Every little girl needs a stuffed toy that is bigger than she is. For Debbie it was a monkey. For adults it could have been a monkey on her back, but for a three-year-old toddler, it was a monkey on her trike. They often took turns riding it or posing on it. This monkey was a critter with a head three times the size of our daughter’s, and with a bright red bowtie. Strangely it had no name. It simply existed, for a brief time at least, and no doubt joined toy donations to other kids somewhere along the way.
The monkey was not another “Meow” – the small stuffed kitten Deb loving carried by its tail or in a small suitcase. Fortunately, she did not attempt to carry “Fluff” the same way. After-all, Fluff was a real kitten that arrived as a replacement for Pokie, the beagle, on our move from the openness of the Rivercrest duplexes to the multiplex apartments of North Park.
It’s also possible the monkey was dismissed in favor of a Chatty Cathy who was far from a silent creature, when Deb pulled her cord eliciting such comments as “I love you” or “Please take me with you.”
She also had a green hobbyhorse to ride, but not to feed nor groom. That came later, when we lived near the stables of the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, but that is another story. For now, our daughter usually remained indoors, wearing slippers with holes where her toes stuck out. It took some effort for her to don a snowsuit to play outdoors for only a short time during a cold, but bright, New Hampshire winter.
The best time in winter was, of course, at Christmas, when our small apartment was decorated with holiday cards scotch-taped to the paneled walls, and stars, made from a complex pattern of red, plastic drinking straws, hung from the high-pitched ceiling. It was later, in Bethesda, Maryland, that these soda-straw stars were joined by wreaths made from IBM punch-cards covered with gilded spray-paint.
Winter, during the bright month of January, was also the time for Dartmouth’s “Winter Carnival,” when students worked for hours, if not days, constructing ice sculptures, admired week-long by the townspeople, as the figures slowly melted into large lumps. The rest of the time, of course, was spent by the Dartmouth men for studying as well as for hiking (often on snowshoes) through the surrounding forests and mountains.
These young men often served as relatively low-paid babysitters. Back then the College, at the undergraduate level, was only for men. Deb seemed to like them as well as the nurses from the Mary Hitchcock Hospital, which served Dartmouth Med as the place for clinical practice. During our brief two years in Hanover, we never had a problem in finding someone to be with her whenever we wanted to take in a movie downtown or a play or a symphony at the new Arts Center next to the Hanover Inn, a great place for dinner, when we could scrape together the funds for an evening out.
With the economic restrictions of a postdoctoral fellow, we more frequently went to Lou’s Restaurant, especially for a Sunday morning breakfast after mass at Saint Bridget’s, a block away. The Green Lantern was another place for an above average dinner-out. The “Agora” in the Arts Center was less expensive, as testified by the Indians who went there for coffee and burgers. The Biochemistry faculty enjoyed the Faculty Lounge in the Arts Center as a place to dine and drink on weekends. Many members, but not us, had reserved bottles of wine for imbibing when dining. We were, indeed, only para-faculty and did not have our own stash but were occasionally allowed as guest-tasters. Our usual parties were held in our apartments on North Park.
It was always pleasant and invigorating, to live in a small college town, especially one like Hanover with its history going back to colonial days. We even celebrated the town’s Bicentennial with its evening fireworks and an afternoon parade around the College Commons with townspeople well-dressed for the 1700s. Several even played on fifes and drums as they marched.
The only social activity, other than partying, was a rare game of tennis. Karen and I owned rackets; the courts were at the end of the lane passing our apartment. She was much better than I would ever be. On the other hand, our true social life in New England had to wait for our return to Amherst Massachusetts a decade later.