R.I.P.
When Harold “Rip” Ripley ’29 died in Hanover September 24, the College lost not only its oldest living alumnus—he was 104—but also one of its more unusually poetic assets. Since 1979 Ripley contributed memorably to his Class Notes column: He and wife Mary, who worked together as class secretaries, made sure their notes always concluded with one of his ditties. Readers treasured them. “I blush at the trashy rhymes,” Ripley once recalled, “but I’m amazed at the people who say they read ’em.” With all due respect to Robert Frost, class of 1896, Ripley may well have been Dartmouth’s most prolific poet.
Not bad for an English major who was told as a College junior that he was “the greatest disappointment they had in Dartmouth’s English department” by the department chair, as Ripley recalled in 2010. Aspiring to be an engineer, he shrugged off the criticism and continued writing for pleasure, inspired by poems such as Rudyard Kipling’s “If,” which he found himself returning to through the years. From time to time he even found himself thinking in rhyming couplets.
Rip and Mary spent much of their time at their home near Moosehead Lake, Maine, where he found inspiration to write from “life around me,” he said. Rip wrote by hand. Mary would transcribe the poems onto her computer while recording updates for the Class Notes. (She has also tried her hand at poetry, with tributes to Presidents David McLaughlin ’54, Tu’55, and Jim Freedman.) Full of mirth and reflective of their time, Ripley’s verse never failed to make the notes section—and this magazine—more enjoyable. Back in 1990 he even wrote to DAM’s Class Notes editor with a rhyming thought about his own future obituary:
Let “Rip” now be spelled R.I.P.
’Twas bound to come; don’t fight it.
Don’t feel too sad; be sure he’s glad
He didn’t have to write it!
Here’s a sampling of Rip’s verse that has appeared in DAM through the decades:
We’ve social security
And sexual purity
And not many vices at all.
But on with the struggle—
The Hanover bug’ll
Soon beckon us back in the fall.
—September 1979
Back now at Dartmouth College
Of old friends bereft,
We find, in many ways, we’ve never left;
And musing where so long we trod,
Know even then we sought our way to God.
—December 1979
Fornication and perversion now elicit no aversion
Though they tell us we should use some kinder words.
Yet when we’re a bit romantic
about Indians, they’re frantic.
This, to some of us, is strictly for the birds.
Perhaps they’ll laugh at all this stuff
When, later, they grow up enough.
—June 1980
Now I note with no elation
That my college education
Has a payoff that can only make me wince.
Then, at track, I did some running.
Now I see, excuse my punning,
I’ve been running ’round in circles ever since.
—September 1980
Behold our agile politician,
Whose main pursuit is opposition
As he attacks, disdaining facts,
And strives to feed his own ambitions.
He claims to fill the people’s needs
But panders to their baser greeds.
He tells our youth to scorn the truth
And bids them bite the hand that feeds.
He and his ilk proceed to fool us
And then presume to be our rulers.
Have you spoken up lately?
—Jan/Feb 1983
The Soviets for Ho Chi Min
Did all they could to help him win.
And now they grab Afghanistan
And watch our Congress put a ban
On sending more than token aid.
With help like that they’ve got it made.
—March 1986
We’re blasted by the constant hype,
Of pickets, chants and feckless type,
From those who’d have it understood
They only know the Common Good.
What moves them more—what’s true or right,
Or “who gets on TV tonight?”
—November 1990
The time one piddles on rhymes and riddles
Does not go for naught
If I grab your attention
Then slip in the mention
Of one good worthwhile thought.
—April 1991
I carve on trees with facile ease;
My written hand is bold,
And when I print no one needs squint
To have my message told.
I lightly type all sorts of hype
In phrases bright and shiny.
My speeches gleam with brilliant sheen;
The thoughts, too often, tiny.
—May 1991
With neither notes nor zippy quotes
From helpful twenty-niners
Your scribe and I agreed to try
To write some bright one-liners.
To Moosehead Lake we did betake
With aims both high and solemn
Of writing stuff that’s good enough
To grace October’s column.
Alas, in spite of days and nights
Of joining all our wiles,
We find it needs your words and deeds
To make these notes worthwhile.
So please excuse our lack of news
But don’t feel sad nor harried
We did achieve one item: We’ve
Decided to be married!
—October 1993
Why is it women who expect
To be looked up to with respect
Will blithely turn around and vote
For men with morals like a goat?
—June 1995
I’ve seldom heard such hateful words
As in this voting season.
The candidate speaks mostly hate
And little thought or reason.
I wonder if he’s truly wise
Or just competing for a prize.
—July/Aug 2004
With finest dreams and clever schemes
I find out to my sorrow
The words I write so late at night
Don’t look so good tomorrow.
—Sept/Oct 2006
Life comes upon us stage by stage
I’d name them if I could
Youth comes along, then middle age
Then “Gee, you’re looking good.”
—Mar/Apr 2009
I knew Jim Wright our president
Was great as he could be
And hoped Jim Kim as resident
Could be as good as he.
I know Jim Kim now well enough
And thank the stars above
He is already one of us
Who does his job with love.
—Jan/Feb 2010
Michael Gillis is a former DAM intern. He now edits the Jack-O.