No Time Like the Past.

By Joseph Rago | Friday, June 11, 2004

The College Archives, before removal to the inner corridors of Webster Hall, used to be quartered in the attics of Baker Library. The main corpus of the collection is Dartmouth's historical MSS., but it also comprises an extensive assortment of ephemera—Eleazar Wheelock's surveying equipment; a life-sized alabaster statue of Daniel Webster; a piece of the original green silk ribbon determining the color of Dartmouth Green (1866); the handsome silver montieth presented by Royal Governor John Wentworth, Honorary 1773, to President Wheelock at the first commencement in 1771; a cross-section of the Old Pine.

Now degraded to the 'Lone Pine,' the Old Pine used to be a far more vital part of the life of the College. (It was at its foot, for instance, that the farewell pipe was smoked by each graduating class at the conclusion of class-day exercises.) In some ways, the Old Pine was pushed to the periphery for matter-of-fact reasons—having been struck by lightning in 1887 and a whirlwind in 1892 it was cut down in 1895. But it remains by the wayside for other reasons too, and these tell us a lot about where the College has been, and where it's headed.

Dartmouth—the ninth and last of the colonial colleges—was in the midst of a great upheaval when the Old Pine was felled. President William Jewett Tucker, class of 1861, was modernizing the College. It began to entertain a national constituency, rather than providing a finishing school for privileged New England prep-school boys. The academic departments began to specialize and increase in size. The curriculum broadened, incorporating the life sciences with a classical education. And President Tucker drastically expanded the physical plant, raising new dormitories and architecture. The changes were sweeping—men began calling it the "New Dartmouth"—but they set the College on the course towards its present status as an elite academic institution.

Still, President Tucker was deeply concerned that Dartmouth would lose its identity in the process: the sense of the small College, the bonds among the classmates, the temper of rural New England, &c. To balance out the changes, he sought to foster in his charges a sense of democracy: the idea that no man was above another. As it was put by Joseph A. DeBoer 1884, "Every Dartmouth Man should carry his own grip." That is, every Dartmouth Man should drive his own buggy.

More importantly, William Jewett Tucker recognized that loyalty and affection for his institution were contingent on tradition, custom, and history, and he self-consciously set out to strengthen and deepen what he called the Dartmouth Spirit. For graduates, Dartmouth was to be the center of their lives.

President Tucker also fortified the College's institutional memory. During the summers of 1902 and 1903, he invited librarian Henry K. Pierce to organize and catalogue Dartmouthiana. Under Pierce's direction, the College's first archives came into being. He did it all with a small card catalogue, a quantity of Library Bureau cards, and a modest typewriter. When the Old Pine stump continued to decay, it was treated with bi-chlorid of mercury in 1912 as a preservative and edged with concrete coping. President Tucker, then retired, personally composed the commemorative plaque that was laid in College Park: "'LEST THE OLD TRADITIONS FAIL': THIS TABLET MARKS THE OLD PINE CONTEMPORARY WITH THE LIFE OF THE COLLEGE AND GUARDIAN OF ITS TRADITIONS." The Old Pine was an integral part of Dartmouth's reliquiae, those reminders of a past age. It was at once preserved and a preservative.

Now, contrast that with the stock of the Old Pine today. It's now referenced, when it's referenced at all, as the 'Lone Pine.' Things that are old or venerable, remember, are hopelessly retardataire. There's a Lone Pine Tavern, a College-sponsored bar ill-conceived as a 'social alternative' to the Greek system. And the Old Pine is depicted on Dartmouth's insignia and flag. But in its stylized rendering, its trunk is ruler-straight. The Old Pine in reality was gnarled and bent and rent into two separate, twisting trunks; it was thought to be symbolic of Eleazar Wheelock's uncertain venture in the howling wilderness.

President James Wright doesn't mention the Old Pine much these days. It's the guardian of Dartmouth's traditions, after all, and he's engaged with more important enterprises. As president, Wright has advanced many of the same schemes as President Tucker: an expanded faculty, an expanded student body, an expanded curriculum, an expanded campus. But he's done it by actively weakening the Dartmouth Spirit, at least as Tucker defined it in terms of visceral connection to custom and history. At his inauguration, Wright declaimed that Dartmouth, "while proud of its heritage," must be "Forever New." On dozens of fronts, he's constantly pushing change for the sake of change: the new, the fashionable, the iron just out of the fire, his "strategic vision for tomorrow."

Now, this is more than my natural resistance to change, and I'm not just casting about for something suitably retrograde for my tastes. The way an institution keeps its history says a lot about it—how it defines its character, identity, and values. Those things are increasingly seperated from what Longfellow called "the irrevocable Past."

Another example: look at the facing page. It's indicative of the state of Dartmouth College when it's acceptable for its Founder to be represented as a grotesque paper-doll magnet with a novelty 'number one' foam finger and a parrot in his stead. President Wright clearly isn't the draughtsman for this nonsense, but it speaks to a certain immaturity, a sense of derision and capriciousness.

Dartmouth has never been and should never be static or hidebound, but nor should it be set adrift from its own core. Realistically, such a state of being is simply unsustainable, as those qualities that make this place entirely unlike any other place on earth are fading more and more. The people who are opposed to those qualities will eventually quit while they're behind, and things will improve. James Wright, the heir of the Wheelock Succession who's disabused Wheelock, the historian who doesn't care about history, wants Dartmouth forever new; I just hope it can remain as good as old.

No Time Like the Past.

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