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Message
TulaneLSU's Top 10 memories at LSU
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm
Dear Friends,
My collegiate career was one of many twists and turns. Following graduation from a boarding school, I was expected to go to Tulane, Princeton, or Yale. But you know that I had other plans, thanks largely to realizing the dangers of Hegel’s thought, and so I enrolled in the school of streetcar conducting. I loved my time as a conductor and still dream of perhaps one day returning to that valiant profession.
I did eventually enroll at Tulane, only to have my studies disrupted by a hurricane, which left me scrambling. Princeton invited me to enroll, but ultimately, I wanted to be close to Mother and Uncle, so I spent nearly two semesters at LSU before transferring to Delgado.
If you asked collegiate TulaneLSU his thoughts on LSU, they would have been pejorative and disgruntled. However, as time has passed, I have reconciled with my time on that stately campus.
Mother has never been very fond of Baton Rouge or the school there, and I wonder if some of her prejudices and resentments clouded my opinion of both while I lived there. I brought up this possibility to her last month.
“Mother, why do you speak in less than positive ways about LSU? I sometimes wonder if you poisoned the well before I transferred there.”
“It was for your own good, son. I worried that if you graduated from LSU you would become one of those people.”
“What people?” I asked.
Mother furrowed her brow. “The type that wears university specific clothing and attends sporting events as though they were the be all of existence. Rude and crass, one hand clutching an alcoholic beverage, the other pointing at a rival chanting, ‘Tiger bait or SEC, SEC, SEC.’”
I laughed. “Mother, that is absolutely ludicrous. You know me better. And I was thinking the other day. It has been nearly two decades since I studied at LSU. I have not been back. You have never been there. What do you say we make a road trip there and I can show you the campus? I think you will find it quite beautiful.”
Mother lifted one of her eyebrows and gave me that sardonic look she has. If you know her, it is that look she gives a waiter when he asks if she would like to see the wine list.
“Mother, really, now. LSU is architecturally one of the most significant campuses in the South. The beautiful layout is the brainchild of Frederick Law Olmstead Jr. And it was a New Orleans architectural firm that used Olmstead’s vision and the inspiration of Venetian (not Venice, LA) Andrea Palladio to create what LSU is today.
“Palladio? Is not Stanford’s campus Palladian?”
“Yes, Mother. That was why when we toured Stanford two years ago I said that it reminded me of the LSU campus, even though you snickered.”
Eventually, Mother agreed to join me and a few weeks later, we found ourselves on LSU’s campus. I gave her the full tour, sharing stories with her along the way. Nearly every step elicited a memory, and before we knew it, we had walked the entire campus of LSU. We clocked 22 miles in nine hours 15 minutes. It was a lovely day. And now I would like to share some of those memories and photographs with you.
TulaneLSU’s Top 10 (or so) memories at LSU
Our day started at the parking lot on the northwest corner of Highland and Dalrymple, just next to Pleasant Hall. I told Mother how much I loved the name Pleasant Hall, but that I had never been inside it. Parking was $1.50 an hour, and Mother’s Mercedes remained safe from the short UV waves of the sun, tucked in the shade of a large live oak. I said, “Mother, look,” as I pointed across the street to St. Alban’s Chapel. “We are ‘under the oak by the sanctuary of the Lord, just like in Joshua 24!”
“Mother, this is one of my favorite chapels in all the world!” We crossed Highland and I ran to be the first to the door, as Mother and I used to play a game she called “First One In Church” where we ran to be the first one to enter into the sanctuary. I beat her – her legs do not move as quickly as they once did. Much to my disappointment, the doors were locked and there was no one in the fellowship area to open it.
That was a shame because I wanted to start our tour, like all good tours, with prayer prayer in that holy chapel. Undeterred, we spent several minutes in the courtyard, which is blemished by an outdoor ashtray, praying for good walking, safety, and clear minds.
“Mother, I spent many nights by myself in this chapel praying for you. It is a beautiful chapel. An hour before sunset, that western window glows. Even on my saddest days, I knew that if I were praying during Vespers I knew that we were connected in prayer at that very moment.”
My collegiate career was one of many twists and turns. Following graduation from a boarding school, I was expected to go to Tulane, Princeton, or Yale. But you know that I had other plans, thanks largely to realizing the dangers of Hegel’s thought, and so I enrolled in the school of streetcar conducting. I loved my time as a conductor and still dream of perhaps one day returning to that valiant profession.
I did eventually enroll at Tulane, only to have my studies disrupted by a hurricane, which left me scrambling. Princeton invited me to enroll, but ultimately, I wanted to be close to Mother and Uncle, so I spent nearly two semesters at LSU before transferring to Delgado.
If you asked collegiate TulaneLSU his thoughts on LSU, they would have been pejorative and disgruntled. However, as time has passed, I have reconciled with my time on that stately campus.
