“The Chair Recognizes …”

Dartmouth has deep-sixed another tradition. Instead of a homo sapiens, it has elected a piece of furniture to head its Board of Trustees.

From 6/8/07 “Speaking of Dartmouth”: “THE DARTMOUTH COLLEGE BOARD OF TRUSTEES ELECTS CHARLES "ED" HALDEMAN '70 AS ITS NEW CHAIR. HALDEMAN SENDS HIS BEST WISHES TO SPEAKING OF DARTMOUTH READERS AND TO THE ENTIRE CAMPUS COMMUNITY. Haldeman is CEO of Putnam Investments. He replaces William H. Neukom '64, who completed his term on the Board after 11 years of service.”

Is it a Morris chair, an armchair, a Hitchcock chair, a beach chair, a swivel chair, an Eames chair, a Chippendale side chair, a recliner, a barrel chair, a Windsor chair, a throne, a rocking chair, a wheelchair, a bean bag chair, or what?

My money is on a high chair.

GREEN WITH ENVY

I know that I may be veering off message here but excellence has been a tradition at Dartmouth and certainly should be in our newly-published mission statement. (It unfortunately isn’t … the recent Wright-written mission statement is the sickly pabulum “Dartmouth educates the most promising students of this generation to be leaders of the next generation with a faculty of scholars dedicated to teaching and the creation of new knowledge.”) I have published before (see “Booby Prize” at Fletchers Castoria) how poorly Dartmouth seems to perform when it comes to national scholarship awards. (For the sake of full disclosure, I too did not win any national scholarship award when I was in Hanover … not even close.)

Now, there is another award announcement wherein Dartmouth is sucking wind – the 2007 Goldwater scholarship awards for excellence in science. Yes, we did have one winner Laura Myers '08 (and my congratulations to her!) and two honorable mentions (Meghan Feely '08 and Kristen Lurie '08), but Harvard had four top winners (maximum number allowed), Cornell, four winners, MIT, three winners, and Yale, three winners. Even Mass Bay Community College had two winners for heaven’s sake. Next class reunion, I think I’ll wear a paper bag over my head.

DARTMOUTH’S LEGACY

President Wright recently solicited input on Dartmouth’s mission and its legacy. The following are the words he chose to describe Dartmouth’s legacy:

“Since its founding in 1769, Dartmouth has provided an intimate and inspirational setting for distinguished faculty and talented students to come together in one of the finest academic communities in the world. Dartmouth faculty contribute [sic] substantially to the expansion of human understanding around critical issues. Dartmouth is committed to providing the best undergraduate liberal arts experience in the world and is enriched by excellent, historic professional programs in the Dartmouth Medical School (founded 1797), the Thayer School of Engineering (1867), the Tuck School of Business (1900) and the graduate programs in the Arts and Sciences. Together they sustain an exceptional learning environment that emphasizes independent thought, academic excellence, and the lifelong pursuit of learning.
Pioneering programs and continuing leadership in computation and international education are hallmarks of Dartmouth. The College provides a comprehensive out of classroom experience, including service opportunities, engagement in the arts, and strong athletic, recreational, and outdoor programs. Dartmouth graduates are marked by an understanding of the importance of teamwork, a capacity for leadership, and their keen enjoyment of a vibrant community. Alumni/ae loyalty to Dartmouth is legendary and their engagement is a defining and sustaining quality of the College.”

I have a few comments on President Wright’s notion of Dartmouth’s heritage (other than noticing the pedestrian prose that this statement exhibits):

!) How can Dartmouth’s traditions be enumerated with nary a mention of the primary purpose for which it was created (and to which it still somewhat aspires), that is, to educate Indians?

2) Dartmouth was an all-male institution until 1973. To me it is very strange, and perhaps telling, that President Wright seems to sweep this obvious legacy under the rug. Even though Dartmouth is now fully co-educational, clearly its roots and much of its alumni/ae body are males.

