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The distinction between the upper and lower campuses has torn apart friendships, ruined academic records and crippled school activities. This was the one problem that really deserved $17 million of attention.
BROCKLESBY
THE SUITE LIFE
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The much-needed reform of naming Not Easy Street has been tossed to the wayside like so many unique campus liturgical traditions.
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COMMENTS ON THE PASSING PARADE
Connecting the Campus
By Michael J. Ballway
FEATURES COLUMNIST
F
or years, there has been a sharp division at Holy Cross. The distinction between the upper and lower campuses has torn apart friendships, ruined academic records, and crippled school activities. For much too long, freshmen and sophomores living on the Hill stayed away from Stein and Kimball, while seniors and lucky suite-dwelling juniors were shut out of Hogan. This was the one Holy Cross problem that really deserved $17 million of attention. Or so you might think, listening to the Administration, which fifteen months ago decided to spend big bucks to build a "connection" between the upper and lower campuses, presumably so that students could finally walk unfettered between Carlin and Healy. What they ended up with was far more than just a connection, although they continued to give top billing to the "upper and lower campuses, finally together" angle. Carol and Park B. Smith Hall -- the much-awaited office, classroom, study, prayer, administration, technology, religion, ethics, culture, and kumbaya touchy-feely buzzword catch-all building that replaced Frank Vellaccio's parking space -- has now finally become reality, and I asked aught-three Stereo MC's fan Joey Brocklesby to comment. "Yeah, I like this whole connection business," he said, "but I don't like the way it looks. Every time I look to the east, there's this big-[expletive] building in the way." That's what Joey calls Carol and Park B. Smith Hall. Many years ago, when Joey was but a wee freshman, a future SGA Co-Chair described the future Carol and Park B. Smith Hall as "a big-[expletive] building." We all laughed, because that future SGA Co-Chair was a funny guy. Perhaps you just had to be there. I tried to explain to Joey that Carol and Park B. Smith Hall was the awaited connection between the upper and lower campuses, and so much more, but he wouldn't buy it. "No mere $17 million building," he maintained, "will ever take the place of the wobbly V-Stairs." Carol and Park B. Smith Hall is an imposing presence on the side of Mt. St. James. And it is a great new study and reflection space. It is also, though, "a big-[expletive]" building. So big that it even overshadowed the true cause for celebration as the school year began: the reopening of the V-Stairs. Upperclassman readers will recall last year's hardships when Perini Construction would wake up the Hill at 8 a.m.; when the presence of a Port-A-John in front of the Brooks Center guaranteed an ... interesting odor on the Chapel plaza each night; and when the dust kicked up by $17 million worth of heavy construction all but obscured the pastoral beauty of South Worcester's crown jewel. Yet these inconveniences paled in comparison to the assault on student mobility carried out by the sinister forces who closed the V-Stairs. Far from simply a quick-and-easy connection between Fenwick and Hogan, the V-Stairs hearken back to days of yore when the pioneers who settled our country lashed together wobbly planks of wood to form three-story staircases through thick forest terrain, offering travelers no modern comfort except lovingly-maintained black metal handrails. Nobody knows where the V-Stairs came from. Some say they were considered sacred by the Pakachoag Indians, who built them in the 11th Century; others say their foundations were laid by Bishop Fenwick himself; yet others still maintain that they can only be of extraterrestrial origin. Legend has it that the V-Stairs possess mystical powers. Stubbing one's toe on the V-Stairs is considered a portent of good fortune, but dropping a Latin notebook through the cracks has been known to cause twisted ankles and dirt-stained jeans. Even the V-Stairs' name is shrouded in mystery. Prior to their closure last year, few students knew what to call the wooden flights on the side of the hill. The large "V-Stairs Closed" signs immediately sparked a controversy over what the "V" stood for. The most popular theory was that it stands for "victory," commemorating the sense of accomplishment that one feels upon having successfully ascended to Healy, but others claimed that it meant "valuable," "virtuous," or even "Vellaccio." Some people went so far as to speculate that it stood for Vergeltungstreppenhaus (revenge-staircase) and that the entire apparatus, beauteous as it was, had been sabotaged by German agents in the mid-1940s and designed to break down, disconnecting the upper and lower campuses and crippling school morale. These people are mostly History majors who do not get out enough, though. Whatever their history or meaning, though, the V-Stairs were the traditional centerpiece of the Holy Cross campus and it is a shame that they will now be overshadowed by a big-[expletive] building. Who can forget the winters, when we would gently sway from side to side as each new fellow-traveler added to the structural uncertainty of our snow-covered wooden path? Or the autumns, when wet leaves would increase our chances of slipping all the way from Healy basement to O'Kane basement? Or the V-for-Victory sense of accomplishment at ascending all three stories of the staircase and finally making it from The Pedestrian Way Formerly Known As The Maze to Not Easy Street? Old-timers out there may remember our affectionate nickname from the Linden Lane extension that once ran behind Fenwick, from Dinand to Loyola. The Maze was a treacherous two-lane strip of right-angle turns and low visibility: a near-impossibility for SGA van drivers, a near-death experience for Red Cab riders. While it has now been barricaded at both ends, never to terrorize motorists again, and turned into the future site of a fountain, the other end of the V-Stairs -- Not Easy Street -- remains open to vehicular traffic but sadly, scandalously, nameless. Hill-dwelling students have resorted to calling their Chapel-side road anything from "the street" to "the, you know, street." This column prefers Not Easy Street, for the logical reason that, no matter what else you can say about it, that road is not Easy Street. Sadly, amid the College's myriad attempts to improve our rank in the U.S. News college guide, the much-needed reform of naming Not Easy Street has been tossed to the wayside like so many unique campus liturgical traditions. Yes, unique campus liturgical traditions, which, according to one inside source at the Chaplain's Office, are "like, sooo last year!" Pious readers will recall that in recent years, the Catholic services on campus have maintained a few seemingly innocuous differences from normal parish services. This month, however, those differences were wiped away as Holy Cross was "invited" by the diocese to bring its liturgy in line with new national standards. We are now "invited" to say "Lord, hear our prayer" instead of "God of Peace, hear our prayer." We are also "invited" to risk permanent injury by kneeling on the solid-rock kneelers during the Eucharistic prayers. This opens wild new horizons for English usage, such as, "this is a stick-up. I invite you to give me all your money." While the language pioneers in Campion House continue to find new uses for old words, and the uncaring Administration continues not to search for new words for old streets, at least we can all thank God and Holy Cross for our new big-[expletive] building, providing that V-for-Vital connection between the upper and lower campuses. . This article appeared in the 21 September 2001 edition of The Crusader, on page 12 (the second page of Features section), alongside a senior events preview by former Features editor RaeJean Spears. The "Comments on the Passing Parade truck" graphic was conspicuously absent. |