At our formal welcome to this school, on a sunny morning in late September, the incoming student body president greeted our class in a speech I now regret sleeping through. He predicted that our time in college would be the “most fun four years” of our whole lives. He has been right to date, at least if my own experience serves as a remotely accurate bellwether for our class. I’ve had a blast. More »
The moon over Guantanamo Bay was full and the immense darkness was ornamented with stars everywhere I looked. My fellow midshipmen and I relished the night sky as we relaxed on the deck of our guided missile cruiser anchored in the stillness of the harbor. We were watching Greta Garbo perform on the large movie screen in front of us as we took in the soft Caribbean air. More »
Four years ago, a year after walking across the Dartmouth commencement stage, I wrote an essay for The Dartmouth titled “One Year Later,” in which I wrote about spending my post-grad summer with a girlfriend at Dartmouth without any classes to worry about, getting trapped in Europe on Sept. 11, 2001, the differing directions friends go after graduation, and how thinking you have your life figured out as an undergraduate is a big mistake. Now, in the series’ second essay, I’m looking back at the five years since I graduated. More »
The 50th reunion for the Class of 1956 is coming up this weekend, and it carries a dismal message: We will not merely die. Rather, we, who are among the last members of the real Dartmouth, will go extinct, a different matter altogether. How many members of the real Dartmouth remain? I have no idea, but the numbers will become zero fairly soon, and the Men of Dartmouth will be gone forever. More »
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