3) Dartmouth is therein boasted as having “continuing leadership in computation and international education” This may once have been the case, but I seriously question whether it still is. My profession has been in computers and I have not noticed much that Dartmouth has contributed to this field in the last twenty years. Also to my continued disappointment, Dartmouth is becoming famous for its dearth of students that are selected for international honors programs. Therefore President Wright’s braggadocio seems a little misplaced.

Q and A

Question (from: http://www.dartblog.com/):
"Suggest one radically innovative change-or one innovative policy or program-that would make Dartmouth a better college and which, to the best of your knowledge, no competitor college is doing."

My answer:
Eliminate our college's de facto segregation based on race, sexual orientation, and ethnicity. In other words shuffle the student body (in dorms, social organizations, cafeterias, cultural events, classrooms, etc.) so that the cultural diversity that is so professed in most college communiqués becomes a societal benefit and not a liability ... and the ethereal good claimed to accrue from such diversity can indeed evolve and prosper. Dispose of all faculty titles, pseudo "departments", college-sponsored events, and accredited courses that encourage this de facto segregation and, instead, create a monopole college culture that understands and champions cross-cultural interactions and character building such as described in Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream.

Notice, in my dream, I do not include gender or religion (and disabilities too) as de facto segregations. These are exempted because, if all religions are melded, there is no religion. And if both genders are undifferentiated, then society gets the natural benefits from neither. These two special communities can and have provided great comfort and havens to students in the past (fraternities, sororities, churches, etc.). Now, our inability to make such simple and obvious distinctions as these forces today's society to insist that all sectors (including religion, gender and disabilities) are absolutely equivalent. As a consequence we get such ludicrous scenes as wheel-chair bound individuals "climbing" Mt. Everest, apologies during Christmas Eve services at the Wellesley College chapel for using the word "Christ" in carols, and the requiring of separate restrooms for cross-gender individuals. (I drive my liberal friends crazy when I take my Down syndrome brother-in-law into the voting booth to cast his vote. They say that I get two votes as a consequence. This is true and my brother-in-law should not be given the vote, but in order to show how ludicrous this societal "equivalence" is, I keep having him vote.).

PINING AWAY

“With the old pine above her,
And the loyal ones who love her.”

One of the deepest rooted of Dartmouth symbols is the Old (or Lone) Pine. It exists on the Dartmouth flag and college insignia … towering above a silhouetted depiction of Eliazer Wheelock, sitting on a barrel of rum, teaching to (or preaching to), one assumes, Samson Occum.
Rather than relate the history of the Old Pine myself, I quote from the Alumni Relations website (The Old Pine) talking about the Hill Winds Society, a student effort to keep alive Dartmouth College traditions by giving docented tours of the campus (see also the February, 2007 issue of “DartmouthLife”):

Mike Amico [of the Hill Winds Society] made a surprising discovery while researching the story of the Old Pine, perhaps the oldest in Dartmouth lore. One of the few pines not felled in 1769, when the College founders razed the woods in the area to build Dartmouth Hall, the Old Pine long stood the test of time on the rocky hill now named Observatory Hill. Eventually, after a lightning strike and other storm damage, the tree weakened, and in 1895 it was cut to a stump. In 1967, with the stump decomposed, the Class of 1927 decided to plant a New Pine nearby, in the Bema. Amico discovered that his own class, the Class of 2007, is to inherit the stewardship of the tree. When it planted the New Pine, the Class of 1927 placed its care in the hands of the Class of 1967, who promised to pass it on in another forty years to the Class of 2007.

The Hill Winds traditions tour begins at Robinson Hall, progresses down North Main Street to Webster Avenue, turns toward Baker Library, heads up Observatory Hill, and winds back down to Dartmouth Hall and the Green.

To arrange a tour by the Hill Winds Society contact Abby Drevs in the Office of Alumni Relations. You can call her at 603/646-2337 or send an e-mail to her at: abigail.e.drevs@dartmouth.edu

You can see a picture from a postcard of the stump of the Old Pine ... found at the “Dartmouth Review” website: (Dartmouth Review)

According to Peter Carini of the college, the Old Pine was a white pine (as are its replacements). For those who don’t know about white pines, they are the stateliest of pines. They can live for more than 200 years and grow 100 feet high or higher. They generally retain their limbs only for about the top half of their height. See Eastern White Pine

Unfortunately, white pines are susceptible to blister rust and, until control measures were taken, was the cause of the loss of many of these beauties. The primary control measure was (and is) to outlaw the cultivation of gooseberries and currents which are a vector for blister rust. Today, you cannot cultivate these berries in some eastern states. (I know something about white pines as I once had huge beauty growing in my Massachuttes back yard.)

