Roommate Fall '95
Since Kylian wasn't returning, I had to pick someone to occupy what was to be my room in Worth.
Ben was supposed to go to Sri Lanka that semester, but Swarthmore decided he couldn't, in light of the civil war that's been going on there for the last ten years.
So Ben got to live with me.
and I him.
I call him Bold Ben because of his inspiring local self-confidence, taking unprecedented liberties with people he knows. It'll take him a while to warm up, but once he does, he has few qualms about invading your space, interupting your flow, wearing your shirts or turning off your music.
This is mitigated by his giving - he is generous beyond belief with his car, loaning it to friends of his and mine both - rare, golden.
All of this with a witty witty witty bravado, incredible thespianity - his voice crescendos bass and treble in conversational opera, interspersed with uncanny imitation. With his bleach blond mane, and his regal bearing, he is quite the leo.
He works extremely hard, at a place for hard workers. He scored highest honours in philosophy, by reading intently people whose names I can't even spell.
I like Ben, he has an honest heart. He's a socialist, for gosh sakes. From New Hampshire.
He goads me to speak in out and out Marxist terms about my wealthy white male background on these pages. I tell him I make no secret of it, but I ain't gonna dwell on my shortcomings.
I met his father, Jerry, he's Chair of the Dartmouth Classics Department.