“DartMOUTH”

AUGUST 8, 2020 – On our recent trip to Connecticut, we passed through Middletown, home of prestigious Wesleyan University. My wife, who’s traveled far but never resided outside the Midwest, pronounced it “Middle-TOWN.”

“I think it’s ‘Middle-TUN,’” I said. I knew this mainly because my oldest sister, an alumna of Connecticut College in New London, had dated a guy from Wesleyan “up in Middle-tun.”

I don’t remember much about the guy except that he (a) rode a motorcycle; and (b) took my sister to a Yale/Dartmouth football game at the Yale Bowl in New Haven.

A few days after the game, I received a letter from my sister telling about college life. She included a souvenir—her ticket stub from the football game. As an eighth grader back in Anoka, Minnesota, I’d never heard of Dartmouth College. I did know about Yale, though, and its prestige.

My little mind swirled into action.  In hand was my connection—however tenuous—to something impressive: YALE.  But among my classmates in small town Anoka, whom could I impress?

I thought for a bit and decided to pocket the ticket stub until opportunity struck. Eventually I’d find my mark. I’d pull out my “ticket to distinction.” For the next couple of weeks, before rushing off to school each day, I’d jam into my pocket the “DARTMOUTH VS. YALE” ticket stub—in addition to my rabbit’s foot.

Eventually, the rabbit’s foot worked. I wound up standing next to Tom Bonnell in the lunch line. Tom was the perfect mark for my scheme. He was the class brainiac—a straight-A student, first chair trumpet player in band, more articulate than any of our teachers, and destined to be valedictorian someday. (In fact, with a PhD from University of Chicago, he’s long been a professor of English at Notre Dame, with principal research interests listed as “James Boswell, Samuel Johnson, 18^th century collections of poetry, and History of the Book.”) Moreover, Tom came from a whole family of brainiacs. His older brother, a friend and classmate of my oldest sister, was a freshman at Princeton (which I’d learned from my sister was in “the same league” as Yale).

I’d always been awed by Tom, and I worried that unless I better distinguished myself, he might group me subconsciously with the vast pool of our “average” classmates. Here now was my chance for distinction. In my pocket was my escape from “average.”

“What do you hear from your brother at Princeton?” I baited Tom.

“Huh?” Tom grunted. “Oh, well, he’s probably going pre-med.”

Perfect set-up, I thought. Before Tom had a chance to control the conversation, I uttered a strong “Hmmm,” and dug demonstratively into my pocket. “Gee,” I continued. “What’ve I got here?” I pulled out the ticket stub and said with feigned surprise, “Oh! It’s a ticket to a Y-a-a-le – DartMOUTH football game!”

Tom busted a gut. “‘DartMOUTH?! Ha!” he said. “It’s not ‘DartMOUTH.’ It’s DartMUTH!”

I realized instantly the ugly truth: I’d just distinguished myself as . . . “average.”

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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson