We have wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. But on June 18, we can cross the River Connecticut and return to the promised land. In part, reunions are about remembering who we were.
“Think on nature’s terms,” advised adventurer and avalanche expert Jill Fredston in response to facilitator extraordinaire Janine Avner’s provocative question on Jill’s top tip for managing risk in remote wilderness.
While waiting for a flight from O’Hare this past summer, I approached a young woman wearing a Dartmouth sweatshirt. She identified herself as Hannah, class of 2020.
The postman may not always ring twice, but he still brings surprises. He recently delivered a copy of Paper Jewels: Postcards from the Raj by Omar Khan.
With the advent of spring in Philadelphia, I am seeing more green along the banks of the Schuylkill River than at any point since the evening of January 12.
Son, can you play me a memory? I’m not really sure how it goes, but it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes.
We were only 10 years old in October 1968 when we saw Dick Fosbury transform the high jump event with his gold medal-winning “Fosbury Flop” at the Mexico City Olympics.
We arestill basking in the after-glow of our 60th birthday party in Scottsdale, Arizona, but looking forward to our second annual Homecoming dinner on October 27 at Pierce’s Inn.
By the time we got to Phoenix, Arizona, it was time for cocktails. The desert bloomed. The alumni magazine adopted the Oxford comma, and your humble class secretaries were grateful, supportive, and approving.