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The
Night Dubya Joined the Whiffs
Summer
2003
by Steven R. Weisman '68
Steve
Weisman, chief diplomatic correspondent of the New York Times, is a board member of
Yale Alumni Publications, Inc., publisher of the Yale Alumni
Magazine.
It seemed
fitting, somehow, that the week before the reunion of the Class of 1968, the celebration
began in the comic strip Doonesbury.
"Can you believe our
rush chairman invaded Iraq?" asks
a drunken Old Blue. Upon being informed that his fraternity brothers
have arrived at the White House, the president
tells an aide, "Cordon them off. I'll be right there."
As it happened, at
the Class of 1968 reunion festivities on May 29, President Bush's
classmates had unlimited access to our host -- if you could get
past the crush of people around him -- as well as free run of the
White House, from the East Room to the Rose Garden, where you could
peek into the Oval Office. Tables and chairs were set up throughout
the main floor, but most people spent their time roaming the area
and soaking in its history.
The next day we boarded
our own Hogwarts
Express, a chartered train that left from Union Station in Washington
for New Haven and another two days of reunion celebrations. Thirty-five
years ago, a four-and-a-half-hour train ride with several hundred
members of our class would have taken a toll on our livers. For
us over-the-hill guys -- "I didn't know we were supposed to bring
our fathers," one of my classmates said -- the fizz was more Perrier
than Budweiser.
The President of the
United States was in better physical shape than most of us. But
of course George W. Bush has time to work out and jog every day,
a luxury most of us don't have. His hospitality insured that, as
the largest gathering of our class since graduation, the reunion
was a resounding success. Classmates who had never been to a reunion
came to this one, and the White House was aglow with nostalgia,
humor, warmth, and yes, a little bit of incredulity.
It
was also fitting that the evening was preceded by some soul-searching. More than a few classmates vowed not to go, in private protest against
the war in Iraq or other policies. If the anguish was a little self-important,
it must be said that our class has always been a hotbed of self-importance.
We are, after all, the Class of 1968 -- graduated in a year that,
as Ron Rosenbaum wrote in our 25th reunion class book, was "different
from all other years." We were the first Baby Boomers, born after
the 20th century's worst apocalypses. We came of age in an era of
cultural and political revolution. When we were seniors, Time magazine made the members of our generation its "Man of the Year."
And who did they put on the cover? A member of our class! (He was
snapped by a photographer looking for emblematic faces in front
of the Yale Co-op.)
With great respect to
my classmates, my own feeling is that George W. Bush did more to
honor our class than we did to honor him. No denying that we are
a diverse and cantankerous lot, and yet each of us was made to feel
welcome. For a couple of hours, the president and Mrs. Bush stood
and greeted everyone in a receiving line. The president then spent
another few hours of mingling, autograph-signing, picture-taking,
hugging, and laughing. There were no speeches, only a presentation
by the Whiffenpoofs of a plaque,
two bulldogs, and an honorary membership in Yale's most celebrated
singing group. The Whiffs confer nicknames on their own, a time-honored
tradition; the newest member's was "Fermez
La" Bush. (The nickname may or may not have something to do
with the fact that, as Bush acknowledged, he can't carry a tune.
A real Whiff later said the admission was an understatement.) With
their arms around each other's shoulders, Bush and his Whiffenpoof
classmates joined with everyone else in rousing versions of "The
Whiffenpoof
Song" and "Bright College Years,"
waving napkins and all.
What was most striking
was that President Bush seemed to be enjoying himself as much as
his guests were. It was the biggest party he had thrown as president
and, according to security people, bigger than anything thrown by
his party-animal predecessor. When it was all over, we went off
into the night, many of us heading toward New Haven in the morning.
Our host headed toward Poland, Russia, France, and the Middle East.
One classmate had said to him, "You must be under so much pressure."
He shrugged and looked nonchalant, as if the course were a gut.
Well, OK, maybe it is hard to believe he invaded Iraq. But for one
memorable evening, it all made absolute sense.  |
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