My Father's Suit
It was a gray size 40 that draped down below my knees. In fact, there was no need for pants. What should have been a tight-fitting, European designer suit looked more like a parka on my six-year-old frame.
Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Dartmouth's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query.
73 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
It was a gray size 40 that draped down below my knees. In fact, there was no need for pants. What should have been a tight-fitting, European designer suit looked more like a parka on my six-year-old frame.
It was a gray size 40 that draped down below my knees. In fact, there was no need for pants. What should have been a tight-fitting, European designer suit looked more like a parka on my six-year-old frame.
It was a gray size 40 that draped down below my knees. In fact, there was no need for pants. What should have been a tight-fitting, European designer suit looked more like a parka on my six-year-old frame.
Twenty-six days are all that separate this writer from joining the hallowed ranks of Dartmouth's alumni network. As the tragic inevitability of graduation fast approaches, seniors must ask themselves, for the first time, one simple question: What kind of alumnus would you like to be once your days as a Dartmouth student have concluded? With the "War for Dartmouth" being waged throughout the Association of Alumni and the Board of Trustees, such a question has never been as relevant as it is now for the Class of 2008.
There exist few decisive processes in our society that are more opaque and arbitrary than elite college admissions. With a record number of applicants inundating the inboxes of Ivy League schools, the capricious nature of admissions has been further exacerbated.
Over the past three years, Student Assembly has continued on an embarrassing march towards irrelevancy. Student opinion of SA ranges from apathy to mockery, and the alleged ineffectiveness of our student government has become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
T-minus 73 days. After 11 terms, 33 classes and the greatest three-plus years of my life, the end is shockingly near. A mere ten weeks of glory separate the Class of 2008 from that mythical frontier called "the real world." On the eighth day of June, more than 1,000 Dartmouth students, including this writer, will suddenly become alumni.
I am convinced there is an epidemic at Dartmouth: there must be some medical explanation for how some of the nation's brightest students transform into Neanderthals each and every Friday around 8 p.m. Call me misguided, but I refuse to believe that Keystone Light alone justifies the utter lack of respect Dartmouth students have for any social space outside of their own bedroom.
Through watching my sibling go through the 2008 edition of the college crapshoot, it has become clear to me that I could not get in to Dartmouth with today's admissions metrics. With all due respect to the Classes of 2010 and 2011, I do not consider myself less intelligent than you all -- but my God you are qualified! Twenty-five percent of '10s scored above 1550 on their SATs. Thirty percent of '11s were valedictorians in high school. Blah blah blah.
Blacks do drugs. Women cry. White men hate everyone. Generalizations like these plague American culture incessantly. The 2008 presidential contest is no exception, as it propogates the ritual of hate.
It was more than three years ago that I was given my first sports beat, covering the field hockey team, by then-Sports Editor Jon Hampton '05. Growing up in New York City I had limited knowledge of (and interest in) ice hockey, let alone its grass-based sister-sport. Yet after making the trek from the Choates to Scully-Fahey Field one September afternoon in 2004, pen and notebook in hand, my career with The Dartmouth's sports section began.
After disappointing ends to successful regular seasons for both the men's and women's hockey teams, 19 Dartmouth icers were honored for their academic prowess. The women's team had 11 players named to the ECACHL All-Academic team last week while the men's squad saw eight of its members receive the same tribute.
The one term utilized ad nauseam more than any other throughout freshman orientation at Dartmouth is "diversity." The College preaches "diversity" almost to a point of overcompensation while trying its darndest to use this diluted word as a grand sales pitch for prospective students. Lectures throughout orientation and beyond carry almost identical themes of growth and maturity through an acceptance and appreciation of differences. While the sheer quantity of activities centered on "diversity" may, in the long run, cheapen the term, it is difficult not to respect this attempt at encouraging a fully-tolerant student body. Yet as my third Yom Kippur in Hanover approaches, Dartmouth's heavily loaded emphasis on "diversity" seems nothing more than empty rhetoric.
On April 30, 2004, I was faced with the most difficult decision of my life. Sitting in my kitchen with my parents on either side, I stared, terrified, at two empty envelopes symbolic of the two divergent paths confronting the next four years of my educational career. One envelope read Dartmouth College Admissions Office on the front, the other was addressed to The Walsh School of Foreign Service at Georgetown University. Next to each envelope lay a three-by-five inch ticket to the future. I took a deep breath, picked up my pen, and officially became a member of the Dartmouth Class of 2008. I didn't get much sleep that night.
The weather in Hanover is finally brilliant and "06X" is in full swing -- or so we thought. The bliss of summer took a frustrating turn for a significant portion of the Class of 2008 last week as July 5 came to mean much more than just a chance to recuperate after Independence Day festivities.
Hundreds of flags were waving. Thousands of onlookers, in devout unison, stood singing and chanting verses that have been passed on for generations. Then, suddenly, the brisk night air was set ablaze with fiery blasts. Yet in a nation stricken by a violent past of military coups and state-incurred brutality no one flinched. In fact, the cheering just grew louder.
After an unprecedented rise from worst to first, the Dartmouth men's hockey team (16-11-2, 14-6-2 Ivy) will look to legitimize the school's first ever ECACHL regular season title and grab a coveted NCAA tournament bid.
"I couldn't be happier about [being named Player of the Year]," Ouellette said. "I think the award is really a reflection of the team's success, and I feel very honored to be rewarded for all of our hard work."
Dartmouth sports suck.
With 1:02 left in the five-minute extra frame on Saturday, Tanner Glass '07 slapped a perfect pass from David Jones '08 past Tiger goalie Eric Leroux for the win. As the puck slid by Leroux, the towel-waving crowd was sent into a frenzy, and Glass sprinted over to the boards, jumping up towards the cheering fans.