September

One of the most memorable of College experiences for me was coming back to Hanover in September, back to the lovely elms which both shaded and defined the main routes in and out of town, back to an environment which changed distinctly from freshman to senior year. In the beginning was a sense of wonder that one place could be so inviting, so incredibly beautiful after hot, muggy summers down South. There were great expectations as my parents and brothers helped unload all the stuff one brings heading off to college. You know all the wrong stuff two suits, four sportscoats, and wingtip cordovans when one blue blazer and a pair of Weejuns would do. Our bible for those first few days was Freshman Year, 1962-63, a handsome paperbound publication the Dean of Freshmen had mailed us in late April, chock full of helpful information. Linen service for the year was estimated at $30 and a full meal ticket for the fall term at Thayer ("an opportunity to enjoy good meals and a balanced diet in pleasant surroundings at reasonable cost" some mouthful, that!) was $185. (The linen service has only gone up by 50 percent; the meal ticket now goes for $689.)

Under the heading "Social Life," it read, "Every September there come to Hanover some eight hundred new students from every part of the country, from many foreign countries, and from all walks of life. Three things they are expected to have in common: good minds, an interest in learning, and decent character. In all other respects, their diversity in background and interest is almost unlimited." It didn't say anything about what the social life was really all about at Dartmouth, though it did point out that there were many welladjusted upperclassmen GDIs in our parlance who were not associated with fraternities.

There was another small white book we got, the "official" Freshman Handbook, which stated in the back, "Freshmen should know all these songs and cheers perfectly before the first game" and then there was The Green Book, which we got long after we had worn in our beanies. It began, "As Dean Dickerson will tell you if he hasn't already there is a tradition to uphold here. But... after Freshman Week you don't have to carry upperclassmen's furniture or trim their fraternity lawns." That, we were reminded, was a one-year investment for a three-year return.

We made the obligatory trip uptown to Campion's where we got our free mugs, to Tanzi's where later in the term we would stand out front until someone old enough to buy a six of Bud came by, and to the Co-op where, if you were lucky, your father signed you up for a special charge account. It was there that we bought our brown, non-descript suede boots which were about 7" high. "Campus Leaders" we called them, and in my day they were the rage, and you were nowhere without them, properly muddied of course.

By the time we were grand old seniors, coming back to Hanover in September had gotten to be old hat, but there was a certain nostalgia about that fall, knowing it would probably be our last for a long, long time. Vietnam was very much on our minds and we suspected (rightly) that some of us might never come back at all, and that if we did, we would be less innocent, more committed, somehow changed from the fair-haired boys we had been as freshmen. Ah, September, ah youth.