Steven Hoffman '95-A time to reflect
Feel free to tune out parts of President Clinton's speech Sunday, along with any other portion of the Commencement ceremony. Commencement after all is our day, and for me at least it will be a day marked by personal reflection and retrospection.
My last few hours as a Dartmouth student will probably be spent contemplating the past four years, trying to make sense of where I started and how far I've come, the experiences I've had and the knowledge I've gained, the friends I've made and the memories I've created.
I'm sure these thoughts are similar to the ones going through the minds of my fellow classmates sitting on Memorial Field. They've been in my head for weeks.
It seems like so long ago that my Freshman Trip bailed out from its prescribed route through the mountains, exchanging a measly lean-to of a shelter for the luxuries of running water in a D.O.C. cabin. I've lost touch with half of my group and only vaguely remember how to dance the Salty Dog, but at the same time, the experience really doesn't seem all that distant.
Between then and now there have been many such experiences that seem to fade in and out of memory: the Harvard football game and the Dartmouth invasion of Cambridge, the heat wave of sophomore summer, the revolving door of junior year D-Plans.
As I sat with a group of friends last week talking about our time at Dartmouth, I was amazed both by the number of memories I have and by the things others have done that I have not.
I still have not done the rope swing on the Connecticut River and I didn't take my first sledding run down Freshman Hill until senior winter.
Next fall, I'll fondly remember Hanover when the leaves begin to turn and when I nearly get run over trying to cross a busy city street without first thinking to check for cars.
But leaving Dartmouth is about more than leaving its idyllic setting or the conveniences of BlitzMail, I.D. charge cards and hundreds of friends living only a few steps away. Leaving Dartmouth is about leaving a community that has allowed us each to have our unique experiences and make our distinct marks.
Take Homecoming weekend for example. From those who studied in Baker Library during the bonfire, to those who spent the evening partying in Greek houses, to those who calmly sat roasting marshmallows over the fire's smoldering embers long after the crowds disappeared, Dartmouth provides us with the opportunity to carve our own paths and create our own memories.
The most important part of the graduation ceremony will therefore take place within each of our heads, not on the stage in front of us.
Yet it is the community itself that has made these individual experiences possible. It brings us together again for Commencement, and in many ways will bind us tighter in the years to come.
As one of The Dartmouth's former editors, I have always been fascinated to see that the stories and issues which rile students up most are the ones specifically related to the College. When it comes to an issue about Dartmouth, it seems everyone has an opinion and is eager to express it.
This phenomena is a testimony to the strength of Dartmouth's community and its ability to welcome and embrace us as freshmen, instill us with its virtues and lead us to care so passionately about how it is run.
Sure the community has its problems, and at times each of us has struggled to find his or her own place within it, but what is most striking is the degree to which it manages to evoke such strong emotions.
Twenty years from now, the political and ideological battles we've fought about among ourselves and the specifics of who did what and when will be lost, replaced instead by a unity that comes from sharing the Dartmouth experience.
I remember randomly running into a classmate on the streets of Budapest one day, and although I barely knew the person, Dartmouth provided us with an instant bond. These chance encounters in the future will most remind me of Dartmouth's sense of community, one we now leave behind in body but certainly not in spirit.
When friends and family ask how it feels to be graduating, I pause before answering, stalling for time as I try to sift through the conflicting emotions. Am I ready to leave Dartmouth, where I am surrounded by friends, free from real-life responsibility and immersed in a community that has provided so many wonderful opportunities?
Or have I learned my lessons and should be eager to move on? I feel old. I feel young. I am excited for the future but already nostalgic for the past. I have no coherent answer.
It is reassuring to realize that we get to go through Dartmouth twice -- first as students and again as alumni, carrying our experiences with us for the rest of our lives.
Claire Unis '95-Graduation is worth the struggle
My favorite line in the alma mater is the one which proclaims that all of Dartmouth's children have granite "in our muscles and our brains." I'm sure that by the time this is printed, I will have run through the entire gamut of pre-graduation emotions: trepidation, sadness, elation, nostalgia, uncertainty. But if there is one thing I take from Dartmouth, it is some of that granite -- what this school has given me, most of all, is strength.
I have grown in ways I never imagined, ways I am sure my parents never anticipated when they sent me off to college four years ago. Most of all I have learned to stand up for myself as a woman, as a thinker and as a writer. I have had to figure out what I believe and place a finger on it, pin it down and write it until I knew it wasn't going anywhere.
Ironically, when I arrived at Dartmouth I vowed to stay out of campus politics; I didn't realize that in taking on Spare Rib my name would become as visible as it did. My Dartmouth experience has been affected by the eerie feeling that people were watching me; I knew I had to stand behind every word I said and wrote, and I have. I do.
