Evening Star Newspaper, October 19, 1930, Page 101

- Owen Johnson’s Surprise Confession beers, and their wicked, wicked pranks!” ‘II‘HAT was 26 years ago,” says Johnson. “And now the Lawrenceville stories are THE - SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, OCTOBER 19, 1930. < | EveryOne Thought theBadeoyHeroes of His Lawrenceville Prep School Stories Were Imaginary Characters, but Now the Author Says They Were Real, and - Here He Gives You for the First Lime Their True Names and T 'heir Present W hereabouts. 15 “The Tennessee Shad” was W. E. Herom. with which he was prepared to instantly cuve anything from lockjaw to snake bite. The full measure of MacNooder’s activities was never known. But Turkey Rciter once sur- prised him drawing up a will for Bill Orum, the cobbler, to whom he had just sold a cure for rheumatism. If you can’t believe there ever was a boy like Doc, here is a piece of news for you. b uDoc MacNOODER,” declares Johnson, *“is no other than J. S. MacNider of New York, almost as bald now as Hickey. And Tur- key Reiter is W. L. Righter, also of New York and a well known broker, “Turkey, by the way, has only recently re- turned Garry Cockrell’s red shirt to Lawrence- ville. Garry’s real name was Garret Cochran. He was a splendid and lovable boy; captain of the Lawrenceville foot ball team in 1893 and of the finest schoolboy players in the woz Garry captained the eleven the year we scored on Princeton varsity, 8-4. And Princeton that year had a championship team. Garry gave his life to his country in France, fighting as an Artillery officer in the 28th Division. “Garry uced to wear this red shirt before all the big games. He said it was the luckiest shirt in the world and that it had never lost a prep school game. He felt so sincerely about it that he handed it down to Max Rutter, who was the next year’s captain, and he made Max swear to leave it after him to be handed down for- ever. Rutter's team beat Andover, 20-4. An- dover was always our big game. Then Bill Dib- ble inherited the shirt and beat Andover, 12-10. After that Turkey was elected captain. He got the shirt. But he never returned to school. “And the shirt was packed away with some school trophies, and only recently came to lght. It’s been up in Turkey’s attic for 34 years. It has never been washed since Garry handed it along. Vette, the present captain, has it now.” Reiter and MacNooder, Bon-Ton Tailors. One of the amusing illustrations of school- ""acre was Doc MacNooder, Turkey Reiter and Plash Condit. Butsey White and Garry Cockrell. The Coffee-Colored Angel, and the generations have loved them—Red Dog and Tiny Bill. And Flee and Bojo. Charlie De Soto and Fatty Harris, and all the rest. Em President Hoover, who is very erudite, and doesn't, as a rule, read juvenile fiction, ‘The American Booksellers’ Association gave “The Varmint” to President Hoover for the library of the White House. And when he had read it, the President remarked, “I could al- most believe those boys were real.” Well, they were real. And they are still real. They are middle-aged men now. And some are famous. And all are interesting. 1t is 25 years since Johnson gave the gang to fame. And now, for the first time, he reveals their id-ntily. IRST come The Prodigious Hickey. Hickey it was, you remember, who organized mid- night feasts, planned the revolts against the masters. Lank of figure and keen of feature, bustling of gait and drawling of speech, with face as innocent as a choir boy’s, Hickey raised Morning Glory and the Coffee Cooler, which he bestowed upon his comrades with unfailing felicity. “Hickey was a devil,” declares Johnson. “We thought he'd be a burglar when he grew up. And what do you suppose he turned out to be? colonel! Yes, sir—Col. William O. Hickock, . B. of New York, traveler and dilettante. boy life made for Owen Johnson’s Lawr- enceville stories, the two-minute mark. He was the mainstay of banjo, mandolin and glee clubs, and he played the organ in chapel. He was secretary and treas- urer of his class, and of every organization to which he belonged. And what a business man that boy was! He had commissions from a dozen firms to sell stationery, athletic goods, books, neckties, fancy waistcoats, fountain pens and safety rasors. All of which he sold with ease and eloguence, at a good 10 per cent above the retall price. Doc’s room, you remember, was a combina- tion of sorcerer’s den and junk shop. At one corner a row of shelves held a villainous array of ill-smelling black, green and blue bottles, Four characters find their author at an alumni day class reunion. Left to right: “The Prodigious Hickey” (W. O. Hickock), “Doc MacNooder” (]. S. MacNider), Owen Johnson, the author; “Turkey Reiter” (W. L. Righter) and “Flash Condis” (W. H. Bibble). . - W) AN o . but he stuck Dink good and proper for all that. A born diplomat—young Butsey. And he grew up to prove it. The Honorable J. Butier Wright, ladies and gentlemen, American Am- bassador to Hungary and as suave a gentle- man as ever drew the breath of life. Then there was Flash Condit, revealed mow as C. W. Dibble of North Adams, Mass., whose son will be graduated in June from Lawrence- ville. “Flash was the greatest athlete in schoolboy history,” declares Mr. Johnson. “I remember when he ran 100 yards in nine and four-fifths seconds, with Charlie DeSaulles at his heels. And Flash, looking back over his shoulder, kept yelling, ‘Come on, Charlie! Come on!’ “When Flash first appeared at school and re- ported for foot ball practice, the athletic direc- tor asked him how much he weighed. “‘A hundred and twenty-five pounds, and all muscle,’ retorted Flash. “It didn’t take Flash long to put the muscle in evidence.” Tiny Bill of the Lawrenceville gang is mow the redoubtable Big Bill Edwards, a power in New York politics. The Flea, George D. Obertauffer of Chicago, has distinguished himself as an artist. And so has Bojo, who was Adolph Borie, well known now in Philadelphia and Paris. Beekstein, the grind, is Rolland T. Hull of New Jersey. A pair of black-rimmed spectacles still ride his aquiline nose and he is industrious and learned, as in days of old. Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan lives in London and his real name is Frederick F. Flannagan. AND the Tennessee Shad. The thin, elon- gated, bony old Tennessee Shad. He still lives in Tennessee. In Chattanooga, to be more definite. And his real name is W. E. Heron. “The Shad was a sort of composite,” admits Johnson. “I wouldn't dare to pin the works all on Heron. Maybe you remember what Al said of Doc MacNooder and the Shad. "'Iftlmebodymwhendon‘tmelecho-,