Community

As I was walking to the gym tonight, I passed by one of the dormitories on the UofC campus. It's been unusually warm the past couple of days for November in Chicago, approaching (and surpassing) 70 degrees. Consequently, some people in the dorms had opened their windows to allow a little breeze to move through.

Through one open window, I saw the usual trappings of a dormitory room -- a clock radio, a computer, a compact stereo. There was a young man leaning in the doorway of a room across the hall from the one with the open window through which I was looking. It wasn't my intention to be a Peeping Tom, or to invade the privacy of these young people. It was just an irresistible opportunity to experience a reminder of my own days of living in a dorm.

When I was in college, I thought dormitory life was miserable. Loud music played at all hours. Fire alarms were pulled by miscreants every Friday night preceding a Saturday morning Chem exam, sometimes more often. There was no air conditioning in my dormitory, which meant that our rooms were devastatingly hot in the merciless North Carolina summer heat. And one bathroom shared by eight men? It was like living in the men's locker room.

Dorm life, for all of its inconveniences, was a fantastic experiment in building community. In my suite, only my roommate and myself had chosen each other, everyone else had been put together by random chance. The eight of us spanned the gamut in terms of religion, political beliefs, economic status, and life experience. We watched movies together, fought with each other, sprayed each other with shaving cream, consoled each other in hard times, and partied when we were ready to go nuts from the pressures of studying and working.

I remember all of my suitemates. Ryan and Chris lived across the hall. They both dated my best friend, Amy (concurrently, not simultaneously). Chris was one of the few fundamentalist Christians with whom I felt any sympatico. Ryan was a gentle soul who broke my heart when he broke up with Amy. I doubt I ever really forgave him for that, a sin most grievous because I had no right to harbor any grudge for that action. Brent, who lived next door, was a die-hard conservative who used to argue politics with me. I once offered to buy him an English-to-English dictionary when he complained that I used "fancy words" in my arguments because I had no other basis to justify my positions. I think he's a veterinarian now. His roommate, Richard, was an odd boy from West Virginia. I heard that Richard had become mentally unstable, perhaps he even attempted suicide. I don't know what became of him, but I fear it was nothing good. Ray, who lived diagonally across from me, was one of the kindest men I ever knew. He was also the best looking man I'd ever seen naked. (He still rates in the top ten.) His roommate, Verne, was a smart guy, from privilege, who once offered me some advice on improving my enjoyment of performing cunnilingus involving Astropop lollipops. (I won't divulge further information, but I think you can probably connect the dots.) Needless to say, that advice was wasted on me.

The only one of my suitemates with whom I maintain contact now is my old roommate, P.J. We see each other at least once a year, often with our friend David, one of my closest friends from college. The three of us went to the Grand Canyon last year to celebrate (belatedly) our 30th birthdays. It was a fantastic trip.

I remember dormitory life with fondness, and see it through my mind's eye, now tempered by years of living in "the real world." I certainly don't miss dormitory life enough to go back to living that way, but seeing it from the outside evoked some strong memories and a sense of romantic nostalgia. Even though I don't maintain contact with my old suitemates, I miss those days of camaraderie. I hope that they are all safe tonight, happy and loved. Each of them deserves that much.