Join Us, If You Dare

By J. Lawrence Scholer | Thursday, September 22, 2005

Having thus perused–or voraciously consumed, as the case may be–your first issue of The Dartmouth Review, you are perhaps pondering whether to join our ranks. You've enjoyed our informative and entertaining content and you've set your mind on coming out for free food and a vestment (if you haven't a clue what I'm talking about, see page 2). You may read the publication henceforth, but will you–should you–become one of us?

How delicately this decision hangs in the balance should not be underestimated. I know an alumnus of some distinction who, having come to Dartmouth partly to write for this newspaper, arrived early to our freshman open house, found no one to greet him, and turned away–never to return again. "Of course, I probably wouldn't have been the valedictorian had I joined the Review."

True enough, for he would surely have been felled by a debilitating injury before accomplishing that feat. You see, we are a tight-knit bunch, made tighter by the bonds of common pain. For my part, I suffered a severe head trauma my senior year. The skull was not fractured, nor did I suffer a concussion. The only evidence of my injuries was a few stitches on my forehead and extensive facial bruising. My solitary recuperation gave me the time to reflect on the causes of my injury. Surprisingly, this is not the story of misguided steps or slippery and icy surfaces, but four errant Reviewers–all members of the Class of 2004–with a predilection for injury, often to the head.

On the evening of my injury, Editor-in-Chief Emeritus Ryan Gorsche and Executive Editor Emeritus Stefan Beck accompanied me to the emergency room. As I awaited medical attention, each regaled me with tales of their trips to the ER, which were numerous, and we considered the visits of those whom we know. They exhorted me not to worry. My accident was not due to any clumsiness or neglect on my part. Quite simply, as a member of the staff of The Dartmouth Review, I was due.

Soon I was escorted out of the ER and given the necessary medical attention. The procedures were painless, and I got on well with my physicians, with whom I chatted while they sewed my skin and subcutaneous tissues. The only painful moment came at the end of the procedure when a doctor was squeezing out the blood that had gathered in the wound. During our conversation I made a rather insulting comment which, for the most part, criticized his decision to study the life sciences as opposed to the humanities. When I realized that my comment may have been somewhat sharp–although justified–I felt the pain intensify. "Now you're squeezing much harder," I said. "I know," he replied coldly.

Unfortunately, my clothes were ruined. The head bleeds profusely, and the doctors had positioned me such that all the blood from my head ran through my hair and down my neck. As a result, the collar and back of my shirt were drenched in crimson. As the doctor finished the procedure, he informed me that my hair was filled "with guts." Then, he informed me that I would not be able to wash my hair for some time. I sat up and looked about, regaining my bearings. I looked at the blood-drenched gurney and curtly told the doctor that he should have been a Union surgeon at Antietam.

Thus, my visit to the ER is the most recent in a series of similar incidents. It is a trend that will only be broken by graduation, although that attainment is often in doubt. What follows is a warning. As Plutarch writes, "Young people would take greater pleasure in hearing good playing, if first they were set to hear bad, so, in the same manner, it seems to me likely enough that we shall be all the more zealous and emulous to read, observe, and imitate the better lives, if we are not left in ignorance of the blameworthy and the bad." So learn from my example and the ones that follow.

Mr. Gorsche, as I have mentioned, was no stranger to the ER. One evening our junior year, he and TDR Mixologist Emeritus G. Rollo Begley, who will be discussed later, were carousing in Mr. Begley's residence. Gorsche threw a harmless object at Begley; Begley responded by pinning Gorsche to a piece of furniture and punching his face below the eye. Blood began to pour from the wound, and it was generally agreed that Gorsche ought to seek medical treatment. Gorsche consented, but only after posing for photographs as blood streamed down his face.

Though Begley has sent one of us to the hospital, he too has been unfortunate. His injury, however, was the most minor. During our sophomore summer, Begley was arranging furniture, and he dropped a bed onto his exposed big toe. The toenail splintered, and he was wracked with pain. This was no mere stubbed toe–the grotesquerie of the injury necessitated a hospital visit. There, the emergency staff had the onerous task of removing the mangled nail from the pustulating toe.

Mr. Beck, like Gorsche and I, has suffered from a head wound. One summer he was riding his bike home one evening, when a bat flew into his face. Beck lost his balance and he fell, his head striking the curb. He was fortunate: there was no fracture or damage to the brain. A quick visit to the emergency room for stitches proved the extent of his treatment.

I have no explanation for our predilection for injury. Perhaps it is a matter of worldview. By injuring ourselves so, we are subconsciously reenacting a time when higher education was for the privileged, when life was more leisurely, when Plutarch was read for moral guidance, and when beers were neither bitter, nor watered down. But, such psychological thinking gets us nowhere. We are all alive and have made, for the most part, successful recoveries.

