Winter Carnival Blues
I was asking a friend what I should write for this column. It being only a few days after the madness of the February holiday (you know the one I'm talking about), he said, "Why don't you write on 'Why All Dartmouth Students Should Leave Hanover During Winter Carnival'?" The idea struck me as having curious, if subversive merit. For many people across the country Dartmouth is Winter Carnival, and Winter Carnival is Dartmouth. Sullying the "Mardi Gras of the North" would seem un-American or, worse, anti-Dartmouth.
Still, one of my roommates did in fact leave Hanover this past weekend, and as I sat down to write this piece another friend came up and asked me how my Carnival was. "Weird," I said, "as usual." I expected her to be bubbling over about the wild and crazy time she'd had, but she said, "Yeah, I know what you mean; I left for the weekend." What she said brought back an earlier conversation. I remember once having tentatively advanced the opinion to my father, Class of '52, that Winter Carnival was not all it was cracked up to be. He agreed with me and said, "I never did think Winter Carnival was that great; Green Key was always- a better time."
I was astounded. Here I'd been reluctant to expound negative sentiments towards such a holy festival, and suddenly it looked as if there were a vast and silent group out there which, when it came right down to it, did not enjoy Winter Carnival at all. I had an eerie feeling of illumination, the one you get when everything falls into place. It was the feeling you have when you discover a conspiracy, or the same feeling that a paranoid might have when he realizes everyone is out to get him.
No doubt about it, there were things that did not recommend Winter Carnival this year. Because of the touring habits of most rock bands, the only concert that could be scheduled was set for Sunday afternoon when partying enthusiasm was beginning to wane. Because of Ivy League scheduling, the traditional hockey game with Cornell was played at Cornell. Finally, the center of the Green statue, which is if anything the symbol of a particular Carnival, had the look of a malevolent satyr from the chariot scene in Ben Hur rather than the gold panner it was cut out to be. So all was tragedy and sorrow. As if recognizing the fact, The Dartmouth ran an article about depression in its souvenir Carnival issue. Dr. Raymond S. Jackson, head of Dick's House, offered the opinion that Carnival is like Christmas; those who were left out, friendless, and rejected would, he warned, feel sad.
Of course, not all the unpleasant elements of Carnival were particular to 1979. The crowds are always horrendous. Webster Avenue on Saturday night of Carnival is a study in mob action. Near riot conditions prevail, and I have felt genuine fear in the past as I've watched people's faces bloodied by any one of hundreds of snowballs they happened to walk in front of. Most of the people on the Row are not from Dartmouth. They are either invited or they just show up, but the one sure thing is that there are too many of them.
So why do Dartmouth students subject themselves to the onslaught of crazed visitors, and even worse, dates who want to know why Dartmouth isn't like the 1939 movie version of Winter Carnival? There are several reasons, I think. One is tradition. There has to be a Winter Carnival, and that's all there is to it. Another reason, as any alumnus knows, is that the winter in Hanover can be wearing if not downright bleak. Carnival breaks up the monotony of cold days, and back before skiing was so popular Fred Harris '1 I had the idea of an event that centered on the joys of winter. I'm guessing that another way Carnival broke up the gray days before coeducation was with the huge influx of female visitors. Remember the scene in the movie - perhaps the only scene based on fact - where all the Dartmouth guys are waiting at the train station? Finally, Winter Carnival can be fun.
For me, the most important element of Carnival is the weather. The holiday is based on snow as far as I'm concerned. If the snow isn't fluffy, and if it is not cold outside, I'm a little anxious. I've been anxious for three of my four Winter Carnivals. I can remember one year when the temperature was in the 40s, the sky was gray, and the snow was wet and black with dirt. The other two Carnivals of my Dartmouth career were not as bad, but they both verged on slush. This year the sky was cloudless and deep blue, the air was cold - almost bitterly so - and there was plenty of clean snow. In my eyes all this helped redeem Winter Carnival 1979.
At odd times during my four years, I have been up late at night to witness something I suspect very few students have seen. It is this: There is fog rising off the river, and the lights illuminating Baker Tower cast the tower's shadow onto the fog hundreds, even a thousand feet into the air. From Chase Field I have seen the black, spectral outline of Baker rising in the mist, dwarfing the reality of the structure clamped firmly to the Hanover Plain. I always get a shiver when I see that solemn, even forbidding tower. It makes me think of pride and tradition and the multitude of students past, present, and future.
On Saturday of Carnival, I went to the ski jump. It is always a good time. There is a large crowd, but what crowd could fill the golf course? There is something magnificent about ski jumping. The jumpers come down the ramp like bullets, and then they soar out into the air, not artificially like a plane but as if they were meant to fly alone as winged victories. Perhaps it was because this year I stood close to the jump instead of at the back of the crowd. Perhaps it was because the wind was blowing out of the Vale of Tempe, blurring my vision and letting me see only the rushing forms of the jumpers and the bright color of the ski hats around me. Whatever the reason, I had a shiver like the one I have when I see Baker Tower's shadow. It was a moment of pride, and it would prevent me from ever com- pletely condemning Winter Carnival.
There are a couple of things I should mention. The center of the Green statue, for all its evil expression, was the finest piece of snow sculpture I've seen in four years. Because of the purifying cold, the crowd on Webster Avenue Saturday night was more civilized than usual. One week later Hanover is still in the grip of the same tenacious arctic weather. The thermometer drops far below zero every night as if denying the insistent progression of days into March. I will ride with it as long as I can, doing all the skiing that should be done. Then I shall look to the spring.
