The Mirror 04/18/14

4.18.2014

MIRROR

Shane brightly| 2

ex-athletes open up| 3

dwelling in curiosity| 6

questions answered| 8 ANTHONY CHICAIZA // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

2// MIRROR

EDITORS’ NOTE

The Eternal Optimist: Shane Brightly spotlight

ANNIE MA // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

Wednesday night Jasmine went to a Cords show where she heard the song that would revolutionize her Thursday. As she sat on the sticky first floor of Psi U, she heard lyrics that touched her ver y deeply.

“And when you say you won’t forget me / Well I can tell you that’s untrue / ’cause ever y day since you left me / I’ve thought less and less of you.” Damn, she thought. So indignant, dismissive and a little bitchy as well. And so she listened to “Changing of the Seasons” by the Two Door Cinema Club as soon as she got back to her dorm that night. She listened to it until she fell asleep. She listened to it on the way to her x-hour the next morning. She listened to it heading up the stairs to The D’s office to work on The Mirror.

She soon discovered that Emma, too, was obsessed with this song and has been since she heard it at a winter term Cords show. And thus, the bonding commenced, and our usually hostile working relationship was on the mend. Together, we danced and belted the liberating lyrics “You said, ‘Come back and spend the night, come back and spend the night with me!’” at our computers, during a 10-minute break in the Collis smoothie line and back at our computers again. We apologize to all the staffers we annoyed in the newsroom Thursday night, but we managed to convert our editors into believers.

We are kind of supposed to connect our editors’ note to this issue of the Mirror, but there really is no connection between our mutual love of this catchy, relatable song and our stories this week. This song is about forgetting past lovers who have scorned you, and this issue touches on religion, leaving activities that no longer fulfill you and finding passions in the great outdoors. We’ll let you make the connections while we continue to jam out.

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MIRROR R MIRROR EDITORS JASMINE SACHAR, EMMA MOLEY EDITOR-IN-CHIEF LINDSAY ELLIS PUBLISHER CARLA LARIN

EXECUTIVE EDITORS MICHAEL RIORDAN STEPHANIE McFEETERS

B y LAUREN HUFF

The door to Shane Brightly’s office is covered with letters from students. Birthday cards, thank-you notes and friendly messages plaster the door. Some are scribbled with well-wishes. I wandered down to his office in the basement of Russell Sage to ask him for an interview. His door was open, of course.

Not all students would credit their dorm custodian with significantly influencing their college experience. In fact, some students probably don’t even know who their dorm custodian is. As someone who sees him most mornings as I leave for class, I can say that Brightly is different.

I sat down with Brightly in the newly renovated Russell Sage basement lounge to talk about everything he loves, from his job here to the Boston Bruins to his two dogs, Diesel and Bandit.

“I grew up in a really small town north of here called Monroe, until I was in the fourth grade, and then my parents decided, ‘We want to move out West,’” Brightly said. “That was quite a shock for me when I was that age, because here I was just a little country boy, and we move out to the big city.”

His mother, Terril Ward, was a waitress, “the type of mom that would hide behind every corner and jump out at you to try to scare you,” Brightly said. He called himself the class clown, like his mother, who he said “was always a goofball.”

“I got in trouble in kindergarten because I was having fun dancing on the lunch tables,” Brightly said. “Of course, that didn’t blow over very well, and I got in trouble for it. If I could do anything to make you laugh or just be goofy or silly, that was me.”

He didn’t meet his biological father, David Brightly II, until he was 18 years old, so he said he did not have a large influence on his life.

His family moved to Phoenix, where they lived until he turned 21, he said, adding it was hard to adjust to new surroundings.

“My mom and my sister both have a rare condition, being half albino, so they have two different colors of hair and two different colors of skin,” he said. “My sister was getting in fights every day.”

Brightly left Arizona after over a decade, moving to Louisiana, Minnesota, Colorado and Massachusetts. A lover of travel, Brightly has visited 48 out of 50 states, Canada and Mexico.

“I’d love to get over to Europe some day,” he said. “After I buy my house that’s my next goal. I want to get over there and see Italy and Ireland and England.”

But New Hampshire’s pull was undeniable.

He said he appreciates the solitude of the surroundings, the beauty of nature. Brightly lives on the farm on which his mother grew up.

“Up where I live, there’s nothing,” Brightly said. “We don’t even have a store in my town.

I tell everyone when they’re driving through ‘Don’t blink ’cause you’ll miss it.’ We don’t

’18 in Collis: Excuse me, is this FoCo?

’15 Girl: On Sunday, I accidentally put nose drops in my eye.

even have a high school.”

Twelve years ago, he found his first job at Dartmouth through his uncle Ted Ward, who at the time worked as a custodian at Alumni Gym and squad leader for Facilities, Operations and Management. With 10 years of experience working at Red Lobster and Outback Steakhouse, he landed a job at the Courtyard Cafe.

After four years of working with Dartmouth Dining Services, Brightly needed a change of pace. He yearned for a more relaxed environment.

“To be honest with you, I really just wanted to get out of food service,” Brightly said. “When people are hungry, they’re hungry. I never really thought food service should be that stressful of a job, but my gosh, it’s so stressful, it’s ridiculous.”

Despite a $2 per hour pay cut, the change from DDS to custodial work massively increased Brightly’s quality of life. Lower stress levels and the opportunity for meaningful interactions with students are, according to Brightly, just some of the benefits of his custodial job.

“I’m so much happier,” he said. “When I was in dining services, you stepped up and I took your order. I had a few students that would stop, and they would make a point to get to know you.

I feel like now I talk to you guys more and get to know you guys more. My stress level is next to none.”

When I reciprocated this appreciation for my daily interactions with Brightly, pointing out how much Russell Sage residents value him and his company, Brightly reiterated his love for his job at Dartmouth.

