By Davis McGraw and Dave Alfonso
In our continuing mission to bring to our readers’ attention the finest in leisurely diversions we have chosen in this week’s installment to shine a critical eye on a monumental landmark located on this very campus: the hidden spaces beneath the Complex of Dormitories Surrounding Harris Refectory.
We began our journey in Morrisson Dormitory, trying to find a way into what our anonymous sources informed us was an ancient concealed corridor whose plethora of wonders could put the Crystal Caves of Borneo to shame. Despite our efforts, we were unable to find this on our first go around, with stairwell after stairwell ending in a series of hallways with not a single soul in sight to ask for directions.
Deciding to alter our approach we exited Morrisson Dormitory to find an alternate point of entry via Wright Dormitory. Callooh-Callay! We immediately found ourselves in a mysterious basement lair; a peak through the keyhole of a locked door revealed what appeared to be a swarm of ghosts. What wonders this basement held, and what horrors we would come to find.
Upon entering Park Dormitory, we came face to face with the first of many harrowing sights, a wounded soldier sat idly in a corner stoic and silent. We saluted the poor man, and continued on without incident. Park may be the greatest trickster of the Complex Family, with its twisting passageways and empty, shallow closets waiting to swallow up unsuspecting adventurers.
Following a pungent scent we found ourselves in the basement of Johnson, and what an abject sight it was. The floors reeked of sticky, spilt Natural Ice Beer and the walls oozed the sweat of a thousand hockey players whose equipment lay discarded and unwashed. Handkerchiefs held fast to our sensitive noses, we tread softly.
Opening another door brought us face to face with a display of disturbingly lackluster holiday themed graffiti bearing the legend ‘1997.’ Our goal by this juncture was to complete the noble mission with our sanity intact.
We darted across the Fishbowl Green and snuck around the backside of Hamilton Dormitory. As we approached a sunken basement entrance, we were shocked to see a door swing closed at our approach. Through a window we could make out a series of well lit chambers packed to the gills with potted plants and computer equipment. What sort of clandestine experiments could take place in these sinister laboratories?
Entering Hamilton from the side, we made our way downward into the hellish industrial bowels of the Complex where, at long last, we came to the strange basement corridor that had eluded us at the start of our journey. The space was massive; the walls sickly yellow. Staring helplessly at a locked door with a sign reading “Caution: Tripping Hazard” we couldn’t help but think that somewhere along our journey we had been drugged. Strange symbols abounded, “Union Yes!!” screamed a concrete wall. The elevator had no first floor. Filthy concrete floors were blanketed with rancid cardboard boxes. Nothing made sense any more.
All but stripped of the last trappings of sensibility, we ran. We ran with arms flailing until we once again breathed the crisp autumn air of Connecticut. As our lungs filled with sweet fresh oxygen, the fiendish labyrinth of the Complex became but a distant memory, like the edge of a dream or thunder in the distance. I admit that tears were shed.
That’s all for this week, amigos. Be sure to catch up with us next time when we return to our regular format to investigate and contrast the quality of Hector Berlioz’ Fantastic Symphony and Kenny Loggins Greatest Hits.
May the road rise to meet you.
