Feb.21, 1936 p.2: Open Forum

Dear Editor:

A freshman is more or less like fresh damp clay—the first few footprints make distinct impressions, but with time and additional footprints, these first impressions become confused and indistinct. So it is with the freshman. On entering school, he makes certain observations which help him to determine, independent of written rules and regulations, what things are done, and what things are definitely left undone. Thus is instilled in him something of the high aims and ideals for which his school stands. But, regrettable as it may be, he finds that these first-learned ideals are not inviolable.

During the first week of school, I was deeply impressed with the emphatic placards of the library: “This room is for study, not for visiting. Silence is requested for the benefit of those who come here to study. Assistants are asked to report anyone who does not observe this request.” Doubtless, this library was a sanctum—a true haven of refuge for those in search of peace and quiet. As all newcomers must have done, I took great pains to observe this ruling. I remember walking on tip-toe, noiselessly sliding penciled notes across the tables rather than risk the shocking disturbance of a whisper, sitting uncomfortably for uncounted moments rather than cause the annoying scrape of my chair on the floor. I remember even being cautioned to speak only in moderate tones while passing the library. Surely this was an awe inspiring institution of great learning.

Then came the change. It came on gradually, of course, as most changes do come. Perhaps it first became noticeable when something went wrong with the ventilation system in the social science reading room. The new freshman history course requires that a great deal of time be spent in this room, since the books cannot be taken out before 9 p.m. Assignments in these books are long and tedious, and require the deepest concentration. During one period of several days, the bang and clatter overhead made even reading the text next to impossible, and a grasp of its contents out of the question. With all this outside noise, it was inevitable that less care should be taken in scraping chairs on the floor, banging books on tables and shelves, noisily rattling pages, and whispering—why, one had to fairly shout inquiries at the desk! In the rush of obtaining source-theme material, above this din attendants might be heard dashing madly up and down unseen steps in the mysterious realm of the “stacks.”

Abandoning the social science room (and needless to say, at the same time abandoning much of my history reading), I sought refuge elsewhere. The reserve room seemed a likely place, since it continued to maintain a reasonable degree of quiet. However, it was usually very full of people, as well as a bit stuffy. The periodical room, by dint of its contents and the near-necessity of rattling pages seemed out of the question… Then I hit upon the ideal place—ideal for peace, quiet, and comfort. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? The recreational reading room, with its deep comfortable chairs, and its utopian silence! I settled cozily in preparation for facing a dreaded French assignment. All went well, until my eyes found the modest placard, “This room is for recreational reading only.” My French text swam uneasily before my eyes, and I soon managed to slip out unnoticed. Another chapter ended in my quest abruptly.

Without further ado I sough the one remaining spot—the hitherto unexplored reference room. For a time this served admirably. Hidden behind the imposing Oxford dictionary, I could pursue whatever course I liked, undisturbed. Then, one day a happy pair settled beside me, and began to relate in loud whispers “what he said, and why, and what she said, and why,” at great length… That was the last straw. I was completely disillusioned. But I soon found that the library, with all its noises, was a great deal better suited to the pursuit of knowledge than the dormitory. So I returned to the library, and prepared to hope for the best. Can’t something be done about it?

DISGRUNTLED FRESHMAN