Imagine Dartmouth without the town of Hanover. No EBAs, no Wheelock Books, no Gap. Just the New Hampshire granite, and lots and lots of pine trees. Where would we purchase our schoolbooks and men's formal wear? Where would we go to get an overpriced pizza when the clocks read 2:09 a.m.?
This image of campus isolation is exactly what Jacob Batchelor '12 is lobbying for in his most recent piece ("An Overdue Return," April 10). Batchelor argues that the College, specifically the Student Assembly, must revive the Dartmouth book swap to eliminate the middleman, also known as Wheelock Books. This program is essentially calling for the elimination of Wheelock Books because the store is not to Batchelor's liking. But if we set this precedent, where will we draw the line? Will we crucify every Hanover store that seeks to make a profit?
The institution of this type of autarky is exactly what the town of Hanover, and we as students, do not need. Wheelock Books is not the corporate, money-snatching monster Batchelor makes it out to be. Rather, the store is a business venture started by Dartmouth alums who are deeply invested in the community. Wheelock Books is run by six friendly locals who are willing to help a lost freshman navigate through piles of econ textbooks, even though the store is already flooded with customers. And, if you look on their web site, you can find a list of community projects and charities that they support.
The buy-back policy of Wheelock Books that Batchelor finds particularly problematic is actually quite reasonable. College bookstores turn a profit by buying books at lower prices than they've sold them for. Just as a used car salesman will gladly buy your sputtering Honda from you for $200 and then sell it for $2,000, Wheelock Books will resell your textbooks for more than the price for which they bought them. That's how businesses make a profit.
But, on a broader scale, I think the concept of a Dartmouth book swap calls into question how we, as students, need to interact with our town. Town businesses, especially Wheelock Books, subsist on the patronage of Dartmouth students. Sure, the books might be a little overpriced, and maybe $18 for a buffalo chicken pizza seems a little steep. But that is the cost of living in a small town. There is less competition on the supply side, so customers have to pay higher prices.
Although we might have to pay more, we're also getting more for each dollar spent. Ordering a burrito at Gusanoz has an entirely different feel than feasting at a Mexican food chain like Chipotle. There is a sense of solidarity, a sense of community, at Molly's and Wheelock Books, something you wouldn't find at the local Applebee's or Barnes and Noble in your hometown. Though the services offered on Main Street are limited, the available services are provided in small-town fashion: with cordiality and attention to detail.
I feel Batchelor's pain. I'm sure we all have, at one point or another, been stuck with a textbook we neither needed nor wanted. I know I have a stack of books under my bed from classes I dropped after Wheelock's book-return deadline (what's a man to do with history books on 18th century politics, when he's not required to read them?).
But we shouldn't condemn Wheelock Books just because we don't like their return policy. We as a College need the businesses of Hanover just as much as the businesses need our patronage. Without Hanover businesses, we would be eating DDS every meal. Without Hanover businesses, professors wouldn't be able to live in or around Hanover; the College would have a much harder time attracting qualified faculty.
Calling for the creation of a book-swap is essentially calling for the execution of Hanover's only independent bookstore, the only bookstore I've ever encountered that is so rooted in its community.
Let's not preoccupy ourselves so much with our own economic situation that we disregard the local economy and the community that Hanover provides.
