Hang Out.

By Daniel F. Linsalata | Thursday, May 18, 2006

Green Key, perhaps the finest of all College holidays is upon us; though, as you will learn in the following pages, it arrives in a much-diluted form. The holiday began as a brazen excuse to provide rowdy Dartmouth Men with feminine companionship. Soon, though—in a remarkable instance of times changing for the better—the weekend began an admirable downward spiral into riotous carousing of such exuberance that it has rarely been witnessed before or since. Freshmen were forced to run a gauntlet, student- and alcohol-powered chariots raced round the Green, students pelted the new Student Assembly with rotting vegetables (ah, ‘twould be nice to revive that one this year), and, occasionally, proper riots broke out.

Of course, Time’s onward march has since brought these revelries to an end. Coeducation eventually alleviated the carnal underpinnings of Green Key, and the College administration could only be expected to tolerate its students’ well-intentioned savagery for so long. Yet Green Key remains, despite a historical administrative hostility and the lack of any apparent raison d’être. Indeed, it’s faring considerably better than any recent so-called traditions.

One April Saturday night saw the termly “Collis Up All Night,” now in its ninth year. All night, it seems, ends at 2 AM. We suppose that’s just about enough time for anyone to get his fill of A Capella, laser tag, improvisational comedy, dance groups, and—of course—pong paddle decorating. Organizers stressed it wasn’t designed to dissuade students from frequenting the fraternities, but whether designed to or not, we doubt it did. The Daily D claimed 500 students attended, which is probably about right if one figures 50 came for A Capella and laser tag, while 450 more drunkenly ambled through to pick up free tacos on their way from Webster Ave. to Psi U. It can be safely said that Up All Night kept up its nine-year tradition of fizzling with little notice.

For most students, DOC Spring Weekend was equally out of sight and out of mind. The weekend was supposed to be an introduction to the DOC for uninitiated, but predictably, it was the usual folks wriggling in the dirt. Spending one’s Saturday organically farming is (thankfully) destined to remain a rarified pastime at the College. That’s not to suggest wriggling in the dirt isn’t a time to be had, but it is certainly more likely to capture the attention of undergrads when the dirt happens to be underfoot at AD’s lawn party during a torrential downpour, as appears to be on tap for this weekend.

Much more fanfare attended Dartmouth’s 34th annual Pow Wow. Despite attracting over 2000 attendees from various Indian tribes, it managed to garner even less student attendance than Up All Night. Dartmouth students, it seems, still prefer the Indian mascot to Indian dancing. After more than 30 years, the Pow Wow can hardly be called a Dartmouth tradition without robbing that term of its meaning—that is unfortunate, albeit hardly surprising considering the College’s bi-polar relationship with its Indian past.

As if to highlight these modest disappointments, this weekend is Green Key, the sine qua non of College celebrations. The weekend soldiers on, remaining both a bit redundant since full-scale coeducation, and yet the most quintessential of Dartmouth holidays. Homecoming has, well, homecoming. Winter Carnival still has the snow sculpture and sporting events. But the Green Key Ball has long fallen by the wayside, and with it, the girls bussed in by the hundreds.

Still, Dartmouth’s bright young things will skip class, throng to pig roasts and barbecues, imbibe with abandon—in short, they will hang out. They won’t play laser tag or farm organically, and they certainly won’t expand their cultural horizons. Their minds will be unpoisoned and unencumbered by the learning that haunts their lives through the rest of the term.

If ever a Dartmouth Man should have the opportunity to make a pilgrimage to Dartmouth, England, he should take it. While Eleazar Wheelock, his successors, and students at the College remain unquestionably grateful to the Earl of Dartmouth for his generosity, a cursory tour of his town reveals an interesting tidbit: there’s not much there. The town, as the name suggests, lines both sides of the outlet of the River Dart. Two fortified, yet never-challenged, castles sit on either side of the mouth of the river. The Britannia Royal Naval College sits atop a hill several hundred yards upriver, overlooking the town, its forts, and the plethora of ships that put in to the deep-water port. One is inclined to fancy the town a bit like Hanover, but with people. And a navy. Dartmouth nominally thrives on a meager tourism economy, yet nothing goes on there; the town has not been sacked in six centuries, give or take, and, much like Hanover, the most anticipated event of the year is graduation from the college. Though while Dartmouth, the town, sees Queen Elizabeth II make the annual voyage from Buckingham, replete with the Crown Jewels or some such ceremonial regalia, Dartmouth, the College, settles for President Wright walking from 15 Webster Avenue to Parkhurst, to the Green, wearing the Flude Medal every second Sunday of June. Beyond this, the town and the College aren’t much different.

The only other event of note in the town is the annual Dartmouth Music Festival, during which residents do little, save revel out-of-doors, enjoy the spirited music, and quaff deeply. Passion for the town, and the spirit of the event, is palpable in the air. Conveniently, the event is to occur this very weekend. Coincidence? Most certainly. But in any case, Dartmouth, the town, understands its history enough to eschew piddling traditions, in favor of a yearly bacchanalia for its own sake.

And so, bright young things of Dartmouth, ‘tis now the time to revel out-of-doors, enjoy the spirited music, and quaff deeply. Hang out.

Hang Out.

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