What great man was born on February 22? Why, Robert Lampoon, of course. Or so Bob told a CRIMSON reporter yesterday. The maitre d'hotel and fountain-head of humor for the funny paper on Mt. Auburn Street was warming his hands over a cup of Arthur's coffee and contemplating the prospect of having a birthday. As taciturn as his prototype, President Coolidge, the Lampoon jester forced the reporter to pry his secret from him.
"How old am I? Well, nobody knows. I was a foundling, discovered in a Boston bag at the Touraine check room, a sort of lost-and-foundling."
So it remains a mystery how old he is, but it is a certainty that he is old enough to have begun to think about the future. The recent difficulties of the magazine seem to have made him thoughtful, for he said, "I've begun to think a lot lately about the future, and do you know what I am going to do?" This reporter had no idea.
Bob leaned closer and whispered. "Play my piccolo from coast to coast. Yes, sir. After I've studied a little with my maestro, that's what I am going to do. There's some talk about a tour of the Associated Harvard Clubs circuit first. You'll have to ask my manager about that. But then I'll set out. And I shan't stop until I stand upon the shores of the Pacific.
"You've heard me play my piccolo, haven't you?" This reporter had heard him play at a Lampoon banquet. "Well, I tell you, those days are gone. Not that they aren't nice boys, you understand. But their appreciation of art, of the finer things of life...No, I don't play any more, after their dances." Bob and his audience shook their heads sadly, reminiscently.
Then Bob brightened visibly, looked up and said. 'Do you know what Perley Breed said to me once? He was leading his orchestra at that dance. After I finished playing he said to me. 'Bob,' he said, 'You're the loudest piccolo player I ever heard!'"