Well, good news -- "The BlabberForce" is off to a roaring start. They've recruited some prominent figureheads at Parkhurst, including President Wright and Dean Larimore. In their effort to perk up Dartmouth's image, they've composed a delightful new slogan: "We cannot be good for good sake. We must tell people how good we are." That's rich. They've also unveiled a new logo (you could even call it a Brand). It depicts a ghoulish pair of lips with a flaccid tongue flopping out, much like the Rolling Stones icon. But get this -- the tongue is pierced with a ring in the shape of a "D." Fine work, guys: you'll be name-dropping again in no time.
In case you couldn't tell, that was sarcastic. Normally, I'd think it could go without mention, but lately I've been doubting my judgment about these matters. About two weeks ago, I penned "Dear Dean Furstenberg," (Jul. 31, 2003) an editorial skewering "The 'Force," as they call it. I expected they would issue a few earnest retorts, perhaps even a sassy one, but that hasn't happened. Out of the blue, "the Rago article" didn't go over so well with the campus-activism set.
Purportedly, I called on Dean Furstenberg to admit more students like those in his class in 1967 and less like my class in 2005. Dartmouth, remember, did not admit women or minorities in 1967, and was instead populated with uncouth philistines. So a handful of students latched onto this, and are intent on raking me over the coals.
In their scandalized ripostes, I'm always referred to as the comical entity "Mr. Rago." Mr. Rago, it seems, is hopelessly suspended in the past, kind of like Peabody and Sherman. He yearns for the days when he could loaf about his good-old-boys, no-coloreds, Irish-need-not-apply fraternity house, discussing his hatred for immigrants while slugging kegfuls of beer. He enjoys ogling busloads of chesty young co-eds, imported so that he can oppress them.
After they read "Dear Dean Furstenberg," I like to imagine the affronted dramatically spewing out the beverage they were drinking. To me, it's an entertaining image -- because, I have to say, I've found their sputtering "outrage" downright laughable. That "Mr. Rago," what a card.
True, my article was satirical and written in a lively fashion. To readers with a head on their shoulders, though, this was plain as day, and, dare I say it, even funny. Certainly it was not the bitter condemnation of coeducation or integration that my detractors have conjured up. I'm not embarrassed of my class because it's diverse. I'm embarrassed because it produced The BlabberForce.
For all the umbrage that's been mustered, I hope this will be the last word: I referenced 1967 simply because it was the year when Dean Furstenberg graduated. If he had graduated in, say, 1984, I would have used that instead. At any rate, I didn't say that we should actually be the class of 1967, nor is that what I intended to say. I said that the '67s wouldn't put up with nonsense like The BlabberForce, and neither should the '05s or anyone else. I said that Dean Furstenberg should admit more like his class --"if The BlabberForce is any indication." Not -- "because you objectified women and hated minorities."
I'll bet that it's exhausting to be offended about stuff all the time. You've got to be taking yourself really seriously if you're unable to peruse an offhand piece without reading into it an arcane subtext of chauvinism and intolerance. And, indeed, what a distorted, depressing view of Dartmouth College you fussbudgets have invented: little more than a nasty, retrograde backwater (The BlabberForce, evidently, has yet to get to you). But, I understand, that's not really the way it was then, or is today. Dartmouth surely had its problems in the past, and it probably does these days too. All the same, it is ignorant and absurd to pretend that the College and its alumni were -- or are -- without virtue.
Most of all, you've been pretty abusive to the 1967 alumni, who apparently had the distinct misfortune of attending Dartmouth before you guys were around to badger them. But it probably doesn't matter: I'm quite certain this little number will not interrupt your indignation merry-go-round. At the same time, I'm thankful you're on the case. Now I can finally end my hunger strike.
