The 50th reunion for the Class of 1956 is coming up this weekend, and it carries a dismal message: We will not merely die. Rather, we, who are among the last members of the real Dartmouth, will go extinct, a different matter altogether. How many members of the real Dartmouth remain? I have no idea, but the numbers will become zero fairly soon, and the Men of Dartmouth will be gone forever.
By why should anyone care? Because the real Dartmouth had a distinctive identity, fully realized, fully individuated, as we commonly say now, probably unique, an identity that had endured for several centuries, not unchanged but unbroken. To lose such an institution, or more correctly, to lose such a complex life is a great shame. To kill it was shameful. To steal its name for the sake of merchandising an otherwise undifferentiated university is utterly unprincipled.
But is it true that this identity has been destroyed? I must try to answer that concretely, because College President James Wright continues to market a phantasm of platitudes, hoping he can build a real wall by invoking the tradition of bricks. Surely, we can we agree that there are certain essentials in an identity, elements without which the identity dies. And we can agree that the continuity of time and substance both is a fundamental characteristic.
To maintain continuity does not mean that change may not take place. I would rather call this fundamental "organic continuity", however vague "organic" is. It is that articulation which a tree has, from roots to flower.
Well, what essentials can I identify?
The Amerind is the first. Art Zich '56, wrote a fine, short essay on this and I am sorry I do not have it now. He reminded us that the Indian was not a mascot, a burlesque to amuse the children of the Bright, White and Overpaid, but a powerful symbol, essential to the College's identity. In 1766, Samson Occom, a Mohegan from Connecticut, was there at the college's inception; he and Nathaniel Whitaker raised money in England for it and engaged the Earl of Dartmouth for fifty pounds. In 1774, one Dr. Belknap, who came to witness graduation, wrote, "Observed on a tree, where the bark was cut off, the figure of an Indian painted, which was done by one of the Indian scholars." The history of Amerinds at the College is uneven and awkward, but the conception remained over the centuries, binding the generations together. Until, of course, this continuity was deliberately destroyed.
Next, "It is a small college but there are those who love it." Webster was not talking about the university now expanding in Hanover. The sense of smallness, compactness, suggests a face-to-face community. In fact, we all crossed the Green a dozen times a day -- at the least -- and I knew the faces and names of a large number of the men there, even if I did not know them personally. Everything and everyone faced this common crossing.
No computers, no e-mail, no instant messaging, no iPods, no electronic lecture notes, no headsets for students whose glazed eyes speak of a disconnection to the real world. This was a face-to-face society, whether between students or students and faculty. Webster's declaration explains in large measure exactly why there are those who love it.
And then, of course, there was the all-maleness. For the last few generations, it is impossible to explain how different, how vital, this society was. Was it Animal House? If you put 2000 young men together in a small town, life will get raucous and coarse sooner or later. But Animal House was a caricature, not a historical report. But did this stamp the college's identity irrevocably? I have not got the space to explore so non-contemporary, so politically incorrect, a society. Take my word, it was unique. A few hated it then, many more have been taught to despise it now; but, in retrospect, it was invaluable for me and for many. I may have suffered then from the absence of women, but again in retrospect, it was four years in the sun, four years without the insistent pressure of meeting women's demands and manipulations. Who now can imagine a time when being a man was not defined as testosterone poisoning?
I must add this. My professional life was in teaching, in college and high school. This is clear: An all-male or all-female class is in every way to be preferred. One treats one's students differently and they respond differently, and this is what I had at Dartmouth. Only later did I realize what I had lost.
Finally, the role of the alumni. Dartmouth's alumni had always been passionate supporters of their old home. The college treated them well, partly because they needed all that alumni money, partly because the alumni affection was intrinsic to the College's identity. We may have graduated, but we never really left. Nor had to. No one doubted this. What has Wright and the university done to the alumni now? We have been cut out of the university's life for the sake of central control -- castrated, I suppose, in such a skillful way that the wallet is left attached.
What's left? A tradition of academic excellence? Has anyone looked at what grade inflation has done to this "tradition?" When a B- is academic failure, where is the excellence? And the small traditions. Do you remember the Hums? When were the fraternities cast in a better light? Winter Carnival? Compare it then and now. Who can sing "Men of Dartmouth" now? What would have happened if John Sloan Dickey had announced that Tommy Lee Woon was the new Dean of Diversity? Even the supposition is hilarious.
It may well be that this burgeoning university will become another Harvard or Princeton, for that is the administration's fondest dream. But Princevard cannot be Dartmouth, for if you ask of the above, "What remains?", the only answer is, "Nothing," and '56, now almost alone, is left to tell the tale. The essential continuities have been destroyed -- deliberately at that -- and the Dartmouth identity is extinguished. What remains is a marketing device, colored green, and whatever mascot is appropriate for the beautification of prestige.
