it meant that sanity was making a strong comeback, but also because it prevented me from beating Herbert Hoover's record for honorary degrees.
(Warning--The following will be incomprehensible to anyone who never went to Cornell University)
WHEN I was a freshman at Ithaca the University was down where the town is now and Ithaca was up on the hill by Bailey Hall. It was toward the close of a particularly frolicsome spring day that the positions were reversed. The Board of Trustees, once the shift had been made, never bothered to remedy it. "Laissez faire!" counselled a trustee who had majored in French.
Hiram Corson, Rym Berry, Goldwin Smith and myself comprised the Varsity crew that year, each man rowing four oars. There were giants in those days. Pearl White was the coxswain of our crew. Pearl White is not to be confused with E. B. (Andy) White, former editor of the Sun. Pearl was fuller around here, and here, and Andy wore suspenders. Ah, there were Pearl Whites in those days!
I'm afraid you lads will rue having started an old grad on these memories, but perhaps you will bear with me for a moment, or a week, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne, and the Annex, and Proctor Twesten, and Tar Young, and the short line to Auburn, and those trips up Buffalo hill after missing the jag car. ( Buffalo Street ran UP hill in those days.)
I shall never forget the September afternoon I arrived in Ithaca. The seniors were wearing their blazers and the sophomores had just finished Senior Singing over by Goldwin Smith. Ah, there were sophomores in those days! You don't get sophomores like that nowadays. Can't get the stuff.
On a crisp autumn afternoon there was a tang to the air in the gymnasium that somehow made a fellow feel lucky to be alive. The