“I’m just me and that’s all I can be,” Brightly said. “I’m here for you guys. If you guys didn’t choose to come to Dartmouth College, I wouldn’t have a job, and I wouldn’t be here.

Don’t get me wrong, Dartmouth College isn’t all roses, but I love working here. I wouldn’t want to work anywhere else.”

Brightly’s compassion for students certainly does not go unnoticed by Russell Sage residents.

Regan Plekenpol ’17, a current resident, said Brightly is the most upbeat Dartmouth employee she’s encountered.

“He’s there for the little emergencies, cheerfully rescuing me from being locked out or helping me break down boxes,” Plekenpol said. “But more importantly, he was there for my bigger dramas.”

When she moved rooms, Brightly noticed some of her belongings left outside her old door. He hid them away safely, and upon her return she said she was flooded with relief.

Jenna Vickers ’14, a current and former Russell Sage undergraduate advisor who has known Brightly for three years, said Brightly is invested in the lives of the building’s residents.

Another resident, Lulu Carter ’17, similarly raved about his kindness. Brightly, she said, is the “reason why everyone should want to experience living in Russell Sage.”

Many residents of Russell Sage have met

’15 Girl: I would fly like a bird down Mass Row if I weren’t so worried about peeing my pants.

ENVS Prof: This reminds me of the time I did a victory dance when I realized we should cut all the trees down.

JOSH RENAUD // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

Brightly resides on a farm in Monroe, N.H. with his two dogs.

Brightly’s dogs, a rescued pitbull named Diesel and beagle named Bandit. Bringing his dogs to work at residents’ request is one way Brightly goes above and beyond his normal custodial duties.

“I’ve got the biggest pitbull I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “He’s an absolute lovebug — he would lick you to death before he’d ever think about biting you. The dog’s all heart.”

Often sporting a Bruins hat at work, Brightly is an avid fan of all Boston sports teams — except the Patriots.

Last year, one student bought him two Red Sox tickets as a going away gift. The steep price of sporting tickets prevents him from going as often as he would like, though he said he plans to attend a Bruins’ playoff game for his birthday this year. He also frequents Dartmouth hockey games.

In his free time, Brightly said he enjoys riding motorcycles, four-wheeling, hunting, fishing, snowboarding, hiking — any outdoor activity.

Brightly never married and has no kids.

“It just never happened,” he said. “I think dating up here is hard because there’s not a whole lot of selection. I’ve always been a little bit of a loner anyway. As long as I’ve got my friends and my family, I’m happy.”

Brightly sees himself, first and foremost, as an optimist. In his 20s, he experienced a shift in attitude and decided he wanted to start living a positive lifestyle.

“When I left Phoenix, I was a negative Nelly because it was hot, and I didn’t like the heat,” he said. “When I left Arizona it was just like, ‘You know what, I’m leaving all that behind me.’ It was beautiful, it was an experience, but I was just not happy out there. I don’t want to live my life in doom and gloom.”

’16 Girl: I learned so much about you today.

You’re a feminist and a cavewoman.

Collis Employee, shouting: Why is the toaster in the freezer?

Finding peace as an ex-athlete story

B y rachel hein

I’ve spent the last 12 years immersed in the small world of competitive softball. I was entirely mediocre but loved the sport from the t-ball age.

My parents surely had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they bought me my first glove, the glove that would lead to over a decade of tournament travel, private lessons, camps, plane tickets, hotels and countless pairs of ruined cleats. Bandaging my scraped-up knees from sliding, waking me at the crack of dawn for 7 a.m. games and spending hours under the sun at the ball fields, they supported me every step of the way. And their investment paid off when recruiting came around and the sport gained me admittance into Dartmouth. In fact, making my final decision to commit had more to do with the softball program than the school itself. I had lived with this sport for so long, but it was only a matter of time before my bubble would burst in my new surroundings.

I quit the team after two years.

Many Dartmouth athletes have spent the majority of their lives devoted to one sport, giving up much of their childhoods to reach a point of excellence.

In doing so, they begin to equate their own identity with the sport, the two becoming interchangeable.

“All my life I was introduced as Taylor, the volleyball player,” Taylor Bradley ’15 said.

Jake Perkins ’14, a former alpine skier, “saw nothing besides sports when coming here.”

Rachel Decker-Sadowski ’14 described a similar identity complex.

“That was who I was — I was a tennis player and had been all my life,” she said.

At age 6, Decker-Sadowski answered every question about her future with, “I want to play Division I tennis, just like my sister.”

But despite liking our coaches, appreciating the beautiful facilities and clicking with our teams, the four of us began experiencing similar emotions at various points in our athletic careers.

For me, the one-dimensional lifestyle I had been leading became more and more unsatisfying.

Adjusting to a college athlete’s training schedule can be difficult, but for some people at Dartmouth, this does not drive them away from their sport. The root of their dissatisfaction, I’ve found, is simply not having the opportunity to try other things.

Dartmouth immediately exposes first-year students to an overload of groups, organizations and communities. They all felt attainable, accessible and within my grasp. And the average non-athlete has nothing to hold him or her back from creating his or her Dartmouth — a foundation to stand on, made up of individual interests, passions and fields of study. As an athlete, when I came to Hanover, “my Dartmouth” was decided for me.

Freshman year, I watched my friends begin to shape their lives in this community. I felt like a little kid at Disneyland staring up at the rides and colors and people, but all I could do was go on the same teacup ride over and over. I wanted to try different rides, jump on the next roller coaster, but all I could do was sit in my teacup spinning until I was sick.

The sport had swallowed me whole, trapping me in a routine that didn’t allow for the time or freedom to do anything else with my life.

Decker-Sadowski similarly felt that tennis restricted her ability to explore all Dartmouth had to offer. Drawn to theater and acting, she realized that if she continued playing tennis, she would never have the time to pursue the dramatic arts.

