McCosh 50 desks remain hardship for Princeton lefties

Today, left-handedness is understood by means of an accumulation of trivia or fun facts, which include: 1. Words for bad traits in many languages can be translated as "lefty." 2. People have been saying bad things about lefties for a long time. 3. Customs in many traditional cultures favor the right over the left hand. 4. Handedness has something to do with brain hemispheres, but this is not yet fully understood. 5. Some famous people have been lefties. 6. Left-handedness may be linked to other traits or likelihoods. 7. Lefties have difficulty using right-handed things, such as three-ring binders. 8. About 10 percent of the population is left-handed.

This list, besides securing me a job as an editor of juice boxes, hopefully exhausts the tedious prerecorded conversation on lefties. The carefree "Did You Know?" approach to left-handedness, the smirking over-repetition of the above facts, does not articulate but instead obscures the strange truth: that for a long time and in many places, people actually gave a *hoot* about handedness. What!? And why, even while the real stigma against left-handedness has faded into a troubling oddity of the past, does left-handedness still demand so much consideration and reproduction in talk? I'm inclined to feel that left-handedness is not striking because it is, in fact, a big deal, but because it is so slightly different than the usual that the whole idea of "difference" is, in left-handedness among other things, demonstrated in its purest form. It undermines the "steadiness" of reality. Think about it: Almost everyone favors their right hand. Right-handedness is, then, almost a fact of human life. However, all of a sudden you've got a couple kids in the classroom writing with their left hand — and that's pretty much the only difference. And that's it! If everyone wrote that way, the world would still be, and so on. It's "not the same" at the same time that it's "not a big deal." But why are there special desks at the end of each row? See — it's completely surreal. The use of hands is rendered uncanny.

Honestly, though, most folks probably miss the boat on the whole "subversion of the real" (I missed it a few months ago and had to spend two whole weeks in some seedy port town, losing myself in rum and the dancer Azemeralda.) People see me write and say, "You're left handed?" And I say, "Yeah." When I say this, I'm filled with pride, as if I were bashfully admitting that I'm in the first quintile (By the way, thanks for all the new high-school atmosphere, administration!). But in fact, to the other person, my response is probably as charged as the admission that I have a sock drawer. I'm a lefty. And what?

This is the trouble with writing an article about lefties at Princetonit's pretty much left-handed desks and binder gripes. Then again, Bill Bradley, Steve Forbes, John McPhee and Albert Einstein are all graduates of or professors at Princeton, and they're pretty much half the list of famous Princetonians. I would be tempted to continue with, "But if so many great Princetonians are lefties . . . ," but then I realize — Steve Forbes. As a sign of greatness at Princeton, left-handedness may mean absolutely nothing (cue laugh track).

There is, however, one exceptional lefty I encountered while researching this article. And now, readers, I present to you an interview with this man, "Brad Ramos."

JG: Are there any lefties in your family?

BR: My maternal grandfather and uncles are left-handed [shows pedigree chart].

JG: When did you first know that you were left-handed?

BR: I was told that I was left handed in grade school. When we were learning cursive in first grade.

JG: What about throwing a ball?

BR: I just always threw it with my left hand. That's what it means to be a lefty.

JG: Is your family supportive?

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BR: Mostly. Except for the, "Why can't I have a right-handed son!? Oh God!"

JG: Has your left-handedness ever been an issue for you here at Princeton? Where and how so?

BR: Left-handed desks. I often find myself at a right-handed desk, trying to fit into a world of which I will never be a part [Audible sigh]. Sometimes, I walk out of a class in McCosh 50, my left hand numb from the twisting motion of an hour of writing.

JG: Why don't you just sit at a left-handed desk?

BR: They're all taken by rightist/activist/chauvinist . . . pigs.

JG: What special abilities do you ascribe to yourself as a lefty? What's better about lefties?

BR: We're smarter. More attractive, of course. But besides that there's a certain — heh, heh — how do you say "inconspicuous subtlety," you might say.

JG: Marilyn Monroe was a lefty. Comment.

BR: Isn't her fate the fate of all lefties — to have their star's fame rise and to marry such icons as Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, but in the end to wind up, well, "all pills and no note"? She could be any lefty.

JG: How do you do your lab stuff?

BR: Like, pipetting? Pipettes themselves are hand neutral.

JG: A redheaded, left-handed, Jewish, former Dean supporter. Comment.

BR: You mean there's another one? Oh — you're talking about me. Well, I prefer not to be pigeonholed. Then again I guess that would sum up this young man. Dean had the left-handed vote in the bag.

JG: If, right now, you could say anything to an Ancient Greek general who was hassling you about the spear-holding, what would you say?

BR: Listen, sir. By the will of Apollo, you wanna phalanx or not? You think Xerxes cares what hand I throw my spear with? No. And neither should you, so cut me some slack or transfer me to Chariot Maintenance Corps. The CMC. Yeah, the CMC.