SOME REFERENCES

For those who want to really immerse themselves in Dartmouth lore of yore, I suggest you might want to look at the book, “The Story of Dartmouth” by Wilder Dwight Quint.
You can see this offering on http://books.google.com/books?vid=OCLC01823896&id=UhQTAAAAIAAJ&pg=RA3-PA1&lpg=RA3-PA1&dq=The+Story+of+Dartmouth

Also, John D. Ash ‘56 has written a somewhat melodramatic book of limericks on the Dartmouth experience, “The Green Heart”. You can get a fair sample of this offering (and order it if you are enticed) on http://www.poeticlimericks.com/greenheart.html

EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN SINK

Writing about Sink Night when I was at (all-male) Dartmouth is not easy … possibly because much of it was a fuzzy, boozy memory. Nevertheless, here goes.

Rushing fraternities then (1957) at the beginning of your sophomore year was an interesting experience. One tried one’s best to be wooed by a goodly number of frat houses without spreading oneself too thin. Generally, you had a fair notion of what houses you could get into without compromising your standards (or, more likely, the fraternity’s). You dressed in de rigueur belt-in-the-back chinos (now known as kakis); white or blue button-down dress shirt, dirty white bucks (suede shoes), rep-striped tie, and hound’s-tooth plaid jacket … and then, breathlessly, made the rounds of Greekdom. This consisted of lots of cheddar cheese, cider (to counteract the effect of the cheese), and small talk. This small talk on both the fraternities' and your part was not necessarily “small”. It was at both ends of the spectrum, either chock full of insincerity or so sincere as to be maudlin. After a few nights of this charm waltz, you generally zeroed in on a house or two that seemed to like you … and you, them.

From then on it was code talk:
“If we offered to pledge you, would you be leaning our way?”
“I really like your house almost better than all the others.”
“We see you have been spending a lot of time at Sigma Nu. Can we infer something from this?”
“My roommate really likes you guys. Do you think he has a chance?”
“Rumor has it that you won’t be rowing again next year. Is that true?”
“My Dad was a Chi Phi and I feel a great loyalty to you guys.”

At the end of the week (I think it was Saturday night), you hopefully got an invitation from the house of your choice (Will we see you at DTD tonight?) or, if you were lucky, from more than one. And, when you showed up (as I recall it) in old clothes (for reasons you will soon understand), you were greeted at the door by a key brother with a pledge pin which you then were invited to wear. It was like the “one step forward” when you join the Army. This brother-assisted pinning (sinking) thus became your solemn commitment to this fraternity.

Once all the pledges had been assembled, you were introduced to those whom you didn’t already know … and then “sink night” began. This was a joyous outpouring of social acceptance. Every fraternity had a continuous open keg … much of which went on the floor. Pledges threw beers on each other, drank some, slapped each other on the back, and, as the night wore on, tore at each other’s clothing until traveling outside in the chilly fall air, became rather risky and risqué. The reason the various hoards of pledges traveled outside was that you were then obliged to visit those houses where you didn’t pledge and ooze some more insincerity (“I really wanted to pledge SAE but I though we might be a mismatch.”) You also went to the fraternities of your friends and roommates to slap them on the back, spill their beer (and yes, drink a bit), and continue to challenge the limits of modesty.

Was all this drunkenness and male nudity homo-erotic? I never believed so then, but being a tad more sophisticated now, I suspect that there was indeed a voyeuristic element to this tradition. I do hope, now that Dartmouth is co-educational, that this particular merriment has been somewhat mollified. In closing, I noticed on “The Dartmouth” website that “the College compiles figures on the number of students that are treated at Dick's House for alcohol-related incidents” after sink night. Let me just say that after one particularly well-behaved Winter Carnival at Dartmouth I came down with a legitimate case of the flu. When I went to Dick’s house, I was admitted and classified as experiencing alcohol poisoning. Nothing I could say would convince these oracles in white that this was a misdiagnosis.

