Life - Part Three
Chapter 2: College Charlie
Hanover, New Hampshire is a charming, picturesque New England town in September. On his arrival there with suitcases in hand, fresh from the limousine from White River Junction where the plane came in, Charlie found the weather surprisingly hot and dry. The mornings would turn out to be cool, if not yet crisp, and dew-sparkled.
Around the vast and verdant Dartmouth College Green that adjoins the town of Hanover, stand time-honored buildings of red-brick - complete with real ivy mounting to green copper roofs. Other buildings of white-painted wood have green shutters. They all rise out of the mossy granite in stately testimony to a long tradition of Yankee excellence: Daniel Webster, Robert Frost, Nelson Rockefeller . . . excellence, it is clear, of a certain class.
The taxi - really only a taxi, a long brown Ford, not a Lincoln - motored away past the ivied halls, and Charlie was left to contemplate his place among the milling students, many just arriving as he was with suitcases still in hand - many still saying their goodbyes to proud and wistful parents who would drive back home to New York or Boston, or to the airport in the real limousines. The pea-green freshmen, with beanies already displayed, gaped at the new sights, found their bearings, and wondered how their courses, their roommates, their limited budgets and libidos would all work out.
Charlie consulted his campus map and prepared for the long hike to the far edge of campus where the newest dormitories lay. Their cleancut lines, their remoteness from the hub of the campus, their fresh approach against the weight of tradition had appealed to him, as well as the low-budget cost. He was here by the grace of the Financial Aid office, thanks to the Ashes' income bracket and his promising high-school record.
Finally Bissell Hall appeared, one of four identical buildings, new brick on the outside, painted cinder block on the inside. With a tinge of anticipatory excitement Charlie found his room, took in at a glance all there was to see there (two beds, two workplaces, a large window, a couple of towel racks and closets, and evidence of his roomate's previous arrival) dropped the suitcases, and went to explore the rest of the facilities. Each dorm had three wings, and three stories. Each wing on a given floor formed a suite of eight rooms accomodating eight students - designed to form a relatively intimate social grouping, with a shared bathroom, and "living room" in the largest of the double rooms. In addition a large commons room, accessed by elevated, enclosed walkways, served as a connecting link between each pair of neighboring dorms. Here were a fireplace, piano, easy chairs and couches. In the basement of each dorm Charlie found a laundry, a ping-pong table, soft-drink and snack machines, and a windowless study room. In the central hall of each floor, there was a pay phone.
Back outside he stepped back for an overview, taking a deep breath of the fine, Indian summer air. What more could anyone in his position want? Girls, you might say - but Charlie had already made his choice to concentrate on academics here, well removed from the distraction of girls. So it all looked pretty fine. There was nothing left to do but start unpacking.
Halfway through the job Charlie heard footsteps on the gravel outside the open window, and a face appeared to look in at him. Bright eyes, curly black hair, apple cheeks - he struck Charlie as looking like a boy-doll. "Hiya," the stranger said.
Friendly character. "Uh, hi. Are you Danny, by any chance?" Charlie knew something about him already, thanks to advance notice from the famous college computer.
"Ay-uh. That's me. And you must be Charlie."
"Yup. Um, I guess you're already moved in, huh?"
"Yesterdy. Damn boring place this is, before all the action starts. What're you majoring in?"
"Oh, I don't know yet. Probably Government. But we don't have to declare until next year, isn't that what they say in the booklet?"
"Yeah. Hey, I might as well come in. It is my room, too, after all." And he scampered through the window with a quick, squirrel-like movement, his eyes glinting. He pulled out the chair from his desk and straddled it, his arms wrapped around the chair-back.
"You play any sports?" Charlie asked him, folding his clothes and stashing them in neat little piles in the dresser on my side of the room.
"Aaah, no. A little football and baseball back at Lincoln School in Maine, but I'm too small for these guys. How bout you?"
He looked up at Charlie, towering over him but alas, too thin for the football team. "Maybe some lacrosse. I played a bit back in tenth grade when I lived in Maryland.
"No shit. That's a pretty rough game."
"That's what everyone says. But if you're fast you can get by with your speed. Lots of little guys are real good with the stick."
"Ay-uh." His eyes gleamed.
"What about you, what are you planning to study?"
He grabbed the course guide that lay open on his desk on a mass of papers. He scratched his temple and frowned with the side of his mouth. "I dunno, that's what I've been tryin to figure out. I'm kind of hung up between math and French. The math I'll need for engineering, but the French I have to get out of the way, sometime. Or maybe I'll take Spanish . . ."
"Engineering, did you say? I didn't even know they offered that here. I thought it was only liberal arts."
"Well, there's no major in it, but you can get prepared with the right courses, y'know: calculus, physics, stuff like that."
"I see. So what are you going to major in?"
Danny started to interrupt to tell Charlie that you didn't have to pick a major until the second year. " - I mean, what are you planning to do after Dartmouth? Go to an engineering school then, like M.I.T, or - "
"Well actually what I'd really like to do is join the Air Force."
Uh-oh, Charlie thought; it's going to be a long year.
