WWW - 6/3/02: While waiting for the US Postal, uh, Service to haul Bert’s latest opus to Hawayah via crippled pony & one-wheeled cart, we have accumulated enough grist to generate our own issue. Further, we are facing a fortnight of Punahou 45th Reunion activities that threaten to dull the senses; so best let’s get at it: Favorite Places. Now there’s a lead article in the AluMag that we can all relate to... Since no ‘61s were selected to recite our favorite places (nor were any of us pictured in the DAM photo journal of reunions in ‘01...), let’s poll the class for their own best venues in the Upper Valley.

Ourself? We had many favorite places. The entire Hanover scene provided an inspiring haven for one from so far away—both in miles and culture. But to be specific: The basement of Theta Delt, where one was exposed to the wonders of tapsmanship, camaraderie, wisdom, humor, and the fact that G. Wendell Thompson, whose favorite song is Cantique Noel, was a hurdler in high school. There was another place in Theta Delt, somewhere up in the rafters, where Fatz, Mac & I retreated to discuss the way of things, women, and whatnell we were gonna do when we got out; we tried to lure Roz up there a couple times, but he was forever booking for Chem exams... There was also the basement of Phi Gam, where the ‘61 Dozen, an eclectic melange of intellectuals, jocks, pre-meds, and whatevers, bonded for life; the Phi Gam goat room with Porkchop & Sonja, secretly savoring some of the best scotch old-fashioneds ever concocted; that little bar off the lobby at the Inn with Beaver, Rat & Chop, sipping icy martinis after GI on Monday nights. How about Hal’s, splurging on an ice-a-fudge after a spartan lunch? Or Dirty Dick Packard’s diner in White River, where Chop would haul late night bookers for “drop two on english” at two a.m.? Sunday evenings were sometimes passed in the timeworn Marconi Club, also in White River, where we always ordered meatball sandwiches, even though there was a full menu—sprayed on the bar mirror in canned “snow”... There was Corey Ford’s den, sitting by the fireplace in leather chairs, ‘Tober slobbering on our chinos, Corey sucking on his pipe and offering wise counsel—while Murph, Edwards, Glenn, Dayton & tc plotted the course of the renegade DRFC. Guess we can’t tell about the poolside pub in the sub-basement of the Tomb, since Sphinx is secret—right, Gnomie...?

Of course, the northeast is known for its great outdoor life. In the AluMag, Harold Putnam ‘37 praised Occom Pond, and it is truly a scene of delight. Where else could a lone Hawaiian learn to skate in 15 minutes because Jay Baker ‘60 had the presence of mind to give him a hockey stick and sent him chasing after a puck? There was The Ledges, where intrepid down-the-liners practiced feats of derring-do off the rocks, and Billy Glenn professed that this time he really was in love... Storrs Pond was a favorite rec site, although it seems to have grown a bit commercial of late. Pre-game warm-ups on the Memorial Stadium turf before a home football crowd was a special thrill; the old traditions had yet to fail in those days, and the aura was of pageantry, heritage, and the ghosts of former heroes. As a side note, that field had such a pronounced crown down the middle that, if John Henry was headed for the corner of the end zone, Kinderdine had to take something off his bullet passes to keep the ball from sailing far overhead as the receiver sprinted downhill away from him... Any rugby pitch in the fall or late spring, the touch lined with friends and enthusiasts, was an exercise in euphoria and tradition. The Skiway was a winter wonderland, and the inner pleasure of teaching a class of beginners down Papoose could only be matched by patrolling the Carnival downhill; Mad River Glen on a sparkling Sunday morning, hopping moguls with Jon Stockholm ‘60; Woodstock’s Suicide Six, running slalom with Sunny Snite; Sugarloaf Mountain at spring break, skiing in T-shirts with Power John Stowell—all were exhilarating experiences in our newfound sport of skiing.

These are just a few of the many storied retreats we came to love in four brief years on the Plain. And, granted, those above are mostly group scenes; in the alumni magazine, most people cited solitary pleasures. We invite you to share your favorite places, and the reasons they were special to you. Later we’ll print responses from classmates that may match, or even enlarge, your own good feelings. Frequent returnees to the college may have discovered new favorite spots—we know the Frost statue setting ranks in there—that are equally as valid. Tell us, that we may repeat your ‘sounding joy.

