Once, the legend would start, there was this beautiful space on South Campus. It was even farther south than the Oval, but it was much more wondrous, a deep green valley of Frisbee throwers and between-class sun-tanners. It seemed the home of elves, not the cookie box kind but the tall, elegant Tolkien elves. The music appeared to strum from the tree branches themselves, reverberating in the roots underneath your feet in an effort to encircle you in the hum. It was the most perfect place on campus.
This was the legend as I heard it from the seniors, wide-eyed and wizened by the fifth semester they were spending completing that last GEC before graduation, some History of the Intersection of Geometry and Impressionism class that was always full and impossible to schedule. Their eyes would almost moisten with pity, that tragic act of explaining a lost piece of the past to the next generation. An awkward situation we’ll all encounter when Niagra Falls is under water and the bottom of the Grand Canyon is accessible by escalator.
Because, of course, the South Oval was gone by the time I got to campus. I lived on North Campus, but I would still sometimes end up walking by it. The bulldozers had eaten its magic and spat out a mangled, discolored wasteland. The elves had fled to greener pastures, the Frisbee players had moved north like the returning geese, and a tall, intimidating fence blocked any entrance. Signs along the fence promised a better South Oval, a new landscape that would be “green” in two ways and was coming soon. Then, a little later. Then, sorry, a little later still. But we promise it will be worth it. The first two years of my college career flickered by, and the heap of rubble never looked any different. On a campus that was forever putting up and removing orange fences, closing sidewalks, erecting a new building on north campus that altered the skyline every day with its progress, the South Oval remained constant. A constant disappointment.
Lately, though, I’ve been hearing rumors that it’s returned. Some all-powerful being has placed the former green back over the bubbling dirt, like a stick of cover-up on campus’s biggest zit. But, since I have no classes south of the oval, I’ve yet to see this magic trick. And you know what? I don’t believe it. Because, really, the ridiculous rumors you hear about South Campus are incredible. For example, according to legend, there’s a dining hall called Kennedy that has an entire vegetarian station – sometimes, they say, it even serves delicious Pad Thai. Sure, like we have some United Nations food court on the same campus that once gave me pieces of ham in a peanut butter sandwich. I’ve also heard there’s a building that looks like a castle, and inside is the skeleton of a giant sloth. And a new dorm building supposedly went up last summer, one that looks like a fancy hotel. An honors house that seems like a fairy tale cottage, a duck that appears to be wearing a wig…it just has to stop. If I believed everything I heard about South Campus, I would have to start some sort of protest. It just wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t even be possible, for one part of campus to have all of these wonderful things.
So, I’ve come to wake you all from your Santa Clause dreams. There is no such thing as the South Oval. Really, no such thing as South Campus the way you’ve been imagining it. Saint Nicholas was just a nice guy, and south campus is just a place with some classroom buildings and a couple of dormitories. Believe me; I’ve spent the last few weeks traipsing all across north campus, the last couple of years living and eating and searching in vain for a nice patch of grass to sit with my books between the orange tape and the cardboard-box buildings. I promise you, if this mythical South Campus exists, it isn’t in the same universe.
-Haley Cowans, Contributor