“It actually took one of my previous coaches telling me that if the sport wasn’t making me happy, not to do it,” she said.

Playing a varsity sport can also limit academic opportunities. While playing volleyball, Bradley was not allowed to take 2As or 3Bs, and in the spring, Decker-Sadowski could not take 2As or 2s.

Perkins said his team was given a list of acceptable time slots for classes, and he felt his sport’s ramifications in the classroom.

“I was falling asleep in class and my practice

MIRROR //3

Trending D @ RTMOUTH

Summer internship stress ALISON GUH // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

schedule always conflicted with office hours,” Perkins said. “School comes much easier when you are not an athlete. Not only does it become easier, but it becomes more enjoyable.”

I was aware of the sacrifices I was making, but the sense of team loyalty instilled in me from an early age drove me to convince myself that somehow it would all be worth it. In an attempt to divert my shameful dreams of life without softball, I constantly reminded myself of something an upperclassman had told me my first week on campus: focus on what I can give to Dartmouth instead of what I can take from it.

For two years I had given to only this sport, and it felt unfulfilling. And it didn’t seem fair that I was giving to something that wasn’t making me feel complete. I felt this “giving” was holding me back from excelling in all other areas, including the classroom. Keeping these feelings hushed and tucked away from my teammates, coaches and friends only resulted in bitterness and resentment.

Dartmouth’s mission statement boasts the production of well-rounded, multi-dimensional, capable leaders, in and out of the classroom. I decided after my sophomore season that I would find out for myself if life without softball would make me feel like the complete, balanced individual that Dartmouth so passionately promotes. My resentment had built up so much and I knew it was time to make a change, even though either way I would be making a sacrifice. I walked into my coach’s office and quit, leaving feeling liberated.

I felt like I was swimming in time. I felt more engaged in classes, I felt healthier, I felt consistent.

I had complete control over what I ate and drank, when I slept and when I exercised. On top of that, I had freedom in my D-Plan to choose the foreign study program I could have never attended. I could join the organizations I wished to be involved in, actually make it to my sorority events, take on internships without restriction and actually finish my reading without falling asleep.

Decker-Sadowski, who quit her sophomore summer, took on a major role in “The Real Inspector Hound” by Tom Stoppard her junior year, and now is a theater minor.

“I didn’t miss it,” she said. “I was burned out on tennis itself so I kept my decision.”

The transition for Decker-Sadowski was slightly easier because she spent her junior fall studying in Florence, though when she returned in the winter, she couldn’t understand how people filled their free time from 3 to 6 p.m.

Many of her friends were very supportive of her decision, as they felt that tennis had negatively impacted her health.

Bradley quit volleyball her sophomore fall, after feeling like the payoff wasn’t worth the investment of all her time. Bradley said others may have perceived her decision negatively, feeling that she had an obligation to her sport.

“There is always some judgement that goes along with it,” Bradley said. “Who wants to be labeled a quitter?”

Though Bradley struggled to find her place after leaving behind a defining part of her identity,

she found the experience to be beneficial to her self-growth. Bradley remained involved in volleyball through the club team, joined volunteer groups and became Panhellenic Council president over her sophomore summer.

As Perkins quit his senior fall, his transition to life as a non-athlete was somewhat difficult.

“I wanted to maintain some aspect of influence even though I was no longer on the roster,” he said.

Despite his attachment to his team and the sport and his coach’s disappointment, Perkins ultimately felt comfortable with his choice.

“I definitely felt peace after I came to a final decision,” he said.

He became the director of Athletes United, which provides Upper Valley children with an opportunity to participate in recreational sports, and capitalized on Greek life, devoting more time to his officer position he held in his house.

“In choosing not to be part of the ski team, I have the time to be part of lots of other things on campus,” he said. “Through joining a fraternity, you meet so many different people with different backgrounds.”

Loyalty and devotion to one unit of people for an extended period of time can make it difficult to cleanly break away. Each of us had different experiences with the quitting process. Our coaches’ reactions varied, our team’s reactions varied. However, none of our friendships on our respective teams ended when our careers did. I realized that my teammates were never my friends because of softball — softball merely introduced us. If anything, I feel that our relationships are more meaningful now because I can talk to them as a removed third party from the team.

Perkins finds that playing a varsity sport limited his social opportunities. The strength of his bonds with his teammates “damaged my ability to create new relationships outside the team freshman year,” he said. “They’re still my friends, but my Dartmouth circle has expanded.”

I wouldn’t change one thing about my first two years at Dartmouth. I learned how to work hard, stay focused and persistent and how to give all of myself to something, which, despite what this article might suggest, I think is an admirable way to live.

I suppose you could say along the way I found the best of both worlds.

“You know, I’ve learned that no sport is forever,” Perkins said. “At some point, you have to find other things that make you happy and fulfill you.”

When you can no longer discern your own identity from a game, it may be time to reevaluate your decisions.

“Redefining that identity was not an easy transition, but I’m so thankful I was forced to do it, because I would have had to do it after graduation anyway,” Bradley said. “It’s easier, and more forgiving to do it here than in the real world.”

Dartmouth isn’t a place to get stuck. Dartmouth is a place to grow, to change and to test things — most importantly, yourself. Honoring commitments is admirable, but honoring yourself — which for me came as soon as I said, “I quit” — is the only way to truly win the game of life.

2048 We don’t understand this game, but apparently everyone else does.

weddings Getting married at 22 seems a lot like leaving a party at 9:30 p.m.

Semi Season Time to flitz that cutie with great hair you’ve been eyeing in your 11 and dance the night away.

GIANT TOUR GROUPS Blocking all entrances to every major building.

NEW LATE NIGHT OPTIONS Matzoh flatbread or chicken tenders?

N.H. WEATHER We don’t want to talk about it. Why did we come here again?

