Following in the footsteps of such journalistic luminaries as Mike Wallace, Barbara Walters and Ed Bradley, The Dartmouth's Mark Sweeney catches up with the big names on campus and asks the questions that others have too much professionalism or integrity to ask. Today, Sweeney sits down with the esteemed and charismatic writing prodigy that is Snowden Wright '04.
The Dartmouth: You hail from the great state of Mississippi. For those who don't know what it's like, explain what it is to be a true Southern gentleman such as yourself.
Snowden Wright: Gentlemen, like unicorns and Pangaea, don't exist anymore and perhaps never did. That said, I'll tell you what kind of person I am, and hopefully that will shed some light on what Southern "gentlemen" are nowadays.
I am a dedicated womanizer, an aspiring hedonist and a devoted alcoholic. I smoke, I drink, I laugh. Oftentimes I fancy myself a Victorian dandy. My tongue is perpetually stuck in my cheek, and my eyes are always on the sly. Every morning I wake up knowing that I am devilishly handsome, that I have a rapier wit and that the hangover will disappear after a Tylenol and Power Ade.
Neither frugality, modesty nor moderation are among my virtues, and on more than one occasion I have thought that the only thing worse than being poor is being ugly (and that luckily I'm neither). My scotch is served in a glass, on the rocks and with a splash of water; my iced tea is served sweet. At the best of times I am a charming son of a bitch, and at the worst of times I am an arrogant little bastard. In conclusion, I am part cynic, part romantic, but all Southerner.
The D: What would you say are the main differences between the North and the South?
SW: Women. Southern women are an entirely different breed, and that's why I love them. They power-walk all day and drink all night. At every bar on campus, they are on a first-name basis with the bartender, but after five years of school, they will never once have bought their own beer. They all major in Elementary Ed, but they're just trying to find a man and stay tan.
Daddy's American Express keeps gas in the Lexus and words like Gucci, Dior and Prada on their clothes. To them, it ain't immoral if it's oral. Bleached blond hair and jet-black roots. Beauty queen looks and wild-child attitudes. They believe, as do I, that ping pong and beer do not a good time make. Above all else, Southern women know how to have a good time.
The D: Who is the better writer, and why: yourself or William "Bill" Faulkner?
SW: This question reminds me of a particular incident that occurred in Panama City, Fl., over spring break freshman year. At a party (of course, booze, beer and beautiful Southern women were in great supply), I started talking to a very nice and attractive girl. In my courtship, I used every tactic of charm and conversational gambit in my arsenal. Then I mentioned that I was a writer. "Oh," she said, "are you any good?" I smiled and answered, "Have you ever heard of William Faulkner?" She nodded. "Well," I said, "He's the second best writer to ever come from Mississippi."
The fact of the matter is I am the greatest writer to ever grace the Dartmouth campus. Bar none. A close second to my writing prowess would have to be Matt Burgess. That little fella can write, even if he is from Queens and has a tragic obsession with White Russians, Daredevil comics and bars called "El Rancho." Nonetheless, I can still write circles around him. If writing ability were state size, I'd be Alaska. Matt is Texas. Everybody else is Connecticut or, God forbid, Rhode Island.
The D: For many young bachelors, the appeal of married women can be tantalizing and irresistible. Would you agree with this assessment?
SW: Way back in the day, when I was still innocent and unscathed by the world, I was a moral person with the capacity for an emotion. Over the years, however, that capacity vanished. Currently, my life is a Three-Legged Stool, supported in equal part by booze, cigarettes and sex.
As such, I do not mind telling you of my downright unquenchable passion for older women. And there have been a time or 12 when I have had the opportunity to fulfill this passion. Once last spring, I was at my favorite bar, Bud and Alleys, with one of my best friends, Tom Hutchison. We had been drinking. Pretty heavily. Then a woman with a dark tan and a very trim body for her age approached me and asked how it felt to be the best looking guy in the bar. "It feels great," I answered.
We started dancing, and the dominoes started to fall. At one point I remember seeing Tom whispering something in one of the band member's ear. Five minutes later they started playing Simon and Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson." I laughed all the way to her place, where I spent the night.
It does not bother me that she was 41 years old. It does not bother me that she was married. What does bother me was the fact that she had two children, aged six and eight.
The D: With which tortured, piano-playing British actor do you identify with most?
SW: Dudley Moore in perhaps the greatest movie of all time, "Arthur." To quote the comic genius that is Mr. Moore, "I race cars, play tennis and fondle women, BUT! I have weekends off, and I am my own boss." Also, "Where is the rest of this moose?"
The D: You are a talented writer. From what sources do you gain artistic inspiration?
SW: Alcohol. Women. And the occasional drug binge.
The D: Do you have any interesting or entertaining road trip stories you'd like to share?
SW: There are so many. I have conquered Cambridge by hurtling kegs out windows and throwing pool balls at cabs. I have run from the cops on more than one occasion while in the confines of New Haven. I have pillaged Montreal with the aid of the "eye" and a never-say-die mentality. Also, I have gone on a Scent of a Woman style bender at the Waldorf-Astoria. Twice.
The D: I'd like to say the Dallas Mavericks will win the NBA title this year, but it seems they may not have the defensive aptitude or interior toughness to get it done against such squads as the Lakers, Spurs or Kings. But the injury to Chris Webber, the Lakers' lack of depth and the Spurs' tendency to choke opens the door for Dallas. That said, do you think Garth Brooks has a weight problem?
SW: Luckily, I have the body of a Greek god, so I can be blunt here. Yes, indeed, Garth Brooks is fat. I'm telling you people, stick with Bud Light. That Budweiser is killer.
The D: Which fellow Dartmouth student do you most admire, and why?
SW: Instead of answering this question, I'd like to give the Dartmouth student body a little bit of advice: College is not a place to get an education; it is a place to have a good time.
The D: What goals do you have for your future?
SW: I don't know if I'm a writer because I drink too much, or if I drink too much because I'm a writer. Either way, I will spend the rest of my life doing both.
In the future, I plan to lead a life modeled after that of Scott Fitzgerald: I will be a socialite of notoriety, shame and legend; I will bed celebrities, woo the rich and seduce the beautiful and damned, and each affair will be a complicated, unresolved and quite possibly dangerous dalliance; also, I will render a body of work the genius of which will be unparalleled, especially considering I will die by the age of 35.
Furthermore, at some point I will sell out to Hollywood, move to L.A. and pursue a screenwriting career. And by "screenwriting career" I mean "coke addiction."
