Dartmouth's Night

ONCE A YEAR, THE KNOWING ELITE BECOME ELEMENTAL: the clear, arousing New Hampshire air; the bonfire whose startling heat drives the crowd back; the miraculous sod of the Green; the ever-present fear of rain. Last year, to the tribal sounds of speeches, of telegrams read by Mike McGean '49, of the Glee Club's standards, and of mingling alumni were added the weird martial sounds of a bagpipe, played by parade marshal Joshua Marks '96. As always, a few tradition-besotted members of the class of 1999 ran far too close around the bonfire, lapping 99 times for four years of good luck. And what did the '00s have to run this year? One hundred times, insisted upperclassmen.