HOMECOMING

Playing “Men of Dartmouth,” the ragtag band, led a sauntering and sometimes staggering parade of green-bedecked alumni down College Avenue toward Memorial Stadium. 

It was the 1959 fall Homecoming Weekend and the air was as clear as spring water and as crisp as a ripe apple. Despite copious brandy and scotch swigging along the way, this oiled mass arrived well ahead of the start of the pigskin pandemonium with the Harvard Cantabs. When they entered the gates behind the stands, they were quickly adsorbed into the milling throng of tailgaters chewing on everything from hamburgers to each other. It was a sea of green and white pompoms, Dartmouth Co-op knitted caps, long verdant-striped wool scarves wrapped twice around, and Smoke Shop pipes exuding cherry-scented smoke. 

The Saturday-morning trains from Boston and New York had already disgorged their raccoon-coated coeds from “the skids” (Skidmore), “swellsley” (Wellesley), “radical” (Radcliff), and “vasectomy” (Vassar). The buses from New London, NH and Poultney, VT had also been emptied of their sometimes dumber but often warmer girls from “coal chute” (Colby Jr. College) and “the groin” (Green Mountain). Meeting these conveyances were the boys of “dirty mouth” (Dartmouth); some eagerly scanning the assembled faces for their blind dates ... while others were already dry humping their steadies against the nearest lamp post. 

The more naive or horny females would never see the football game, attend the soiree, or even view a face other than their date’s for the remainder of the weekend. The prior night there had been a pep rally featuring the sanguine-cheeked college president, the beefy football coach, and lots of players with names like “Moose,” “Grinder,” and “Hulk.” There was also a five-story-high bonfire that the students took as a sacred college tradition and a construction challenge ... whereas the town of “hangover” (Hanover) took it as an opportunity to dispose cheaply of mountains of flammable trash and old railroad ties. 

The festivities ended with the glee club and the Injineers singing all the popular college songs including “Dartmouth Undying,” “Dartmouth’s in Town Again,” and “Eleazar Wheelock.” Some of these tunes had optional purulent lyrics that the students sang as contretemps against the censored glee club versions. 

The gridiron match began poorly with the leg-shaving John Harvards scoring a quick touchdown and a field goal. This brought out the groans and the flasks. Even the “big D” cheerleaders and the bare-chested, war-painted Indian arriving on his saddleless pinto were unable to rouse the morose crowd. This dolor continued as the Crimson scored again and then humbled the Big Green even further with a two-point safety. At half-time, after the atonal marching band had formed some X-rated icons, many disgruntled alumni left the stadium mumbling that such performances were not why they were giving large donations to their alma mater. However, in the second half, things abruptly turned around as Dartmouth scored once on an interception, once after an on-side kick, and, as the clock was running out, one last time on a spectacular, open-field punt return. This, of course, brought out the white handkerchiefs with which to taunt the prissy Harvard fans in the opposite seats. 

The game ended without further incident and the stands emptied to fill the fraternity cocktail parties, the dormitory snugglings, and the Hanover Inn mini-reunions. At a house party one could kiss up to your professor for a higher grade, tap your graduated frat brothers for a evening keg, or even snake a date from the various assembled distaffs. 

The night would then bring a rock-and-roll-banded, theme party at all the Greek houses ... which were the templates from which the movie “Animal House” was drawn. The motif could be old Rome (togas) or a farmyard (hay and roosters) or “Gunsmoke” (ten-gallon hats and chaps) ... among others. By eleven PM the sex pits were filled with groping couples and, by two AM, the floor of the bar room was generally slick with beery puke.

