1950

Winter Carnival 1983

Dear Mom, My date, Alison, and I arrived in Hanover late Friday afternoon. We were primed for Carnival and luckier than most. Either luckier or more prudent.

We had tracked the storm for two days. Our strategy became simple: avoid New York City and head inland. Then the coastal storm would be behind us. We hit the road early to outrun the front to Hartford.

We slipped past Hartford up to Chicopee, ordinarily nothing but an off-ramp on 1-91. But our power steering failed, so we cooled our heels forever waiting for repairs. Meanwhile the storm had veered inland, and the Connecticut Valley was girding for a foot of snow or more. By the time we took off again, the storm was nipping at our rear.

We saw nary a flake. At nine that evening we met Bruce, an undergraduate friend, who was waiting for his date. The New York bus was two hours late. At midnight Bruce and a mixed group of 20 or so others were a sad lot, still waiting. Their impromptu party in the Hanover Inn lounge dulled the ache. (We know the bus arrived; we never did learn the hour. Getting to Hanover can still be a hazardous trip.)

Carnival is still Carnival, although the hype is gone. Dad would protest that a few things have changed since his freshman year in 1909, when the winter holiday began. He would agree, however, that two constants remain: the snow and the spirit.

An icy Pegasus pawed the center of campus, poised to take off into cobalt skies. The theme was a confused mixture: part Roman, part Viking. Various sculptures reflected inattention, sheer misery, hard work, frustration, and inspiration. Only a few were tasteless. Some were humorous; many were quite good, especially the Taurus at Tuck.

Len Matless, our source in Hanover, concocted another superb party with a celebration of events. The storm, which stopped only ten miles short of town, stranded several at the starting gate. But our count exceeded 40, and a few stayed longer because the roads home were blocked. We banqueted at the Inn, watched the hockey team lose to Princeton before upsetting Cornell, and lifted toasts at the Byble and Drum. Bill Sullivan took the squash cup this year, but just barely.

Our class meeting was unexceptional but for one idea. Frank Dickinson suggested that we consider commissioning a statue of John Sloan Dickey '29 striding across campus with his dog. The image is worth preserving. I wonder what other classmates may think.

Saturday afternoon was snow fun. We joined thousands at the golf course watching crosscountry races, exhibition jumping (evidently jumping is no longer a Nordic event), and canoe races. Yes, canoe races against time, downhill. Seriousness blended with laughs as errant canoes lost track, broached, and flipped crews into the snow; then slide became a sprint as the crew hauled a canoe to the finish line. Free spirits tempted the fall line in a variety of ways: sleds, toboggans, sheets of cardboard, inner tubes, and boots. Disasters ended in swirls of powder. Suddenly it was time to watch the women's basketball team continue its march to another Ivy League championship.

Several old friends asked to be remembered the Leavitts, Chuck Gardner, Ann and George Jewett. Newc Eldredge regaled (or enlightened) the Pinkhams and me with old ski stories. The Birneys are now resettled New Englanders and enjoying every minute. Ben and Joy Shaver spend retirement planning their next move, probably south. The Echiksons, like us, wondered about New Jersey's snow, although we were not quite so concerned about driving home. Katie and Jim Stevens were delightful dinner companions.

I remember your stories of visiting a winter wonderland at Dartmouth when you were a bride. Your trip through a storm was certainly longer and a bit more hazardous. Then your stories blur into my memories. We have spanned the years from 1909 to 1926 to 1950 to 1983. There have been changes. Yet so much remains the same.

Even as you do. Love, Jacques

510 Hillcrest Road Ridgewood, N.J. 07450