The Undergraduate Chair
CARNIVAL preparation filled the air in spite of the ominous cloud of exams building up during most of January. On the golf course and at the center of campus the D.O.C. lined out the naked limbs of what were to remain skeletons for some weeks, but would eventually hold the full, round, frozen aspects of mature snow statuary. Labor for these projects was recruited with a plan whereby a student could earn tickets to Carnival events by putting in a number of hours. On the evening of January 11 the D.O.C. held an orientation and pep rally in 105 Dartmouth, with the hope that freshmen particularly could catch a glimpse of how plans for the weekend were correlated and absorb some of that all-important enthusiasm that can make standing on a perilous platform at 4 in the morning, with the trees cracking all around to tell you it's ten below, a genuine pleasure.
C.O.S.O. changed the traditional pattern of ticket selling. Last year there was a virtual riot in Robinson Hall when men who had been waiting in line since 5 in the morning found themselves cut out by newcomers who had piled in the front door and ignored the line. To eliminate this trouble the tickets were put on sale on two consecutive days in Webster. As students arrived, the campus police seated them in order. Row by row they were later permitted to come up to a desk at the foot of the stage where the C.O.5.O. staff dispensed the tickets. As in the past, tickets were limited to just four to a customer, but even at this, the house was sold out in two hours each day.
As one waited with the herd in the orchestra of old Webster one couldn't help noting the variety of emotions evident among the bored yet anxious students. Some took a nap, others studied, while still others talked and had a smoke with their friends. Rumors would fly back from the ticket counter. "All sold out except for the balcony! . . . Nothing left except a few singles. . . . Say, Ned, get me two for Friday night's glee club, will ya?"
In anticipation of Carnival and a surge of dates the Interdormitory Council flipped a coin and selected Hitchcock to be vacated for the visiting young ladies. Residents were unhappy, especially the freshmen. In spite of the injustice of the situation, most Hitchcock dwellers were willing to suffer for the greater cause and were observed stoically stripping their rooms of every movable object that might be considered a souvenir by the coming female cyclone.
All these preparations are more or less traditional and alumni will recall similar things from their own undergraduate days. The payoff comes, as it always has, when you find yourself swept along by the current of a crowd headed toward the Outdoor Evening set. This year it was a matchless, crystal clear Hanover night that made the hairs of a man's nose stiffen as he tramped along. Fireworks lit the sky, bursting red and green in showers of sparks to keynote the gayety that was in everybody's heart. The white backdrop of snow and ice served not only as a stage for the performers, but as a frame edged around by a black frieze cut of spectators' shadows. Always the cold bore in upon a man. You could feel it creep through the soles of your shoes, or sweep in at the unbuttoned neck; you could see it in the frosty white of your own breath against a steely blue night sky. There were shouts of, "Hey, DOWN IN FRONT!" and an occasional chuckle when some petitely dressed femme fatale would slip and fall in the snow. This year's performance was good, one of the best I have ever seen. The spotlight blazed white on the performers, and when they took their bows the muffled thud of mittened applause should have been recompense for the weeks of hard work that went into making it such a top evening.
Old Rollins Chapel, long a landmark on campus, is receiving some much-needed refurbishment. Funds from the Tucker Foundation have been allocated to repaint and spruce up the interior. The ceiling is to be a cerulean blue and the walls white. The ancient lighting fixtures provide hardly enough feeble light for spiritual warmth or more wordly reading light. They are to be replaced with modern fixtures. These improvements seem to be all to the good; however, there is some conjecture among students as to whether the colors chosen are appropriate. The building itself is regarded by most as an eyesore. Perhaps there are no colors that will ever be able to brighten up the building to the desired effect.