Speaking of the Hanover Plain, we would be remiss not to mention the Valley News’s favorite son, Mike Gazzaniga. Not only did they do a major neuroscience feature on our man about gray matter—including a color photo of the polished dome which houses his own, but they follow it soon after with a four-color rotogravure featuring Mike & Charlotte’s drop-dead gorgeous daughter, Francesca, and her high school prom held at the Hop. Thus we keep abreast of a Bush appointee among a horde of faculty & admin. not entirely enamored of the GOP... Also from the Uppah Valley we learn that the despicable murderers of the Zantops have been sentenced to life. That does appear ironic, or even tragic, considering they deprived the Zantops of theirs. In these troubled times of apologists and victimhood, surely someone will take leave of his senses to argue that those two jerks were not at fault for their imbecilic plot, or were possibly justified. Should that someone be among our ‘61 constituency, we are serving notice that: 1. his views will not be published herein, and 2. we will advise Bruce Forester to shrink his head for him... Now, with so many legal professionals in our class, we dare not incite a death penalty controversy, but it is a proven fact that no criminal, once executed, ever commits another crime.

Seems there’s trouble among the Ivies. While Dartmouth struggles with the draconian decrees of the SLI, a shortage of housing, and the [alleged] Animal House image, our sister institutions have problems of their own. Harvard, especially, has been making news which may not reflect glory upon the exalted ol’ school. Grade inflation has run rampant in Cambridge, and even current students are uneasy with the fact that half the grades awarded in recent years were A’s or A-’s. One excuse offered by a history professor is that his colleagues feared discouraging students who had been accustomed to getting A’s all their lives [Dear me! And we presume it follows that to disparage an unworthy exam or paper with a B would constitute discrimination...? ed.] The Crimson’s troubles are compounded by recent defections from the Afro-American Studies department for the southern climes of Princeton. At issue is the reluctance of Pres. Summers “to make an unequivocal public statement in support of affirmative action and diversity,” and the Cantabs have already lost University Professor/rapper-wannabe Cornel West, with Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and others also being wooed by the Tiger. [It would help this scribe tremendously if someone could please explain what is being taught in Afro-American Studies. Likewise in Womens’ Studies departments? ed.] Even venerable Hasty Pudding lodged a blot on Harvard’s hallowed escutcheon, when two seniors embezzled $100,000 from the undergrad theater organization to finance “lavish lifestyles” and support the drug habit of one of the offenders. Alas.

Yale, on the other hand, has had to deal with revelations of plagiarism on the part of historian Stephen E. Ambrose, at about the same time that Pres. Levin took on the daunting project of eliminating the popular early-decision admissions. And if that weren’t enough, we must note that a certain graduate of the Yale Law School has been disbarred in his home state of Arkansas.

Princeton’s main problem seems to be finding room to store the athletic championship trophies which they have been acquiring at an astonishing pace. Perhaps we should be glad that PU is representing with honor the Ivy League as a whole, but are chagrined to learn that some of those fine scholar/athlete Tigers were turned down for admission to Dartmouth...

We’re sure some members of PETA will blanch at our reference to the Princeton mascot above. However, the on-going controversy regarding our former proud Indian symbol has been played out in the national news of late. Whereas an intramural basketball team at U. of Northern Colorado call themselves the “Fightin’ Whites,” to protest the Indian mascot of the local high school, a survey in Sports Illustrated revealed that 75% of all Indians in the US do not feel that use of Indian team names contributes to discrimination against Indians. [We use the designation “Indian” advisedly; not one of our Indian acquaintances has ever used the PC euphemism “Native American.” American Indians, for the most part, refer to themselves in English as Indian—ed.] Perhaps we should mention the anonymous classmate who proclaimed he would abandon the Indian once the College removes the Indian students depicted on the Dartmouth seal. By so stating, we hasten to caution, he did not intend to plant any dastardly ideas in the crania of the Dartmouth deconstructionists...

Enough of this socio-political diatribe. News from classmates themselves:

Henry Eberhardt exchanged observations with this scribe regarding the, uh, widespread denouement of our faculties as we all continue to experience passages [read: get freakin’ old...]. “That’s why it is so important for us all to stay in touch...it’s like a huge support group of guys going through exactly the same thing.” Our take on that is slightly different: it is possible that Alzheimer’s is grossly overestimated. It’s not that we can’t remember stuff anymore, but that there is so much more to remember nowadays. Case in point: go out and get into your car. Well, OK, now go back in the house and get the keys... Put the keys in the ignition, push that lock button on the steering column with your other hand (how do one-armed guys start their car...?), and fire it up. Now attach your seat belt, adjust it from the last time your wife drove, adjust the mirror, now adjust both outside mirrors, now adjust the seat, and now the seat back. Tune the radio back to PBS. Fish your prescription shades out of the glove compartment. Now step on the brake so you can get into gear, and, finally, put it in gear. Now you are ready to go! By this time, if you can remember wherenell you were going in the first place, you are Gunga Din... What happened in 1957? You got in, pushed the starter button, and roared off for the drive-inn. Oh, yeah—the key was right there in the ignition, where it belonged... In ‘57, btw, Hank was cruisin’ in a white ‘52 Ford convertible with dual glass-packs, and probably did a lot more, uh, business with the gals at the drive-inn than this Hawaiian, who had to take the bus...

