There and Back Again: From the Living Room to the Dorm Room

Dining in Mary Harkness House, 1952.

Eons ago, when I was applying to college, I had a checklist of items that my future home had to have. These included a small student body, no fraternities or sororities and a campus outside of the city. Most important to my high school-senior self, however, was the percentage of students that lived on campus. I was obsessed with the fact that many of the schools I was looking at had ninety-six or ninety-nine percent of students living on campus. Today, I can’t remember why this was so important to me. Perhaps it was because I was looking for an “active campus,” or perhaps it was something I felt like my various tour guides were constantly bragging about.
Conn College can boast that ninety-eight percent of students live on campus. I have enjoyed living on campus at this school— as a freshman in the Windham nunnery, my floor mates and I redesigned our aggressively large storage room, donating the items that could not fit in our cramped doubles. The storage room saw a host of events: birthday parties, sleepover guests, sexiled friends, Cheez-it and Friends sessions.
My sophomore year was spent in the coveted double-over-the-front-window in Plant. There, my roommate and I invented a game that utilized our prime view of Cro Boulevard; the only elements required for “The Hello Game” were an open window and the bravery to yell a greeting to your new acquaintance from the giant windows of Plant.
Even though the dorms had treated me well, by the end of my sophomore year I had an itch to be whisked away to some other part of campus. As a junior I assumed I could have a single in any dorm, but I wanted something more. At Conn, there are a host of “specialty housing” options, including the River Ridge Apartments, the 360 apartments, Earth House and the newly minted Winchester Houses. I assumed this process would be highly competitive, and the chance of acquiring such a home as a junior seemed unlikely. I was sure specialty housing was reserved for seniors who had somehow impressed Residential Education and Living (REAL) with their ability to cure homelessness in New London with their chamber music trio.
I did feel a little swindled by my lack of options. At many of my friends’ colleges, students were rewarded for their upperclassmen status, moving into the “junior apartments” or participating in the tradition of renting nearby ramschackled houses from elderly ladies they had tricked into thinking they were upstanding citizens. I yearned for this excitement. Although some students at Conn choose to move to houses off campus, the walking-distance real estate choices are scarce, and it has seemed to me that REAL frowns upon this choice. Specialty Housing appeared to be my best bet.
In some wild turn of events, I was granted an apartment in 360, where I would live in the spring after returning from a semester abroad. Upon returning, I took full advantage of my very non-Conn Coll lifestyle. I cooked lavish meals of spinach-based stews, I did my homework on a coffee table in my robe, and I hosted get-togethers that took hours for campus safety to notice. 360 felt luxurious, a bubble bath in a tub that had possibly been dirtied by fewer people than one in JA.
There were, of course, things to miss about living on campus. No meal could revitalize a Sunday the way Harris greasy eggs do; visiting someone in South campus required a day’s notice; a talk in Blaustein might be skipped for a cozier Sex and the City episode online.
But generally, the positives outweighed the negatives, and living in the 360 apartments became its own kind of community. Attending each other’s various events was informative and fun (unsurprisingly, hardly anyone who lived in dorms made it). Even though I was sad to only have been afforded this opulent lifestyle for a semester, I knew there was no way I would be so lucky to live there again. I applied to live on campus for my senior year.
When I returned this fall I was filled with worry: would I adjust to living in a dorm after attending house meetings that were attended by under five people and lasted under five minutes? Would I forget to dress myself for midnight pees? Would I play well with others? So far, I have.
It appears that this year specialty-housing options have become more and more attractive to students— scores of students have hounded my roommates and I for our application secrets. Our theme was sustainable food; a topic so ubiquitous presently that even Harris has embraced it with its short-lived local foods section. In considering why students are so eager to move a longer walk or sometimes a drive away from campus, I assumed they were seeking freedom: freedom to eat and do what they wanted.
Still, as a senior, I have begun to appreciate the dorm life again. I think it is especially nice for incoming freshman to feel like they are part of a community, not to be sequestered in a freshman dorm, festering with confusion. I am especially appreciative of the Residential Educational Fellow program, which puts on a lot of great events I am glad to be able to enjoy.
Specialty Housing is a great option that this school provides. It encourages students to ease into the eventuality of the real world where toilet paper, no matter how thin, must be routinely purchased. It is a growing experience. A particular lesson we learned in my apartment was that duct tape is a method of heating a faulty windowed house, and fridge-ditched feta cheese will stink after spring break. These are valuable lessons that even CELS cannot prepare us for.
Not every student, however, is afforded this preparation. This living situation is an option enjoyed by that two percent at Conn. I fear for the day when I drink champagne from my 360 balcony, with inhabitants past and present, and watch the KB basement dwellers protest my good fortune with their cardboard “Occupy Specialty Housing” signs. Until then I will be thankful for what I had, and what I have now: a high-ceilinged single in Harkness that looks out on the admissions green, where I listen to tours beginning and ending, bragging about the ninety-eight percent. •