Mother has never been very fond of Baton Rouge or the school there, and I wonder if some of her prejudices and resentments clouded my opinion of both while I lived there. I brought up this possibility to her last month.
“Mother, why do you speak in less than positive ways about LSU? I sometimes wonder if you poisoned the well before I transferred there.”
“It was for your own good, son. I worried that if you graduated from LSU you would become one of those people.”
“What people?” I asked.
Mother furrowed her brow. “The type that wears university specific clothing and attends sporting events as though they were the be all of existence. Rude and crass, one hand clutching an alcoholic beverage, the other pointing at a rival chanting, ‘Tiger bait or SEC, SEC, SEC.’”
I laughed. “Mother, that is absolutely ludicrous. You know me better. And I was thinking the other day. It has been nearly two decades since I studied at LSU. I have not been back. You have never been there. What do you say we make a road trip there and I can show you the campus? I think you will find it quite beautiful.”
Mother lifted one of her eyebrows and gave me that sardonic look she has. If you know her, it is that look she gives a waiter when he asks if she would like to see the wine list.
“Mother, really, now. LSU is architecturally one of the most significant campuses in the South. The beautiful layout is the brainchild of Frederick Law Olmstead Jr. And it was a New Orleans architectural firm that used Olmstead’s vision and the inspiration of Venetian (not Venice, LA) Andrea Palladio to create what LSU is today.
“Palladio? Is not Stanford’s campus Palladian?”
“Yes, Mother. That was why when we toured Stanford two years ago I said that it reminded me of the LSU campus, even though you snickered.”
Eventually, Mother agreed to join me and a few weeks later, we found ourselves on LSU’s campus. I gave her the full tour, sharing stories with her along the way. Nearly every step elicited a memory, and before we knew it, we had walked the entire campus of LSU. We clocked 22 miles in nine hours 15 minutes. It was a lovely day. And now I would like to share some of those memories and photographs with you.
TulaneLSU’s Top 10 (or so) memories at LSU
Our day started at the parking lot on the northwest corner of Highland and Dalrymple, just next to Pleasant Hall. I told Mother how much I loved the name Pleasant Hall, but that I had never been inside it. Parking was $1.50 an hour, and Mother’s Mercedes remained safe from the short UV waves of the sun, tucked in the shade of a large live oak. I said, “Mother, look,” as I pointed across the street to St. Alban’s Chapel. “We are ‘under the oak by the sanctuary of the Lord, just like in Joshua 24!”
“Mother, this is one of my favorite chapels in all the world!” We crossed Highland and I ran to be the first to the door, as Mother and I used to play a game she called “First One In Church” where we ran to be the first one to enter into the sanctuary. I beat her – her legs do not move as quickly as they once did. Much to my disappointment, the doors were locked and there was no one in the fellowship area to open it.
That was a shame because I wanted to start our tour, like all good tours, with prayer prayer in that holy chapel. Undeterred, we spent several minutes in the courtyard, which is blemished by an outdoor ashtray, praying for good walking, safety, and clear minds.
“Mother, I spent many nights by myself in this chapel praying for you. It is a beautiful chapel. An hour before sunset, that western window glows. Even on my saddest days, I knew that if I were praying during Vespers I knew that we were connected in prayer at that very moment.”
This post was edited on 5/29/23 at 8:36 pm
23
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm to TulaneLSU
From there, we crossed Dalrymple again so I could show her the other religious groups on campus. “Mother, I promise I never went to Catholic Mass, even though I really, really wanted to worship with our Catholic friends. But on Thursday nights, I would get energized and go over to BCM for TNT.”
“TNT?”
“Thursday night together! I will be honest, though, Mother. As much excitement and energy as there were in the room, I never touched God. It was too loud for me to worship and they repeated the same stanzas over and over and over. But I went every Thursday night.”
While exiting the Baptist Ministries, we both noticed that one of the offices had a collection of stuffed dead animal heads on the wall. Mother and I, being lovers of nature that we are, were both repulsed. I am considering sending a copy of St. Francis of Assissi’s writings to the ministry along with a treatise on why I believe displaying God’s living creations as trophies is a stumbling block and a misreading of Genesis 1’s human dominion over animals. Genesis 1 should be read in conjunction with Genesis 9.
It was early in the morning, and I was becoming hungry. “Mother, let me show you where I used to eat many breakfasts. It was a delightful cafeteria that people called The Pentagon Cafeteria. It is now called The 5. The former name should not have been changed. Anyway, scrambled eggs, toast, donuts, bacon, grits. Mother, it was almost as good as Ms. Mae’s breakfast.”
“Mother! This is where the door was!” Apparently, they have closed off the northern entrance to the cafeteria, which was the one I used. The steps I used were still there, but they are no longer in use. And that hulking monolith called Kirby Smith is no longer there.
We backtracked a little because I wanted to share with Mother two important memories. The first came from the Greek Amphitheater. It was there in November of 2005 that I put on a public play, my first outdoor play. I had spent two weeks working on the script and another week rehearsing it. The title was Pronouns: A Direct and Indirect Assault on Our Nation. I had professional posters printed and plastered them throughout campus (afterwards, I took every poster down, as I would never leave them to become public detritus).
At the beginning of the production there were nearly ten people in attendance. Most of the audience left after a few minutes, and an hour into it, a few newcomers, football players by the look of them, started heckling me. It was around that time that a disheveled man, who may not have had an address to his name, climbed to the stage. I looked at him, but stayed in character.
“Do you have any spare change?” He stood next to me. I could hear the football players laughing.
I ignored the question and continued playing both of that night’s characters, an indirect and a direct pronoun. I was giving the direct pronoun’s climatic soliloquy when from the corner of my eye I saw an object hurled. I ducked, and in so doing, a half peeled banana splattered the face of the man who was asking for money. He left and the football players ran away. My climax was ruined.
Three of the original audience remained until the end and one gave a standing ovation, which meant a lot to me. That person became my friend and he has joined me on many a trip to The Golden Corral.
I then showed Mother what I called The Enchanted Forest. This was a fenced off area full of live oaks and bald cypress trees. I dreamed of jumping the fence to have a picnic in the forest, but I never did, for fear of the repercussions. The legend goes that it was originally an old pond that the WPA turned into a reflecting pool with a statue of de Soto at the head of the pool. It fell into disrepair and in 1960, the area was condemned. The workers tossed the statue of de Soto into the Mississippi River and it became a hippie hangout in the 70s. By my time, it had been fenced from students for at least two decades, but in the last ten years, it has returned to its glory, though, without any pools or ponds. Its shaded, quiet grounds make for a picturesque picnic destination today. Perhaps I will one day bring a date there.
As we perambulated toward the River, I noticed that the Pentagon dorms had been updated. I saw no fans in the archaic windows, which I presume means they are now air conditioned. Most disappointing to me is that the entire complex has gone the route of gated community USA. I suppose all those Gen X parents, who boast about how they rode bikes without parental guidance from the time they got home until sunset, fear for their children’s safety. I have not felt this debarred from a place since the last time I walked the streets of Village de L'Est.
Past the Indian Mounds, which are also fenced off now, is the Huey P Long Fieldhouse. Mother and all of her family absolutely despise Huey P Long, so she would not sneak into the building with me. But I did share with her the story of how I was tricked into going for a swim there one night.
My roommate, of whom you will read more later, told me that every LSU student, in order to matriculate fully into the school, had “to be baptized in the waters of the Long Fieldhouse pool.” So one night, after we ate at the Pentagon, we walked to the fieldhouse. I asked him why the doors were chained and bolted, but he ignored my question. Only later did I learn that the facility had been condemned and closed years before I arrived. I was told the pool was closed after the summer of 2000 and the skating rink, used for indoor soccer and inline hockey, was closed in 2003.
I was foolish and gullible so I hopped the brick walls and made my way to the pool area. Lit only by the moon, I could tell this pool was not full. My roommate began chanting, “LSU! LSU! LSU!” And then he pushed me in.
There was enough water that I did not break any bones, but it was the water was mixed with a sludge, a biodegrading mix of lilies and weeds algae. Although I did not make contact with any turtles, snakes, or frogs, the bellowing echoing off the walls assured me as I ran that there were at least some bullfrogs sharing that murky water.
As part of the renovation, they filled in the historic pool with dirt to make it a lawn. I do not want to be too critical, but the heart of the fieldhouse was the pool. Even worse is that hideous tiger eye graphic painting on the wall. One thing I know is that LSU and its students and followers love defacing things.
We passed the Maravich Assembly Center where I watched one game, the LSU women’s basketball defeat Baylor in 2006. It was rather forgettable, but I remember fondly how good the popcorn was.
“TNT?”
“Thursday night together! I will be honest, though, Mother. As much excitement and energy as there were in the room, I never touched God. It was too loud for me to worship and they repeated the same stanzas over and over and over. But I went every Thursday night.”
While exiting the Baptist Ministries, we both noticed that one of the offices had a collection of stuffed dead animal heads on the wall. Mother and I, being lovers of nature that we are, were both repulsed. I am considering sending a copy of St. Francis of Assissi’s writings to the ministry along with a treatise on why I believe displaying God’s living creations as trophies is a stumbling block and a misreading of Genesis 1’s human dominion over animals. Genesis 1 should be read in conjunction with Genesis 9.
It was early in the morning, and I was becoming hungry. “Mother, let me show you where I used to eat many breakfasts. It was a delightful cafeteria that people called The Pentagon Cafeteria. It is now called The 5. The former name should not have been changed. Anyway, scrambled eggs, toast, donuts, bacon, grits. Mother, it was almost as good as Ms. Mae’s breakfast.”