4// MIRROR

Coexisting at Dartmouth Students strive and sometimes struggle to find a religious community on campus story

B y kalie marsicano

As a student body, we have no shortage of opinions about politically sensitive and polarizing topics. Yet religion, however controversial a subject, has been largely absent from campus conversation. So let’s talk about faith. In talking to many students across the spectrum of religious backgrounds, I’ve realized some things: Dartmouth has the resources for students who want to live a religious lifestyle. Many students at Dartmouth shy away from talking openly about their religious beliefs. And some students who adhere to more conser vative and devout spectrums of their religion find it hard to harmonize aspects of campus social life with the tenets of their faith. These factors combine to pull some of us closer to our religions, while others of us drift farther away.

The College recognizes 23 religious groups. Each has a faculty and staff advisor or campus minister. Over 850 Dartmouth students were actively involved in a religion this past year, and that’s only counting those who practice through official campus groups or institutions, religious and spiritual life director Rev. Nancy Vogele told me as we sat in her office in the Tucker Foundation.

While many Dartmouth students noted an absence of discussion about religious matters on campus, I found that those who seek out a community have generally been satisfied.

When I asked her about the lack of religious dialogue on campus, Vogele said, “I think a lot of people don’t know so many of their fellow classmates practice their faith or are engaged in these types of conversations.”

Our quick pace of campus life makes it difficult for students “to have time to reflect and to explore what is most deeply meaningful for them,” she said.

Some students become involved in religious organizations, finding that their ordinar y interactions on campus don’t adequately explore the spirituality they desire.

Terren Klein ’17 grew up in a conser vative Jewish household and attended Jewish day school until eighth grade. He now works as a student intern in the multi-faith conversations program at Dartmouth, which hosts weekly faith-based dinner discussions for all students, regardless of religious affiliation.

Unless a college is religiously affiliated, religion is not

going to be on the forefront of daily discussions, he said.

“I think ever yday conversation rarely gets to ver y profound levels of discussion, and that’s understandable,” Klein said.

For Klein, dinners with multi-faith conversations have provided a diverse forum for these discussions.

“Even if you have three people who identify with the Jewish religion, you’ll have four opinions there,” he said.

Feyaad Allie ’16 grew up in a Muslim family and continues to practice on campus. Although he has found Dartmouth’s climate “ver y accepting,” he shies away from discussing the specifics of his religious obser vance, because he said it can come off as didactic or preachy.

“If you talk about it in a general sense and how it affects your daily life, it’s ver y much focused on you,” Allie said.

Though he grew up “loosely Buddhist,” Daniel Pham ’16 is not religious or affiliated with any faith-based groups on campus. He said the most he ever hears about religion is when his friends have an upcoming event or holiday.

Kush Desai ’17, who was brought up with and still ascribes to Hinduism, proudly wears an Om pendant around his neck, but he doesn’t find himself discussing faith over dinner, he said.

Part of the reason for this hesitancy for many students comes from fear of judgment.

Gaby Javitt ’16, who practices elements of conser vative Judaism on campus, said she doesn’t identify herself as “pious.” She rarely broaches the subject with friends and does not know many others who practice on campus, she said.

“If you ask someone about their religion, you risk driving a wedge between yourself and that person,” Javitt said.

“You’ll find something that you might not see eye-to-eye on, or that you might not have common ground on. And that might set you apart from them in a way that you might not want to be set apart.”

For Madeline Abbott ’15, her relationship with religion has evolved since freshman year, when she was more hesitant to discuss Christianity because she was worried people would make assumptions about her intelligence, social beliefs or politics.

Since then, Abbott has become much more vocal about

the role religion plays in her life.

“I am a Christian who is pro-choice and who believes in evolution and takes science classes,” Abbott said. “I am more actively looking to combat stereotypes at this point in my Dartmouth career.”

In certain campus spaces, Dartmouth exposes students to fruitful discussions about faith. Participants have found that Dartmouth enables consistent religious practice because of the proximity of religious spaces and presence of organized communities.

Though neither of her parents is religious, Emily Eisner ’14 grew up in a Jewish area and considers herself “culturally Jewish.” Coming to Dartmouth was a “culture shock,” since she had been sheltered from other religions growing up.

“I had never ever, ever heard anyone say ‘I love Jesus’ before I came to college,” she said.

Eisner does not believe in God, but she said she enjoys going to synagogue for its communal and peaceful atmosphere.

For Desai, whose family didn’t live close to a temple, Rollins Chapel has made it easier to practice his religion on a fixed schedule, he said.

Carly Schnitzler ’16 said being at Dartmouth has not only fostered more faith-based discussions than she ever had at home, but it has also led her to reaccept Jesus as the main part of her life.

“I kind of became an actual Christian last year,” Schnitzler said. “I’ve slowly become more involved in the Christian community here, and it’s been really great.”

As an English major, Schnitzler said that she has gotten closer to her religion by unpacking the Bible as a text. A winter trip to Peru also introduced her to a friend who strengthened her faith.

“She kind of showed me how to not compartmentalize my faith and to see beauty and love ever ywhere,” Schnitzler said.

“People act surprised, and surprised in a good way” when they find out that she is religious, Schnitzler said.

“They’re like ‘Oh, something makes sense about her now,’” she said.

Similarly, Sara Holston ’17 calls the initial shock of learning about a person’s religion the moment of the “‘Oh’

From left: Elana Folbe ’15, Feyaad Allie ’16, Madeline Abbott ’15 and religious and spiritual life director Rev. Nancy Vogele

MIRROR //5

factor,” which adds a new component to a person’s identity that others may have a preconceived notion about.

Co-vice president of Dartmouth Hillel Nicholas Parillo ‘15, who carries a small bag of matzoh around during Passover, said he has never felt the need to suppress his religious identity.

“I’m out as a Jew,” he said.

Raised a Christian, Eliza Rockefeller ’17 was fascinated

by Zen Buddhism, and after a trip to India at age 13, she converted. She now practices with the Zen practice group at Dartmouth. Her friends and classmates, she said, have received her religious life with curiosity and enthusiasm.

