|
For the sake of a morning snowstorm in which South Carolina got more snow than Worcester, the Powers that Be took away the little store that is a fixture of late-afternoon and evening life for our 2,400-odd resident students.
BROCKLESBY
THE FROSH
24 September ’99
1 October ’99
12 November ’99
19 November ’99
28 January ’00
4 February ’00
18 February ’00
25 February ’00
3 March ’00
24 March ’00
7 April ’00
14 April ’00
Ms. Robinson was kind enough to note, however, that even though ‘inclement weather’ was going to shutter the campus’ only convenience store for half of its operational day and make a ghost town out of Hogan, professors wouldn’t have any trouble staying for all of their classes.
|
COMMENTS ON THE PASSING PARADE
Snow Problem
By Michael J. Ballway
CRUSADER STAFF WRITER
Y
ou'd think that after 157 years, this school would learn to cope with being in the Northeast. The week started out well enough: our women's basketball team kicked off the Holy Cross weekend last Thursday with a surprisingly strong performance against #1-in-the-nation UConn (made all the more poignant by the latest of Coach Gibbons' emotional voice-mails). Crusaders from Caro to Clark to Cambridge readjusted themselves to new class-schedules and found out that the same old friends were in their new classes. We all reacquainted ourselves with the Stein Bridge and the gentle slope of Easy Street. Sure, it was bitingly cold outside, but hey -- this is New England in January. Such things are to be expected. We knew what we were getting into, one May 1st in not-so-recent memory. Even I, your faithful correspondent, had a pleasant surprise and a warm renewal of friendship. Joey Brocklesby, the bilingual aught-three from Hanselman, managed to sign himself up for the same Esperanto Practicum as I had. After spending an hour conjugating verbs designed for easy conjugation, Joey came down with a hankering for some overpriced cookies, or perhaps a large bag of gummi bears. As we trudged up the slushy steps on the East wall of Dinand, we renewed our periodic discussion on the Expos' chances of winning the N.L. East ("better than the Nordiques'," he offered), but he continually interrupted with comments about Pringles and Skittles. We entered Hogan and carefully negotiated the slippery ascent toward Hogan 1 (which, paradoxically, cannot be reached directly through the main door, the back door, or the side door). But our hopes for junk food at outrageous prices were immediately dashed: The Lobby Shop was closed. Thinking that there was Foul Play Afoot, my Freshman companion and I ran to the bookstore, hoping to find a responsible person who would listen to our tale of woe and take immediate steps to correct the situation, or at least someone who could develop the film we'd shot over the break. But the Bookstore was closed too! The twin paragons of Hogan constancy, offering the chance to be price-gouged twice in one day (three times if you're returning books and buying books), were as desolate as the upper deck of Olympic Stadium. Even the employees of the Federal government could be of no help: the Mt. St. James Post Office, 01610, was just as barren as the deserted Cool Beans. What was that about "neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom" stopping our letter carriers from their appointed rounds? Joey was crestfallen. The vending machine on which he usually depended for Reese's Peanut Butter Cups had a card reader on the fritz and wouldn't accept his less-than-perfect dollar bills, either. Hogan Dining Services was his last chance at developing a cavity. And when he needed them most, they let him down. Upon returning to my room, I found the electronic missives from Steve Harpst and Nina Robinson informing us students of 2:00 (or was it 3:00?) closings due to "inclement weather." Ms. Robinson was kind enough to note, however, that even though "inclement weather" was going to shutter the campus' only convenience store for half of its operational day and make a ghost town out of Hogan, professors wouldn't have any trouble staying for all of their classes and Beaven, Haberlin, O'Neil, Swords, Stein and Millard would stay open just for us. I took a minute to consider this. Clearly the roads were not impassable; much of my morning route down to Stein had already been cleared when I made the trek at 9:30 a.m. Certainly, a great deal of snow had fallen, but the proper authorities didn't seem to be having trouble dealing with it. Temperatures were nowhere near as chilly as they'd been during the semester's first week. The governor stopped short of declaring a state of emergency. Most professors reported to class as usual, as did most students. The only anomaly seemed to be in the campus services. For the sake of a morning snowstorm in which South Carolina got more snow than Worcester, the Powers that Be took away the little store that is a fixture of late-afternoon and evening life for our 2,400-odd resident students. The only alternative is to slide down College Street, brave the crosswalk that fords an expressway on-ramp, and attempt to make it back up the Hill while burdened with items purchased at the Texaco station. This is why we have a Lobby Shop and Cool Beans in the first place. Not only did we lose our Lobby Shop and coffee bar during their most useful hours (the evening), but the campus further truncated the already insanely short hours of operation of the Bookstore -- which usually closes at a mind-boggling 4:30 -- and the Post Office, which also shuts its window well before the working day is done. Most bookstores in this country stay open until at least 7:00 and don't run away AWOL after a measly six inches of snow fall. The local P.O. in my hometown keeps its counter attended until nearly 8:00. Is 5:00, or 6:00, too much to ask? Of course, the Post Office in my hometown is open on Saturdays as well. And the bookstores still cling to the quaint custom of selling books after the month of February. Although, come to think of it, the apparel and souvenir stores back home are open well past nightfall, too. Perhaps it's worth noting that on the same day that this reporter received his first Katie & Ken dispatch of the new year -- touting the new, improved Crossroads with "longer hours, better food" -- Crossroads closed earlier than usual. Between a foot and a half-foot of snow fell on that fateful Tuesday earlier this week. Classes progressed as usual; professors kept normal office hours; Kimball mass-cooked pork as though it were any other day. Yet the same conditions were able to shut down the mighty Hogan Campus Center. A normal New England snowstorm claimed as its casualties our bookstore, our Post Office, our (recently-reopened) late-night diner, our coffee shop, and our convenience store. There has to be a good reason for this. I placed a quick call over to Joey to figure out if he could fathom the peculiar meteorological understanding over at Hogan. Thankfully, the "inclement weather" hadn't felled our telephone lines (I also noted that it didn't freeze our water pipes or bar access to our doors). I suggested that maybe the Lobby Shop and Cool Beans didn't want their student employees to have to brave the cold weather, so they closed early to spare a bit of frostbite on the part of some work/study kids. Perhaps the Bookstore is gearing up for its twice-yearly transition from useful bookselling to overpriced clothes-and-knicknacks vending. Possibly the Crossroads cashiers are still getting used to staying up past 8 o'clock on a school night. Maybe the Post Office has just as good a reason as the other Hogan institutions for turning its back to the student body. "You know, that candy machine still won't take my dollar bills," he said. There's just no pleasing some people. This article was written for, but did not appear in, the 28 January 2000 edition of The Crusader. |