ACROSS THE RIVER

With your permission I'd like to take you across the Connecticut for a visit. Last time we noted that even the Norwich dogs consider themselves a part of the Hanover scene, at least so far as Thayer Hall is concerned, and really Norwich and Hanover are one - with, of course, significant individual differences. One is smaller than the other, and quieter; one has no parking problems at all while the other in spite of parking meters enjoys an ever-tenser parking problem; both have odd characters, but with one having some even odder than the other; one is. less organized than the other, and less prosperous, and it is even rumored at times that one is more intellectual than the other. You can make your own allocations and draw your own conclusions! However it is, both town and gown mingle without too much friction in both political units.

Visitors have often defined Norwich as increasingly a sort of bedroom town for Hanover, but we now have a better term for it. A young lady reporter in Norwich, England, when hearing this term applied to Norwich in Vermont, inquired the meaning. When it was explained that it meant only a perfectly proper domiciling of many who earned their keep by daytime jobs in shop or hospital or school or College in Hanover, she retorted, "Oh, I see. 'Dormitory town' we call it. So much nicer!"

It does seem that the drier air of Vermont produces a greater number of good stories and this seems the place for a few with local setting. An old man living alone out in West Norwich, or Beaver Meadow as it is more commonly called, at long last yielded to the pressure of friends and had a party-line phone installed. One of the friends was visiting and hearing the phone's insistent ring - one long, two short, one long, two short - he inquired, "Ain't that your ring?" "Guess it is," replied the old man. "Then why in hell don't you answer it?" queried the friend. "Charlie," replied the oldtimer, "I had that phone put in for my convenience."

Some years back this same old man was attending a political meeting in the village. He was hard-of-hearing and not getting the drift of the politician's harangue, he inquired of Dorrance Sargent who was sitting beside him, "What's he atalking 'bout?" "He don't say," was Dorrance's perceptive reply.

A summer resident of one of our old farms made over for a vacation home was telephoning to Dan and Whit's store a list of goods to be ready for her to pick up later in the day. At about item ten, having heard nothing but silence on the store end of the line, she inquired, "Mr. Hicks, are you still there?" "Yep," replied Whit, "I write quiet."

The Metcalfs, two brothers and a sister, live together in peaceful unmarried bliss, on the old home farm. Sister Abbie works in Hanover and one day Paul telephoned to ask when she would be coming home. Knowing he had planned to go to town, and remembering the condition of the steep hill road, Abbie had a suspicion something had happened en route. She inquired, in her good slow Vermont way, "You stuck, Paul?" "Nope," replied Paul. "If I tried to get out I might be."

Another story came only recently to my attention, relayed by Prof. Francis Lane Childs '06, and concerning the late Emeritus Professor Fred Parker Emery '87, whom some of the older alumni will remember. One lovely autumn day Professor Emery was riding a horse in the hills back of Norwich when he encountered a lonely farmer on a very lonely farm. The conversation is reported to have gone something like this: "Aren't you sometimes lonely here?" "Don't know what you're talking 'bout." "Well," said the Professor, "I thought sometimes you might wish you were a little nearer to the center of things." "Mister," replied the farmer, "I'm exactly five miles from Norwich and five miles from Stratford. I'm exactly 160 miles from Boston and 160 miles from Montreal. I don't see how a feller could be much nearer to the center of things."

I am proud to report that some years ago I was elected Moderator of the Town of Norwich - a post I still hold - and as such am expected to preside over town meetings. Dr. Henry Heyl, of the Dartmouth Medical School, was sitting down front at one of our meetings and said in reference to some ruling from the chair, "Mr. Moderator, I'm not sure I agree with your last remark." Falling back on an old-time Vermont rejoinder, I replied, "Dr. Heyl, you haven't heard my last remark." I am not too good at coming up with that sort of retort all by myself but genuine Vermonters seem to be able to do so.

Two years ago Norwich, along with a group of towns on both sides of the river, celebrated the 200 th anniversary of its chartering. At that time we were in touch with Norwich, Connecticut, and a banker from that city passed on a personal experience in Vermont. He was driving up Route 5 on the way to a bankers' meeting in Bretton Woods and stopped for gasoline in Newbury, Vermont. With that tenseness which characterizes so much of our urban society he asked the old Vermonter at the pump if he knew how far it was to Bretton Woods. "You going over anyway?" inquired the Vermonter. "Yes indeed," replied our banker friend, "I must get over to an important conference." "Then what difference does it make?" countered our Vermonter. And it sometimes seems to me that there is a lot of sound Vermont wisdom in that reply.

Old-time Vermonters are a bit peculiar - somewhat old-fashioned and independent, thrifty and taciturn, yet endowed with what seems a never-failing native wit. It is natural that they should be this way for from an urban point of view they have lived a relatively isolated life on what many outsiders would regard as close to a subsistence level, with plenty of time to think and to dream and to remember. When a summer tourist confided to an old-time native that there seemed to be many very peculiar people around, the Vermonter's prompt retort was, "Sure are, but most of them will be gone by the middle of September."

Although Hanoverians - both town and gown - smile a wry smile when Norwich is mentioned they really don't mean anything mean by it. As a matter of fact, there is quite a movement back and forth, like that of the dogs, and it is hard to tell which side wins or loses. Some claim that with the Vermont state income tax it is more expensive living on the other side of the river and others could argue that it all evens up in the end. And some residents from across the river contend that at least they do not support as many "sin taxes" as New Hampshire does. At any rate there is plenty to talk about on both sides of the river, and on that other shore the mixture of town and gown, as in Hanover, furnishes lively leaven for the community loaf.