But this might not be the case with mainstream religions, she said, which might elicit a more lukewarm reaction.

With Buddhism, “there’s an element of novelty,” Rockefeller said.

Difficulties practicing faith at Dartmouth extend beyond finding opportunities for religious discussions. Some say they have found the philosophies and teachings of their religions at odds with certain pieces of Dartmouth’s culture.

Reuben Hurst ’12, who was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, took two years off from college after his freshman year to go on a mission trip in Brazil.

Rather than separating his ever yday life and religion, Hurst inserts his life into his beliefs.

Given the pivotal role his faith plays in his life, Hurst has often encountered challenges maintaining his religious practices amid Dartmouth’s social scene. As a Mormon, you are never a regular college student, he said.

“Above all, it’s extremely socially inconvenient,” Hurst said. Mormons, he explained, do not drink alcohol and have distinct standards of sexual morality. “[Life’s] purpose is to become the best version of you and, in terms of Mormon doctrine, that version is literally divine,” Hurst said.

Even with a community that he describes as “supportive,” Aditya Shah ’15, a practicing Hindu, has faced similar social struggles as Hurst has.

“I’ve definitely had difficulty bringing up religion in frat basements,” Shah said.

Based on his experience, Shah said most people make exceptions for their faith’s stipulations to accommodate “key aspects of Dartmouth culture,” like drinking.

Hinduism does not prohibit alcohol on principle, but uncontrolled drunkenness is considered “spiritually destructive, unsafe and unhealthy from ever y perspective within Hinduism,” Shah said.

“In general, even though moderation isn’t necessarily

sinful, serious Hindu spiritual seekers tend to avoid alcohol entirely due to its association with debaucher y,” he said.

Shah said that Hinduism’s principles can be maintained in any environment and the faith does not “espouse any ‘absolute’ morality,” though Dartmouth’s hook-up culture could be deemed destructive when viewed through a Hindu lens.

It’s not just social life that compromises religious obser vance. Some institutional elements of ever yday life at Dartmouth simply don’t jive with certain religious practices.

Orthodox Jews, Dartmouth Hillel president Elana Folbe ’15 explained, cannot use electricity or money during Shabbat. In other words, this makes meal swipes impossible and complicates accessing residential buildings, and the list goes on.

“Ver y Orthodox Jews could not live here,” Folbe said. “I think the school would have to make a lot of accommodations and change a lot of things.”

As his sophomore summer rounds the corner, Allie is already considering the arrangements he must make to obser ve the major Muslim holiday of Ramadan, a month of fasting that begins June 28. Allie will fast during daylight hours, all while balancing classes and a social life.

Part of the obser vance entails eating before sunrise and right at daybreak — two times when most campus dining halls don’t usually offer food. However, the College will allow students obser ving Ramadan to go to FoCo before the sun rises, Allie said.

“I plan to fast, but maybe not for all 30 days,” Allie said.

He may also take classes fewer days a week to ease the fasting, he said.

While Allie finds the school accommodating, Shah takes issue with religion in the classroom setting. Specifically, he finds the way the religion department teaches non-Judeo Christian religions to be problematic. “[Teaching of] Abrahamic faiths are more systematic, organized or articulated,” he said. “Hindu students can’t really take courses on Hinduism usually because they feel

like so many of the things taught within there are expressly taught with a political agenda.”

These classes present Hinduism in a negative light, he said, without elaborating on many positive social and ethical consequences of the scriptures.

In an email, religion professor Reiko Ohnuma said she firmly believes she does not teach her courses on Hinduism with a political agenda or present the religion in a negative light. She begins her introductor y course on Hinduism with a discussion of the sensitivity of having a Japanese-American, non-Hindu, non-South Asian teaching the course, she said.

One of the primar y goals of the Tucker Foundation is to bridge the divide between religious and non-religious students, so that they can understand faith’s purpose in people’s lives, Vogele said.

“We would really have to change the culture of our campus if we were going to have more variety and more visibility in the way that people experience and practice religion,” Eisner said.

But Vogele, who has sought new ways to collaborate within College departments like through alternative spring break programs and the new Inter-Faith living learning community, remains optimistic about “building relationships across campus” to boost the level of religious discourse.

While Folbe has found Dartmouth to be a welcoming place, she said she does not know if she would feel similarly if she were “ver y, ver y religious.”

“I think there’s a big divide between ver y religious students and not ver y religious students on campus,” Eisner said. “You’re sort of either secretly religious or religious enough that that becomes a ver y big part of your life.”

Regardless of beliefs and backgrounds, students share common ground, Vogele said, as they search for “meaning and purpose.”

“There’s something about coming together and having companionship that I think is really meaningful — not just for students but for the human being,” Vogele said.

48%

Designates an off-campus location (placement on map not indicative of location)

BYRNE HOLLANDER // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

6// MIRROR

Through the Looking Glass How I found my passion for ecology COLUMN

B y zach WOOD

At age 4, my parents put me in a kayak.

Ever y summer thereafter as a child, my mother, father and I would roam the Adirondacks by water. By 5 or 6, I was comfortable hauling over beaver dams and ducking under snags and bridges. Ever y July and August, we spent almost ever y day of my father’s vacation time camping at Lake Durant, where days merged together, and time seemed to stop. I would spend countless hours exploring the damp boreal forest or circling the lake’s tiny islands with my kayak.

I must have made dozens of maps of Lake Durant as a child. I sketched the point where we camped and recorded the footpaths leaving our site. I mapped ever y submerged rock in the lake that you could scrape your boat on and the tiny streams that entered the lake. Chronically curious, I became obsessed with mapping and exploring ever y landform I could see and understanding how ever ything was connected. By age 11, I received maps of the entire Adirondacks. For hours, I would spread out across our small living room floor and pore over them, fighting to keep our pets from tearing them. I quickly memorized most of the landforms, paths and water bodies dotting the six million acres of the park. To anyone foolish enough to ask, I could explain in painful detail how to reach any landmark.