“Mother! This is where the door was!” Apparently, they have closed off the northern entrance to the cafeteria, which was the one I used. The steps I used were still there, but they are no longer in use. And that hulking monolith called Kirby Smith is no longer there.
We backtracked a little because I wanted to share with Mother two important memories. The first came from the Greek Amphitheater. It was there in November of 2005 that I put on a public play, my first outdoor play. I had spent two weeks working on the script and another week rehearsing it. The title was Pronouns: A Direct and Indirect Assault on Our Nation. I had professional posters printed and plastered them throughout campus (afterwards, I took every poster down, as I would never leave them to become public detritus).
At the beginning of the production there were nearly ten people in attendance. Most of the audience left after a few minutes, and an hour into it, a few newcomers, football players by the look of them, started heckling me. It was around that time that a disheveled man, who may not have had an address to his name, climbed to the stage. I looked at him, but stayed in character.
“Do you have any spare change?” He stood next to me. I could hear the football players laughing.
I ignored the question and continued playing both of that night’s characters, an indirect and a direct pronoun. I was giving the direct pronoun’s climatic soliloquy when from the corner of my eye I saw an object hurled. I ducked, and in so doing, a half peeled banana splattered the face of the man who was asking for money. He left and the football players ran away. My climax was ruined.
Three of the original audience remained until the end and one gave a standing ovation, which meant a lot to me. That person became my friend and he has joined me on many a trip to The Golden Corral.
I then showed Mother what I called The Enchanted Forest. This was a fenced off area full of live oaks and bald cypress trees. I dreamed of jumping the fence to have a picnic in the forest, but I never did, for fear of the repercussions. The legend goes that it was originally an old pond that the WPA turned into a reflecting pool with a statue of de Soto at the head of the pool. It fell into disrepair and in 1960, the area was condemned. The workers tossed the statue of de Soto into the Mississippi River and it became a hippie hangout in the 70s. By my time, it had been fenced from students for at least two decades, but in the last ten years, it has returned to its glory, though, without any pools or ponds. Its shaded, quiet grounds make for a picturesque picnic destination today. Perhaps I will one day bring a date there.
As we perambulated toward the River, I noticed that the Pentagon dorms had been updated. I saw no fans in the archaic windows, which I presume means they are now air conditioned. Most disappointing to me is that the entire complex has gone the route of gated community USA. I suppose all those Gen X parents, who boast about how they rode bikes without parental guidance from the time they got home until sunset, fear for their children’s safety. I have not felt this debarred from a place since the last time I walked the streets of Village de L'Est.
Past the Indian Mounds, which are also fenced off now, is the Huey P Long Fieldhouse. Mother and all of her family absolutely despise Huey P Long, so she would not sneak into the building with me. But I did share with her the story of how I was tricked into going for a swim there one night.
My roommate, of whom you will read more later, told me that every LSU student, in order to matriculate fully into the school, had “to be baptized in the waters of the Long Fieldhouse pool.” So one night, after we ate at the Pentagon, we walked to the fieldhouse. I asked him why the doors were chained and bolted, but he ignored my question. Only later did I learn that the facility had been condemned and closed years before I arrived. I was told the pool was closed after the summer of 2000 and the skating rink, used for indoor soccer and inline hockey, was closed in 2003.
I was foolish and gullible so I hopped the brick walls and made my way to the pool area. Lit only by the moon, I could tell this pool was not full. My roommate began chanting, “LSU! LSU! LSU!” And then he pushed me in.
There was enough water that I did not break any bones, but it was the water was mixed with a sludge, a biodegrading mix of lilies and weeds algae. Although I did not make contact with any turtles, snakes, or frogs, the bellowing echoing off the walls assured me as I ran that there were at least some bullfrogs sharing that murky water.
As part of the renovation, they filled in the historic pool with dirt to make it a lawn. I do not want to be too critical, but the heart of the fieldhouse was the pool. Even worse is that hideous tiger eye graphic painting on the wall. One thing I know is that LSU and its students and followers love defacing things.
We passed the Maravich Assembly Center where I watched one game, the LSU women’s basketball defeat Baylor in 2006. It was rather forgettable, but I remember fondly how good the popcorn was.
This post was edited on 5/29/23 at 8:36 pm
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm to TulaneLSU
We continued westward to Mike the Tiger’s home. My year at LSU was one of the first with the new habitat, which had been the brainchild of Mark Emmert’s wife. I always wondered how both LSU and Alabama, coached by Mark’s good friend, despite obvious NCAA infractions, have avoided any significant NCAA punishment while Emmert has been head of the NCAA. That is another topic.
