Margaret BauerI decided to take a break from my post-graduation spree of crime and debauchery in the city of Saigon to check out Student Life and see what interesting and wondrous things were happening at my beloved alma matter. Upon reading that the school is demolishing Koenig and plans to obliterate the other ancient dorms in the future, I nearly spewed my mouthful of coconut juice all over the computer monitor at this internet caf‚. (Luckily, I didn’t. They charge double if you do that.)
Could it be…Lee…gone? At the thought of this, it seemed like a vortex of darkness and despair opened in my chest, sapping all the warmth and joy from my soul. It was just like the time when I was a kid and we moved to the U.S. and I received news that our dog had fallen gravely ill. He was an old dog, sure, and not particularly attractive, but he was a loving dog, and he had his charms.
I do not understand why the old dorms are being destroyed when it is plenty apparent that students like them. Almost anyone who has spent any time in them will prefer living to living in a new dorm any day. I loved Lee the moment I set foot in its confusing, labyrinthine halls freshman year. Having no sense of direction, I would always get lost trying to find my room. But the doors to other rooms were always open, and I got to know my entire floor. At night, the floor moved out to the common room, and we would discuss important philosophical questions such as “why Jell-O is transparent” until three in the morning.
One time, we stood on the balcony and threw things onto the tree between Lee and Beaumont. We managed to get several slinkies, pizza boxes, a telephone and various other objects to stay on its branches; when the moon shone on it, it was beautiful, like a Christmas tree. I wonder if the chair is still there.
Just the thought of my beloved Lee being replaced by Ski Lodge Number Nine is enough to make me wet my pants in fury. Sure, our school has to grow and change; that is good and natural. But can we really call it growth to replace the old dorms, which are loved and preferred by the students and which can probably be considered historic buildings, with new dorms that, while more comfortable, are kind of cold?
I swear, I got the creeps each time I visited my friends in those places. They always seemed like hospitals where all the patients had died. A friend of mine who lived in one of those new dorms said she got recurring nightmares in which she was chased by government agents down its curving, lifeless hallway.
This is not an insult to those who prefer the new dorms, of course. I am sure there are plenty of new dorms that are not cold and hospital-like. I am talking about the gradual extinction of old dorms. Once they are gone, we won’t be able to bring them back; and no matter how the administration tries, it will never be able to achieve in the new buildings the atmosphere created by the old buildings.
The school should think about the advantages of keeping the old dorms. First, it would make students happy. The ones who love their old dorms will not have to see them destroyed, and everyone will be happier without the construction noises and disruptions.
Second, it would raise the University’s reputation as a school that cares about what its students want, instead of just a cash-making machine that decimates fond relics for the sake of stuffing in more students who fork over tons in tuition money.
Third, it would make alums like me happy, and happy alums mean more money for the school anyway. Because, I swear on my dog’s grave, that if a single door in Lee is moved, I will not donate even a penny to the school when I am famous and filthy rich.