Princeton University - Nassau Herald Yearbook (Princeton, NJ)

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The Nassau H effald What a wonderful child, Blooey, I bootlicked. Going to toll-ow his illustrious dad, I suppose, and go to Exeter and Princeton F Blooey muttered something about Briarcliff and Smith being more to the point, and offered to hit me if I insulted his offspring. I declined the favor, and went upstairs to see whom else I could find. Up a couple of flights, I ran against a big door with Managing Editor in big letters on it. I went in on a hunch, and sure enough, I was right, for there was our own john Larkin at the big desk, just as busy as he ever was, writing a play with one hand, and rubbing onion juice on his head with the other, lest he become totally bald. I-Iello, Jack, I ventured, timidly. 'iDon't bother me, he growled, I've got to get two plays written, finish six articles for the Outlook, and get out two issues of The Ladies' H 0144112 Journal before to-morrow night. I was completely awed by this recital, so I sneaked out and went up the wall a way, until I hit a door marked Poetry Editor . This appealed to me, so I went in. There at the desk was a long-haired genius whom I took to be Bill Barnett, whose exotic love lyrics in the Nassau Lit. used to make Keats and Shelley turn somersaults in their graves. At first, I wasn't quite sure whether it was Bill or his artist brother, as Mac Read aptly put it, Bill's brother looks more like Bill than Bill does himself. But when the busy editor looked up and said I-Iowdy do, I was sure it was my classmate, be- cause nobody except Bill Barnett could possible have taken such a long time to say two words. Of course Bill was for reading me his latest effusion, which began: t'Ah, sweet, my love I cannot tell, My love I' cannot tell. My love, ah sweet, I cannot tell- I cannot tell my love. I-lere he got stuck, he said, because he couldn't think of a short, 26

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C lass Prophecy his rnonacle jump around in his eye in the torrent of his abuse. It seems that Tom Rutter had just informed him that his hat was at least two weeks out of style, and that his cravat was about as fit for publication as one of Fran Phillips' stories. I tried to start a conversation, but Art was splashing about in such a whirlpool of righteous indignation that all he could do was to sputter and babble. After finally per- suading him to stop talking like the Daily Prfincetoniavfz, I gathered the information that he wasn't doing much of anything beyond delivering a men's rights speech now and then. Nei- ther did he know of anything about any of the boys, but he said that if I went around to the Times office, I'd probably find bunches of them. 'I went, and Art certainly made good. Out on the curb was Puss Adams, all gussied up in a Salva- tion Army rig, telling the boys with lots of youthful vigor what they should do to get to I-Ieaven. Next to him was Hank O'Donahue beating a bass drum and Cap Nebeker yelping out something which he meant for a hymn, but which sounded more like a Hindu baby telling his mother he had the colic. All this display of evangelistic fervor touched me deeply, until I noticed that Cap was slipping Puss the pennies that sympa- thetic citizens were dropping in his tambourine, and Puss was in turn handing them surreptitiously over to I-Iank, who dropped them into a large bag at his belt labelled, Fund for the Irri- gation of Arid Districts .' It was a fine charity, and I felt a thrill of pride at the good Work the boys were doing. But I tarried no longer, and dived into the big newspaper office to see what I could see. There was a little room on the left as you entered, marked Janitor , and I stuck my head inside to see if any old Princeton acquaintance might be holding down that lucrative post. The only occupant of the room was a fat, smiling infant who was engaged at the time in rolling around the iioor, and beating the eternal daylights out of the cat. The combination immediately suggested the personality of A. Bluethenthal, Esq., and I wasn't mistaken in my surmise, because Blooey himself soon entered the room, a little fatter and a little happier than ever, but the same Blooey. 25

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Class Prophecy snappy expression which would indicate supreme happiness to the reader. I suggested The Endv, but he looked at me so Hercely, that I made a dive for the door, and ran half way around the block lest his wrath overtake me. I I stopped at the corner to listen to three tattered individuals who were making night horrible by yelping popular songs in near harmony. I was about to toss the poor fellows a nickel when I stopped in surprise on noticing that the three were none other than Shelt Farr, Mac Magill and Bill Bickham. They had all been prosperous brokers, they told me, but had been ruined in the panic of 1938, when the multi-millionaire pro- moter, Dudley A. Hawley, had smashed the market into the middle of the ensuing week. So they had organized a quar- tette, and were gathering quite an income from sympathetic citizens with a tendency toward being goats. I had never before heard of three people being a quartette, and I ventured to ask where their second bass was. Shelt volunteered the reply: Poor old Johnny Johnson, he informed me, He's down and out. Mac started Who Killed Cock Robin too low the other day, and Johnny's voice went down so low' on the iirst line that it fell into his stomach, and heis had dyspepsia ever since. With which sad story, the three of them trundled away to start something somewhere else, and I turned to hncl out what the crowd was looking at behind me. I was in front of a large drug-store, and there was a man in the window showing the mob what a bully biceps he had, and trying to make them believe that Dr. Swat's Exerciser was responsible for them. I nearly passed out with joy. when I recognized Gouldy Wight, the strong man de luxe of the class. I couldn't resist going in and having words with. him. But he was feeling too low to be conversational, it seems that there was such a good crowd watching the exhibition that the boss would not let him off to get lunch. I slipped him the tip that it might help some if he sang to them, so Gouldy raised his adorable voice to the tune of Sumurun and the way that street cleared was a joy forever. 27