Recently, towards the beginning of a clear, warm Saturday night, I was strolling up South Main Street with a friend when we passed a number of teenagers sitting on, standing by, or skateboarding around one of the many benches that pleasantly line what is considered the center of Hanover. I must have been staring intently at this boisterous-looking group of people because my friend -- in an effort to make conversation, I assume -- said something to the effect of "Ah, these kids are so annoying! They act as though they own the street!"
It's true. The various groups of adolescents that one encounters on a typical summer night in downtown Hanover present a problem to our collegiate sensibilities. They seem like idlers, vagrants and threats to "domestic Tranquility" with their occasional yells, unorthodox dress and seemingly suspicious stares. Sometimes they cross Wheelock Street and populate the Green, amidst smoothie-sucking students, frolicking young families and anxious prospectives working their way to McNutt Hall. Somehow, we feel, these "others," don't belong.
Perhaps I am projecting my own feelings and experience onto the Dartmouth student body, but I detect elitist (gasp) condescension on students' part towards various elements of the town and surrounding areas. The most noticeable manifestation of this attitude exists in our language. "Townie" is used to identify somebody who is not one of us. We use "Hanover High" as a generic label for those who looks younger, less sophisticated, or generally less cool than we feel ourselves to be. We call Hanover a "college-town" and thus believe that it somehow exists to support the ever-changing wants and needs of an rotating population of eighteen to twenty-two year old men and women. Even the Connecticut River seems "property of Dartmouth College."
I should, for the sake of justifying my observations, state that I have lived on the other side of a college-town. I grew up in the community where Williams College is located. Needless to say (and I know I don't need to say this, since many Dartmouth students visited that school as polo-shirted prospectives), this town is more than a little similar to Hanover. Prior to coming to Dartmouth, I watched the college's soccer and football games, swam in its pool, trained in its gym and used its library on a regular basis. I participated in a biology fellowship funded by the school and even saw the Dartmouth Cords for the first time at Williams. Clearly I benefited from the existence of the college in such proximity to my home.
Still, one could always sense college students' sentiments toward "townies." One could see it in the ridiculous manner of crossing the street at a snail's pace at random intervals along the street or in the derisive comments frequently overheard regarding a neighboring and less bucolic city. Now that I look more like a college student than I ever have before, I will occasionally strike up a conversation with a student who supposes that I attend Williams. When I mention that I live in the town and actually attended the local high school, these people are usually incredulous. At the very least they ask me something along the lines of "Ohwhat was that like?" or "Did you go to college parties?" as if existing in the gloomy, unenlightened shadow of their college must have been a terrible, preoccupying disappointment.
Objections now arise: The college is the only thing in Hanover! The town IS the college! I will not deny that Dartmouth is one of the biggest things going in this town -- but when we assume that the college constitutes the town, we place ourselves above all others, and begin to feel unduly privileged. Believe me, people notice these attitudes, especially as they translate into our behavior. We as a college can give a lot to Hanover -- we certainly do already -- but we students must treat our neighbors more respectfully.
Now I have become one of those slowpokes in the street, the impatient coffee-shop customer, the observer of high school students at parties. Every time I see the younger populace of Hanover, however, lounging around the benches of South Main Street, I remember, for a moment, what it is like to be growing up in a small town. I remember the haughty looks from busier-than-thou college students in their North Faces and Ford Explorers as we--those crazy, stupid "townies"--sat the benches of Spring Street. I want to say to my friend, as we cross West Wheelock Street, "they do own it."
