1981
I find it rather difficult to write class notes for Christmas when it is actually October and Washington's weather more closely approximates a gooey, gray August afternoon in Hanover. But such are my Augean stables to clean I'm now working on diversion of the Potomac River through the Pentagon in order to cool things off around here.
As usual, most of you probably are wondering how long I'll maintain my puerile chatter. The ennui of this introductory claptrap has undoubtedly glazed over your eyes already. Marvelous. This is precisely the incantatory effect that I seek; it facilitates your blind acceptance of the lies that are about to be spread.
Let's begin with reminiscences about the mini-reunion held by a few dozen of our classmates over Dartmouth Night Weekend. Almost 70 '80s and '81s made it to the Moos ilauke extravaganza, I'm told, with a bunch of others hanging out in their old dens of iniquity on campus. Without naming too many of the people who have already made their way into these august (I know, I know, it's December) pages, here's a brief rundown of some of the folks who square danced to Everett Blake, relived the cold and icy terror that is the Doc Benton legend, and, perhaps, witnessed the continuing Dartmouth gridiron debacle of 1984.
Ann Smolowe put in an appearance, fresh from her sojourn on the Appalachian Trail. The lean, mean hiking machine is on her way to Boston, where she will choose among competing publishing houses that have expressed interest in her book Women and theAppalachian Trail.
Dave Hill came up from Boston, or so says Jenny Toolin, and Sue Kreissman appeared from med school somewhereabouts. KevinLynch was able to take time out from his boss's tough congressional re-election to grace the assemblage as well.
Among other attendees whose hides and hairs have not been seen in this column were Joe Cerulli, Will Blanchard, Jon Lenchner, and Fat Hsia. My spies had no clue as to their activities, but at least we know they are alive, and, well, well.
Presumably, the longest treks were made by Tim Itin, who craftily arranged for his San Francisco employer to fund his trip, and Vaughn Halyard, who came despite the fact that IBM's Chicago branch could not be similarly persuaded. Vaughn tells me that it was fun to see a bonfire again and to toss a few hundred Reviews on to the blaze for old times' sake. ("It has nothing to do with ideology," lied the Techno Tsar. "I just figured that so much hot air and dry writing would improve the inferno.")
Likewise spotted on campus was ChrisMorrison, erstwhile winged speed merchant who is now working at the Shawmut Bank outside Boston.John Connolly was also reported in town, having converted from being Kappa Sig's resident "Yogi" to an enlistee in seminary school specific whereabouts unknown. Meanwhile, Toby and Sally AnkenyReily were sighted repeatedly in the vicinity of Psi U's dock-sided, upcollared basement. Across campus, Pete Clinton and Scott vonEschen were rumored to be romping and stomping their way through a temporary reprieve from Tuck School.
The Moosilauke weekend, by the way, came compliments of Pat Berry and DanielleDyer, who should receive oodles of backpats for their organizational acumen and slavish devotion to pits of barbequed chicken.
Off of our old stomping grounds, I've recently been filled in by a few who are out in the wide, wide, world doubtless getting wider with each expense-accounted meal. John Wilen has apparently returned to Bayne and Company in Palo Alto (frankly, I didn't know he'd left) after having completed a master's in business manipulation at Stanford. Further this away, Jerry James is continuing his Continental Bank gig, while working at his University of Chicago master's of business administration by night. And, sorry to say, there are others who are forced to continue paying for reading lists. Gary Collin is finishing up at Washington University Medical School. Gary plans to take his surgeon's oath in 1985. Pursuing a similar path, much to the amazement of those who know him best, is Peter Weller. The man they call Boot has completed his stay in the purgatory of Albany, N.Y., where he spent the last year plus completing the premed training that Nautilus and keg-lifting left no time for in Hanover. Boot hopped a raft and steered his way down the Mississippi to Tulane Medical School in Nwalins, Lwizyana. His report: "There's murder in the streets, incest at every corner, and I have a midterm tomorrow morning. If Ronzo gets re-elected, I'm counting on an invasion to pull us poor med students out of our perilous predicament. And if he gets me out of finals, I promise that I'll kiss the ground at Dulles Airport, too." I'll believe it when I see it.
Finally, (that's my subtle way of saying that I'm bored, tired, and have better things to do than jabber with you all afternoon), let's take a brief trip up Maine, where Chris Justice is assistant-professing math to M.U. students, while he hangs out with bald eagles and seals. On second thought, maybe we'd better not.
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