The Commission on Campus Life has been looking into the food situation in Thayer Hall. The deplorable conditions downtown added to the slacking off of those eating at Thayer make obvious the need of something new and more attractive in the way of a College-administrated dining association. Thayer Hall itself is admitted to be inadequate from the point of view of space and equipment. The tin trays, noise, and long lines during rush hours have created a distaste for Thayer. Yet the Commission points out that successful renovation can only be effected by first increasing the number of men eating there. One alternative being considered is to make it compulsory for all sophomores as well as freshmen to eat in Thayer. Although the undergraduates as a whole are against this, they are, paradoxically, anxious to have the College improve the food and facilities. My hunch is that, offered something better than what they can grub up downtown, the students will recognize it as a good thing and give it all the spontaneous support it deserves.
As soon as exams were over I was surprised to see a number of seniors dressed up with a tie, suit and polished shoes. Wondering if their dates had arrived early or if spring madness was already virulent in February, I questioned them about the cause of the distinctly unusual costume. I found out that this is the season when over 50% of the seniors have appointments at the Placement Bureau to be interviewed by the representatives of some 135 firms interested in them as prospective employees. The experience makes a fellow pause to reconsider just what his hopes and goals are in life; it is somewhat anxious and nervous in any event. Then again there is always the military angle to keep in mind, and some think that they would rather wait until after serving to try for a job. Mr. Cameron, who runs the placement service and who obviously takes great pleasure in seeing his boys land a big one, has found that the military is not proving to be as large a drawback as was originally supposed. Many companies are willing to keep candidates in mind during the two or three years that they are away, and jobs often are waiting for them.
Over the years Dartmouth has been particularly lucky to have many of her graduates go into the recruiting field for industry. The results have been surprising on several occasions. Imagine the plight of the nervous senior who, after adjusting his tie for the final time and checking his shoes again, stepped uncertainly into an office to be greeted, "Hello there, . . . you're Eliot Smith? I'm Harry Forbes, class of '41. I knew your brother when he was here."
Distraction
I TORE open the letter and scanned the page; she could make it for Carnival. Well, that solved that problem anyway. It would be two weeks before I would see Helen, and in the interval . . . exams. I went upstairs to the room to collect my books. It seemed as if those two weeks were going to be an eternity. I didn't want to study, not at all. Thoughts of Helen just naturally interposed themselves between my mind and the book. It could be fatal at a time like this. I told myself that I wouldn't loaf, that I'd get right to work and push all thoughts of her out of my mind. No more daydreaming. . . until after exams.
Midmorning sunlight poured in through the long library windows when I arrived at the 1903 Room and settled down to start studying in earnest. I went through a mental check list so that I wouldn't find any handy excuses to get up and wander around wasting time. There was the scratch pad, extra pencil, fountain pen (freshly filled), my text books and notes. It all made quite a pile in front of me on the table. I wondered how I had managed to do so little work in a course and still have so much material evidence to show for it. The time was 10:30. As I opened the History 1 textbook I stole a languishing thought of Helen. She was so damned sweet. I could see her there on the page as if she were looking at me from a television screen. How could I take my eyes from her blonde hair, held back at the temples by two gold barrettes, one on either side. She was so well brushed, curried like the thoroughbred animal that I knew her to be. An impish smile seemed to set her afire in my mind. Her eyes held the flickering, entrancing ice blue of an aquamarine. About the mouth lingered a small pout as if she were annoyed at the books I helabored. In another moment she would have stamped her foot and shaken ho curls around her face, annoyed that I should show her so little attention. I had to make the obvious choice and wrench myself back into reality. . . . Where was that list of French kings of the Middle Ages?
Jerry was sitting across the table from me; he had come in after lunch. I was trying my best, almost to the Point of physical strain, to focus all my attention on the books and leave out thoughts of Helen, but I fell to watching Jerry instead, and he was something to see indeed. From the open book on his lap he was counting out items on his fingertips. Still counting, he gazed up at the ceiling in a visible effort to impress something deeply in his mind. At the same time, he reached over his right shoulder with the opposite hand to scratch vigorously down his back under the shirt. That did the trick, so next he switched feet, crossing one over the other in reverse order to eliminate the cramp in his foot which had gone to sleep from being in one position too long. When I glanced shamefully back at my book, he was plucking at his eyebrow with his forefinger and thumb. All during these gymnastics Jerry's eyes kept themselves cat-like on the book. If I could only concentrate like that I would make myself look like whatever kind of an ass it required. Try as I might, my gaze and my thoughts wandered. Helen was everywhere, on a frosted windowpane, over the mantel above the clock, or fretting about my shoelaces as I tied them.
