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was. If my surname had been German I might have done the same.

He was a staunch Princeton man.  From him I first heard that scandalous song about the privations men suffer down at Yale.  He was a little below medium size, but he was well built and his uniforms always fitted him neatly.  They had obviously been fitted by a good tailor.  The rest of us, having been outfitted with hand-me-downs in a hurry before leaving the states, mostly looked as if we were wearing someone else's clothes.  He wore a wispy musrache which he ought to have given up as a failure.  He was sociable and a good listener.  When you talked to him his face wore an expression of pleased anticipation.

When he learned where I came from he asked if I knew three brothers named Douglas who came from Lebanon.  They had been at Princeton with him.  I had come from Carthage, not far from Lebanon, and I had heard of the Douglas brothers although I had not met them.  One of them, Beverly Douglas, had been a slassmatr of Boldt and had, I gathered been admired by him.

Twice in later years I ran into reminders of Boldt.  One was his father's portrait, which hangs (or did hang) in a room on the lobby floor of the Waldorf.  It may have been replaced by a portrait of Conrad Hilton.

One day Dr. Beverly Douglas, Professor of Dermatology in the medical school at Vanderbilt University, called at the offices of the National Foundation in New York.  I talked with him.  The main subject of our conversation was Boldt, whom he remembered well.

Transcription Notes:
.This version differs slightly from that a few images back. In the earlier draft he states it's Lebanon, Tennessee.