This month I asked all ’90s, “Choose one—smell, taste or sound—and tell us about the one that comes to mind first when you think of Dartmouth.” Thanks for your excellent responses.


David Sherwood: “The crisp smell of cold while crossing the Green on a winter’s night.” Maria Deknatel: “Hearing the bells play “Dartmouth Undying” as I walk across the Green in early evening.” Anuj Gupta: “The extraordinary peace and silence after a heavy snowfall in Hanover.” Megan Hammond: “For me it’s the smell of pine—when we first went to the Bema, at Moosilauke and the Skiway, walking down toward Ledyard—the smell of pine everywhere! I love it.” Gary Katz: “Dry autumn leaves crunching underfoot. It’s corny, but it triggers the memory of Dartmouth every time!” Mike Lindgren: “For some reason, when I think of my sophomore summer I think of a Tom Petty bootleg that my friend Mark Zankel had. It was recorded at the Rathskeller in Boston sometime in 1977 or 1978. That tape, with its grimy swirl of hard rock, provided a backdrop to a marvelous summer of swimming, drinking beer, cruising around Hanover and hanging out.”


Jonathan Sullivan: “The way the air smells on a gray winter morning just before it’s going to snow. Living in Virginia for the past 20 years I don’t experience that smell very often. But once in a while, when the air is quiet and still, and there’s the smell of snow in the air—it takes me back to Dartmouth.” Bernadine Wu: “The smell of my nostrils and eyeballs freezing as I walk from Kappa Kappa Gama to, well, anywhere. The beautiful bright blue skies and sparkling white snow are deceptively cold yet invigorating.” Meg Sommerfeld: “The smell of piping hot Earl Grey tea in Sanborn, mix-ins at the Hop, lemon-poppyseed bread at Collis and ‘the crunch of feet on snow.’ ”


Steffen Nelson: “The soft crunching of twigs under running feet amidst the silence of the surrounding woods in Pine Park.” Amy Monbourquette: “The crunch of feet on snow.” Brad Drazen: “Who can forget her soft September sunsets? Her sparkling noons, the crunch of feet on snow?” Kerstin Stanley Clark: “I’m thinking of spring’s distant, pinging, shotgun sound of the ice breaking up on the Connecticut River. Hallie Brooks: “The sound of oars thunking in oarlocks when all are rowing together and the smell of mung.” David Clark: “I hear the sounds of the greatest minds in the world studying in Sanborn.”


Ute Bowman Otley: “The smell of wet pine trees on spring mornings.” MaryEs Anderson Beaver: “The sound of silence walking in the fresh fallen snow, the world around me quiet and peaceful. Also, George Winston’s ‘December’ on the albums in the music lab where you could truly get lost in the music.” Michelle Brownlee: “An EBA’s chicken sandwich. (I’m sure I won’t be the only person with that response.)” John McBride: “Fraternity mung (ewww), an EBA’s chicken sandwich, C&A pizza, Baker’s bells and late-night conversation with friends.” Shirley Menard: An EBA’s original chicken sandwich. I’ve never had anything like it since and I can’t find a Portuguese muffin anywhere!” Jessica Silver: “Collis orange-chocolate-chip bread. Yum.” Lou Mabley: “EBA’s spuds and the fries at the Hop, the Alpha Delta basement and the stylings of Rob Crawford singing Joe Jackson’s ‘Is She Really Going Out With Him?’ ”


And we conclude this column with a very sad farewell to George Cawman, who died unexpectedly of a pulmonary embolism on November 3. George, we will all miss you.


—Rob Crawford, 47 Black Oak Road, Weston, MA 02493; robertlcrawford@yahoo.com; Walter Palmer, 87 South St., Rockport, MA 01966; palmerwalter@mac.com