Mother was captivated by Mike, who was quite the playful kitty that morning. I told her the only memory I had of Mike, although I believe this is a new Mike. “While going to class one morning, I had extra time, so I decided to visit Mike the Tiger. He is such a magnificent animal. He seemed lonely, so I thought I would cheer him up by making noises from the jungle. I tried purring. He did not respond. I tried making orangutan noises. Still no response. Then I decided to make the noise an elephant makes with his trunk.”
“Right then and there, Mike sat up, looked at me, and turned his back. I wondered what he was doing, but when my face became wet I realized it. He had urinated all over me, soiling my beautiful suit. I had to rush home to change to make class in Lockett Hall.”
Lockett Hall was our next stop. It was in that poorly designed building that I was humiliated by a professor. I was taking a class, which at the time was titled African American History. I enjoyed the class until halfway through the semester, in the middle of the class, the professor suddenly pointed at me and said, “Class, you see this dumpy white boy. I know he voted for Bush.”
I was petrified. Not only had I been an upstanding student in the class, always arriving well dressed, well prepared and at least five minutes early, I had never gotten anything less than 100% on his tests, which were, to be fair, elementary.
Fear cannot cripple us, as God tells us to fear not more than one hundred times in the Bible. And so, clutching tightly in my hand my 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer, I stood up to speak. “Sir, I vote but for one person: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who was begotten, not made, who lived and walked with us, who taught us the perfect teaching, who loved us unto death on a cross, who died, was buried, and rose again on the third day. He shall come to judge the living and the dead. It is he alone whom I follow. It is he alone whom I fear. It is he alone in whom I place my faith.”
The professor ignored me and continued teaching. Several strangers came up to me after class and told me that they thought the professor had spoken unfairly and that I should speak to an academic dean. I did not because I spoke truth to power, and that truth shall overcome all.
As we left, I noticed many sandbags by the basement doors. I mentioned to Mother that every time it rained heavily, some water would get into the basement and these sandbags were used to help with the flooding. I am surprised the school has not fixed this problem.
Allen Hall was our next destination. Mother wanted to see the famous mural that has gained national attention. Some students have said it depicts Black people as slaves and lazy and they would like the mural removed. I did not see laziness in the picture. I did see Jody’s grandfather working the pipe.
No stop at LSU is complete without a lengthy tour of Middleton Library, which I learned from a student worker there is no longer called Middleton. It has been nameless since 2020 apparently. Architecturally, this building ruins the cross-shaped heart of campus people call the Quadrangle. It is the only building not done in Palladian style. Its style is 1950s white shirt, black tie, pocket protector square. It truly is hideous and a scandal on campus, named or not named. The only thing positive I can say about it is that its odors, especially on the second floor in the main stacks, is exactly as it was 18 years ago. I imagine it has the same odor as it did 50 years ago.
The Quad’s arches are quite reminiscent of the Palladian arches at Stanford University.
I suspect some of those olfactory memories are ignited by the air conditioning system which superficially looks the same as it did in the 1950s.
I showed Mother which stalls I used for my studies. I was quite disturbed by all the desk defacements and graffiti which seems to be tolerated by the staff. Here are but a few. I considered doing a Top 10 Middleton-Not Middleton Library desk drawings, but they were far too profane to do a list.
We cut through the Quad to see what offerings of food the Union had. I told Mother my second favorite oak on the entire campus was next to the MemorialTower. Mother and I have always named our trees, and this one I named Twisty due to his twisted trunk, likely the product of Hurricane Betsy’s winds in 1965.
Mother was captivated by Mike, who was quite the playful kitty that morning. I told her the only memory I had of Mike, although I believe this is a new Mike. “While going to class one morning, I had extra time, so I decided to visit Mike the Tiger. He is such a magnificent animal. He seemed lonely, so I thought I would cheer him up by making noises from the jungle. I tried purring. He did not respond. I tried making orangutan noises. Still no response. Then I decided to make the noise an elephant makes with his trunk.”
“Right then and there, Mike sat up, looked at me, and turned his back. I wondered what he was doing, but when my face became wet I realized it. He had urinated all over me, soiling my beautiful suit. I had to rush home to change to make class in Lockett Hall.”
Lockett Hall was our next stop. It was in that poorly designed building that I was humiliated by a professor. I was taking a class, which at the time was titled African American History. I enjoyed the class until halfway through the semester, in the middle of the class, the professor suddenly pointed at me and said, “Class, you see this dumpy white boy. I know he voted for Bush.”
I was petrified. Not only had I been an upstanding student in the class, always arriving well dressed, well prepared and at least five minutes early, I had never gotten anything less than 100% on his tests, which were, to be fair, elementary.
Fear cannot cripple us, as God tells us to fear not more than one hundred times in the Bible. And so, clutching tightly in my hand my 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer, I stood up to speak. “Sir, I vote but for one person: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who was begotten, not made, who lived and walked with us, who taught us the perfect teaching, who loved us unto death on a cross, who died, was buried, and rose again on the third day. He shall come to judge the living and the dead. It is he alone whom I follow. It is he alone whom I fear. It is he alone in whom I place my faith.”
