One Heck of a Beginning

I will always remember meeting my first two friends at Harvard—one a talented lacrosse-playing musician, the other an intensely hardworking defender of all things Israeli. I will always remember my 21st birthday dinner, which I spent at my favorite restaurant, surrounded by many of my favorite people. I will never remember the first couple of minutes immediately after I suffered a concussion sophomore year, but I will always remember the voicemail my friends left for me when they heard about what had happened.

However, I did not expect any of these memories before coming to Harvard. I had been inundated with Harvard propaganda in high school: Harvard has the most distinguished faculty of any university. Harvard has the most diverse athletic program. Even Harvard dining hall cuisine is the most delicious. Naturally, I was anticipating an amazing college experience.

I have had one, but not for any of those reasons. No Harvard literature ever mentioned anything about making friends at school. Granted, if it had, I probably would have thought it was a bit presumptuous. After all, even Harvard can not guarantee that. I never really thought about the friends I would make. I was excited to meet new people, but that’s as far as it went.

I came to school in the fall of 2001 and found much of the propaganda to be true. The faculty was distinguished. The athletic program was diverse. Even the food was not too bad. Freshman year was a lot of fun. I worked; I played; I met a lot of people; I made some friends.

It wasn’t until sophomore fall that I fully realized what I had though. I suffered a concussion and the experience (quite literally) knocked some sense into me. After an awful night in Mt. Auburn Hospital being woken up every hour to make sure I was still alive, I was returning to Dunster in a taxi. My cell phone beeped, and I saw that I had a voicemail. It was from a bunch of my friends. They had gotten together to call me and see if I was alright—specifically, to see how my “crippled ass” was doing (yes, that’s a direct quote). A simple gesture, sure, but a meaningful one too. Perhaps my exhaustion or my rattled mind enhanced the effect of the voicemail, but that was the first time I really understood how lucky I was to have these friends. More than two years later, that message is still saved on my cell phone.

Since then, I have only become more aware of my good fortune. Yesterday, I was looking through some pictures from the past four years. A couple of observations: I wear a lot of navy blue shirts. I take far too many pictures of someone else and me by extending my arm out and pointing the camera toward the two of us (which, incidentally, always turn out terribly). But there is really only one important theme: my friends.

Together, we have learned to live away from home, chosen concentrations, coped with the zoo known as Annenberg, figured out blocking, been punched (fortunately, by clubs), searched for jobs, joined organizations, suffered through 7 a.m. practices, crammed for exams, triumphed, failed, held each other’s hair back, slain the thesis beast, whined, dined, thought, joked, laughed, and, most recently, partied in Cabo. It has been an amazing four years.

And now, supposedly, it all must end. We will go our separate ways—a bunch to New York, some to Boston and D.C., and even a couple to England. (I know, it’s not a terribly diverse group.) We will work 9 to 5, or, in the case of the i-banker, 9 to forever. We will try to see each other on weekends and keep in touch by phone and e-mail. But, it will not be the same as walking downstairs and asking your best friend if he wants to put on some sandals and grab some lunch in Dunster d-hall. It just won’t be that easy; it will take effort. The question is whether or not we will overcome the “out of sight, out of mind” trap.

Some may call me schmaltzy (you may well be right). Others may think I am stating the obvious (you may be right, too). But I think I am just lucky for finding the friends that I have. To my nearest and dearest comrades, you know how you are, thank you for making these four years at Harvard so wonderful; thank you for being there for me whether I was laughing or crying; thank you for giving me the greatest gift of all, your friendship.

Let’s not leave these memories behind. Let’s continue to cultivate and strengthen our relationships in the future. Let’s not fall into the “out of sight, out of mind” trap.

To your credit, I do not think we will. I hope and expect that our bonds will stand the test of time and distance and look forward to laughing with you at our 50th reunion and beyond. For, as Winston Churchill once said, “this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” And thanks to you, it has been one heck of a beginning.

G. Brandon Levy ’05, an economics concentrator in Dunster House, was Director of Business Development in 2004. His voicemail box is full of sentimental messages.