College with an Upper-case "C"

The Valedictories

Commencement-time oratory - depending on both the speakerand the listener - can soothe or inflame, inspire or put to sleep.This year, as demonstrated by the three excerpts below, thewords conveyed cautious optimism mixed with tender feelings forDartmouth.

David Shribman, who delivered the Class Day address to theCollege, graduated summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, and withhigh distinction in his major (history), won the Basil O'Connor1912 Memorial Prize and the McCornack History Prize (and wasa runner-up for the Dean's Prize), received a Reynold'sfellowship, and was, among all else, an undergraduate editor ofthe ALUMNI MAGAZINE. Jeffrey Rieker, who delivered the SeniorValedictory, also graduated summa cum laude and with high distinctionin his major (chemistry) and, between times, playeddefensive end on the varsity football team. He plans a career inmedicine. Finally, John Kemeny's question about having adaughter in the senior class was not exactly rhetorical. Amongthe 848 graduating seniors was a young woman by the name ofJenny Kemeny.

This afternoon, as we sit in our undergraduate chairs for nearly the last time, it is almost inevitable that our thoughts should turn to the educational experience we call Dartmouth and to the people and the place we call the College - with an affectionate upper-case "C".

When my father was ready to go off to college, my uncle, a member of Dartmouth's Class of 1941, wrote him a lengthy and thoughtful letter from his quarters aboard the U.S.S. Crescent somewhere in the Pacific in the third month of World War II. A year out of college and a year before he was killed in a PT boat, he set down some thoughts that ring true as the liberal arts are under siege in our own day.

"What you'll learn in College," he wrote, using that uppercase "C", "won't be worth a God-damned . . . but you'll learn a way of life perhaps - a way to get on with people - an appreciation perhaps for just one thing: music, art, a book - all of this is bound to be unconscious learning - it's part of a liberal education in the broad sense of the term. If you went to a trade school you'll have one thing you can do and know - and you'd miss the whole world of beauty. In a liberal school you know "nothing" - you are "fitted for nothing" when you get out. Yet - you'll have a fortune of broad outlook - of appreciation for people and beauty that money won't buy - You can always learn to be a mechanic . . . but it's only when you're of college age that you can learn that life has beauty. Afterwards it's all struggle, war...."

The College has changed a lot since my uncle's days here at the sunset of an older age, but its students still think of it with an upper-case "C". It is still, fortunately, a college, and it ought to remain so - a place where young men and women can feel and perhaps understand the happiness and misery that come with being between the ages of 18 and 22, a place where students and teachers are doubles partners as well as intellectual comrades, a place where young minds can feel the exhilaration of encountering Burke and Rousseau - as well as [teachers like] Slesnick and Ditchfield, Fried and Starzinger, Zeller and Lupien.

These things - the papers on "Othello," the paddles on the Connecticut, the jogs on Balch Hill - these things are the stuff of the liberal arts, the stuff of a Dartmouth education. The values of a liberal arts education are ideas and values themselves. They won't fit on a job resume, they can't be converted into a pension, but they shape lives. The College's role is not, as some would have it, to train the leaders of the future. The College's role is to nurture potential - to educate, and not to train.

"Don't give up the idea and ideals of a liberal school," my uncle wrote from war and from the Pacific. "They're too precious, too rare, too important." Those words may have been written to my father in 1942, but that sentiment is the heart of this Address to the College - a College that I hope will forevermore be a College with an upper-case "C".

DAVID M. SHRIBMAN

While I was driving up to Dartmouth a few days ago, I was struck once again by the sheer beauty of this area. Seeing Baker Tower rise up out of a sea of green was a sight that compelled me to stop and take in as much of that beauty as I could, hoping that time to go on forever. It seemed to me that the presence of this major college in such natural surroundings emphasized the dichotomy present not only in the students at Dartmouth, but in people everywhere. For there is a dynamic tension present in man. One instinct drives him to seek and obtain excellence through hard work and determination. The opposing force causes him to pause and reflect both on himself and on those things around him.

. . . These two qualities, the striving for achievement coupled with the ability to reflect, are needed as never before in the world. . . . However, as our scientific and technological achievements accumulate through hard work and perseverance, we face also the need for reflection. As we gain knowledge, we must also gain the.wisdom vital to the proper use of the knowledge. This wisdom can only be obtained by pausing to observe that beauty which is inherent in all things, where we put aside those matters of consequence, as the little prince called them, and allow ourselves to be tamed, to spend time with others so that they become special to us; only then can we perceive those things which are invisible to the eye; only then can we see rightly with the heart. ...

JEFFREY M. RIEKER

MEMBERS of the Class of 1976: I vividly recall the first words I spoke to you: "Men and Women of Dartmouth." Those words marked you as a special class - no President of Dartmouth had ever greeted a class in that manner. I said to you that you would have a unique opportunity to set new patterns of behavior - for better or worse. And you succeeded in both.

In preparing these remarks I asked myself, "What if I had a son or daughter in the class? What last minute advice would I want to give?"

It is of the essence of living species that they change, and adapt to change, or they become extinct. The same is true for institutions. And your class can expect to witness further great changes in the future - you have all seen a movie depicting your 25th reunion - in 2001.

But what should your attitude and role be in a period of change? Don't tear down an institution just because of imperfections. All human institutions are imperfect. But don't join the majority of mankind who use that as an excuse to do nothing. Don't ever accept the argument that the individual is helpless.

Each of you is a unique individual with individual talents and aspirations. And if you are willing to take risks to assume responsibilities and the burden of leadership - you can help shape the world of 2001.

I hope your class will bring a special sensitivity to one burning issue: the role of women in society. Society is wrestling with that issue in the family, in places of employment, and in the nation. There is no unique solution that is best for all human beings, but I hope you will approach the issue - and it is an issue you must all face - with an open mind and a sensitivity for fellow human beings.

There is one institution that especially needs your support. A few minutes ago I pronounced a magic incantation that changed you from seniors to alumni. And this college cannot survive without the support and service of its alumni.

As a special class, your arrival in the alumni body will be watched with great interest. You have already sent the first signal - the composition of your executive committee which testifies to the determination of men and women to work side-by-side in the service of the College. Help us to preserve all that is fine at Dartmouth - but don't hesitate to urge us to improve on our imperfections.

As we part, I wish you happiness, I wish you success, I wish that your hopes may be fulfilled.

Above all, 1 wish that you may experience the greatest satisfaction in life: the knowledge that you have made life better for your fellow human beings.

Men and women of Dartmouth, all mankind is your brother and you are your brother's keeper.

JOHN G. KEMENY