The Undergraduate Chair

BY now the story of Winter Carnival, the Joe & Jill College story, has spread across the land. The New York and Boston papers helped the razzledazzle, along with NBC-TV, the Associated Press, King Features Syndicate (that's Hearst and Westbrook Pegler), the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and even Boy'sLife magazine.

Naturally these visitors sought the "highlights." By picture and pen, they captured the panorama of the Vale of Tempe, with skiers soaring off the jump down toward a gallery of rosycheeked snow bunnies. And they waxed romantic over Outdoor Evening, where moonlit thousands saw the "American tourist skating before the court of the "Alpine King" in search of his "Dream Girl." They posed countless girls on countless snow statues. They followed the Queen of Snows on her rounds to the Glee Club concert, the play, the ski awards, the dance. Surely they found a raccoon coat and a hip flask. They marked rousing songfests and jampacked fraternity bars. Perhaps they even unearthed a shot of some lone Outing Clubber making new tracks in the still North, to show that Dartmouth men live close to nature.

Such "highlights" comprise the public's picture of Carnival. For the public any Carnival is "typical" and changeless. It matters little that in 1954 the snow was deep and powdery, while in 1953 it was slush; or that in 1954 the invasion of outsiders was held to a manageable two-thirds of the student body; or that this year only one drunk (a Princeton man) was jailed instead of sixty. The public cannot make sense of these statistical differences. Even less can it know of the little incidents - not the "highlights" - which make each Carnival unique.

Take, for example, what happened one night to Warner Bentley, director of The Players. He was running through the umpteenth rehearsal of Harvey, the story of that übiquitous, 6' 4" pooka-rabbit who is surely right there on stage - but not quite in the fur. Suddenly Warner had an idea for some extra stage business. "Say, why don't you and Harvey put on red boutonnieres?" he said to Phil DeTurk '54, his in-the-flesh lead. "Whadyamean? You mean I should stick one in my lapel, and then sort of reach up with another like this...and then, just let it drop on the floor?" Warner stared at the spot Phil indicated, then slouched off to a corner.

Or take The Dartmouth's fun with the Administration and Jon Moore. Jon is among the most popular and most extracurricular seniors. He is also the staunch Republican son of one of President Eisenhower's speech writers. Jon was placed at the head of a fictitious new extra-curricular activity - "Dry Guys." Here was a grassroots answer to Administration fears about "the drinking problem." Quoth young Jon: "We want to show everybody how to have a good time without the old Demon Rum. We're not agitating for a return to the 18th Amendment or anything; we live and let live....

"I've been one of the boys for years, and I've never been half potted. After all, it's not whether you won or lost, it's how you played the game."

Having created "Dry Guys," The Dartmouth editorial took a most uncharacteristic middle-road stand. After dignified applause for the intrepid new group, with its uniformed flying squads aimed at fraternities, it cautioned "We hope [they're not extremists]. When trombones yield to axes, the cause — in the eyes of liberal men everywhere - is lost."

Or take the missive which, one day late in January, reached the busy officers of the DOC. It began: "I don't know how you make your selection, but wouldn't you like to make Joni James [a new-risen singing star] your Queen of the Snows? She's a lovely, talented girl, in the prime of youth (22)...." Undaunted by such proposals from nasty little publicity hounds, DOC leaders replied they were sure the judges would gladly consider Miss James, subject to the usual rules of having a date and outshining 1742 other candidates.

Or take the subtle evolution of the jazz concert. This has been an annual affair since 1950, and up to this year it's been strictly from Dixie, a slambang Saturday morning eye-opener. But for Carnival 1954, collegiate and professional participants were split 50-50 between devotees of the "hot jazz" and the "cool sounds." Now, for those who dig the stuff, the distinction here is crucial. It's the difference between New Orleans Style Dixieland and Bop - or, for the hair-splitters, neo-Bop. It's like Christian neo-Orthodoxy and Fundanientalism. Both sides believe in the same thing (God and music) but they think the other side should be converted.

Last — but pitifully not least - let's recall the most left-out guy in Hanover during Carnival. This year he was Jody Mathewson '55. Jody has the rugged, cleancut exterior of a hard worker and a good liver. He is president of the junior class, is a superb athlete, majors in International Relations, knocks off top grades, works on numerous committees, and won a high position when The Dartmouth's directorate changed last month. Jody doesn't smoke, drink or bother much with girls during the school year. In fact his first college date was last December, when his cousin at Smith called up to ask if he wouldn't like to meet her roommate Mary, Jody rashly consented, and later invited Mary up to Carnival. She came. She was picked Queen of the Snows. This meant, for Mary, fame, photos and countless appearances. It meant, for Jody - for Jody's second college date in three years - "Anyone need a spare bartender for the rest of the weekend?"

Interim report from the Dean of the College: "Dartmouth men have every right to be proud of the mature social behavior they displayed during the past few days."

Ahem.

OUTDOOR EVENING: Gene Meyle, a reconverted sophomore from Penn, shown as an American tourist seeking his dream girl, in a court scene on the golf course.

FRATERNITY WINNER: Kappa Kappa Kappa took first prize with its three gargoyle faces titled "Recalls of Carnival."

"CALL TO CARNIVAL": This center-of-campus Indian brave, striking the Carnival note, dominated the scene both day and night. The statue was designed by Mrs. Stephen Johnson ('50).

FOR EMOTIONAL APPEAL the snow statue by the Medics in Alpha Kappa Kappa had no rivals. Realistically executed and entitled "Snowed," it was declared winner in the dormitory competition. Shown with the winner are Carnival Queen Mary Ingalls and her date, Jody Mathewson '55.