By the time I entered high school, my parents had given me my own touring kayak, and I had taken up orienteering and light mountaineering. The three of us grew as outdoorsmen together — I learned and they re-learned the sense of backwoods exploration. Nobody thinks of New York as a frontier, but to me and my ever-growing imagination, each step or paddle stroke took me deeper into an immense but inviting wilderness, both in place and in spirit.

In 10th grade, a science research program at my high school connected me with George Robinson of the State University of New York at Albany. I have no idea what inspired him to mentor a student so young, but he showed me a few papers on beech bark disease and agreed to work with me if I could come up with a project. I began reading through volumes about the combination of an invasive insect and a native fungus that has left most beech trees in the Northeast looking like they have been shot at hundreds of times. I realized that I had overlooked its symptoms on all the beech of my younger years and discovered a new obsession, a new curiosity. I already knew where ever ything was, but now I wanted to know how it all worked.

After three years, George and I had put together a rudimentar y theor y on interactions between beech bark disease and the forest ecosystem, and I started traveling across the countr y to present it at several competitions.

Then came Dar tmouth. Besides the woods and waters of home, Dartmouth was the first place that ever felt unlimited. Here we have endless corridors of knowledge down which to walk and the right people

Courtesy of Zach Wood

Zach Wood ’15 spent his sophomore summer conducting research in Greenland with ecology and evolutionar y biology Ph.D. student Jess Trout-Haney.

to point you in the proper direction if you decide to ask.

Freshman winter I met biology professor David Peart. He put an immense amount of energy and patience into shaping me to think like an ecologist. He destroyed my naïve assumptions about how the world works and taught me how to perceive the subtly important details of science through the noise. With some help from our lab statistician, I taught myself how to program in R and started poring over data sets the same way I pored over maps as a child. I spent hours staring out the window of our lab toward Balch Hill, tr ying to understand the patterns in front of my eyes. Through lots of work and little sleep, David and I worked to put together some of the mathematics behind tree structure on Mount Moosilauke.

I must have taken a hundred small walks during my freshman year through Pine Park, over the Velvet Rocks and up Balch Hill, with no regard for the time of day.

My head would swirl with ideas, tr ying to understand the patterns within the forests I saw. Ecology became my new wilderness, a separate world to slink off into and explore for hours, unbothered.

Lauren Culler, a Ph.D. student in the

ecology and evolutionar y biology program, took me back to where I started: the water.

When I first met Lauren, I was skeptical of how someone could spend such a long time studying aquatic insects without becoming incredibly bored or crazy. I was quickly proven wrong when Lauren showed me damselflies, whose lar vae breathe through gills on their tails and hide in plain sight on the stalks of under water weeds. I learned through experience that you can coax them to perch on your arms if you hold them under water for long enough. Lauren also taught me about dytiscid beetles, which have large pincers and hunt unsuspecting tadpoles and fish, and water scorpions, which I cannot describe with words. I have since returned to the lakes of the Adirondacks and found these creatures hiding in the familiar places of my childhood, unnoticed by me for over a decade.

After handling thousands of damselflies, I moved on to work with biology professor Kathy Cottingham. She has probably been the most patient with my tangled research interests, and we have bounced through a handful of different projects. Kathy taught me to branch out. She has shown me that the answer to a given problem will often require looking in the cobweb-covered places of our

knowledge, in disciplines rarely visited by ecologists.

I skipped out on sophomore summer to research with ecology and evolutionar y biology Ph.D. student Jess Trout-Haney in Greenland.

It was a difficult decision to make, forgoing a term I had looked for ward to for two years so I could travel to a strange and uncomfortable place. I don’t speak either of the two common languages in Greenland — Greenlandic and Danish. There are no trees, the lakes are cold and mosquitoes abound. However, on the tundra I felt like a child at Lake Durant again. I was exploring, mapping, hopping on rocks, falling in lakes — returning to my roots. I returned with more ideas swarming around my head than mosquitoes, and it has taken almost a year just to organize the big ones for next year’s field season. I’ve never been happier.

My Dartmouth experience has been defined by curiosity. I have been lucky enough to encounter people who sympathize with my obsession for exploration and even encourage it. I would encourage my peers, an intellectually diverse and amazingly talented group of individuals, to find what makes them curious and grab hold. You will find amazing complexity in this world in areas you would never expect, like damselflies hiding in plain sight.

MIRROR //7

What have we done? IN CASE YOU WERE COLUMN By Seanie Civale and Amanda Smith WONDERING COLUMN By Katie Sinclair

We will commence with an update on the status of our piglet fund and pending piglet. Neither a piglet nor a piglet source has been secured. The fund remains at $0.00. As of late, however, we have a lot of faith in anonymous donors and believe that something truly magical will happen.

While we wait, we continue to make our own magic (or trouble, depending on your attitude and who you ask). Seanie made a rogue trip to Boston yesterday to attend a concert put on by a band that calls its style “taut and anxious.” Amanda attempted to dye a piece of her hair purple. Twice. She only managed to get it to a slightly pink-ish hue. Seanie spent at least five hours playing 2048 this week and realized the extent to which beating a game can make one feel so simultaneously intelligent and pathetic.

Amanda’s closet collapsed, evidence of the fact that she has too many clothes. To cope, she took to online shopping. Together, we adventured off campus once more (this time we did not drive, nor did we break or lose any car keys). But low and behold — disaster struck anyway.

Our stor y begins with as we pulled into the driveway of the Great View Roller Skating rink in Enfield. There is nothing great about the view. From the outside, the rink is essentially a shed-like windowless rectangular prism with the letters “oller Sk ing” on the outside. But alas, we did not go there for the view, we went there for fun and maybe even to feel like we were cast members of the film “Whip It” (2009).

