1941

50-1 Woodlake Road Albany, NY 12203

A feature of my squirreling led to a special ceremony of interment just the other (snowy) day here in the early part of Albany's February, perhaps on the day the groundhog signalled six more weeks of winter weather. What happened, dear friends, is that I laid to rest, in a dumpster (of all places), finally, the sweatpants first donned to work out for intramural boxing during freshman year in Alumni Gym. That was another snowy North Country winter, a nice, round 50 years ago. (In a sense, the 50th for 1941 has already begun.) The sweats had a lot of wear left in them, I thought, with only a little hole here and there that lent some character. But my convivante told me I looked like some kind of a character wearing them around these parts. I caved in, revealing serious lack of character, and hence the ways of half a century came to be parted with appropriate solemnity to mark the occasion.

Memories. The ancient objects do stir up the memories, don't they? Boxing was no big deal sport at the time, nor is it now, but whatever one is engaged in doing tends to be the big thing for him or her at that moment. (The real war is the piece of the action that one is in the middle of, all the rest merely a matter of history.) I recall particularly beating up on Don Norton in the second season. This foreshortened his interest in boxing and led a reporter for the Daily D to hang on me the tag of "Killer." I had hardly begun to enjoy that before meeting Dave Gratz in the interfraternity finals. With my roommates, Bob Griffeth and Reg Nelson, backing me up as corner men, 1 was winning on points when Dave, shortly before the end of the fight, hit me with a haymaker. TKO with two seconds left. So much for that: one day a hero, the next day a bum. (Dave, alas, went down for his final count in World War II.) Gluttonously, I took some punishment from LinThompson in subsequent encounters, and I suppose the main thing I got out of the experience was tolerance for frustration. And memories.

As a regular reader will readily appreciate, when I start off a column waxing nostalgically (or polemically for that matter), the chances are my mail bag is not overflowing with current news (or views) of classmates. 'Tis true, but I have chores to do. College asked me to assume the role of "Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons." (How about that, radio buffs?) I ducked last month, with Don Hagen having beaten me to the punch there I go again but Bob Conn '61, chief honcho among class secretaries, gave me reason to reconsider, pointing out that class notes figure to be read by five different classes: the one they belong to and two on each side. All right, already, let's try to find the various nooks and crannies where 19 guys have gone into hiding for various reasons. Lin Thompson is one of them (probably punched out), and the other 18 are as follows: Jay Baker, LouDemara, John Edwards, Willard Lawrence, Gardner Marsh, Myron Pollack,Henry Steffans, Bob Dickson, Julie Koenig (can't figure this one as he has an address listed in the 1986 DartmouthAlumni Directory), Tom Lengyel, BobMcWilliam, Clint Roenisch, NormBrandt, Al Edmunds, Jack Larigan, BillLewis, Bill Murphy, and Chuck Soule. There has been no reward posted for information leading to the arrest and conviction of . . . but clues to the missing would be welcomed by Kelly White, Department of Research and Records, Dartmouth College, Blunt Alumni Center, Hanover, NH 03755.

Enough with the names; what else? Well, for one thing, I'm inclined to suppose that some of the guys and gals reading this piece in April might be interested, no fooling, in a little bit more about getting the handle on death and dying. For health care decision-making, one might benefit from having a living will and/or durable power of attorney. No problem when the patient is competent to give directions, but the written instruments come into play if "the time comes when I can no longer take part in decisions for my own future . " The crux of the will, in a form made available by Concern for Dying, is indicated by the following language: "If . . . the situation would arise in which there is no reasonable expectation of my recovery from extreme physical or mental disability, I direct that I be allowed to die and not be kept alive by medications, artifical means or 'heroic measures.' I do, however, ask that medication be mercifully administered to me to alleviate suffering even though this may shorten my remaining life." In addition, in my own living will, I included suggested provisions regarding refusal of electrical or mechanical resuscitation, nasogastric tube feeding, and mechanical respiration. The durable power reinforces the will in effect by designating someone as attorney-in-fact to make medical care decisions for the patient who is incompetent or otherwise incapable of doing so. (Concern for Dying is located at 250 West 57 Street, New York, NY 10107; the form is available without charge.)

Recent communications inform me of the death last Christmas day of LawrenceCampbell Bales. For details see his obituary in this issue of DAM.Peace and Joy.

Peace and Joy.