Sunday morning brought a wash-tub full of bourbon milk punch, some soft modern jazz, and bleary-eyed male revelers striving to somehow let their brethren discretely know of their conquests of the previous night. By the time this galvanized caldron was emptied and the old sneaker and dirty jock strap fished from its vanilla reside to the eeks and ughs of the novitiates, it was time to disassemble the weekend and bundle your sloe-eyed date onto her bus or train back to normalcy. 

PASSING THE PLATE

In the intro to this blog I have asked for contributions from alums as to their own thoughts about Dartmouth Traditions. For various reasons, among them forgetfulness, I cannot write on the following:

- The Freshman (now First Year) Trip
- Freshman (ditto?) Orientation (I’m talking about those group lectures we had as a class)
- Great Issues (those group lectures we had as Seniors)
- Various traditions of various sports teams
- New traditions that have sprung up over the last 45 years

E-mail your contributions to me at muser@tiac.net (with your name and class) and I will be happy to publish them. Thanks

HAZY HAZING

An Alumnus comment on my entry titled “Beanie Babies” has set me straight about how New Hampshire august legislators feel about hazing … pointing out the N.H. Criminal Code section 631:7(I)(d). To wit:

"Student hazing" means any act directed toward a student, or any coercion or intimidation of a student to act or to participate in or submit to any act, when:(1) Such act is likely or would be perceived by a reasonable person as likely to cause physical or psychological injury to any person; and(2) Such act is a condition of initiation into, admission into, continued membership in or association with any organization.

Now I submit that merely being a student at Dartmouth in the late 1950’s could be construed as being hazed according to the above legalese. Clearly getting passing grades and many other administration-imposed conditions (not urinating off the grandstands during a football game) were required of me for my “continued membership” in the Dartmouth community. And many of these conditions were likely to cause me psychological injury … I still dream about not passing my comprehensive exams (a condition of graduation) or getting a good grade in my SATs (then a condition of admission). Was the four year Physical Education requirement likely to cause physical injury? I submit that many students were. Was the swimming requirement likely to cause psychological trauma? I submit that many students were so traumatized.

Could John Sloan Dickey have gone to jail under such a statute? I submit that he might have … given a vindictive judge and jury. Therefore, I submit that this law is hooey. (And I’ll try to come to New Hampshire only incognito.)

THE HOUSE OF BOURBON

In my stay at Dartmouth, the Sunday morning of Winter Carnival at most fraternity houses involved a live jazz group and bourbon milk punch. Couples would try to purge the demons and ethers of Friday and Saturday nights with “Take Five” and “Five Feathers.” This milk punch was made in a large galvanized wash tub with left-over whiskey of all stripes (preferably bourbon), many gallons of milk, chopped ice, and many floating half-gallons of vanilla ice cream. There was no formality to serving this elixir … just dip your cup or glass in and shake off the drippings. As the liquid level dropped, there would invariably appear an old dirty sneaker or a sweat-stained jock strap or both. This brought squeals from the more delicate females and derisive laughter from the brothers.

I have preserved this tradition in my home at Christmas-tide by serving bourbon milk punch along with my wife’s Christmas cookies when neighbors and friends drop by. My recipe is as follows:

- In the bottom of a Waring blender (most other blenders don’t have the necessary horsepower) pour about two fingers of Jim Beam bourbon.

- Add about another three fingers of cold milk (whole is preferable but not required).

- Next add about six or eight ice cubes.

- Finally scoop in about a cup or so of Bryer’s vanilla ice cream (must be Bryer’s).

- Cover and hit the strongest blender button until this concoction looks like a vanilla milk shake (a “frappe” in Massachusetts, a “cabinet” in Rhode Island).

- Pour into a punch glass and grate fresh nutmeg on top. (The more nutmeg you add the better dreams for the drinker that night.)

- Or you can make multiple blenders full of same and pour them into a punch bowl. The dirty laundry is optional.

Put a Dave Brubeck CD on the stereo.