The professor ignored me and continued teaching. Several strangers came up to me after class and told me that they thought the professor had spoken unfairly and that I should speak to an academic dean. I did not because I spoke truth to power, and that truth shall overcome all.
As we left, I noticed many sandbags by the basement doors. I mentioned to Mother that every time it rained heavily, some water would get into the basement and these sandbags were used to help with the flooding. I am surprised the school has not fixed this problem.
Allen Hall was our next destination. Mother wanted to see the famous mural that has gained national attention. Some students have said it depicts Black people as slaves and lazy and they would like the mural removed. I did not see laziness in the picture. I did see Jody’s grandfather working the pipe.
No stop at LSU is complete without a lengthy tour of Middleton Library, which I learned from a student worker there is no longer called Middleton. It has been nameless since 2020 apparently. Architecturally, this building ruins the cross-shaped heart of campus people call the Quadrangle. It is the only building not done in Palladian style. Its style is 1950s white shirt, black tie, pocket protector square. It truly is hideous and a scandal on campus, named or not named. The only thing positive I can say about it is that its odors, especially on the second floor in the main stacks, is exactly as it was 18 years ago. I imagine it has the same odor as it did 50 years ago.
The Quad’s arches are quite reminiscent of the Palladian arches at Stanford University.
I suspect some of those olfactory memories are ignited by the air conditioning system which superficially looks the same as it did in the 1950s.
I showed Mother which stalls I used for my studies. I was quite disturbed by all the desk defacements and graffiti which seems to be tolerated by the staff. Here are but a few. I considered doing a Top 10 Middleton-Not Middleton Library desk drawings, but they were far too profane to do a list.
We cut through the Quad to see what offerings of food the Union had. I told Mother my second favorite oak on the entire campus was next to the MemorialTower. Mother and I have always named our trees, and this one I named Twisty due to his twisted trunk, likely the product of Hurricane Betsy’s winds in 1965.
This post was edited on 5/29/23 at 8:43 pm
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm to TulaneLSU
Mother, I am a bit embarrassed to share with you this LSU tradition, but since we are here, it is said that on the holiday, Valentine’s Day, when we remember how Valentine brought sight to the blind and was later martyred for his faith, if you bring your significant other to Memorial Tower and kiss him or her at midnight, you will get married. Others say it is then that you become a real LSU student.”
“Please tell me, TulaneLSU, that you did not participate in this.”
“Of course not. But a student in my biochemistry class did trick me into coming here on Valentine’s night. I wondered why so many others were there that night. She did not answer with a satisfying answer, so I told her I was going back to my dorm. She grabbed me and drew herself near to me. Her mouth opened. And I ran. I heard the bell ringing as I ran through the Parade Grounds. I never spoke to her again.”
“Rightfully so. She sounds like quite the strumpet. You deserve better.”
We entered the Union after passing my true love, my favorite live oak on the entire campus, which I named Ruth. I named her as such because her rootedness and steadfastness reminded me of that of Ruth in the Bible, whose husband died. Any other woman would have gone back to her own people, but she remained faithful and stayed with her mother-in-law, Naomi, who would have been in big trouble without Ruth. Ruth is such a beautiful tree. I was upset that someone had littered in her trunk, so I cleaned it.
“Mother, I rarely ate any meals in the Union. It was, and it looks like it still is, fast junk food. But I would, on some Fridays, eat in the Magnolia Room in the Union penthouse. I would get at least seven filets of fried catfish, jambalaya, gumbo, and then for dessert, peach cobbler. I loved Friday lunches. Even better was when a professor would invite me to the Faculty Club. Those meals were excellent!” Unfortunately, both restaurants were closed when we visited.
Some pugilists of the OT will be happy to learn that the LSU Union now is home to a Sonic. Meeting each other at Sonic no longer requires a drive off-campus.
I was also quite upset when I learned two institutions in the Union are no more. First, the barber shop, I was told by a worker, closed this semester and they are going to get rid of it. During my year at LSU, I enjoyed getting a haircut every three Fridays by the same barber. I do not remember his name, but he had a salt and pepper mullet. He also ended every hair cut with shaving the neck with a straight razor and then soothing the skin with a hot towel. It was one of the highlights of my time there and I always gave a $20 tip.
My other Union disappointment was walking the basement to find my old USPS P.O.Box only to find that the USPS office had closed and a UPS store has replaced it. “Mother, this was where I received all your letters and care packages. It’s gone! I wish you could have seen the old brass mailboxes!”
It looked like fast food was our only option nearby, so I asked Mother if she wanted to go to the first ever Cane’s at the North Gate. She has never had Cane’s, and she reluctantly agreed. So we headed north on Highland again.