Robert Francis Henry Moore sent a note of thanks for a photo of the ‘61 hockey contingent at the 40th. He observes, “Jake [Haertl] looks good for a guy who has been into extreme skiing. Of course, he has been doing a lot of extreme stuff for decades... I had fun playing golf with Hoags & Charlie [Chapman] in FL this winter. We had them up to our place in Vero with Jean and Kris. The hoopster [Bob Hoagland] is tough on the links. We also had fun with Don & Jean Shropshire who live in the same community we do in Vero, along with [‘60s] Allen Stowe & Seth Strickland.” To which we must add that Hoags looks simply fantastic, and is an inspiration to us all, having responded so well to stem cell treatment a while back. Likewise, we can’t help but notice that, should we need to borrow a belt, Rocket & Charlie would have to fasten theirs end to end to encircle our own present girth... Houser forewarned us that he & Bobbie Sue were heading off in April to visit Stuie & Diana Sheldon in FL. So, while we were able to gird up our livers at this remote outpost, the Sheldons took a direct hit. Stuie: “Had our usual riotously fun time with the Texas Kids. Jack sets a fast pace from early morning ‘til late at night—I don’t even try to keep up with him [not sure if this sums it up, but Rat proclaims: “The less you bet the more you lose when you win...”]. Couple weeks ago had a most enjoyable lunch here on Useppa Island with Dave & Nancy Cook and Ron & Joan Wybranowski. Last week had lunch with Roger & Sandy McArt and Bill & Mardi Glenn.” Nobody mentioned any work being done, so we presume the good guys are enjoying their respective leisure hours.

In the dreaded obits, Dan Palant ‘58 has asked that we post the passage of John Whiteley ‘58. A member of the Dartmouth Band, John made music with the classes of ‘55 though ‘61, and continued to be an ardent supporter of the Band and music program after graduation. As a tribute, the Dartmouth College Matching Band has established “The John Whiteley Band Spirit Award,” which will be given to the graduating senior who emulates John’s dedication, devotion, and support to the DCMB. The award will be a plaque and cash gift, with the honoree’s name engraved on a permanent plaque in the Music department in Hopkins. Former band members and others are asked to send donations to: Dan Palant, 16 Slocum Rd., Lexington MA 02421. Checks should be made to “The John Whiteley Band Spirit Award.” Also noted sadly is the passing of legendary Dale Armstrong ‘46, football All-American, Phi Gam President, Bronze Star winner, and US Steel Vice President who recruited Rocket, Marriott, Skip Johnson and ourself to Big Steel back in ‘61. On a lighter note, some ancient archives provided a 1956 clipping from the Honolulu Advertiser which lamented that all the good local football talent was deserting the U of Hawaii for the siren call of mainland colleges. Lest ye forget, Ivy Football was still big-time in those ancient times, and the sportswriter bemoans, “Two of Dartmouth’s best linemen are island boys.” No names given, but we’ll tip our coconut hat in retrospect to Paul Wysard ‘58 and Mel Kau ‘60, who labored in the trenches for the Bullet. Guess we should also quote a more recent clip which says that when the AP started college football polls in 1936, there were 7 teams in the final Top 20—including Dartmouth #13— “that would be impossible to rank this year. None of those teams play major-college football anymore.”[dot, dot, dot...] In the world of letters, Steve Reid ‘62 has an astonishing novel out, Murder Insured, which depicts some of the seamy side of the life insurance racket [Right. Even seamier than life insurance salesmen...] [Sorry, Hickey, couldn’t resist... ed.]. Finally, those inclined toward poetry are reminded that a subscription to Sylvester Pollet’s fine chapbook series “Backwoods Broadsides” may be obtained with a $10 check to same, mailed to Pollet at 963 Winkumpaugh Rd., Ellsworth, ME 04605-9529.

Dass all. Green cards to Bert.

TC
Tom Conger