Volume 32 Number 2 Winter 2010
In this Issue
- The Kenyon Compendium of Astounding Records
- Inside the Washington Insiders
- White Out
The Editor's Page
- Being There
- Letters to the Editor
Along Middle Path
- Into the Wild
- Geek Chic
- Unsung Moments in Kenyon History
- In and Out at Kenyon
- The Hot Sheet
- Gambier is Talking About...
- Kenyon in Quotes
- Creature of Habit
- Sports Round-Up
- Junk and Dreams
- Recent Books by Kenyon Authors
- "It began to rain cows"
- Joining the Top Ranks
- Why Don't We See More Plays by Women?
- Not in my Job Description: A Dancer's Muddy Boots
- Power of the Moving Line
- Alumni Digest
The Last Page
- From the Hill to the Hill
Unsung Moments in Kenyon History
The time: late August 1989. The place: Peirce Hall, opening dinner for the new students. The shocker: a dean's announcement that First-Year Sing would be canceled, because the tradition had turned into a boorish hazing ritual, with upperclassmen jeering the first-years as they tried their shaky voices on "The Thrill" and other Kenyon songs.
The Sing would survive, thanks to the fledgling Class of 1993, which had gotten wind of the impending action and plotted a revolt. But when the announcement came, there was a moment of nervous silence. Who would speak up?
Choral director Ben Locke, who had led a Sing rehearsal at the dinner, recalls that one of the new students, Kelley Wilder, "stood up on a table, defying the authority of all the faculty and deans in attendance," and proclaimed that her class was not going to let the tradition die. "The entire class roared its support and followed her across Ransom Green and triumphantly took ownership of their Sing," wrote Locke, who happily conducted.
Wilder is more modest. In the moment of indecision, when nobody moved, "I did stand up on the table and sort of signal that now we'd do our Sing ... I think I just said, 'Well, shall we go outside now?' or something equally lame."
In retrospect, "unsung" isn't the best word to enshrine this melodic moment, just as "lame" doesn't do justice to Wilder, who would go on to become one of the College's greatest distance runners. (Wilder Track is named in her honor.) No matter. Sing lives on—and has since become a bit more civilized, if not entirely tame.