1980

Freshman Year: my impressions. "Relax said the night man, we are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." The music blasting out of the window was so loud you couldn't hear yourself think. You didn't want to.

It was a fresh start. One thousand friendly faces. We wanted to meet each other. RossJaffe met everybody. At the start of his freshman trip, he announced his candidacy for class president. He had the presidency sewn up by the time he reached the summit of Mt. Moosilauke.

Nicknames were like i.d. numbers. You either had one or you got one. Child Mo (George Lester); Ollie (Mike Barrett); Rughead (Jerry Walke); Pistol (Peter Morse); Soup (Dave Campbell); Supe (Eric Cutter).

The academic competition was tough. Most soon realized that the top of the class was a long way away. We did our best, settled into the middle, and started having fun. It was hard to avoid. After all, the beer was free.

Jimmy Carter debated Gerald Ford. We watched from the tube room. Louis Lee trekked over from the River Cluster to mock anyone who dared support the future president.

The bonfire burnt down two or three days before Dartmouth night. Forty stories of railroad ties up in smoke. We rebuilt the whole thing, on time.

We screamed at football games. Our cheers were crude and unprintable. A letter arrived in our Hinman Boxes. "The alums are complaining; clean up your act." We ignored it.

Over half the class played a sport. Friendships forged on those fields, slopes, and courts survive to this day.

We did stupid things. Friday afternoon before Winter Carnival, our dorm built a graphic, "socially unacceptable" snow sculpture. Every couple of hours, the dorm "gods" received a new directive from Freshman Dean Karen Blank's flunkies ordering us to chop more off. We left for the Billy Preston concert. When we returned, the campus po' had smashed our sculpture to bits.

Thayer Flail. We always sat in the same line, usually at the same table. We ate chipped beef and hockey pucks. We threw food. Brussel sprouts were the best ammo.

Unless you were a pretty "smooth guy, it was tough meeting women. One guy sunbathed for weeks in the cemetery. His sole purpose—to catch a glimpse of his favorite senior. He never did meet her, but he got a great tan. Others timed the daily march of certain classmates to Thayer; they were ready each day at just the right time to catch a glimpse from the dorm window. The guys in South Mass hooted at the unsuspecting couples groping in the Mid-Mass dorm rooms. The ratio was 3-1, but at the frat parties the women always seemed to be holding press conferences. We hitchhiked to Smith and Holyoke. Most guys slept on the floor. Nobody admitted to it.

Fraternities were pledged. The first sororities accepted new members. There were pledge raids. Two pledges were "kidnapped" to Yankee stadium. Many beers later, one of the pledges needed something from the car. He "borrowed" the keys and drove back to Hanover. I'm not sure how the brothers returned.

The music was Boston, The Eagles, Lynrd Skynrd, Boz Scaggs, Firefall, Pousset Dart Band.

Despite predictions to the contrary, we grew up. What did we gain from all of the zaniness? Laughs. Great memories. Lifelong friends. A love of Dartmouth. What did we lose? Not a hell of a lot. I wouldn't change a thing. It was "More Than A Feeling."

61 Strawberry Woods, Stamford, CT 06902

The bonfire burnt down two or three days before Dartmouth Night. We rebuilt the whole thing, on time. DAN ZENKEL '80