1945

As a member of a local team to interview Dartmouth applicants from Reading and Burlington, Mass., I have recently lived through the deeply satisfying and sometimes bewildering experience of talking with young people about their aspirations for their future, and observed their shy and sometimes nervous desire to express those aspirations in the best light that will give them a good recommendation from us. How do we ferret out those comments that are intended only to impress us from the honestly felt and spontaneous expressions of "concern for the rights and needs of others," the "readiness for Dartmouth?" Why is it so difficult for them to give a clear articulation of their reasons for choosing Dartmouth? (For most of them, Dartmouth is their first choice, in spite of our assurances that our feelings won't be hurt if their choice is elsewhere).

Come to think of it, can we honestly and clearly think of all our reasons for having chosen Dartmouth? Are we content to leave it to Richard Hovey and echo those beloved words: "Dartmouth, there is not music for our singing, no words to bear the burden of our praise; and yet . . ." And yet . . . between a nostalgic lump in the throat and a catch in our breath, there was the gratitude to parents who sacrificed, gratitude to teachers for giving us the incentive for good marks, and the striving for a mythical entity called college that soon became a reality. There we experienced the opening of many new horizons and the wonder of discovering that beyond each horizon was a new one. There came the sudden realization that no lifetime was long enough to explore them all, and therefore an ordering of priorities in evaluating, savoring, thinking, and rejoicing in the many opportunities opened. Remembering also that "commencement" meant really "a beginning," and going out into the world filled with a sense of adventure for life and gratitude for the alma mater that made it possible: "For though the girdled earth they roam, her spell on them remains." Interviewing can be a time- consuming, frustrating, discouraging thing, but I'm already looking forward to next year because, as a son of Dartmouth: "How can I be silent and remember the fullness of her days!"

Cap Palmer very kindly passed along a Los Angeles Times "Home Magazine" article on Dick Gilman, President of Occidental College and enthusiastic hockey player. Speaking of articulating one's aspirations, the article quotes Dick as saying, "Very early on (at Dartmouth) I was lucky enough to be inspired by excellent teachers and I began to think in long-range terms of an academic life - not at a giant campus, but in the environment of a small, high quality liberal arts college, where a student can acquire a sense of the mystery of human life, of human existence, of history, culture, and ethical issues. I was also lucky enough to see that an important goal is not only the transmission of knowledge of culture, but also the development of critical thought."

Dick's four children are all grown, and since his wife Lucille's death last June (class notes, October 1978 issue of the Dartmouth ALUMNIMAGAZINE) he lives alone in the president's house on the Occidental campus, taking an occasional break from presidential duties with a game of hockey at the Pasadena Ice Capades rink and by playing tunes of the Big Band era on a Chickering grand piano in his living room. (Steve Hull, here is a candidate for our 35th reunion!) But most nights he can be found in his library boning up on the law. Two large areas of concern to him are college liability and federal and state regulations with continued impact on campus life. One curious suit was brought by the unhappy parents of a student because their daughter married a professor. The parents accused him of "aiding and abetting an unnatural marriage." It hardly seems "suitable!"

Vincent Canby, the film critic for the New York Times, has just published his second novel, Unnatural Scenery. He wrote his first novel, Living Quarters, at the age of 49 and explains his need for being a novelist as well as a film critic this way: "It's a symbiosis. As a film critic, one has to see a lot of films. You're subjecting yourself to other people's dreams. And we all know what happens when you're subjecting yourself to other people's dreams all the time and not doing anything about your own. You go nuts." Vince concedes that the film critic's quandry is, "Is this any job for a grownup person?" and advises how the serious critic gets taken seriously: "Look solemn in the elevator and carry a rolled-up New York Review (of Books)." Before you go nuts, why don't you go out and pick up a copy of his first or second novel.'Vince promises to autograph it at our 35th reunion.

483 Franklin St. Reading, Mass. 01867