A year-and-a-half ago I read "Thinking Out Loud," a collection of columns written by Anna Quindlen, and I was inspired. It is easy to forget the power of the written word, of communication. I kept thinking that if only we talked more, we could understand each other; if I wrote, someone new would hear. That ideal prompted me to start writing columns for The Dartmouth the next week, and that was one of the most rewarding and most frightening things I ever did: there are still people on this campus whom I will probably never meet, who know my name, what I look like, and what I stand for. It is thrilling and terrifying to meet someone for the first time who says, Oh, you're Claire Unis. Each day a column was printed in The D I felt like I was walking down the street naked. But each positive response was like a gift of gold.
The fact that Anna Quindlen will be here to receive an honorary degree brings home to me the value of a place like Dartmouth College -- the chance to meet, learn from, and honor a public figure who has been a role model for me is a precious opportunity. A valuable part of my time here has been spent taking advantage of the education and reward offered by events outside the classroom; even the battles I have fought here have brought me into contact with people I respect and love, be they fellow students, professors or administrators.
For all that I am hesitant to identify myself with Dartmouth's traditions, I have a passionate connection to this place, a fierce love for the challenges it has provided me and the people I have met along the way -- people I admire for being different and individual and outspokenly honest. When I leave Dartmouth, I let go of a group of men and women who have given bits of themselves to this changing community, made it better and better for the classes to come through their dialogue about difficult issues. I let go of a sisterhood which was intensified by a culture that tried to pry us apart, keep our coalitions off to the side.
Only part of me is that voice in The D. Part is a creative writing major, hiding in her room fantasizing about spending a year in the mountains with her PowerBook and her skis. And being a doctor someday. I was called upon to write the retrospective of a Dartmouth activist, but right now I am more concerned about leaving behind the New Hampshire hills, fiery fall seasons, bottled milk and sunsets on the rugby field. Friends. Sisters.
What we sing is true: "The granite of New Hampshire is made part of [us] till death." I treasure what this school has given me, but I value what I take from it even more. I leave knowing who I am, and what I believe. It was worth every ounce of struggle, and every word.
George F. Barr '45 - More than just the passage of time
Commencement means the "beginning." For the graduates it is the beginning -- of many things -- not the least of which will be taking some responsibility for something other than yourself. With that responsibility will go accountability. You are, and always will be, accountable for what you do or say.
What was Dartmouth like 54 years ago? Well, we had classes six days a week for two semesters a year. We took five courses until our junior or senior year. There were 725 of us -- to that point, the largest entering class in Dartmouth's history. Freshmen ate in the Commons, the back part of College Hall and Collis (there was no Collis then). There was no Hopkins Center, or Hood Museum, or Thompson Arena, or Leverone Field House or Berry Center. Nobody knew what a credit card was. All lab courses were two hours once or twice a week in the afternoon. We had one Dean of Students -- the very famous Lloyd "Pudge" Neidlinger. Blunt Alumni Center was a dorm (Crosby Hall), mostly occupied by scholarship students. We had no student government, but we did have some groups of elite undergraduates -- Palaeopitus, the Vigilantes and Green Key members. I can't recall a single unruly display by activists. We were civil.
My classmates in the Class of 1945 at Dartmouth are nearly all in their 70s. Ancient? Hardly. Mature? Perhaps to a fault. Inflexible? Maybe a little. Lost in the nostalgia of those "good old days?" (They weren't all that good.) Confused about attitudes and morality of today? Absolutely. We weren't angels, but there were basic rules of conduct, and we followed them.
You may have heard some stories from your grandparents about the past, but let me give you some.
Did you know that television didn't exist? Neither did computers.
Did you know that in the 1930s a salary of $100 a week was big-time money? Did you know that Coke cost a nickel and a beer cost anything from 10 to 15 cents?
Did you know that there was a World War I? My father was in it. Did you know that we were brought up to respect the police and to obey laws? We did -- pretty much.
We didn't worry about AIDS or drug OD. We didn't "do" drugs.
Did you know that very few families gave up their struggles to survive? We had too much pride. Nor did we try to hang the blame for the depression on everyone else.
And did you know that you have the cushy life you have today because the veterans of World Wars I and II put it all on the line for our country? Eighty-five percent of my classmates were in military service before what would have been the end of their junior year here. We were potential 'gun fodder' at ages 18 to 20. We are in the debt of ALL veterans -- lousy wars or not. We can't rewrite history, but we did create our own little bit of it. Don't tell me there was no Holocaust. We saw it with our own eyes!
Do you wonder that why we 70+ year-olds don't understand today's violence, lack of compassion and the lack of willingness of youth to LISTEN to differing opinions? I am, indeed, saying that we -- and every prior generation -- are entitled to respect. We've earned it, by and large -- notwithstanding the numerous stupid blunders we and our government might have made. We're not perfect, but, then we never said we were.
The First Amendment does not allow you to abuse, insult, shoot others -- just because YOU have rights. Don't get so wrapped up in your own beliefs that you can't hear the beliefs of others. Get a morality of your own that supports tolerance, love and kindness. Do that, and you will truly have "commenced" into a world where such attributes are badly needed. As a group of young people, we think you're great. You live in the greatest country in the world. Help make it even better. We wish you well.
