Final Frustrations and Thank Yous

Alessandra Necamp

On the top of a hill, behind the white buildings and Green that define Dartmouth so well, are an old tree stump and a statue of Robert Frost. Dartmouth students know the tradition and meaning of these relics well. These days, we take pictures in front of them as part of scavenger hunts and sorority pledge missions. Robert Frost, whose statue I’ve spent time studying by on sunny afternoons, once famously wrote that “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.” Ok, but Led Zeppelin also famously sang, “Yes there are two paths you can go by / But in the long run / There’s still time to change the road you’re on.” Forgive me Mr. Frost, but Led Zeppelin has provided me with the mantra these days that I repeat frequently when gazing into the unknown and the terrifying future.

I lived the words of Led Zeppelin three years ago when I transferred to Dartmouth. I made my decision in the middle of the summer of 2006 after touring Baker Tower and seeing mountains roll on forever —it felt like home. These days, I think transferring was both the dumbest and the smartest thing I have ever done. I missed out on freshman year here, and because of that, I was not on campus-wide e-mail lists, I never got an academic advisor, and I didn’t learn what an NRO was until after it would have been helpful. I feel that another year here would have given me time to actually effect change on campus. I also know that if I hadn’t transferred, I would have missed out on an experience that challenged me in ways I did not think were possible. I would not have met the people I now call my best friends. I would not have found out how exhilarating it was to run 109 laps around a bonfire.

So right now, I’m caught looking down two roads. Either I use this space to rightfully rip Dartmouth to shreds for its failures, or I write something mature and wise and dispense some advice to those coming back to campus in the fall. I hope that other senior writers choose to point out some of Dartmouth’s greatest flaws. Permit me, though, an abbreviated critique: Dear Old Dartmouth, you are resting far too heavily on your laurels. If I could alter this place in one way, I would take away its Ivy League status and prestigious name so as to make the institution rise up out of its complacency, and do more to actually make this one of the best schools in the world. Yes, there are indeed great things about this school, but Dartmouth largely remains stuck in a lackluster funk whereby students wrestle with a bureaucratic administration that makes change impossible. Change: it’s the phrase of the day, yet almost impossible at Dartmouth. I know this because I have tried for three years now to change the way Dartmouth thinks about, accommodates, and educates students with disabilities. And still, Dartmouth remains inaccessible as ever.

What? I’ll make this short. I said…I’ll make this short. Can you hear me? I’ve had to repeat this story so many times that my activism and rage have given way to exhaustion. Or perhaps to bigger and better things. What I’m saying is this: I suffer from hearing loss, and my Dartmouth experience has been so negatively impacted by it that I have often thought of transferring. I’m sorry, I still can’t hear you $mdash; can you speak up? I said, Dartmouth, that you have made me feel victimized by my hearing loss. You made me feel powerless when you said you would listen but didn’t. Dartmouth, you have made me do more work to guarantee my day-to-day accommodations than any student should ever have to. Wait, did I hear you right? Yes… remember the time I told you about a professor who said she would “think about” providing me with essential accommodations and later refused? And of course I told you about the time a professor asked me to leave his class because my needs were taking too much time away from other students. Wait, did you say something about the law? Let me clarify: gross incompetency, ignorance, and blatant discrimination have often made me feel like my only option was a lawsuit. But let’s get beyond the law, because its adherence should be the bare minimum. As an institution that claims to be among the “best of the best,” Dartmouth should strive for universal design —that is, it should ensure accommodation for all, including those with disabilities.

What, are you stupid or something? That’s what she, a fellow student, said to me when I asked the same question she had 5 minutes ago. I guess I didn’t hear it the first time.

Humiliation, anger, frustration, and shock. Thank you, Dear Old Dartmouth, for these challenges. I mean it. They gave me the opportunity to push back at you and challenge your foundations. When Dartmouth could not rise to the occasion, I did. It’s funny: Dartmouth’s failures became my greatest learning opportunities. I would not call them successes (remember, I did not change anything), but still I am thankful for the opportunities provided in the places I never thought I’d find them.

Which brings me back to Led Zeppelin. I would like to change this road that I’m on right now. Anger and frustration, I have given you the voices you deserve. But something bigger deserves this space, too.

Dartmouth is not without its shortcomings, but there are those who love it. I love it. I love the way the air smells like wood-smoke on fall evenings and I love it when the snow is light and makes everything sparkle. I love the town, I love the mountains and most of all, I love the people here. So here is my advice for you ’10s, ’11s, and ’12s: give thanks. For all the fun we have, for all the complaints we register, and for all the abuses of the fraternities and the late nights in the library, we forget how good we really have it. And forgetting the good makes me the bitter old senior I swore I would never become. So here’s the best part of this piece, and the most important:

To St. Lawrence University, where I spent my freshman year: thank you for propelling me to Dartmouth.

Thank you to the Moosilauke Ravine Lodge, the place where I found home and community. Thank you to the Baker-Berry Library, both a prison and a sanctuary. Thank you to the Dartmouth Skiway for powder, ice, rain and snow, for fast runs and rolling groomers. To EBA’s, for gooey goodness and an appreciation of 2:10 am: thank you.

Thank you to the performance groups—singers, dancers, musicians, actors, comedians and to the sports teams and artists— you continually amaze me and have been great entertainment.

To the Government department and its international relations professors: you helped me find my passion and challenged my thinking. Thank you. To the Tucker Foundation: you have given me so much opportunity, fulfillment and purpose. Thank you. To Ray, Nancy, Eleanor and all my favorites at DDS: you made having food allergies more bearable and my mornings brighter. Thank you. To the alums who made it possible for me to go here and to the financial aid office for all of your help, thank you.

To Deans Crady, Burke, Gomez, Liscinsky and Krusi: you’ve been great listeners and have provided good advice. Thank you. To Kenya, Kibera, Stacia and Daniel: you inspire me and give me hope. Asante-sana.

To EKT: you have been a space where I have been able to express myself freely. To my sisters: you are always my safety net. Thank you. To Palaeopitus: you helped me appreciate and understand Dartmouth. Thank you. To those I call my friends: there are too many of you to name, but you changed the way I see the world, you challenged me, and you kept me sane. I have enjoyed being here with you. Thank you. To my friends who are pre-med: thank you for slaving away with me these last few years. I have learned empathy and pity and am now guaranteed a good facelift for my 50
th birthday. Thank you.

And to the illustrious Greek scene, and to the fraternities in particular: thanks for all the free beer!

To flair and snow sculptures, to Michael Jackson and the Salty Dog, to the River, the ledges, the formals, the streaking, the first snows and mud season, the Green, tennis balls and bonfires, blitz, Occom and Eleazor, Lou’s and Fort Lou’s, block parties and room parties, the Tower Room and the Stacks: you have given me something to call uniquely my own: Dartmouth. Thank you.

I am not done here, but space and time are running out. I think, now that it is time to embark on a new adventure, James Wright would say, “We have work to do, you and I.” Thank you, Dartmouth, for helping me find courage and conviction, thank you for bringing together the most inspiring, funniest people in the world, and thank you for being my home for the last three years. There are many roads to go by, but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you’re on; just don’t forget to say thanks.

Thank You.