Sounds like a fine tradition to be a part of, you think, full of amusing characters and unquestionably daring–if taxing on the head. However, as you may have already divined, joining the Review carries with it more than just physical danger. Mr. Beck has elsewhere commented on his colleagues' "admirable readiness, even desire…to suffer – in the limited context of grades, recommendations, and social approval – for their printed words." So-and-so down the hall may have already chided you for reading a publication that is purportedly "racist, sexist, and homophobic." Or so his friend's big sister who used to go to Dartmouth told him she heard; few of our most vehement critics have ever read a copy of the paper all the way through.

During my days as an undergraduate, The Review figured prominently in the Nation's February 17, 2003, issue and was the main subject of an article titled "A Once-Bright Star Dims." In the piece, Tim Waligore '01 and Emma Ruby-Sachs, a Wesleyan student, characterized the Review as "notorious" and as having "reverted to old habits." Laura Dellatorre '03, offering her support for these assertions, claims that the Review has "personally [attacked] campus activists and [revealed] the name of a woman who had anonymously complained of harassment by fraternity brothers." She also cites supposed "racist comments," made on a website, about the College's having paid black hairstylists to service black students, badly in need of a new style.

These incidents were provocative–maybe. Funny? Of course–if you're not a bleeding heart. But to say that things have reverted to the ways of old is more than a little misleading. If one understands the old days, as described by Dinesh D'Souza and others (see pages 10 and 11), one understands that the Review was more often provocatee than provocateur, that our ardent tone was justified self-defense against outrages perpetrated by an overzealous administration.

But times have in fact changed. Shanties no longer rise on the Green only to be demolished by students; bitter former staffers no longer infiltrate our offices to insert Hitler quotes into our masthead; and the professor who spouted racist diatribes before his class and then assaulted a photographer–lately, he's lucky if he can find a paying gig for his obscure "jazz" band.

So what of Dellatorre's claims? The incident involving the young woman who cried harassment was one of the College's more heavily hyped issues in recent years. It's been some time now, so a bit of background is warranted. The event, which is understood only in hazy terms, transpired outside a fraternity late in the winter of 2001. A group of fraternity brothers, who shall remain nameless, had gathered outside their house, whose name escapes me. After consuming a few beers, the brothers assembled on their lawn. School spirit overwhelmed them, and they burst into an impromptu recitation of the old Dartmouth football chant: "Wah-Hoo-Wah! Scalp '
em!" Darby Green '01 passed the house on foot while the brothers cheered.

At this point, the accounts diverge. Green claims that as she approached, a brother yelled, "Wah-Hoo-Wah! Scalp them bitches!" The brothers claimed that this variation on their cheer was never uttered. Their only exchange with Green came when she yelled, "Why is [aforementioned fraternity] so cool?" A brother retorted with a riddle of his own: "Why are you so fat?" The administration did not have enough evidence to punish any student involved, but the fraternity was placed on social probation anyway.

It's difficult to see how coverage of this encounter has contributed to our supposedly waning influence and popularity. So why have many Dartmouth students followed the Nation's lead in condemning the Review? In many cases, the reasons seem to be strictly personal. A lot of students just don't like the folks who write for the Review.

Another favorite tactic of various Review haters is asking why there are so many conservative-minded pieces appearing in the Daily Dartmouth these days. Shouldn't those writers use the Review as their mouthpiece? I always meant to dedicate a whole issue entirely to pro-war columns by well-meaning but ill-informed students, but never got around to it. But seriously. How many columns on national and international interests does a college newspaper need? If students want to get the conservative bent on Iraq, for instance, they can read what experts think in journals like the National Review or the Weekly Standard, to name only a couple.

For those who haven't yet noticed, the Review is a student publication that gives top billing to Dartmouth-related issues; other matters in higher education come in second; a few reviews of books, movies, and music are thrown in for good measure. And this is not a new policy, but one that the Review has adhered to, for the most part, since its inception. It was best articulated in an editorial by James Panero '98 in the June 12, 1996 issue: "If I were to summarize the role of The Dartmouth Review, then, I guess I would say it is first and foremost a newspaper, and only second a conservative newspaper. I'm not very interested in satisfying readers who wholeheartedly agree with my editorial views. It's everyone in the middle, who are open to ideas but skeptical of false prophets, that can benefit most from this paper."

Hence, readers who turn to these pages in search of justifications of war on Iraq, or for bitter rebukes of affirmative action, can turn to other sources. As editor, I tried to present issues at Dartmouth as they are. Still now, events are presented in a lively fashion; as a newspaper, it is not our business when describing these events to foretell the decline of morality and higher education. At any rate, the likes of College-funded "sex festivals," featuring a woman strutting about with a bowl of condoms, pretty much speaks for themselves.

Past attempts at demonizing the Review–rallies against "hate" on the Green, petitions urging local merchants to stop advertising in the Review–have failed to kill the paper. We've been here for 25 years, and no matter what The Nation or so-and-so down the hall says, we're not going anywhere. And with all that's happening around campus, we're as relevant as ever. So feel free to join us–just mind your head.

Join Us, If You Dare

Article Tools

Related Articles