Palais de la Beaute, Les Artistes Tonsorial, lXfIonsieur C. G. Wfatkins, Proprietor. I ventured into the shop and asked one of the gesticulating white-garbed assistants if I might see the proprietor. Ah, mais non, monsieur, he said, shrugging his shoulders and wringing his hands, lXfIonsieur 'Watkins eez at ze meeting of ze Barbars' Union. They are setting ze new fall styles for ze moustachesf' Nloustaches, they did seem more appropriate than finances for Watkins. f'Does he still wear that big moustache himself?', I asked, thinking of his futile efforts at school. The attendant smiled as he replied, 'fAh, non m'sieur, he couldn't make eet grow. But he sets the stylesg and they are famous. I left the shop quite amused with this picture of my former class-mate. During my stay in Paris I met another of my class-mates, but unfortunate circumstances prevented my acknowledging this recognition. I was sitting on a bench in the Champs-Elysees one warm sunny afternoon when a fanatical looking man came rushing up the walk and dropped on the bench beside me. His unusual features, although hidden by long hair and a drooping beard, reminded me strongly of Andreani, old Andy Gumpl' of my class. I was just about to speak to him when he burst forth with a voluble flow of arguments and pleadings. -It was Andy, and he didn't recognize me. He tried first to sell me some stock in an airplane company, then the airplanes, then the business, then his invention itself. As he spread his elaborate designs before me, I recalled the encouraging words an expert had once offered on viewing this young man's drawings, They're all very good, Andy, but you know they won't Hy. When a gentle breeze sent him scrambling after an elusive paper, I deemed the opportunity fair for making my escape. I hated to disappoint the poor man, but what could I do with an airplane business! I decided to return to the United States by water. I took passage on a new American ship, and on the second morning out I had the good fortune to meet the captain and more good fortune to know him. He was Paul Capron, once more commonly known as Pep, I met him as he came down off the bridge, and recognizing him, I stopped him and made my presence known. He asked the privilege of showing me around his ship, a strange request for the Captain himself to make, I thought, but our tour E261