1937

The voice on the telephone was commanding. "This is Carl Erdman. Will you (Rotch) write a column on '37 at 80? And keep it to 350 words."

"Sure, Carl."

Only after I hung up did misgivings start.

What to say? And in 350 words!

Those of us who have reached this milestone already know what it is like. The sunset years. For some of us freedom from responsibilities, the joy of grandchildren. For others of us a future that promises to be short and grim. We are the survivors. Of those who entered Dartmouth in 1933 about half are still alive. Is the glass the class half full or half empty?

Some of us are still active, playing golf, tennis, enjoying travel. Many classmates have shared their expertise. I have in mind the example of what Fred Bunce has done to help the elderly.

Jim Luttrell, from the Virgin Islands, suggests that while many of us are suffering from disabilities, we can feel thankful for the years of good health we did enjoy, and those of us who have lost close friends and spouses can be thankful for the time that we enjoyed their company.

From the Hawaiian Islands Louie Valier, who spent many years sailing in the South Pacific, speaks of his outrage at the French plans to conduct nuclear tests there and urges the banning of nuclear tests and nuclear weapons anywhere.

Bob Aylward points out that for all of us the remaining time is short and because it is short it is precious. Make each day count. Do the things that are important. Don't waste a day.

Statistics: When we entered Dartmouth there were 675 members of the class of '37. When we graduated, 575. Today there are 342 living classmates; perhaps fewer as you read this. There are 127 widows, women who shared the lives and dreams of '37. So what can be said about '37 at 80? Three hundred and forty-two individuals, each with hopes and memories, each so different, yet each with a common bond.

Perhaps Fred Asher in Highland Park, Ill., spoke for more classmates than he realized when I asked him his thoughts about being 80. Fred wrote:

"I have an increasing preoccupation with my alimentary canal and sex; a growing impatience with long phone conversations; a strong distaste for brown suits; a child-like conviction that I'm going to beat the rap (even after nine months of chemo); a yearning for more men and women with civility, brains, and other qualities of leadership to appear on the political horizon; a deep-seated guilt for permitting the Bosnian slaughter and atrocities to continue; an ever-grateful realization that '37 represents an uncommon bonded constellation of caring, bright, sparkling, utterly civilized members of the Race of Mankind."

Thanks, Fred. You have said it so well for all of us.

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