We walked through the drive-through line. When we got the menu, we were shocked to find that the Caniac was $16. As the cashier began to take our order, she said, “Wait a minute, are you walking? You can’t walk through. You have to come inside.” So we obliged her by entering, and each of us ate a Caniac. It was okay. Mother said she would never eat Cane’s again.
This post was edited on 5/29/23 at 8:39 pm
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm to TulaneLSU
We were both hungry, so I suggested we go to the LSU Dairy Store, where I would get a chocolate milkshake, something I learned on a visit to Wieners Circle in Chicago never to order, twice weekly when I was a student. On the walk down Highland, I realized how precariously the sidewalk seemed next to cars zooming past. I also showed Mother my favorite campus bus stop, where I would get the bus when worshiping at St. James Episcopal. Mother agreed with me that it was one of the most beautiful bus stops she had ever seen.
Mother asked me about where most of my classes were, and I told her Coates Hall. It was, in a roundabout way, on our way to the Dairy Store. I showed her where I took a graduate level Civil War class with Charles Royster, who took me to lunch at the Faculty Club and told me I was one of the best students he had ever taught. I also showed Mother where I sat in a Coates Hall Christian philosophy class taught by the world renowned, and now deceased, John Whittaker.
Mother needed to use the washroom, but I warned her that Coates Hall was not the place for that. In fact, it was in the western most Coates Hall bathroom that I nearly became the victim of a sexual assault. I had been working on a computer science project in the LINUX lab when I felt the downstream effects of peristalsis. I moved briskly to the bathroom, which was just across the hall. I tore many sheets of toilet paper to make a sanitary blanket over the seat. I sat and suddenly felt the aura of someone watching me. I looked to my left and through a hole was a man’s eyeball.
When he saw that I had seen him, he said, “Hey pal, can you hand me some toilet paper. I’m out.”
I was trying to be a good neighbor, so I tore some toilet paper and started to put the toilet paper through the hole when suddenly he jammed a body part through the hole, hoping that I would touch it. I was horrified. Though I was not quite finished, and may have left a trail of droppings behind, I ran out of that bathroom. I had not returned until this day. I never told Mother that story, and I hope none of you will either. It is simply horrifying to me, and would be even worse for her. Needless to say, I will never let a family member of mine use the Coates Hall bathroom.
After Coates Hall, I took Mother to Memorial Oak Grove behind the Union. It was there that on a Saturday night, I was returning from the library when I came across a distraught young female student. Her hair was a mess and she was crying, causing her mascara to run down her cheeks to the point that she looked almost like a clown. I asked her what was wrong, and she just blathered some incoherent words. Her breath reeks of that deadly and dastardly drug alcohol. She tried kissing me several times, but I was able to repel her advances. Eventually I found out she was living in Acadian, so I brought her there where her roommate took over. I left my campus address with her roommate. Several weeks later, I received an apology letter from the lush. I responded with a heartfelt letter, a copy of The Twelve Steps, and a list of AA meetings in the area. She never responded, but I pray she did not let the fetters of alcohol ensnare her ever again.
We passed my dorm, East Laville and the French House. I never spent much time in the French House other than for advising sessions and one seminar. The Honors College had some real cliques when I was there, and I was an outsider. We also saw one of the Honors College’s faculty’s car while walking through the West Laville parking lot. As she was with Cane’s, Mother was not impressed. As for the roommate stories, Mother advised me not to share them in public, as he is now a very powerful person she fears would seek retribution if I divulged some of what he did, things only I know.
We finally arrived at the Dairy Store. I was famished, having burned off that Caniac. It does not look like much from the outside, but my memories of that little store are bright. We entered and two employees, who gave us the courtesy of looking up from their cell phones, half-heartedly greeted us.
After a quick look at the ice cream offerings – no chocolate, no vanilla, no strawberry, no chocolate chip, no mint chocolate chip, no cookie dough, no cookies and cream – I settled on the least offensive I could find: peach.
“I will have a peach milkshake. No, make that two, one for Mother.”
“Sorry, we are out of milk,” the employee said.
“Out of milk? A dairy store being out of milk is akin to a pizzeria being out of tomato sauce. How is that even possible?”
“It just is.”
I suspected there was milk somewhere in the facility, but that he did not want to go to the trouble of making me a milkshake. I settled on getting two scoops of peach ice cream instead.
The employee rang me up. “That’ll be $8.67.”
“$8.67? It says on the menu one scoop is $2 and two scoops are $3.50. How is this possible?”
“We charge by weight now.”
“But I can get a half gallon ice cream, which is more than four times this weight, and it would cost, according to that menu behind you, $7.50. There is no reason behind this capricious pricing.”
The young man responded, “It is what it is.”
With that, I turned my back and left. Mother commented that she has rarely before seen me so bothered.
