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The Old Spirit Returns

The spirit of Dartmouth is probably composed of ingredients that are far beyond my limited comprehension, and yet two of them I can see just as plainly as day. One is a certain feeling that does not come to everyone at the same time but is the result of a gradual evolution, springing, perhaps, from the Hanover scene. There is hardly a man who has been to Dartmouth—certainly none who has spent four years here—who has come away without an attachment which is just as indescribable as it is definite. It is not the type of emotion that a fellow is apt to speak of with his roommate, or even his closest friend, because it is too close to him. It is like a love that is so eternal and so wrapt with the innermost feelings that it cannot be pronounced in mere words. And yet that spirit is present, and it forms an integral part of the emotional makeup of its possessor.

The other ingredient is not an individual but a mass sentiment, the sentiment that was lacking during the war years but which returned to Dartmouth last Saturday night at the basketball game. Though hardly in evidence at the start in the traditional rendering of the Wah for the game, it grew, amoebic-like, during the course of the game. As the valiant fighting spirit of the five players on the floor manifested itself, it was instilled in the receptive heart of every Dartmouth man who witnessed the event. That dormant spirit which so many had once known and which so many others had heard of but never felt was suddenly and forcibly awakened, and while the contest progressed it became stronger and stronger. Many of us, I believe, recognized the change and were glad; many more undoubtedly felt it without realizing exactly what it meant, and it is for the benefit of this second group that I explain (while holding my breath in fervent hopefulness): the Spirit of Dartmouth is returning—and thank the Lord!

Dartmouth Log.