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Exclusives: Comparative Life December
5, 2001: By Kristen Albertsen '02 This past November was Marshall Madness at Princeton. An unprecedented four members of the Class of '02 were tapped for the prestigious Marshall Scholarship, a scholarship that allows 40 American students annually to attend a British university of their choice for two years, all expenses paid. Though the number was pleasantly higher than anticipated, it does not come as too much of a surprise; for this is Princeton, and we are accustomed to having certifiable geniuses in our midst. In our midst, certainly: a Pulitzer Prize-winning author at the lectern, a Nobel laureate in the lab. However, when that awe-inspiring award-winner is not a professor but a friend, in fact a best friend, the situation is completely different. I met Matt freshman year, back when we were fellow Matheyites. Our friendship was initially founded on the compatibility of our voices (loud) and laughs (grating); many evenings we were exiled from the Mathey study room and forced to take our banter outside. Over the course of the year our relationship grew from casual conversation to one of closeness and care, complemented by the silly daily interactions that solidify a friendship. We read and discussed books, watched movies, played video games, founded short-lived organizations, built web pages, waged email wars, threw parties; attended dances, took pictures. The following year we comforted each other through the break-ups of our respective relationships and congratulated each other when we landed our competitive summer internships. We bickered and joined the same club, where we shared meals nearly every day of our junior year. This year, Matt lives down the hall from me in a room I know better than my own. In many respects, we grew with each other over the course of these past three years; we also grew on our own. I supported Matt when decided to quit the crew team freshman year so he could devote more time to attending plays and art exhibitions. I watched as he took the reins of student publications and organizations, first the Progressive Review, then Princeton Model Congress. I was impressed as he applied for and succeeded as a Woodrow Wilson School major, a student in Syria, an intern for the State Department in Belgium. Despite his supersaturated schedule and sometimes frenetic manner, Matt always cared for friends and fun much more than fusty academic matters. Every December he throws a Christmas party with a screening of "It's a Wonderful Life" (his favorite movie), and every Saturday night he's up for a game of Beirut at the Street. It was on one such night this fall that I bet him dinner and champagne he would win the Marshall Scholarship; humbly, he bet me he wouldn't. When he called me two weeks ago, breathless and stammering, I knew something was up. "Kristen. I owe you dinner." He had won. My very own Matt Frazier, whom I knew way-back-when as a small-town-boy, is a Marshall Scholar. For the next two years of his life, he will be a full-scholarship student at the London School of Economics. He will live in a flat in London, pursue a second B.A., and be henceforth known as a prestigious scholarship winner. I'm awed, I'm impressed, I'm proud. And hopeful, too. Because in my friend Matt I see a harbinger of what may come for rest of us. A human face on success, on genius. A real person inside the legend. And standing behind every real person are a few lucky people he calls his friends. You can reach Kristen at albertsn@princeton.edu
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