This evening the CRIMSON celebrates its ninetieth anniversary, and messages have been pouring in from all over the world. "You have come of age," cables Lord Russell. "Welcome." And from the octogenarians, more words of greeting:
Ninety years is a mighty long time,
Congratulations to the CRIME!
carols Robert Frost. "One Hundred is just around the corner," is Herbert Hoover's salutation, and Sir Winston, wintering in London, sends us "felicitations on nine decades of print, fret, toil, and smears."
Konrad Adenauer, in his own tongue, has issued the following statement: "Es freut mich sehr Ihnen zum Geburtstag Glueck zu wuenschen," adding, "Ninety is much too young to quit." His Majesty King Gustav Adolf VI, providing for the time lag, writes "God morgon! God afton! God natt! Ingen orsak." And Carl Sandburg, who is only eighty-five, comments that "You have completed your Prairie Years. On to the War Years!"
We thank these well-wishers. Ninety is a respectable age, and we are lucky to have attained it. Frankly, though, we don't feel quite so chipper as we used to. Two days ago we were able to pan a movie, but yesterday we liked one.
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