ROAD TRIP

Like in “Animal House”, at Dartmouth in the late 1950’s, when things were most desperate and there was little hope for deliverance, it was time for a ROAD TRIP! This was indeed a non-college-sanctioned bizarre form of testosterone-induced tradition that took many an alcohol-impaired life. I think, in my freshman year, eight classmates were killed in auto accidents, many on the way back from visiting women's colleges. We had a code name for many of these distaff colleges. The ones I remember were:

Colby Jr. College was Coal Shute
Green Mountain was The Groin
Wellesley College was Swellsley
Skidmore College was The Skids

And I’m sure there were many more. (Were Smith and Mount Holyoke known collectively as North Humpton, the town in which they were located?) Of course this was disrespectful, but what wasn’t then (and, I suspect, now)?

The road trip involved stuffing a car with classmates or fraternity brothers and setting off for one of these destinations full of high hopes and hormones. The trip there itself usually involved a fair amount of beer … steeling ourselves for that ever-dangerous “cutting out of the herd.” This last phrase meant the actual getting of a date in as little time as possible … so that there would be enough instance for establishing a connection, both mentally and physically. Think of it as today’s eight-minute dating. My pick-up lines weren’t nearly as innovative as was displayed in “Animal House.”

We usually would go to a pre-selected dorm that previous road-trippers had drummed around campus as being “productive,” and shouting up the stairwell “Anyone want a date!?” Then after a few words to anyone who rose to this bait (these words, of course, would somehow include the word “Dartmouth”) we would be off to the local gin mill to keep the buzz going.

I will draw a curtain on the rest of the evening’s frivolities and return to our story at the drive back to Hanover (often in harsh weather) which was usually filled with more beer and war stories. But, by the end, everyone was asleep except hopefully the driver. These drivers were indeed the most courageous of souls since it was they who kept us all alive for the next bit of road-trip insanity.

BEANIE BABIES

When I was a pea-green freshman at Dartmouth back in 1956, I had to wear a green beanie for months when I was in public. This was to identify me as a tyro and therefore haze-able by upperclassmen. The hazing I experienced was rather mild – carrying someone’s furniture, shining another’s shoes … no paddling, no sadistic stuff. I do vaguely remember that the Gauntlet was still in effect where freshmen had to run through a double line of seniors swinging belts. But these august upperclassmen were quite lenient and perfunctory. There was also Homecoming Weekend when the freshmen had to gambol around the center-of-campus bonfire. The official end of freshman hazing was Green Key weekend when we were welcomed as belonging. But this was all then part of the Dartmouth experience and I didn’t particularly resent it. This all lasted until 1967 when the administration made wearing the freshman beanie optional (see http://powerlineblog.com/archives/014377.php) and things, it seems, all went downhill from there (or uphill, depending on your point of view … see next paragraph). I don’t know when any form of freshman hazing officially ended (2001?) but I think the appearance of women on campus had a lot to do with it.

This brings me to the subject of hazing in general. I recall my Psychology 101 class telling me that hazing was meant to trip one’s cognitive dissonance and therefore cause one, the hazee, to embrace more fully the hazer’s institution (or occasionally to swing radically in the other direction and denounce the hazer). I do know that hazing seems universal and sometimes very brutal (e.g., the Russian military). Many sports teams (I presume, mostly male) also haze their new players (e.g., the Duke lacrosse team). And, of course, fraternities also have their initiation rituals. I can speak from personal experience here as I was the pledge master of my fraternity my senior year at Dartmouth. Now, assuming that the statute of limitations has run out, I will relate a few experiences. One of my most successful initiation rites was to send the pledge class to New York City on a scavenger hunt (a pastee from a striper, an elephant turd, etc.). I climbed into bed the following night to find the elephant turd neatly secreted under my covers and a gaggle of pledges guffawing outside my bedroom door. This task did bring this pledge class (at least those who went on the trip) very much together as a group … which made me feel like I was doing my job.

However, the actual initiation was something else. It was a bunch of sophomoric pranks (blindfold eating of spaghetti thinking it was worms, a little harmless paddling, Tabasco sauce on the genitalia, etc.) … all of which were pretty much standard fare for my fraternity. However, there was one pledge, now somewhat famous, who took great umbrage at this latter prank. I was even a little worried he would drop out of the frat house as a consequence. Am I sorry about my pledge master reign? Not fully, but I wish I had thought things through a little more and done more of the scavenger hunt and less of the Tabasco sauce type of thing.

