1983

Thanksgiving's just ended and all I can fit into now are spandex clothes. You know, the material that stretches into infinity. My mother told me over dinner that I looked like the cartoon character that keeps saying "Feed me, Seymour." Holidays are great.

Well, the deadline came and went for this column (the Alumni Magazine has this fetish for date changes), and yours truly is behind the eight-ball, so bear with me. You probably know by now that Reed Webster is married, that Jim Bloomer is a father (and Mindy '84, accordingly, is a mother), and that MikeGolub wasn't able to lure the Raiders to Oakland again. You may also be aware that Mac Gardner spends more time in Phoenix than anyplace else, on behalf ofMerrill Lynch, and that Greg Curhan's latest capital preservation strategy involves a fish-sounding thing called two-beta hedge ratio. If you've gotten this far in the paragraph, you will also deduce that for some reason I haven't listed any women so far. That's because Anni DupreSantry, Michelle Ott, and Kathy Coster haven't written recendy.

A bunch of us happily witnessed HowieBrick's wedding to Jill Smilow last October 14. This event warrants some narrative, which I am obliged to supply and embellish. The combined Brick/Smilow family, first of all, is a genealogical wonder. You are first struck by the sheer NUMBER of them. Then you notice the admirable diversity therein; there is even, by his own admission, "a token redneck." We all gathered together on a stormy Saturday night for a tumultuous rehearsal dinner which featured some of the most eye-popping remarks you've ever heard. The gloves came off on a few toasts, folks, and we'll just leave it at that. At one point, the rabbi was laughing so hard he began grabbing his chest and turned purple. For a moment, we were worried. Anyway, the wedding ceremony was wonderful, Jill looked stunning, and everyone had a great time dancing to the tunes of "Calypso Hurricane." It really was a true celebration for two of my best friends in the world, and we were proud to be part of it.

Hey! Why don't more of you pay your class dues? Statistics show that just over 50 percent of our class has sent in checks. Whatsa mattah? For $20.00 you get mini-reunions, the Alumni Magazine, and me. Case closed.

Last year I wrote about the stunning and tragic death of Paul McGorrian, who was killed in a plane crash in Pakistan while working as a freelance journalist. Paul's life carried a special resonance which endures even in his absence. Family, friends, and colleagues of Paul's have joined together to establish an endowment at Dartmouth in his memory. The goal of the endowment, called the McGorrian Fellowship, will be to fund foreign travel for students who share Paul's interest in both journalism and faraway places. Tom Farmer '81 is spearheading this project. He can be tracked down at: 2809E South Woodrow Street, Arlington, VA 22206, 703/845-8191. Thank you for considering a contribution to this important fellowship.

I'm out of news, out of time, and out of breath. Send me your thoughts.

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