You missed the most memorable experience of your college career this week: naked dodge ball at Roy O. What? You missed naked dodge ball? You missed pounds of peachy flesh getting smacked and molded into the gridded pattern of a red rubber ball? Don’t worry—I missed it, too. It wasn’t until I passed this note scrawled in white across the black slate of the chalkboard between the Hub and Academic Quad that I realized it was even an entertainment option.
“Naked dodge ball @ Café Roy”
Written in tall, curving letters, this anonymous note spanned the entire length of the board—eye catching to say the least. There was just one problem: Café Roy isn’t big enough to host a game of dodge ball. Using the entire first floor of Roy O. would be conceivable; the desks, shelves and tree cubbies would add landscape to the game, making it multidimensional. But dodge ball in little Café Roy? Balls would fly and bounce across the small space, surely cracking poster frames and knocking over coffee cups. And where would they move the tables? The bar-style seating would seem a little out of place in the aisle by the printers and in between the reference shelves. Not to mention the revenue lost when thirsty students decide to abandon their afternoon lattes after seeing entirely too much skin squished against the coffee counter. No, I decided, this was probably not a truthful promise of future library activities. So how and why did this message get onto the blackboard in the first place?
I pondered this as I walked away from the board toward the Hub. It was obviously a thought on someone’s mind that they decided to display to the entire campus. I sidestepped to avoid an oblivious student texting on her cell phone—practically falling into the rain-wet bushes by the four columns. Her thumbs pattered back and forth on her touch screen, no doubt discussing her evening plans or posting a mobile Facebook status. Another student walked into the backdoor of the Hub with his laptop open in his hands. One-fingered, he tapped out a new Twitter update. DePauw students always seem to have a network to update, friends to converse with, and thoughts to share. Despite complaints from our Baby Boomer parents and grandparents, though, it’s not a new concept to want to leave your mark and alert others to your thoughts—obsessively as our generation seems to do it.
Make Your Mark
Students have been posting their opinions and thoughts since…forever. Have you been in Asbury Hall lately? Of course you have—that 9:20 a.m. class forces you to trudge to the third floor every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Next time you’re nodding off in American Government or Literature of the 20th Century, take a look at what previous students have left as reading material for you. It’s not hard—just look down at your desk. Etched into the veneer and traced on top of the plywood are hundreds of messages left from our DePauw ancestors.
The best places to find these notes, encryptions, and doodles are the older classrooms—especially East College and Asbury. Built in the late 1870s, East College was dedicated to Jesse Meharry for his $10,000 donation at the commencement of 1877. Later, Asbury Hall was built for classroom and office use in 1930, named for Bishop Francis Asbury—whom the original school, Indiana Asbury University, was named for. DePauw students have been marking up the desks and walls of these buildings for over 140 years.
East College. From the DePauw Library Archives
The “Where’s Waldo” of DePauw Graffiti
One particular graffiti gem can be found in Asbury classroom 318. Pushed against the wall closest to the door is an old wooden desk, so carved and defaced students can’t even use it as a smooth writing surface. It sits against the wall, ignored, because its purpose has been obliterated—it is no longer functional. Unless you are a fellow history buff and interesting-object-seeker, like me. Scratched into the surface of the desk are 46 legible numbers, words, Greek letters, and drawings. Beneath this top layer of writing are more carvings that are too old to be readable. Translating the garbled scribbles looks something like this:
ΔTΔ BONG KAθ 2001 6 AXΩ ↑ ΦKΨ KKΓ ΔΓ ΠBΦ J ΔTΔ CEW 69 KP ΣAE Moooo KLP ΠBΦ 1992 ΠBΦ with an arrow ΔΥ BθΠ -2144- anchor symbol ΣΧ ADΠ ∞ ΔΓ BθΠ ΣΧ ΔΥ AXΩ ΔΥ’12 ΔΧ ΣAE KKΓ drawing of a pentagon ΔΓ BθΠ AOY 2004 KAθ ΦΔθ
Greek letters dominate the list, but you have to wonder why someone wrote “Moooo”? A bored student might have been watching the clock, waiting for class to get over. He hated late classes on Friday afternoons, and he just wanted to start his weekend. The sun shone through the open window at the top of the wall, and he could smell meat grilling on the breeze. Even worse than spending his afternoon in the stuffy top floor of Asbury was the fact that he had to spend it with his least favorite professor, discussing 18th century forms of poetry. Professor Bovine had a long face with dark hair—going grey in spots–and a monotonous voice that droned on and on about iambic pentameter. Her jowls jiggled and she blinked her brown eyes at the listless class, waiting for an answer to the question she just asked. He kept his head down and began to scratch onto the surface of the desk.
Next door in classroom 317—though who knows when in DePauw’s history, students carved sleep,roar, andDuchene was here ’04 in different places on a round conference style table.
The most interesting Asbury find, however, is located in the basement men’s restroom. You must walk through two sets of dark wooden doors to get to the tight space that holds two urinals and two stalls. Although there was a wad of toilet paper left in the far toilet bowl, the room was surprisingly stench-free for a men’s bathroom. Above my head on the wall in front of the farthest stall I was distracted by my own name, KATE, penciled in block letters. Luckily for me, there are about 5,000 Kates on this campus, and the likelihood of it referring to me is slim. I hope. The real beauty is located just to the left of the name, inside the stall. Above the toilet seat covers someone marked “Free Cowboy Hats” with an arrow pointing down toward the container of covers. Leave it to a man to discover that sanitary toilet seat covers look like cowboy hats when placed on top of your head.
Asbury Hall Basement Men’s Bathroom. I edited this picture in paint to make it easier to see the writing: “Free Cowboy Hats.”
More Amusing Finds—and Their Locations, So You Can Find Them, Too!
These cute sketches are drawn in pen on the metal side of a table in Asbury classroom 110. The robot is missing both his left foot and left hand—if you’re going to start a doodle, at least finish the poor thing.
I’m not sure what we’re supposed to be watching on TBS November 8th, but they felt strongly enough about it to graffiti it in Asbury 110.