The Sages of Hanover

Sixty cents buys more than a cup of coffee at the Inn provided you sit at the right table

Just as the grandfather clock in the lobby of the Hanover Inn strikes ten, a group of gentlemen file into the formal dining room. They seat themselves at a long table near the southeast corner. This is the Kaffeeklatsch ("Kaffee" is pronounced by its members like the baby cow with a long e on the end). Every day, except Sundays and Christmas, as many as 25 retired alumni and their adopted classmates meet, expound, commiserate, and argue over the great (and not so great) issues of the day.

A point of pride with the Klatsch is that members rarely agree on anything. (Some don't even order coffee.) Ask how long the group has been meeting, and the answers span half a century. How does one become a member? One person replies, "By invitation only." Another says, "You just show up, but don't tell anyone, because the group is already too large."

Despite their vaunted lack of unanimity, however, members of the Klatsch are linked by similarly impressive backgrounds. This is no mere cadre of New England eccentrics waiting for Norman Rockwell. They are well heeled, well dressed, well educated and extremely well connected.

Seated around a corner of the table one fairly typical morning are Bill Craig '44, former president of an advertising agency; Art Allen '32, former vice president of an investment firm; Frank Irwin '37, a former president in the Vermont state college system; Ort Hicks '21, vice president emeritus of Dartmouth; Lem Bowen '37, former treasurer of what is now called Unisys Corporation; Dick Olmsted '32, the College's former business manager; and self-described "token wage earner" Gordie Dewitt '60, the College's director of facilities planning.

Although nearly all are retired, the members wield influence on campus and have created a finely tuned newsgathering machine. The Klatsch knew, for example, that the injured Walter Palmer 'B9 would probably sit out the remainder of the basketball season a week before the news was announced publicly. This sort of knowledge is appreciated far off campus, especially during times of turmoil. "Our classmates look on people who live in Hanover as oracles," says Lem Bowen.

Their expertise is acknowledged at home, as well: the collective membership of the Klatsch includes nearly a score of current or former alumni councilors, class presidents, and College committee appointees. Recently, members aided two students in starting a moderate campus newspaper called Common Sense. The seed money came from a private fund administered by one of the group. Bill Scherman '34, former promotion manager of both Time and Newsweek, became the paper's advisor.

Though members of the Kaffeeklatsch occasionally work in concert, however, a typical meeting sounds more like a genteel cacophony or, perhaps, like a happily disorganized parliament. If the Klatsch had a speaker of the House, it would be Ort Hicks. Like all good speakers, Hicks got the job by virtue of his charm, eloquence, and seniority. In lieu of a gavel, Hicks opens the morning session by rummaging through a sheaf of papers and ing a copy of The Dartmouth from a hefty stack of magazine clippings and personal correspondence.

Today, Hicks has a bone to pick with the paper, whose lead headline reads: "Dartmouth Selling Stock in two S. A. Companies." Before Hicks can explain why the headline upsets him, one wag interrupts with the rhetorical question, "What's wrong with owning stock in companies with sex appeal?" Hicks, who has obviously endured worse jibes, waits poker-faced for the chuckles to subside.

He says he takes issue with the headline because it implies that Dartmouth caved in to the pro-divestment forces. Actually, he explains, the securities' sale was dictated by a College investment policy based on compliance with the Sullivan Principles, a set of ethical guidelines for companies doing business in South Africa. Like most of the Klatsch membership, Hicks is concerned with the College's image.

Issues championed by campus progressives, such as total divestment and changing the Alma Mater, raise the collective blood pressure of the Klatsch. Bill Scherman, who on occasion lets loose with a liberal zinger, characterizes the group as "a beehive of conservatism." A recent discussion on President Reagan's mental fitness was closed with a member's comment: "Better a lamebrained Republican than a wild-eyed Democrat."

Nonetheless, no conservative politician, journalist, or academician should assume the Klatsch's sympathy. Professor Jeffrey Hart '5l, The Dartmouth Review, and syndicated columnist Robert ("too much of an extremist on the conservative side") Novak have all been taken to task. Conversely, Professor Donella Meadows, whose syndicated newspaper column "The Global Citizen is the bane of some Upper Valley conservatives, has earned high marks from Klatsch members.

But the hottest topic of discussion has to do with politics of a much more local nature: Dartmouth's search for a new president. At today's meeting, Klatschers at the west end of the table feel strongly that the new president must have an academic background. "A businessman would further alienate the faculty," notes one. At the other end of the table, however, members decide that A. Bartlett Giamatti, an English scholar by training, did a poor job as Yale's president.

When the clock in the lobby strikes 11, everyone gets up and leaves. Rarely is there time for more talk. Ort Hicks has to stop at Blunt Alumni Center before having lunch with President McLaughlin. Art Allen, Frank Irwin, and Lem Bowen are taking their daily two-mile stroll through Hanover. Former realtor "Bunce" Clarkson '3l, and exfootball team captain Dick Black '29, have a track meet to officiate. And the appointment book of former textiles magnate Phil Mayher '29 has more obligations penciled into it than that of most people who hold a 9 to 5 job. Any College, town, national, or international problem that requires the collective expertise of the Kaffeeklatsch will just have to wait until tomorrow.

Staff writer Lee Michaelides drinks his coffee at his desk.