Jimbo and Me

By Bradford Stanley | Thursday, July 22, 1999

For months, The Dartmouth Review has been trying to secure an interview with Dartmouth College President James Wright. Unfortunately, every advance was spurned by the President's office. Wright won't talk to us. In desperation, the Review turned to someone who has over twenty years of experience dealing with rejection: me.

Excited, I boldly launched myself into my new task. I carefully drew up a plan with several phases and carefully-laid objectives. Unfortunately, I tore it up to use as a bookmark for my extracurricular reading: The Best of the Swimsuit Supermodels.

Nonetheless, I carried on with my plan. First, I sent President Wright an electronic mail message which was very kind and polite. I even spelled everything right (I got someone to help me with that part). That night, however, I was frustrated by the lack of response. Didn't he care about our interview? Did it mean nothing to him? Hurt, I didn't know what to do. Unfortunately, alcohol, as usual, brought out my worst instincts.

A bottle of Olde English helped to convince me that it would be a good idea to contact the man behind the man. Or, in this case, the woman behind the man: Administrative Assistant Madeleine 'Tina' Overman.

I attempted to curry favor with Ms. Overman by explaining the various reasons why President Wright should consent to be interviewed by me. The capper: I wrote, 'I promise that I won't ask him any embarrassing questions like about his love life or anything (I bet he gets more play that I do, anyway).' Sad but true.

I woke up the next morning and realized that I had overstepped the bounds of my relationship with Ms. Overman. Luckily, I discovered that she was on vacation for the next week. I had some time to work with before my idiocy was fully realized by the Office of the President. I felt bad.

But I pushed my feelings aside. I was working on something bigger than I was. My feelings would have to wait.

A few days went by and I started to feel a little used. Why wasn't President Wright blitzing me back? Typical male. Was it something I said? Was it something I didn't say? I felt confused. I decided to attack the problem head on. If he wasn't going to blitz me back, I wanted to know why. I wasn't a good enough interviewer?

It hurt because while I was desperate to interview him, I knew that, at the same time, he was probably granting interviews to The Boston Globe or The Daily Dartmouth. True, I'm not the best reporter, but I don't deserve to be cast aside like that.

Well, I thought, President Wright seems like a good guy. Maybe he just hasn't checked his Blitzmail in the past two weeks. So, I tried to crack onto his Blitz account. I tried every password I could think of: Susan, Prez, President, Jim, Jimmy, Wutang. None of them worked.

Then I realized: great minds think alike. I decided, in desperation, to try my Blitzmail password: 'password.' Hmmm...That didn't seem to work either. Obviously, I was dealing with a superior intelligence. I decided to turn to the skill I know best: stalking.

On July 13th, I staked out Wright's parking spot. The administration parking lot was surprisingly empty. James Freedman had a parking spot that was starting to gather cobwebs and President Wright didn't have his green Jeep Grand Cherokee parked there today. Well, maybe he would show up. But I didn't want to alarm him, so I acted very conspicuous.

I knew from past experience that stalking resulted in one of two things: a) another restraining order or b) a physical response. I remembered that President Wright was in the Marines and that, by virtue of not being comatose, could probably kick my ass.

I got a Diet Doctor Pepper and some Chex Mix brand sunglasses and settled in on a nearby bench. I lasted about 20 minutes and then packed it in. Wright wasn't going to show. I was sure of it. Maybe he was avoiding me.

I didn't want to blitz him again because that would just seem too needy. I decided to play along with his little game. If you won't blitz me, I won't blitz you. I was sure he would blitz me, though. Why wouldn't he?

I decided that I wouldn't play hard to get like he was. Nothing was to be achieved by that. My friends told me that I was being too needy and that I just needed some closure. I couldn't let myself get strung along by my interviewees like this.

I was a strong, independent person and I didn't need to do interviews to feel good about myself. If need be, I would just practice by interviewing myself.

I decided to send Wright one final blitz. I told him plainly how I felt. I told him that I wished he had had the courtesy to respond to my earlier blitz, but I understand why he did not.

I told him that I didn't need for him to respond. I just needed some closure. I told him that I needed to start treating myself better before I could expect anyone else to treat me well.

So I failed to get the interview. But I always like to take a lesson out of every experience I go through. Thanks to President Wright, I learned about life and about living with the person most important in my life: myself—with or without an interview.

Thank you, James Wright.

Jimbo and Me

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