To Men of Dartmouth

THESE words of greeting would better be spoken in conversation than in print. Pictures and printed words help, but compared with personal communication they seem poor conductors of the spirit.

I shall not attempt here to speak of the man to whom in greater measure than anyone of us can ever know Dartmouth owes what it is today and the magnitude of its opportunity tomorrow. Since that Thursday morning several weeks ago when President Hopkins' retirement was announced, I have seen Dartmouth through many different eyes. The letters, the telephone calls, the telegrams, the personal visits have come not only from old friends and associates, not only from alumni and those who serve the College, but also from people who only know about Dartmouth. There were among these, of course, handclasps and words of personal friendship, but even these one might almost say especially these paid such homage to the College, and the kind of college it is, as is reserved for those things which men revere and hold most precious.

There are few experiences I think which could at once so exalt and so humble a man as that of being even for a moment the custodian of such tributes to his college. I share the experience with you because it belongs to you and because I know of nothing more important to be understood between Dartmouth men than that the opportunities and responsibilities of greatness rest on their college, both in their own eyes and in the eyes of others. And what Dartmouth can be and what Dartmouth must be ready to be in the service of mankind in a world which men have now literally taken into their own hands depends, as it has always depended, on the men of Dartmouth.