Everything was going pretty well up until we actually put on the blades. Seanie noticed that four of her pair’s six buckles were broken. Seanie, a first-time rollerblader, was undeterred. She saw no potential correlation between dysfunctional rollerblades and falling. Then Seanie took a tumble and realized she was wrong. Great View: 1.

Seanie/Amanda: 0.

Once we actually made it onto the roller rink, Amanda eagerly began taking videos with the idea in mind that the outing would look a little something like Jessica Simpson’s “Public Affair” music video. And it actually kind of felt like it did, but then the rink attendant approached Amanda and informed her that Instagramming while

blading was a safety hazard. She realized that she never even successfully hit the record button and therefore we have no video evidence to prove any of this. Great View: 2. Seanie/Amanda: 0.

Soon we had reached what felt like expert status in rollerblading, which really only means that we were no longer forced to take turns at a snail’s pace to evade crashing to the ground. We then decided that our next milestone as experts would be blading backwards. Along with several of our friends, we entered the circular experimental zone in the middle of the rink and stood, squeezing various muscles with the hopes that we would begin to move in reverse. Nothing happened, save our legs getting extremely tired, extremely fast.

Eventually, a highly attractive and talented male blader entered our circle with a helpful look on his face. Our spirits lifted. He took one friend by the hands and swept her away to give her further instruction. She looked graceful and happy as they bladed backwards together. We remained motionless. Great View: 3. Seanie/Amanda: 0.

By the time “Mine” by Taylor Swift started booming from the rink speakers, we had decided to only blade for ward. The wind blew through our hair (because we were rolling at such a high velocity), we joined hands and looked at each other, singing “you are the best thing that’s ever been mine.” The view truly was great for about 10 seconds. Then, we were cut off by some teen boy bladers, and one of our friends made the sad mistake of using her kneecaps as brakes. Once we had assisted her off of the rink and onto a bench where she could ice her knees in peace, we all decided to call it quits and get ice cream.

Great View: 4. Seanie/Amanda: 0.

In the end, the scoreboard meant nothing. We felt and still feel like winners.

Though we never mastered the art of moving backwards, the whole point of our term is about rolling for ward with the punches that life throws, so perhaps Great View did us a favor. Like Chumbawamba said, “[We] get knocked down, but [we] get up again.”

And next time, we know to wear kneepads.

Yours, yet pigless, Lucy & Ethel

In case you were wondering, the first prototype of a bicycle was called the “dandy horse.” Invented in 1817, the dandy horse was comprised of a wooden frame, handlebars and two wheels. Pedals were conspicuously absent, so the dandy horse was powered by the rider’s own legs, in “Flintstones”-esque fashion. How this is an improvement over simple walking is hard to say. The dandy horse was short-lived, falling out of fashion two years later, after riders began receiving two-pound fines for riding them on pedestrian paths.

Next came the boneshaker, first appearing in the 1860s. Though this machine more or less resembled a modern bike, the pedals were attached directly to the wheels. The name perhaps indicates the ride’s comfort level. In the 1870s, penny-farthings, those odd-looking bikes with the one huge wheel, appeared. They were difficult to steer and incredibly dangerous. The bike most similar to the one we know and love today became popular in the 1890s and was called the “safety bicycle” — so named because the use of the chain drive allowed the pedals to be placed lower to the ground and to power the back wheel.

A week ago, I would have said spring has sprung. After the sudden batch of snow, I have to amend that statement: spring is definitely thinking about springing, though its not quite there yet. The Green, though damp, is mostly clear of snow. The sidewalks are dry and clear. While we no longer have to worry about slipping on ice, spring brings with it its own hazards. I am talking, of course, about cyclists. When the weather warms up, the bikers come out. The Green is their highway. The narrow walkway to the Life Sciences Center can be especially treacherous.

I fear cyclists because I’ve been hit twice by them. They weren’t high-speed collisions — we did the weird, awkward dance where he feinted left and I went right, and then he actually ended up going right. No injuries reported, except for my pride. Still, I have to wonder: is riding your bike very slowly through crowds of amblers and strollers any safer or faster than just riding it on the shoulder of the road? I find that Hanover drivers are well-aware of the lackadaisical traffic awareness of students, so they probably won’t run you over. Granted, there was that one time Hanover was flooded by outsiders for the Republican presidential primary debate, and those drivers didn’t seem to appreciate the laissez-faire attitude Dartmouth

students have toward sidewalks. But the next Republican debate isn’t until 2016, so the streets should be safe for cyclists until then.

Despite the hazards they present to cross-campus pedestrians, I’m actually quite fond of bicycles. At home, I possess a cobalt blue seven-speed, which I take out to cruise on the bike path at the beach. At Dartmouth, I purchased a $70 lavender bike from Walmart to make it through sophomore summer. My friends and I decided it was an excellent idea to rent an off-campus house, and by off-campus I mean practically in West Lebanon. The little yellow cottage was three or four houses past the Co-Op — a good 20-minute walk from campus. I know at other colleges anything within a mile is considered “close,” but that’s not the case at Dartmouth, where anything that can’t be reached with a five-minute trek is considered “too far,” especially in the winter. So I bought the bike in order to make it to class on time. The lavender bike served me well all summer, and then languished outside of Hitchcock Hall my whole junior fall. I put it in storage for the winter, and then I forgot about it. Once you don’t live two miles away from everything, biking is not really worth it — too many pedestrians to hit. I think I put the bike somewhere in the Choates, but I’m not entirely sure. At this point, it will cost more to get out of storage than it’s worth, so I consider it a sort of donation. Hopefully someone will rescue it and get it back in working order.

A little WD-40 should clear everything up.