After supper the room was filled to capacity. There was a frantic tension in all the students there. Horseplay that might otherwise have won approval was now sternly stared down. "If you guys wanta talk get outo' here!" Most of them sat rather rigidly, bent only slightly over their books. At one of the tables three pre-meds disputed in guarded tones about a possible question on their chemistry final. "Look, Ned, he couldn't give us that. He only mentioned it once in class."
"OK, how do you account for it being on a couple of the old exams on file downstairs at the reserve desk?"
"Well, so what if they are? Those 01' things been down there ten years. . . . You got any cigarettes left? . . . Look, I'll bet ya money it isn't on there. Go ask Dave, he took the course last year."
Helen was just as unrelenting as ever. What brought her to haunt me in this manner? She was coming for Carnival, wasn't she? Well then, what did I have to worry about. I lingered pleasurably over thoughts of meeting her at the train at White Town. It would be great to kiss her again. Then too, we had planned to take off on Saturday and get away from it all by going up to Stowe to ski. It would undoubtedly be bright and blue with a nip like today. I imagined piling the skis on top of the car, the fun of the drive up there with Mouse and Skip in the back seat to joke with. Oh, hell! I got up disgusted with myself and went out to get a drink of water from the fountain in the cloak room.
The water relieved my thirst, but there still lingered a stiffness from sitting so long, so I strolled wooden-legged toward the main desk whistling under my breath and eyeing the cute librarian on duty there. Dean Shelby came bounding down out of the stacks; he had been cramming for History 1 too. "How goes it? Got all those dates down cold?" No, I hadn't. "There's going to be a question on the rise of the guilds." I hadn't thought of that either, but I was too proud to ever admit it. I dismissed it easily.
"Oh yeah . . . got that all covered yesterday." What a liar I am, I told myself. We gassed on about how it was only a few more days til the exams would be upon us. The truth of the matter was that Dean frightened me. I should have been concentrating, but I couldn't. When I dropped back into my chair in the 1902 Room it was late; the day was almost over and in just a few minutes the signal bell deep in the bowels of the library would sound to get us all out. Before me,, spread out on the table were sheets of the scratch pad I had brought. They were covered now with odd lists, names of kings and dates. They were so frail, those dates; I had them in my mind ready to spew out all over the blue book, but I knew that they would all slip easily away from me in a few short hours in favor of thoughts of Helen. I didn't actually give a damn about them, the dates I mean; at least I could admit that to myself. But what of the history professor? Would he be able to see that too; I hoped not.
I leaned back tilting the chair on its hind legs. There was the clock. Same old clock, but now the minutes had dwindled to moments. Too late to do any more tonight. Helen's face wore a smile at that. She had won. I could have told her that she would, back this morning when it all began, but I was a little mad at heir for being so insistent in her woman's way. It was important for me to do well in the exam; then again there were always going to be distractions of one kind or another. I would just have to learn how to get along with them. Oh, to hell with the whole system; I didn't want to have to learn to have to give up wonderful thoughts like those of Helen, ever! I fatalistically scraped together the papers that were strewn around me on the table. When I got to the door I balled them up into a fat roll and chucked the whole mess into the wastepaper basket. Tomorrow would be a new and different day. Time would put an end to all these problems. Anyway there were only three days till exams; they would be gone before I knew it.
Miss Karen Thorsell of Portland, Me., reignedover the 1955 Winter Carnival as Queen ofthe Snows. She is a sophomore at Skidmore.
The five runners-up applaud as Miss Thorsell is crowned Queen.
Nanook, an Eskimo astride a whale, greeted Carnival guests from the center of campw.He was designed by Louis S. Miano '55 of Pelham Manor, N. Y.