Alum Contribution

Thanks for your new blog! I hadn't realized that the pipe ceremony had also been smashed. What a shame. To this day I still vividly recall surrounding the stump of the Lone Pine with my best friends and breaking our pipes.

As to the specific question of terminology -- I had a private tour of the Smithsonian Institution's Museum of the American Indian with the Museum's Director. He said that at the time they were naming the museum they confronted this question. They surveyed all of the tribes in the land and the overwhelming response was "American Indian" rather than "Native American." If that moniker is good enough for the Smithsonian, it is good enough for me.

Here's another one for the files--"Freshman Trips" are now known as "First-Year Trips," "freshman" being a sexist term, of course.

An[other] interesting story about the death of traditions -- they neutered the words of "Men of Dartmouth" when I was a student there. One of my friends was a member of the Aires. He swore that the Aires, being an all-male a capella group with a storied history, would continue to sing the traditional lyrics to honor this history. I bought their most recent CD a year or two ago and, naturally, they have adopted the new lyrics. Like the end of the pipe ceremony, the passage of student generations tends to erode traditions.

Good luck with the project! I'm glad you are collecting all of these stories.

An Anonymous Alum

GREEN CHEESE

I guess, given the current contretemps, the previous jettisoning of the noble Indian as Dartmouth’s mascot is no longer a debatable issue. (I still remember the awe and pride I felt when, back in the late 1950’s, the Dartmouth Indian, in full war paint and battle regalia, rode a pinto bareback onto Memorial Field.) We have buried this former college symbol under the detritus of radical nihilism. Unfortunately, like many cherished traditions so trashed, its firing squad was not ready with a suitable replacement. Their quick fix was the “Big Green.” I can only guess this was a bow to Dr. Seuss and/or Kermit the Frog. Now I don’t like to harp, but doesn’t the “Big Green” sound like the name of a Deidre Imus cleaning product? Or an acre of mown alfalfa?

I know I am quite late to this renaming process but perhaps we should rethink this “Big Green” thing and come up with a more inspiring and pertinent replacement. Perhaps:

Eleazer’s (like Yale's Eli’s)
The Diversifiers (a bow to Prexy Wright)
Blocks of Granite (in our muscles and our brains)
Party Animals (a bow to National Lampoon)
Occum’s Razors (my personal favorite)

For those readers who object to my use of the word “Indian” in this treatise, I offer the following story. On talk radio recently I heard a caller object to the use of this term by saying that she was “a Native American and didn’t want her daughter to grow up being called an ‘Indian’ as this was a accident of history -- since Columbus thought he had sailed all the way to India.” To this objection I can only respond that “America” itself was another accident of history propagated by a map drawn honoring Amerigo Vespucci instead of Columbus. Shall we then call Indians “Native Columbians” (to correct this error), or “First People” (like in Canada), or Aborigines (like in Australia)? Some even suggest that we speak only of Indians by referring to their specific tribes. This seems dignified but impractical since the majority of Americans can’t even point out China on a world map let alone distinguish between 500 or so distinct Indian tribes.

I think I’ll just keep it simple-stupid and stay with “Indians.”

TRADITIONS

A good friend of mine is a charter member of the “Here and Now Society.” He has not one pore of nostalgia on his person. He praises aluminum siding and eschews cedar shingles. He salivates when cobblestones are paved over with asphalt. There is not a vox populari which he does not immediately embrace … from late-term abortions (“unto the sixtieth trimester”) to “The Da Vinci Code” (“a welcome ray of truth”). Tradition to him is anathema. And many more like him believe that a predilection toward “out with the old and in with the new” is the reason that the United States does so well competitively in world commerce.

On the other hand, Tevye sang it well when he lauded the value of tradition in “Fiddler on the Roof”:

”Who, day and night, must scramble for a living,
Feed a wife and children, say his daily prayers?
And who has the right, as master of the house,
To have the final word at home?

(Chorus) Tradition!”