As the air warms up, it’s hard not to reminisce about the good times. People have returned to campus! Seniors have completely checked out and are therefore fun to hang out with again! People are wearing shorts and sundresses even though it’s 45 degrees outside! And bikes, those dangerous machines, are everywhere. Or maybe Dartmouth cyclists are generally responsible, and I just don’t pay enough attention. I intend to enjoy my last spring at Dartmouth before I hightail it back to warmer climes where 45 degrees is not flip-flop but winter coat weather. Sophomores, it’s time to start looking forward to sophomore summer, which is actually as awesome as everyone says it is. While I would highly recommend not living somewhere super far from campus, if you do, I know of a bike you could have. It even has a cup holder!

8// MIRROR

THINGS YOU’VE ALWAYS WONDERED STORY

ABOUT

DARTMOUTH

B y SARA KASSIR

As Dartmouth students, we often become so entrenched in our ways that we forget to question the things around us. We function within institutions and participate in traditions, often without understanding their backgrounds. Occasionally, we may wonder about the absurdity of our ways, but we never bother to seek out answers. In doing so, we remain uneducated on a very deep and problematic level.

There is, however, some good news. 1) This is not another op-ed on political revisionism, and 2) I’m here to help.

In my experience, the typical Dartmouth student is inquisitive with a lazy streak. If you fit into this category, you have probably wondered about some of the following questions during your time on campus, but likely haven’t bothered to actually find out answers to them. Midterms may have you feeling bogged down in knowledge that you don’t actually need and will likely forget by next Tuesday. Fear not: Here are answers to all the things you really want to know about.

Why can’t the College own the Green?

Freshman year, students often hear that the way to avoid getting picked up by the Hanover Police is to be strategic about how you cross campus. Walk along the Green and never across it, upperclassmen say, because the property is owned by the town and therefore is fair game for getting arrested. The truth of the matter is that Dartmouth does in fact own the Green — but this doesn’t mean you should be caught stumbling across it at 3 a.m. According to Safety and Security director Harry Kinne, H-Po has jurisdiction everywhere in Hanover, including on campus.

Controversies about ownership of the Green have, however, occurred throughout the College’s history. Most regrettably, a June 1942 issue of The Dartmouth reported that a story was circulating about “a forgotten Indian from Oklahoma who went home after graduation, struck oil under his tepee and found himself with so much money that he bought the campus and set it aside as a reservation for dogs.” The article also states that there “seems to be some evidence to substantiate this theory,” though it fails to specify what this evidence may be.

And if you were wondering why we refer to the plot of land as “the Green,” the Board of Trustees’ meeting minutes from 1906 show that the title choice was in fact intentional. On March 17, a vote was passed to change the name from “Campus” to “College Green” on all official Dartmouth materials.

Why can’t we swim in Occom Pond?

Occom is actually a man-made body of water created by the building of a dam in the late19th century. Simply put, we don’t swim in it because the water is kind of gross. In an October 2005 issue of Vox of Dartmouth, the faculty and staff newspaper, then-associate vice president of Facilities Operations and Management John Gratiot described the pond as “essentially a storm water runoff pond.” In the 1980s and ’90s, several academic articles were written discussing the serious accumulation of algae at Occom, and while the College has since made efforts to address the water quality, going for a dip would not be advisable.

Where do the recipes for Collis baked goods come from?

Collis baker Mary Ann Milanese is the source of all of the cafe’s muffins, scones, cookies and cakes. She has worked at the College for over 25 years, she said. Her inspiration comes from various sources, including the over 400 cookbooks she has at home, magazines, TV shows and others’ recommendations. In fact, sometimes students give their input.

“I always welcome requests from students,” Milanese said. “Usually it’s for things we already make that I’ve forgotten about, and I’ll get emails or comment cards asking for them. There are only a couple of things we make every week, like blueberry muffins and chocolate chip scones.”

While the classics often make an appearance, so do some of Milanese’s more unusual recipes.

A few days ago, for example, a beet cake was available for purchase.

“That cake is actually an old recipe that came from a Jewish cookbook,” she said. “But beets seem to be more in the news lately because they’re so healthy, so I thought people might be more interested. The red velvet brownies have lots of beets in them, too — they work very nicely with chocolate and add some moisture.”

Milanese’s personal favorite recipe? Her Mexican chocolate snickerdoodles.

What is the purpose of the Bema?

In 1882, then-College President Samuel Colcord Bartlett put the senior class to work to clear the area of land that has been used for a variety of purposes for well over a century. The Dartmouth reported in March of the same year, “The Seniors are making good headway toward the construction of an amphitheater in the Park for Class Day exercises. The Cliff that arises abruptly on the west side of the open space […] is being dug away, and a sort of Bema made.”

According to administrative documents found in the Rauner Special Collections Library, the project was part of a park improvement effort that Bartlett undertook, which included the construction of pathways, bridges and gazebos. Commencement was also held at the Bema from 1932 to 1953.

Why is Wheelock Books on stilts?

According to a store manager, the building is an “air rights” building, similar to what you would see in high-density urban areas. Because Hanover falls into this category.

How does Dartmouth Dining Services compost and what does it do with leftover food?

ERIN O’NEIL // THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

In September 1995, the Hanover Planning Board approved the development of a compost facility that would accept food, yard and sewage waste. Three years prior, in June 1992, the Valley News reported that the College was ahead of the game, with a private compost pile at Fullington Farm being used to make fertilizer for athletic fields. According to the office of Facilities, Operations and Management, Dartmouth continues to compost about 263 tons of food waste each year, used for landscaping purposes around campus.

While salad ingredients seem to be highly appropriate for this purpose, what you may actually be wondering is what FoCo does with all its leftover cookies. According to DDS manager Matt Smith, “There are a lot fewer left over than you think because the bakers cook them in small batches during meals.” When there are leftovers at the end of the evening, one of the lucky last diners left at closing time is often offered the tray to take for the road.