2010 Edmund Jones Essay

My Life in Swarthmore

By Alyssa Dickinson

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA

After a three-hour bus ride through sugarcane fields and cow pastures, I sit alone on a bench waiting to be picked up in a crowded Brazilian bus station. The taxi fumes are sickening and the wailing babies make my head spin. People cast awkward glances toward me, wondering what a tall, green-eyed foreigner is doing in Lins on a cloudy Sunday afternoon. I wish I could snap my fingers and return to Swarthmore, my little green haven over 4,000 miles away.

When I thought of Swarthmore during my junior year in Brazil, I pictured the public library, the Swim Club, and our neighbor Fariha Khan’s towering sycamore tree. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the freshly cut grass in the summer and feel my hair frizzing out again. Why, after long stays in Brazil, Europe and Japan, does Swarthmore still seem special? I have met many warm and welcoming people around the world, but I know of no other place with as much community life and vitality. Whether it is the fairs, festivals and markets, library and church events, college concerts and expositions, outdoor sports and activities, public commemorations and memorials, or lively debates in the Swarthmorean, my hometown keeps calling.

I have been to street fairs in Belgium, fireworks displays in Switzerland and flea markets in Italy. But in Swarthmore, I am surrounded by familiar and friendly faces at our own Fun Fair: Jack Cavanaugh carving the Co-op pig or Dave Welsh taking another bid for a racing duck. I, myself, lend a helping hand at the Rotary table with Putty Willetts. I can see the annual graduation fireworks at Swarthmore College from my bedroom window. And the farmers market’s Julie Barrett and son Aaron seem as eager to catch up with me as they are to sell their vegetables on summer weekends.

I have seen spectacular light shows in Colmar and visited magnificent churches in Strasbourg, France. But in Swarthmore, I have walked to the public library, lawn chair in hand, to enjoy librarian Carol Macken’s always well-chosen movie “under the stars.” And I have sung Christmas carols outside the Methodist Church on a snowy evening, anxiously awaiting Santa and a warm cup of hot chocolate in the firehouse.

I have heard the majestic melodies of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in Tokyo and seen the Mona Lisa in the Louvre. But I have helped make beautiful music myself with Mr. [John] Shankweiler’s Camerata singing Mozart’s Requiem at Lang Concert Hall. And I have spoken directly with student artists presenting their term projects at the List Gallery at the college.

I have lived firsthand the Brazilian passion for soccer and enjoyed snorkeling in a coral reef in Okinawa. But I have followed my own passion and enjoyed the solidarity of teammates on the lacrosse and tennis teams in Swarthmore. Between Memorial Day and Labor Day, I can, at any time, stroll over to the Swarthmore Swim Club for a quick dip, an easy tan, and a friendly hello from my former gym teacher and assistant manager, Mr. [Bill] Kane.

I have commemorated fallen war heroes in Alsace and felt the warmth of my extended family in remembering my great-grandmother in Kilstett, France. But I have never experienced such a large, close-knit family as when all of Swarthmore said farewell to fire chief Cris Hansen along Chester Road. Nor have I felt such a deep and spontaneous collective compassion as with the bouquets of flowers for Alex [Santa Barbara] outside the Swarthmore Post Office.

I have lived in small to medium-sized towns in Brazil, Japan, France and Belgium. But I do not know of any other place with a local newspaper that reads like a family diary. The Swarthmorean is the only paper that my family receives in hard copy at home. In an age when most information sources are on-line, it seems appropriate that we continue to follow the most important events, those closest to home, by the most traditional means.

Having spent a good deal of time in places outside of Swarthmore, I dreamt of embarking upon another great adventure in college. To my great surprise (and to that of my parents), I will attend the University of Pennsylvania next year. It seems that the greatest lesson of my travels outside of Swarthmore is that there is no place like home!