1 definition by Alex Thorn
Phillips Academy Andover, known nationally as Andover, is a coeducational, preparatory boarding school in Andover, MA. Andover has been known as "the most preppy" or "quintessential" United States prep school, but over time has worked to shed that distinction.
Andover students are the brightest of the bright, with nearly 65% of each graduating class matriculating at a top 20 University. Therefore, competition is high and the tension on campus is great. When combined with the "Andover bubble" effect students experience, the high-tension atmosphere of Andover leaves students to drinking and drugs. However, it seems these activities have little negative impact on either the grades or the pyschologies of the students.
All in all, alumni feel an increasing love for the school as time passes, despite the feeling of desperation many felt while in attendance.
The school is located 25 miles north of Boston; students have no dress code; there are approximately 1100 students; there are 35 AP certified classes offered and the Physics department was recently hailed "the best in the world" by College Board.
Andover students are the brightest of the bright, with nearly 65% of each graduating class matriculating at a top 20 University. Therefore, competition is high and the tension on campus is great. When combined with the "Andover bubble" effect students experience, the high-tension atmosphere of Andover leaves students to drinking and drugs. However, it seems these activities have little negative impact on either the grades or the pyschologies of the students.
All in all, alumni feel an increasing love for the school as time passes, despite the feeling of desperation many felt while in attendance.
The school is located 25 miles north of Boston; students have no dress code; there are approximately 1100 students; there are 35 AP certified classes offered and the Physics department was recently hailed "the best in the world" by College Board.
"Andover- Big, big deal. You
should've seen him when old Sally asked him how he liked the play. He was
the kind of a phony that have to give themselves room when they answer
somebody's question. He stepped back, and stepped right on the lady's foot
behind him. He probably broke every toe in her body. He said the play itself
was no masterpiece, but that the Lunts, of course, were absolute angels.
Angels. For Chrissake. Angels. That killed me. Then he and old Sally started
talking about a lot of people they both knew. It was the phoniest
conversation you ever heard in your life. They both kept thinking of places
as fast as they could, then they'd think of somebody that lived there and
mention their name. I was all set to puke when it was time to go sit down
again. I really was. And then, when the next act was over, they continued
their goddam boring conversation. They kept thinking of more places and more
names of people that lived there. The worst part was, the jerk had one of
those very phony, Ivy League voices, one of those very tired, snobby voices.
He sounded just like a girl. He didn't hesitate to horn in on my date, the
bastard. I even thought for a minute that he was going to get in the goddam
cab with us when the show was over, because he walked about two blocks with
us, but he had to meet a bunch of phonies for cocktails, he said. I could
see them all sitting around in some bar, with their goddam checkered vests,
criticizing shows and books and women in those tired, snobby voices. They
kill me, those guys. I sort of hated old Sally by the time we got in the
cab, after listening to that phony Andover bastard for about ten hours."
- Salinger, J.D. "The Catcher In the Rye." Little Brown: Boston, MA. 1951. (pp 127-8)
should've seen him when old Sally asked him how he liked the play. He was
the kind of a phony that have to give themselves room when they answer
somebody's question. He stepped back, and stepped right on the lady's foot
behind him. He probably broke every toe in her body. He said the play itself
was no masterpiece, but that the Lunts, of course, were absolute angels.
Angels. For Chrissake. Angels. That killed me. Then he and old Sally started
talking about a lot of people they both knew. It was the phoniest
conversation you ever heard in your life. They both kept thinking of places
as fast as they could, then they'd think of somebody that lived there and
mention their name. I was all set to puke when it was time to go sit down
again. I really was. And then, when the next act was over, they continued
their goddam boring conversation. They kept thinking of more places and more
names of people that lived there. The worst part was, the jerk had one of
those very phony, Ivy League voices, one of those very tired, snobby voices.
He sounded just like a girl. He didn't hesitate to horn in on my date, the
bastard. I even thought for a minute that he was going to get in the goddam
cab with us when the show was over, because he walked about two blocks with
us, but he had to meet a bunch of phonies for cocktails, he said. I could
see them all sitting around in some bar, with their goddam checkered vests,
criticizing shows and books and women in those tired, snobby voices. They
kill me, those guys. I sort of hated old Sally by the time we got in the
cab, after listening to that phony Andover bastard for about ten hours."
- Salinger, J.D. "The Catcher In the Rye." Little Brown: Boston, MA. 1951. (pp 127-8)
by Alex Thorn April 17, 2005