Few cultures value tradition as much as the Jews or the English. The English follow ceremonies that go back to the Middle Ages (e.g., pampering the ravens at the Tower of London. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tower_of_London ). One has to only watch a regal coronation in England to see an outpouring of obscure traditions that are nevertheless followed to the letter … or, likewise, a Jewish Seder.

The question is: What is the true value of tradition, particularly insofar as Dartmouth is concerned? Clearly, the dropping of the tradition of seniors breaking their clay pipes on the stump of the Old Pine in the BEMA was not of major consequence, particularly if done without political rancor. (I still remember having to go to the Smoke Shop to buy my clay pipe before this rite.) However, this ceremony did commemorate a transition from college life to real life and, if it had been so represented to the students, would have been of great value. The trouble was that this was not the case. We were just going through the motions. And so this tradition was susceptible and, as such, was open to be attacked for reasons outside of its true meaning. And so it was and so it was dropped.

Again and again this has been the case (as documented in this blog.) I guess my point is that traditions are good in so far as they connect actions of the present to the lessons of the past … with alacrity and clarity. If the powers-to-be at our college refuse to do this, then it is they who are wiping out the footprints of those who came before us … and tarring over the cobblestones.

HUMMER

When I was a freshman (in the late 1950’s) and lived in Wheeler Hall facing the Green. I greatly enjoyed, through an opened window, the fraternities rehearsing for “Hums” on the steps of Dartmouth Hall on those ever-warming spring evenings. And finally, during Green Key weekend, would come the full-blown Hums competition with every available member of each fraternity dressed in black shoes, black chinos and white shirts singing their hearts out just for the honor of winning this age-old competition. And there were some spine-tingling performances as well-harmonized groups sang a capella many of the old-time pop classics, Dartmouth favorites, and an occasional new composition. As I remember it, the judging was based on percentage participation, song selection, group appearance, and quality of performance.

Then, when I was a member of a fraternity, I too became part of this tradition and savored it immensely. Even though I was most often a “sandbag” – someone who had to learn the songs but, because of poor vocal quality, was not allowed to actually sing – I had to just lip-sync the words. (This was a nod to the percentage participation judging factor.) I still recall most of the words to “All the Things You Are” (even though I never uttered a sound) which was one of the highlights of Sigma Nu’s 1959 performance led by Mike Melvoin, now a music industry poobah in Hollywood.

I’m not exactly clear why this beautiful custom has disappeared under the waves but this website has a clue:

http://www.dartreview.com/archives/2004/05/11/green_key_history_those_were_the_days.php

Apparently, home-grown songs became the norm at Hums in the early 1980’s and eventually they became too raunchy to tolerate. So … another sweet tradition obsoleted itself due to lack of monitoring and attention to its original purpose.

PIPE DREAMS

I first take up the issue of the Dartmouth's outlawing, in 1993, the custom of seniors breaking their long-stem clay pipes on the stump of the old pine tree in the BEMA during graduation week. This tradition was killed because our Indian brothers accused this rite of involving a "peace pipe". This is, at best, a forced conclusion. Long-stemmed or “Churchwarden” clay pipes existed long before Dartmouth was founded and even before the English came to America. See:

http://history.org/Foundation/journal/Winter03-04/pipes.cfm

Many of these cheap clay pipes were coach drivers' pipes which were used by those early drivers who brought students to Hanover from White River, etc. These coach drivers would, when the nicotine and tar levels around the mouthpiece grew too dark, break off a few inches of the stem to get to a more pristine part. These clay pipes also were used in taverns where patrons could use a communal pipe by first breaking off a few inches of its stem for sanitary sake.

Early Dartmouth students adopted this pipe because of its panache, ubiquity, and low price. They also adopted the habit of periodically shortening the stem for hygienic purposes. Then, of course, when they graduated, this clay pipe would become a college-days throwback and its abandonment for more expensive pipe types (such as briar) was celebrated in this BEMA ceremony. It had absolutely nothing to do with Indians, except perhaps that it was the Indians who introduced the world to tobacco … perhaps an act for which the world should demand reparations?

Alas, we "Big Greeners" have been once again buffaloed by the PC crowd.