The Undergraduate Chair
THERE'S an old English ballad about how "Summer is a-cumin' in" and how everybody should "loudly sing cuckoo." But spring strange, quixotic New England spring stole that prerogative and sang "Cuckoo" Friday, March 27, louder than any of 2800 vacation-hungry students could have dreamed.
That fateful Friday dawned like any other Hanover day, and the assiduous student of weather could have examined with infinite intent every sign wind direction, cloud type, and barometer trend and have come to the almost certain conclusion that the sun would indeed set in the West that evening. But whether that sun was to set in a howling windstorm or over the rim of a fresh ten-foot snowfall, nobody knew, and nobody but a few sparse, non-New England wiseguys would have dared to guess. Especially students at this wilderness college for plans for the twoweek spring recess just one day away took precedence over most other things. Even (impossibly enough) the academic was placed in a slight penumbra that day.
But the elements went cuckoo; heavy rains came to the valleys and the winter's snow simultaneously fell from the mountains. By noon-time, almost two-dozen New Hampshire highways were washed out.
Another hour saw all communication air, train, and highway severed between Hanover and Boston. At least so the rumors went; nobody bothered to check accurately, and even the railroads and the state police weren't too sure two weeks later.
And by two o'clock so the stories went the only route out of Hanover in anydirection was the road to Rutland, Vermont. The waters were still rising; the Associated Press predicted a 26-foot flood crest for White River Junction that night (high water level was 18-feet). And the rumor was that the dam at Wilder was to be backed up at 6 p.m. to give the flood crest a chance to pass Northampton and Hartford below while the Twin-States Valley suffered instead.
Clearly, this was no place to be diligently pursuing academic studies. Why, men could have been trapped in Hanover for the entire spring vacation and for a vacation, that would be a fete worse than death.
Dean McDonald first began to receive callers at about 13:30 p.m. His popularity grew by leaps and bounds, until it looked as if all of Parkhurst's officers and all of Captain Gaudreau's men might not be able to put Dean McDonald together again.
And at approximately 2:37 p.m. (Eastern Standard Time), WDBS and President Dickey jointly announced that school was cancelled.
And at approximately 2:38 p.m., the exodus to all points began. Most students took the Rutland-Route 7 road to New York; Boston students found a happy compromise in the road to Claremont and then to Concord; those who were going North probably had to go by way of Buffalo, New York; and there were even rumors that a few B and M trains got through.
But let us ignore the ridiculous.
Facts were that the Great Exodus took place hastily Friday afternoon, March 27. The Great Entree (including all stragglers) took place sometime during the 48 hours beginning Sunday morning, April 12. The students had left when it was raining and back they came, courtesy of the same weather, still all wet.
Before the deluge, the biggest stir on campus was President Dickey's address on Communism to the student body, reported in last month's Alumni Magazine. Before the speech, The Dartmouth had editorially challenged the President: How could the College avoid "knowingly" hiring a Communist Party member? Were certain subversive-hunting procedures proper? And is the Fifth Amendment really a morally justifiable defense for the Communist?
The student paper thought the first question was unanswerable, was doubtful about the second, and emphatically said No to the third.
By doing so, the paper promptly (1) clarified its own stand, and (2) got itself into a hot argument with Dilys Laing, local poetess and wife of faculty member Alexander Laing. Mrs. Laing said she thought "The Question" oughtn't to be asked; The Dartmouth thought it should be asked, and should be answered. But, however hot the discussion, one got the impression that the average undergraduate just didn't care.
Behind the. pre-vacation evacuation, biggest campus success was the College Chest Drive, held the week of March 16. By the first night, $8,013 of the $10,000 goal had been collected a new record. And by the end of the drive, the goal itself had been shattered as 81% of the College contributed $11,228.20.
While seniors looked forward to the latest shipment of senior canes, due after spring vacation, sophomores were collecting their own emblems: class pins. Whether such emblems had ever been distributed before was an unanswered question but certainly the idea was unusual. Some said the idea stemmed from a campaign promise of a lesser class officer; others weren't quite certain. But whatever the reason, one of the campus' younger classes got itself a chance to wear a new and different-sized D.
Another sartorial note centered about Thayer Hall, where a new Administrative edict had set aside a "formal" room for use on weekends by those with coats and ties only. The reason had been general complaints about sloppy dress and/or language which both seemed to be generally accepted in the college dining hall, to the acute embarrassment of dated upperclassmen. The Dartmouth conducted a poll. Cleverest response of the season: "Eating is a fundamental desire. Why should we act like monks about it?"
While Prof. Herb West made the rounds of the fraternity houses with his Mickey Spillane parody ("I wanted to cut holes in his soles with a can-opener, and put hookworm-larvae in the wounds"), Pogo creator Walt Kelly finally rolled into town after what he described as "several days on the B and M from New York." He had been expected for Winter Carnival, but his spring lecture tour had only just brought him to Hanover. Mobbed by student souvenir-hunters, he promised that maybe sometime he'd do a story for Collier's about the College.
The Interfraternity Council pressed the College Administration with its perennial problem late in March: women above the second floor in the houses. They were allowed there in dorms, said the fraternity men, so why not in the houses? The Administration deliberated at great length for a few days, and then, as was usual, turned down the request with an inference that things were due to get tougher, and not easier, for the fraternities on campus.
One indication was the decision by the Interfraternity Council on March 11 to poll the campus sometime in May to ascertain sentiment on the question of "going local." The first question on the proposed ballot concerned general opinion, and the sentiment here was to be released. The rest of the questions were planned to hit specific fraternities for national affiliation, and, "in the interests of honesty," the latter answers were to be kept confidential.
Another poll reported from Ithaca, N. Y., had it that all eight Ivy League football captains had voted unanimously for the return of spring football practice. Big Green Captain Bayard Johnson '54 had no comment, and no reversals seemed to be imminent.
As the campus pointed toward the twoweek recess, a few other items differentiated the month from others. Walt Swaboda, owner of the Hanover Smoke Shop, found out that nobody had ever heard of a Pipe Show," and had one. Tuck School had its spring weekend with a "Foul Ball" the night of March 15. The income-tax commemorative celebration was ushered in, The Dartmouth reported, "with the dignified chant of 'God Bless Free Enterprise'." The Class of '53 met after G.I. one night, and, over a few protests, voted in the traditional $l7 Commencement tax. The Hanover Town meeting voted to buy the community a road-grader. And a special bus took prospective draftees to Manchester, N. H., for their physicals at 5:30 one bright morning.
Three days before vacation, a harassed U. G. C. Judiciary Committee hoped out loud: Drinking on campus was on the upgrade, and the committee wanted assurances that "the student body will use some common sense during the few days preceding vacation." The acid test was to be Friday night before vacation, the traditional party night for all except the citizens of Hanover.
Unfortunate circumstances intervened, and the test had to be postponed. The next test, come hell or high water, would be...
On the other hand, maybe Hanover had better forget about the high water.
March 20-21, Charles Buchanan '53 (shown being congratulated by the Rev. James E. Norton, C.S.C., president) and David Horlacher '53 (r) were winners over 17 other teams receiving unanimous decisions over Nap, in the semi-finals and Bradley in the finals. The trophy in the background, won by Dartmouth, is the Rev. William A. Bolger Memorial Trophy
