A few days ago, two young men disappeared into the Dillon Field House, bearing assorted spoons, brassies, and drivers. They were heading for Dillon's "driving range." Located in a third floor exercise room, it consists of some mats, which serve as tees, and a spread of canvas to deflect drives. It indicates Dillon's intense effort to provide for all sports.

Until 1930, a Soldiers Field House served the College's athletes. Soldiers Field House only had lockers and showers, and Clarence Dillon, then manager of the varsity football team, told his father about the inadequate facilities. The elder Dillon of the New York investment firm of Dillon, Read, put up the money for a new field house, although the Corporation was unhappy about building in financially uncertain times. On January 15, 1930, the Soldiers Field House conveniently burned down, "coloring the murky, rainleaden sky with a deep crimson hue," according to a CRIMSON extra, and the new Georgian building which replaced it opened for the Dartmouth game in October, 1930.

The early '30's were comparatively lively days in the Dillon locker rooms. Alumni attended football practices regularly, becoming locker-room fixtures of sorts, but except for an occasional wistful exrugby player, most alumni no longer turn up except when they have complaints.

Some of Dillon's facilities give it the air of a super-hotel. It has its own laundry, a darning machine for ripped uniforms, a cleat machine for speedier changes of cleats, and a shoemaker's set-up, complete with shoemaker.

Its medical plant is in a class by itself, almost no other university has x-ray apparatus so near its field. Rather than create a new category just for Dillon, the American Medical Association lists the medical room as a "First Class Industrial Clinic."

The doctors and trained (male) nurse in attendance have had some strange cases; fractures, dislocations, bruises. One of the strangest happened about two years ago. A group of young men patiently carried in one of their teammates, who seemed to have met misfortune in a game of touch football. They laid the pale, gasping youth gently on the dressing-table, and stopped back. Several ominous machines were wheeled in while doctors gathered gravely around.

"What seems to be the trouble?" they asked.

"There's nothing wrong," was the reply. "He's just tired."