1984

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? It's been ten years since I've written the Class Notes column, and a great deal has changed. Ino longer need the trusty Smith-Corona to type the columns. I no longer get the volume of hate mail that I once did. Sure, I still get the odd death threat, but the passion is gone. Since my last column (June 1989), our class has made great strides. We are now three to four pages in from the obituaries. This is quite an accomplishment, but once again, we trail those darned '83s. They beat us in everything.

Honestly, I think we all realize that it's been difficult to keep in touch since I was sacked. I'm not saying that I was the glue that held the class together, I'm merely writing it. Draw your own conclusions. However, it's time to begin the healing. We can't stay apart forever. In the spirit of reconciliation, I would like to begin the healing process. So, take a deep breath cleanse your spirit, and prepare to be forgiven. Here goes.

First, Scott Hoffman. I forgive you for leaving Dartmouth my baseball glove. Although you deny all knowledge of its existence, I know you have it. Imagine my humiliation last spring when I arrived at the New York Yankees training camp with no glove. Of course I didn't make the team. mean no Major League team is gonna hire a bare-handed first baseman. The Yanks go on to be one of the greatest teams is the history of the game, and I'm left in the dust. But I bear no grudge. Scott, all is forgiven

Next, Mara Rudman. Mara left Dartmouth to head for Washington D.C., where she now works in the White House. I'm not sure exactly what she does, but I believe it has something to do with either attempting to destroy stockpiles of nuclear weapons or attempting to destroy the world with nuclear weapons. I never was much for details Anyway, I had this great idea to hack into the Pentagon computers and launch a series of ballistic missiles in what would have been the best 4th of July party ever seen in southern Connecticut. However Mara was too important to give me one tiny little password. Some friend. However, in the spirit of reconciliation, I forgive you.

I also forgive Ken Ackerman. Ever since freshman physics class, Ken seems to be spending his life imitating me. You be the judge: Ken is a respected physician on Long island, married with two children. I live in my parent's basement, frequent Star Trek conventions, and have many posters of the actors of Baywatch on my walls Scary right? It's like he's stalking me or something. I may call the cops.

Better yet, I'm going to get a lawyer. And not a cheap one, either. A fancy attorney, like Allen Waxman. Allen is apparently a big shot lawyer in Washington, D.C. Perhaps he can take a few minutes from his busy schedule to get Ackerman off my back Allen owes me that much. After all, I got him elected freshman class president, which began his remarkable legal career. You probably know the story. Allen's original campaign slogan was "Vote Waxman, or I break your kneecap." I felt that this slogan was too vague, too cold. I suggested something warmer and more precise: "Vote Waxman, or I fracture your left patella." I think we all know the outcome. Yet I received no position in the ensuing Waxman regime, not even Minister Without Portfolio. Try to imagine the hurt.

Well, I could go on and on, but there is a 600-word limit to the column, and only so much forgiving I can do at one time. Drop me a line; tell me what you've been up to. Please don't give too much information, I make most of the staff up anyway.

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Mara Rudman either attempts to destroystockpiles of nuclearweapons or attempts todestroy the world withnuclear weapons.ERIC GRUBMAN '84