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Wednesday, Oct. 17 at 6 p.m. It’s rainy, it’s cold. I’m sitting in the basement of the Hanover Public Library — a personal first — with three women and men, all of whom are comfortably three times my age. We’re discussing race relations. We’re all white.
This summer, a soon-to-be Dartmouth freshman texted me asking whether she should buy any articles of clothing in particular in preparation for her transition from our hometown of Lexington, Kentucky to the cold north. I replied with an emphatic no, reassuring her, “Dartmouth is the best because really and truly no one cares what you wear … I think anything that you buy will totally fly.”
From the outside, academic departments may seem like established, unshakable institutions. It is easy to take them for granted, to view them as givens. But behind the clear-cut acronyms, they are constantly evolving.
Your freshman year at Dartmouth has a special kind of glow. There will be moments in which it feels like the best time of your life — when you make friends with people from all across the country, when you experience the magic of four distinct seasons, when you uncover opportunities for learning whose existence you never fathomed. Dizzy with thoughts of friends from places like Taiwan and North Dakota, jewel-colored leaves and classes on everything from human-centered design to catastrophe and human survival and the ethics of reproduction, you will at times lose your breath to wonder.
President Donald Trump’s call for citizens to “buy American and hire American” has had the unintended effect of bringing to light the ongoing, silent struggles of legal immigrants seeking employment and eventual citizenship. Even from its position in the far, northeast corner of the United States, Dartmouth is not sheltered from the ever-complex and ever-changing winds of immigration policy. The case of Kriti Gopal, a Dartmouth employee whose immigration and employment status is in jeopardy, serves as an example of the difficulties involved with navigating this unforgiving policy landscape.
The most conventional definition of “persistence” invokes some sort of struggle or challenge. To persist is to actively withstand, to toil and, in turn, to triumph. A dandelion pushing through an expanse of asphalt, claiming a crack as its own, persists. A young man fighting the magnetism of particles in a block of wood persists. Hikers trekking up the slope of a mountain, blanketed in dark, persist. Prospective corporate employees, pitted against suffocating odds and pressed for time, persist.
Define “persistence” in four words.
Admissions criteria generally do not generate large amounts of press coverage, but recent adjustments made by the Tuck School of Business admissions office mark an exception to the rule. Beginning with the 2018-19 academic year, Tuck will admit qualified students who have demonstrated “niceness” in their academic, professional and personal lives, a change that has made headlines across the country.
Before I decided to go to Dartmouth, a friend of a friend showed me around. I don’t remember anything from her tour, save the fact that we skipped past Novack Café. “This is grim,” she said dismissively. As we moved on, I surreptitiously strained my neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of this place that was “grim.” I was intrigued.
The Elizabeth Mine, an inactive copper mine in South Strafford illegally frequented by Dartmouth students for swimming and cliff-diving, is now undergoing blasting and draining.
X: two slanted lines. They can represent a destination, a meeting place, a crossing, a refusal. At Dartmouth, we use X to describe sophomore summer, lending the letter added significance. And this week, X takes on one more meaning: the theme of the term’s first issue of Mirror.
Researchers at the Geisel School of Medicine have been awarded a four-year, $5.3 million Patient-Centered Outcomes Research Institute grant to study the effectiveness of various medication-assisted treatment models for opioid use disorder in pregnant women. PCORI is a non-profit organization authorized by Congress whose purpose is to fund health care-related research.
This note was featured in the 2018 Winter Carnival Issue.
You can learn a lot from a cup of spit and $200. You can learn the precise breakdown of your racial heritage, how your hair curls, individualized weight loss strategies, whether you can smell asparagus in your pee, whether you might be susceptible to breast cancer or Alzheimer’s … the list of potential knowledge goes on. Access to our biological information has all been made possible thanks to advances in genotyping and commercialization of genetic testing. 23andMe, founded in 2006, monetizes these advances by analyzing customers’ DNA samples for a fee. Their service is expensive but not inaccessible, boasting three million genotyped customers worldwide.
The life of an Ivy League athlete is unlike any other. During the season, football player Emory Thompson ’18’s day starts around 6 a.m., when he wakes up to lift weights with his team. He spends the bulk of the day in class, in meetings, at office hours, and then from 2 to 4 p.m. he meets with his team and coaches to watch films and discuss strategy. He has 30 minutes to change into his gear and then from 4:30 to 7 p.m. he has practice, showers and gets dinner with his teammates. From 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., he works on homework, and 5 hours later, he wakes up to do it all again.
I have cried during a run on numerous occasions — from frustration, from exhaustion, from pain. But I run most every day, and when asked if I enjoy running, I do not hesitate to reply, “Yes.” The follow-up question to that response is usually, “Why?” Truthfully, I do not have a good answer.
Noises can be readily identified as pleasant or unpleasant. For me, the sound of raindrops on my window is pleasant, while the sound of nails scraping against a chalkboard is decidedly unpleasant. These evaluations are made possible by complex chemical pathways in my brain that convert sensory stimuli into nuanced physical and affective responses. But how do we respond to an absence of stimuli? What if there are no sound waves to press against our ear drums?
Charles Mack ’18 began nude modeling for the money.
This article was featured in the 2017 Homecoming Issue.