The Proud Boys in Aquamarine

by Barrett Thornhill

I have had several run-ins with Safety and Security in my time at Dartmouth. All of them were frivolous, and all of them ended with judgments against me. However, the blatant inanity of S&S reached its height a few weeks ago.

It was a rather slow night on Webster Avenue. I was out with a few of my friends around midnight, when we heard a little rumpus was in progress a few houses down the street. Up to this point it had been an entirely sober evening, but once at the party I opted for a malted beverage from the bar. The party was lame to say the least, but hey, it was a sorority. Regardless, I consumed a few cups of lager just to be social.

Venturing upstairs I discovered a small cocktail bar stocked with quite expensive liquor. I figured they owed me a nice drink for my troubles, so I asked for and received a decent Captain Morgan's and coke. My friends and I decided to move next door to another soirée, which we had been told was bumpin'.

I did not want to chug my drink, for I was quite excited about enjoying it slowly, so I simply held it down low on my side as my party exited. Two of my other friends did the same. We had to walk a mere ten feet to our next stop, so we were not too worried about getting spotted. Our drinks were dark, the street was dark, and no one was in sight.

Well, I'll be damned if Hanover Police did not roll around the corner and warp-speed over to my location.

Apparently, their eagle eyes zeroed-in on us. I saw that they were staring at my party, so once a parked car came between my group and their patrol car, I discretely discarded my drink into the adjacent shrubs. The other two of my friends dropped their cups in between the car and the curb.

I was the idiot. The drink was dark, the night was dark, but the fresh snow my cup planted itself in was not. One officer flew out of his car raced over to the rum-stained snow. He'd seen enough. He asked one of my other friends if he was 21. Luckily he was: $50 fine. Littering.

Then he asked me if I was 21. I smirked and admitted that I was only eighteen. He placed me under arrest. He was very cordial and polite, realizing that I wasn't a some stumbling drunk freshman, but rather a very unlucky son of a bitch.

“Whaddya arresting him for officer?” asked one of my friends. “Here's what I'm gonna do,” said the officer. “Your friend's getting arrested for possession of alcohol by a minor and public intoxication. I'm going to take him down to the station and book him. Then I'll bring him back to campus.”

I asked him if my friends needed to come and bail me out, but he assured me that, no, I'd be back on campus within an hour. I would have hit myself in the head for being such an idiot, but the handcuffs made that rather difficult.

The officer had placed me in the front seat, so, trying to be polite, I struck up a conversation, which eventually led to us turning the radio to 106.7 and singing in unison the chorus of “Here I Go Again (on My Own)” by Whitesnake. He didn't like having to haul me to the police station, but it his job, and I understood.

There were two other guys getting booked ahead of me, both of whom seemed out of it. I asked one of them if he was going to boot, which he proceeded to do not so chalantly in a nearby trash can.

Ah, the powers of suggestion. I felt bad, so I had the other one explain to me that they were from Colby-Sawyer College and were just up here trying to have a decent time when they, too, were nabbed for underage possession of alcohol. Since they were pretty loaded, they had to go sober up in the tank.

Eventually, I got fingerprinted and my mugshot was taken; it was my first time, so I relaxed and thought of it as a learning experience. But an hour had passed, and I was a bit restless. My release was held up further, however, because the bail commissioner was asleep and lived over 45 minutes away.

But once he arrived, he signed for my bail and told me that I owed him $20. I thought he was joking, but apparently that's the fee for waking up a bail commissioner. I also had to agree that I would sign up for the Hanover Alcohol Diversion Program, so as to waive the draconian $500 fine. The program, however, has a fee of $200 big ones.

I was all set to be released and then two officers from the mighty, mighty S&S strolled in. Why they were even there, I had no idea (I later learned that the arresting officers supervisor had called them in to take me back to campus).

That the police would defer to Dartmouth's security force is something that all students should find scary.

My violation occurred off-campus; I was picked up off-campus. Dartmouth College had just about as much to do with it as they would have if this all happened at home in Atlanta. Yet, somehow, since this is New Hampshire, and the College likes to be in control, S&S decided that they would take me into custody.

Local law enforcement wittingly deferred to College authorities. The proud boys in blue, apparently, don't measure up to the boys in aquamarine.

Apparently S&S thought I was a danger to myself and to the Dartmouth Community in general. They wanted to take me back to Dick's House for the night so I could “sober up.” I was flabbergasted at even the suggestion.

First, I was not drunk. Second, I was not stupid enough to agree to spend any amount of time in Dick's House, much less stay the night in a $160 bed. I opted to stay in jail and let them go on their own way.

As soon as they left, I immediately requested a breathalyzer. I did not know what was going on, but I wanted to prove my sobriety. Three hours had passed by, and frankly the Hanover jail, though very pleasant and clean, was not my idea of a fun Saturday night.

My score: .058 blood alcohol content. “Would you mind if you took me back to campus now Officer?” He obliged. It was 4 a.m., my night was shot. And my bank account was about to be debited for $220, all for carrying a lousy rum and coke outside. Do the crime, be prepared to do the time.

What I was not prepared to do, however, was be charged with two violations of the student conduct code by the college. I got busted by Hanover Police, what in the hell was the college getting involved for.

A week later I received a “Confidential” letter, “Hand Delivered” to my Hinman Box from the Undergraduate Judicial Affairs Officer. Thrilling.

Apparently, S&S got ticked off that I declined their offer for a $160 a night sojourn in Hotel Dick. In the report that came along with my summons to meet with a Dean was the S&S report.

It was pure inflammatory garbage, alleging all sorts of preposterous things, that I was noticeably intoxicated when they arrived to take me to Dick's House, that I used vulgar language and harassed the S&S pseudo-officers, that I was violent and incoherent at times.

Lies, damn lies, all of it.

I honestly do not know where the men (and she-men) in green get off accusing me of such inaccurate falsehoods. They had some balls, but little brains. I was truly offended.

The arresting officer, THE professional that night, the man in blue, not aquamarine, disagreed with the S&S report and confirmed to my freshman Dean that I was nothing like S&S purported, that their report was inaccurate and jaded.

This is simply one more reason to question everything S&S does, watch their every move, and simply run like an antelope if they ever approach you.