Tom Dent '41 Dies at 90; Still Cares About Trivial Disagreement in College

Celebrated Dartmouth alumnus Tom Dent ’41 passed away early Monday morning at the age of 90. In the wake of his death, his loved ones and we as a community cherish the memory of a courageous man who was never afraid to tackle issues of minor inconvenience, no matter how temporary and ultimately meaningless they might be. Despite the many important events of his life, including witnessing the bombing of Dresden as a soldier during WWII and once going over Niagara Falls in a wooden barrel, he never forgot about one trivial injustice that once befell him at age twenty-one.

The story that came to define Dent’s life was one that everyone who knew him well was quite familiar with. “My father harped on that minor conflict his entire life,” recalls Ann Sloan, Dent’s daughter. “Anyone could tell you this story—it consumed his every waking moment.” When Dent was a young college senior, he took a class in Wilson Hall with one of his fraternity brothers, Frank James. Dent always took the same seat by the window, generally considered to be the most plumb seat in the class. “He loved that seat. He would spend the entire class period looking out of the window to avoid paying attention; he epitomized the perfect Dartmouth student,” Sloan says.

Things took a turn for the worse one fateful day, when James began showing up early to class so that he could sit there instead. Even though the transgression only went on for three days or so, Dent never forgot this blatant disrespect for a fellow student’s well-established entitlement to that seat. This kind of complete dismissal of his special rights was an appalling act of rudeness, the heavy injustice of which he carried with him the rest of his life. The transgression was particularly vicious given that not only was Dent first to sit there; he was also two months older than James. His claim to the seat was obvious. Yet no amount of crying, yelling, nor intervention by Dent’s mother could convince James to move.

“Tom always believed in the principle of the matter, no matter how insignificant the matter actually was,” according to Bill Dent, his one surviving brother. “Once, my car caught on fire at the gas station because I forgot to take the key out of the ignition before getting gas. Tom ran right into the Food Mart to get help, without even stopping to think. But even in the midst of all that commotion, before the whole place exploded, he still made sure to complain that the men’s bathroom had been out of toilet paper when he went in earlier, except for the scraps left on the roll. I hate when that happens. Tom never forgets the little guy, and he doesn’t let the big picture overshadow the little issues in life. That’s what I always admired about him, and I’m sure my other brothers were honored to give their lives to the cause.”

During the civil rights movement, Dent worked tirelessly to complain about the guy who kept stealing his parking spot at work, never once considering that parking a couple of spaces to the right would not amount to much of a hassle, heroically refusing to abandon his principles. But it was the trivial conflict with James in college that motivated him above all else. “That was his defining developmental moment, I think,” recalled Sloan in her eulogy at his memorial yesterday. “Most people I know wouldn’t be strong enough to stick to their guns, dedicating so much time and energy to the oft-overlooked trivialities of this world. For that undying belief in the underlying principles of non-issues, he will always be my hero.”

Dent’s family has requested money in lieu of flowers, cash only.