Class Note 1992
Issue
Sep - Oct 2017
As I write this it’s just 10 days since I said goodbye to many of you in Hanover in June. I’ve barely unpacked, dried my eyes or started to read the yearbook.
I overheard all of the following at our amazing 25th reunion.
“Have a whoopie pie!”
“I know we knew each other, but how...?”
“You can’t call the new dorms the new dorms again.”
“The strangest place I ever ran into an alum? San Francisco, 1993. I got on the elevator and said, ‘Hey, you’re [name redacted].’ I only knew him from The Freshman Book.”
“We hit, then they sunk twice and we lost.”
“This [dorm] room [full of eight ’92s] needs softer mood lighting.”
“Why oh why did I not stop and buy that bottle of gin?”
“[Name redacted] can’t come up until Friday night because of eighth-grade graduation.”
“Campus police left our dorm entry code as 1967#.”
“Pour some jet fuel on it.”
“I think it’s okay, but an ember just landed in your hair.”
“She just took an Uber from Manchester.”
A ’19 at 2 a.m.: “I have to be up by 11 to give a campus tour.” A ’92: “Oh yeah, my daughter and I are on that tour.”
“Look, the money light is on!”
“Have a burrito—my kids got it from the ’87 tent.”
“Wait. The Lodge is still a dorm?”
At fraternity after class tent with delicious beverages closed for the night: “Do you want crap beer or crap beer?”
“They could shoot a scene for The Walking Dead in Gilman.”
“That was the one party I wasn’t here for.”
“Isn’t Rauner a library?” “No, he’s the governor.”
“I couldn’t believe they played ‘Frankenstein’ by the Edgar Winter Group. So awesome.”
“Do you know where my kids are?”
“Wheeler bathroom photo op!”
The Baker bells playing “Stand By Me” right before Saturday dinner.
“Steve Greeman has been going through a rough patch, but things are looking up.”
New new dorm doors at 7 a.m.: slam slam slam slam (person visiting the bathroom) slam slam slam slam (visiting the shower) slam slam slam slam (retrieving something in the shower), slam.
“Oh my God, I feel like I got hit by a truck. Well, maybe a light SUV.”
“Okay, I can’t read any further,” [name redacted], after reading aloud two sentences of her letter from the time capsule.
“So I’m sitting at [location redacted] and I realize that I’m looking at a U.S. Olympian, an Emmy-winning TV writer, a Sundance filmmaker...and my drunk ass.”
Kid in class tent: “That’s the valedictorian? He’s so tall!”
“I can’t [verb redacted] like I used to.”
“Did you know their undergraduate advisor in the River Cluster was Shonda?”
“You’re showing up to the class photo in red, white and blue yoga shorts? At least they have a belt!”
“Why yes, he’s 21!” [name of mom and friends redacted], with teenager, entering fraternity basement.
And from the ending of the 10-page single-spaced letter (actually my 1991-92 diary) I put in the time capsule: “I have to finish this up so I can get it in the time capsule! Twenty-five years from now I’ll probably laugh or be shocked—as long as no one else reads this! I wanted to edit it, but I didn’t have time, and why not leave it all? More honesty. Right now I’m feeling really nervous about finishing up this year and very excited to move on. Yet it’s terrifying not knowing where I’ll be in a few months, and how can I afford to start my own life?! I do hope this letter-to-myself brings much pleasure in 25 years, and I also hope those years don’t slip by as quickly as it seems like they will.” They did!
If you’re wondering whether you put anything in the 1992 time capsule or how to order reunion photos, check our class website: 1992.dartmouth.org.
—Kelly Shriver Kolln, 3900 Cottage Grove Ave. SE, Cedar Rapids, IA 52403; (920) 306-2192; dartmouth92news@gmail.com
I overheard all of the following at our amazing 25th reunion.
“Have a whoopie pie!”
“I know we knew each other, but how...?”
“You can’t call the new dorms the new dorms again.”
“The strangest place I ever ran into an alum? San Francisco, 1993. I got on the elevator and said, ‘Hey, you’re [name redacted].’ I only knew him from The Freshman Book.”
“We hit, then they sunk twice and we lost.”
“This [dorm] room [full of eight ’92s] needs softer mood lighting.”
“Why oh why did I not stop and buy that bottle of gin?”
“[Name redacted] can’t come up until Friday night because of eighth-grade graduation.”
“Campus police left our dorm entry code as 1967#.”
“Pour some jet fuel on it.”
“I think it’s okay, but an ember just landed in your hair.”
“She just took an Uber from Manchester.”
A ’19 at 2 a.m.: “I have to be up by 11 to give a campus tour.” A ’92: “Oh yeah, my daughter and I are on that tour.”
“Look, the money light is on!”
“Have a burrito—my kids got it from the ’87 tent.”
“Wait. The Lodge is still a dorm?”
At fraternity after class tent with delicious beverages closed for the night: “Do you want crap beer or crap beer?”
“They could shoot a scene for The Walking Dead in Gilman.”
“That was the one party I wasn’t here for.”
“Isn’t Rauner a library?” “No, he’s the governor.”
“I couldn’t believe they played ‘Frankenstein’ by the Edgar Winter Group. So awesome.”
“Do you know where my kids are?”
“Wheeler bathroom photo op!”
The Baker bells playing “Stand By Me” right before Saturday dinner.
“Steve Greeman has been going through a rough patch, but things are looking up.”
New new dorm doors at 7 a.m.: slam slam slam slam (person visiting the bathroom) slam slam slam slam (visiting the shower) slam slam slam slam (retrieving something in the shower), slam.
“Oh my God, I feel like I got hit by a truck. Well, maybe a light SUV.”
“Okay, I can’t read any further,” [name redacted], after reading aloud two sentences of her letter from the time capsule.
“So I’m sitting at [location redacted] and I realize that I’m looking at a U.S. Olympian, an Emmy-winning TV writer, a Sundance filmmaker...and my drunk ass.”
Kid in class tent: “That’s the valedictorian? He’s so tall!”
“I can’t [verb redacted] like I used to.”
“Did you know their undergraduate advisor in the River Cluster was Shonda?”
“You’re showing up to the class photo in red, white and blue yoga shorts? At least they have a belt!”
“Why yes, he’s 21!” [name of mom and friends redacted], with teenager, entering fraternity basement.
And from the ending of the 10-page single-spaced letter (actually my 1991-92 diary) I put in the time capsule: “I have to finish this up so I can get it in the time capsule! Twenty-five years from now I’ll probably laugh or be shocked—as long as no one else reads this! I wanted to edit it, but I didn’t have time, and why not leave it all? More honesty. Right now I’m feeling really nervous about finishing up this year and very excited to move on. Yet it’s terrifying not knowing where I’ll be in a few months, and how can I afford to start my own life?! I do hope this letter-to-myself brings much pleasure in 25 years, and I also hope those years don’t slip by as quickly as it seems like they will.” They did!
If you’re wondering whether you put anything in the 1992 time capsule or how to order reunion photos, check our class website: 1992.dartmouth.org.
—Kelly Shriver Kolln, 3900 Cottage Grove Ave. SE, Cedar Rapids, IA 52403; (920) 306-2192; dartmouth92news@gmail.com