Parkman on Freedman's Tenure

By Karen Parkman | Sunday, November 2, 1997

President Freedman, from my perspective, was always a smiling face that heralded something compromised. Intellectual compromise. Political compromise. Compromise of character.

For example, just last week, flipping through the television channels, I heard a familiarly lispy, syrupy voice which I could not place.

I turned back on to C-Span, and discovered Freedman lecturing journalists on their role in improving the people's access to intellectuals.

The irony could not be greater, coming from a man who fought so hard to discourage the intellectual's access to journalism at Dartmouth. The experience of listening to him was sort of like witnessing a Bill Clinton without charisma.

I remember the first time I met James, when all incoming freshmen were expected to shake his hand as a sort of entrance to the College.

We were in Baker, I think, and a sense of Ivy League respectability and intellectual rigor permeated the walls. Here we freshmen were faced with an imposing presence, theoretically, which we expected would symbolize the institution for our next four years.

I recall trying to keep an open mind (this was prior to joining the ranks of Dartmouth Review contributors). Despite the numerous Wall Street Journal and New York Times articles which made the man appear to be some sort of enlightened book burner, it was entirely possible that he was a man, however incorrect in his politics, who stood for the life of the academy.

The effect was anti-climactic. Perhaps it is unfair to judge a man based on a weak handshake, but the reader must understand that almost no member of my class ever, with the possible exception of our graduation ceremony, heard the man speak again.

The smile and the weak handshake apparently paced the halls of Parkhurst for eleven years, only exiting for an occasional meeting with the Board of Trustees. As far as I can tell, that smile was fed with sycophantic editorials from the New York Times. Dartmouth Dining Services certainly never played any part.

It is hard, therefore, to really give a proper judgment of President Freedman, qua James O. Freedman.

One may judge his policies, but not the man.

As far as these policies go, I will not repeat here what I presume has already been said many times. But it is notable that the Freedman revolution is not particularly unique to the quasi-political, quasi-intellectual species known as the College President.

At Duke, where I attend law school, the undergraduates are horrified that their College President has implemented policies intended to create more intellectualism (as opposed to more thought), less diversity of opinion, and less social life.

That is, to imitate Harvard — or at least to imitate the College President's impression of Harvard, Harvard itself being less mediocre.

Freedman is the epitome of the College President as it exists, nationally, at schools of a certain caliber. Not a daring man, or a man of foresight. The only difference in his administration being the uniqueness which is Dartmouth. More was lost in Hanover, and for those who care about school rankings, not much was gained.

Is there more intellectual life in Hanover now? I sincerely hope there is.

But I will always believe this comes from the students, not the social engineering which the Freedman administration was famous for.

A great mind does not need a fraternity, for example, to think great thoughts, but it also does not need a fraternity's absence to think those thoughts.

Similarly, the presence or absence of the products of affirmative action, or political correctness, or the Indian symbol, is not necessary.

President Freedman was always susceptible to the fallacy that the intellect depended upon cadres of people just like himself, with his opinions. It is true that good thinking may depend, to some extent, upon the quality of thought it is exposed to.

Yet, if we look at a curriculum which does not mandate Shakespeare for English majors — let alone the rest of the student body — it is difficult to see what impact President Freedman has had on the intellectual life.

What has Freedman actually accomplished, the reader is likely asking.

Well, he has accomplished one thing, and it should be evident to any alumnus, even the recent ones. He has made Dartmouth just like everywhere else.

His college should be called Dartmouth University, and it should have different songs, and it should admit a different sort of student. Perhaps it is not the New Hampshire campus of Harvard. Perhaps we should be content if it is the New Hampshire campus of Duke, or even the University of Pennsylvania.

Dartmouth has become fungible. Outside of a few traditions, which need time to feel truly natural, a worthwhile replacement could likely revive the College, and remove almost all of a feeble man's damage. But it is precisely this which is the problem.

Freedman was only successful because the faculty and the Board of Trustees were already corrupted with the rot of philistinism.

The alumni have saved this school in the past — it occurred about a century ago — and they must save it again. All they need to do is to make sure the next President, for a change, has vision.

It is time for another Ernest Martin Hopkins.

Parkman on Freedman's Tenure

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