To an old friend

I knew it had been in the works for a long, long time, but when I walked down East Wheelock on my way to Convocation late in September, I was taken aback by what looked like a page out of Life magazine of a World War II Quonset hut that had been bombed and strafed. A gentle parabola of curved steel girders was all that Was left standing amidst the rubble of bricks and mortar and wooden planks. It was Davis Rink, or what was left of it, anyway.

Built in 1929, the old hockey rink was a place full of memories not only for the Dartmouth men and women who played hockey there, but for hundreds of people in the community who skated on its ice. The December 1929 issue of the DartmouthAlumni Magazine, which ran a picture of the still-unfinished rink, noted that "natural ice will be made, since this is considered superior to artificial ice for hockey. By opening vents under the stands during the night and closing them during the day it will be possible to hold a body of ice, even during a protracted thaw."

It never worked out that way, of course. After the dedication of the rink during the Winter Carnival, a post mortem on the season in the April 1930 issue of the Magazine noted that the team enjoyed only two "major successes" that year - both away at Princeton. Part of the blame lay with the "spring-like weather, which simply would not let ice form satisfactorily on its surface." There was mention of one familiar name, Ed Jeremiah, "a fine individual stylist" who, with team captain Harold Booma, would be lost to graduation.

I played only one hockey game in Davis Rink - a sloppy, dangerous interfraternity match. It made you appreciate the stamina and grace and courage it takes to

be a real hockey player. And while we had just one fine hockey team in my four years, we had spirited crowds out for the games every year and a band that called itself "The Dartmouth Five Plus Two." They played a sort of Dixieland version of the College fight songs and added a raucous, festive air to the place. So, for me, Davis was always synonymous with what is best about Dartmouth athletics.

It was also synonymous with Eddie Jeremiah, who was forever hanging around the boards. I met him my first term in Hanover one unforgettable Saturday afternoon in Alumni Gym. I had been sitting in the aisle, watching my roommate work out with the freshman basketball team. "Mister," a loud voice boomed out from behind me, "do you realize what you're doing, blocking this aisle?" "No, sir," I replied, looking up at this man whose face seemed to be etched out of granite: "Well, if this building caught fire and I was trapped inside, the whole place would go to hell." I had absolutely no idea of what to make of this. But before I could speak, he shot out a gruff hand that more closely resembled a bear's paw, smiled and said, "Eddie Jeremiah, Class of 1930, and don't you forget it." And then, as quickly as he had come, he left, like Faulkner's bear, ambling off to other business, pleased that he had terrified a skin-headed freshman who ought to have known something about the College's storied athletic past.

The new John W. Berry '44 Sports Center, which is being built where Davis Rink once stood, will be magnificent. But I'll always remember the intimacy of Davis - the cheers, the rafters shaking, the frigid night air - and the man who never could quite get Dartmouth out of his system.