The Choates: The Armpit of Res Life

The conglomeration of Brown, Little, Bissel, and Cohen halls famously constitute the Choates Cluster. When Clark Preparatory School first acquired a small plot of land to be used for recreation in 1919, who could have imagined the debauchery that would take place in this area a century later? Who could imagine the mix of unpleasant smells and raucous noise? Who could imagine the comradery forged under dreary fluorescent lights reflecting of cinder blocks?

Clark Prep was founded in Hanover by former Dartmouth faculty in order to equip young men with the skills to succeed in elite schools. It was later acquired by the Cardigan Mountain School, founded itself by Dartmouth College, in 1953. After this merge, Clark Prep no longer had need of the land in Hanover; Cardigan Mountain School was located further away in Canaan. The College promptly purchased all of Clark Prep’s former property in Hanover and began plotting.

Around this same time, President Dickey was searching for ways to secure his legacy and further his vision of Dartmouth as a world-class liberal arts institution. He commissioned a number of groups to implement new policies to improve Dartmouth’s image and academic standings. Among these was the influential Ryder Commission of Campus Life. President Dickey had sent Frank Ryder a letter earlier that year asking him to investigate possible solutions to various issues surrounding Dartmouth’s campus life. Should sophomores be allowed to bring cars to campus? What would the punishment be for students who hosted female guests past curfew? How was the College to address their students’ insatiable appetite for alcohol? Should the administration give in and reopen a sanctioned taproom?

Ryder offered solutions to all of these questions, most revolving around a strict 1:00 a.m. curfew. Nestled within the statistics regarding automobile risks and correlations between grade point average and the presence of women, Ryder authored a few paragraphs advocating for a radical new form of student housing. Looking at findings from the Cutter Plan, an experimental living arrangement in which faculty lived in the same building as students, he crafted a vision for a cutting-edge dormitory, perfectly crafted for the maximization of student success.

The Cutter Plan offered an alternative proposition for the future construction of dorms: the South Mass Plan. The experimental South Mass Plan involved three non-resident advisors being assigned to a housing cluster. It was described in Ryder’s “Report on the Commision on Campus Life and Its Regulation,” published October 1st, 1955, as “less successful” than the Cutter Plan, which he noted “was a complete success.” He concluded that it may be helpful to have at least one non-resident advisor for each housing cluster, but if the College wanted to promote student success efficiently, it needed to house students and faculty together. Ryder’s findings offered an enticing opportunity for the College to lead the way in the next generation of undergraduate living spaces, and so when it found itself in possession of a plot of land the following year, it decided to kickstart the new age of dormitories right there in Hanover. 

Every aspect of the Choate Cluster was designed to address the findings of the Ryder Commission. For one, Ryder noted that, according to his surveys, over 78% of students enjoyed the communal aspect of dormitories and the prospect of fellowship with those they would not normally interact with. To encourage a sense of community, each hall in the Choates was originally equipped with a common room, so that residents would have an additional space to commune. Additionally, the central building connecting pairs of residence halls (referred to as a “pod”) featured an enormous common space on the top floor. The infrastructure of the Choates specifically hoped to address the most common complaints students had about dorms; namely, that they were noisy (381 students described this as “the most unpleasant [thing] about college dorms”), the corridors were “drab” (84 votes for this), and that there was “a lack of lounge or study” (66 votes). Of course, the Choates could not properly fulfill the dreams of the Ryder commission without integrating faculty residents. Underneath the central “pods” were apartments, originally designed to house up to three faculty members. In order to physically represent its futuristic fantasies, the College enlisted the architectural firm Campbell, Aldrich & Nulty to design the buildings, a group pioneering the mid-20th century modernist architectural movement in New England. $1.5 million later, the College’s dreams became a reality.

Or so they thought. Though the Ryder Commission promised much, in actuality the realization of its plans failed on almost every front. Some years later, the College re-examined the state of the Choates and found that only around one sixth of the common rooms it hoped would encourage fellowship showed any signs of activity whatsoever. In fact, a number were devoid of furniture entirely. As a result, it decided to convert the common rooms to dorms. Additionally, the presence of a faculty member living in the Choates did not have the radically positive impact Ryder promised, and so, after twenty-five years of subjecting faculty members to undergraduate residential life, the College decided to no longer house faculty in the Choates. As anyone who lives there could tell you now, the Choates do little to mitigate noise, and the buildings designed by Campbell, Aldrich & Nulty are now widely regarded to be some of the most hideous in New England.

The Choates did serve some worthwhile purposes. Notably, it was the first cluster in which women were housed, first as transfer students and later as fully matriculated members of the Dartmouth community. However, aside from this single commendable role they played in the history of the College, the Choates are nothing other than a miserably failed experiment.

In its present state, the Choates are considered the second worst living space for freshman, ranking only behind the geographically-isolated freshman River Cluster. Since the Choates are located near Webster Avenue, most consider its location to be slightly better than that of the River, even though they are still relatively far from many other important spots on campus.

However, the physical properties of the Choates are arguably the worst out of any residential space. When parading through its cramped halls, the first thing one notices is the unique stench. To someone who has never experienced the pungency of Choate, it would be best described as a mix of body odor, dust, and weed. Although the rooms are fairly spacious, their stained white cinder block walls, lifeless pale lights, and creaky heating system are oddly reminiscent of a prison. Their thin walls provide little privacy—it is quite easy to overhear commotion from a neighboring room. The deafening blare of music from another room and the sweltering blast of the old heaters keep many people up at night. 

Each individual Choate is a dull and rectangular brick stack. These structures are joined together in pairs by rusty, white steel bridges, each connecting to a common room lounge that has a refrigerator, a small kitchen, and other amenities like a vending machine. While helpful, these basic residential appliances are old, run-down, and barely functional. One vending machine did not even work until halfway through the term. 

From the inside and outside, they are an architectural disaster. A peer of mine described them perfectly. Due to their dreary and pathetic appearance, he said that they look like the College simply went Home Depot, ordered a six pack of Choates, and plopped them down on a plot of land with little consideration or care. 

The Choates are far from luxurious—it is no wonder why the school does not show them on admission tours. In an attempt to mask their hideous qualities, the College plans to plant more trees around them. If even the school recognizes their sordid and degrading appearance, why not just get rid of them altogether? When Morton Hall burned down a while back, the school replaced it with refurbished and improved housing. If the Choates are so bad—and they are—how has no one acted on the moral imperative to burn them down, thus, ridding the world of an unnecessary evil? 

I suppose few students want to be convicted of arson, but the longevity of the Choates could also be due to the culture. What the Choates lack in beauty, they make up for in social atmosphere. Especially before the freshman fraternity ban ended, the lounges were a lively social space for meeting new students and friendships. The shared misery of living in the decrepit Choates Cluster forms especially strong bonds between people, even to the point where they begin to believe that the Choates are not that bad. Nowhere else would a group of floormates chug mouthwash together and enjoy it. Because of this, maybe the Choates are pretty decent. East Wheelock still sounds pretty good though.