That was but a portion of our day of LSU walking. We made it out to the Rec Center and to the Vet School and a host of other locales, including the lakes and the churches by the lakes. By the end of the day, Mother admitted to me, “LSU is a handsome campus, not as beautiful as Newcomb, but its trees are some of the most beautiful I have seen on any campus. You were right, TulaneLSU.”
Perhaps one day, friends, we could meet up for a prayer walk through campus. Together, we could all explore campus and share our most hallowed and cherished memories there. I do so hope.
Faith, Hope, and Love,
TulaneLSU
P.S. I was pleasantly surprised by a few new art installations around campus. There were no such public pieces of outdoor art I can recall from my time. One memorable piece is John Fleming’s piece Reflectivity, which is near the new campus bookstore, which seems to be built on the old Highland Cafeteria site, which closed in 2007. I was told around that time, that the Laville Food Emporium, which was once home to a Domino’s that ran specials for five large one topping pizzas for $25 and became famous as the site where LSU Pizza Girl made a name for herself, was to be renovated.
Mother asked me about where most of my classes were, and I told her Coates Hall. It was, in a roundabout way, on our way to the Dairy Store. I showed her where I took a graduate level Civil War class with Charles Royster, who took me to lunch at the Faculty Club and told me I was one of the best students he had ever taught. I also showed Mother where I sat in a Coates Hall Christian philosophy class taught by the world renowned, and now deceased, John Whittaker.
Mother needed to use the washroom, but I warned her that Coates Hall was not the place for that. In fact, it was in the western most Coates Hall bathroom that I nearly became the victim of a sexual assault. I had been working on a computer science project in the LINUX lab when I felt the downstream effects of peristalsis. I moved briskly to the bathroom, which was just across the hall. I tore many sheets of toilet paper to make a sanitary blanket over the seat. I sat and suddenly felt the aura of someone watching me. I looked to my left and through a hole was a man’s eyeball.
When he saw that I had seen him, he said, “Hey pal, can you hand me some toilet paper. I’m out.”
I was trying to be a good neighbor, so I tore some toilet paper and started to put the toilet paper through the hole when suddenly he jammed a body part through the hole, hoping that I would touch it. I was horrified. Though I was not quite finished, and may have left a trail of droppings behind, I ran out of that bathroom. I had not returned until this day. I never told Mother that story, and I hope none of you will either. It is simply horrifying to me, and would be even worse for her. Needless to say, I will never let a family member of mine use the Coates Hall bathroom.
After Coates Hall, I took Mother to Memorial Oak Grove behind the Union. It was there that on a Saturday night, I was returning from the library when I came across a distraught young female student. Her hair was a mess and she was crying, causing her mascara to run down her cheeks to the point that she looked almost like a clown. I asked her what was wrong, and she just blathered some incoherent words. Her breath reeks of that deadly and dastardly drug alcohol. She tried kissing me several times, but I was able to repel her advances. Eventually I found out she was living in Acadian, so I brought her there where her roommate took over. I left my campus address with her roommate. Several weeks later, I received an apology letter from the lush. I responded with a heartfelt letter, a copy of The Twelve Steps, and a list of AA meetings in the area. She never responded, but I pray she did not let the fetters of alcohol ensnare her ever again.
We passed my dorm, East Laville and the French House. I never spent much time in the French House other than for advising sessions and one seminar. The Honors College had some real cliques when I was there, and I was an outsider. We also saw one of the Honors College’s faculty’s car while walking through the West Laville parking lot. As she was with Cane’s, Mother was not impressed. As for the roommate stories, Mother advised me not to share them in public, as he is now a very powerful person she fears would seek retribution if I divulged some of what he did, things only I know.
We finally arrived at the Dairy Store. I was famished, having burned off that Caniac. It does not look like much from the outside, but my memories of that little store are bright. We entered and two employees, who gave us the courtesy of looking up from their cell phones, half-heartedly greeted us.
After a quick look at the ice cream offerings – no chocolate, no vanilla, no strawberry, no chocolate chip, no mint chocolate chip, no cookie dough, no cookies and cream – I settled on the least offensive I could find: peach.
“I will have a peach milkshake. No, make that two, one for Mother.”
“Sorry, we are out of milk,” the employee said.
“Out of milk? A dairy store being out of milk is akin to a pizzeria being out of tomato sauce. How is that even possible?”
“It just is.”
I suspected there was milk somewhere in the facility, but that he did not want to go to the trouble of making me a milkshake. I settled on getting two scoops of peach ice cream instead.
The employee rang me up. “That’ll be $8.67.”
“$8.67? It says on the menu one scoop is $2 and two scoops are $3.50. How is this possible?”
“We charge by weight now.”
“But I can get a half gallon ice cream, which is more than four times this weight, and it would cost, according to that menu behind you, $7.50. There is no reason behind this capricious pricing.”
The young man responded, “It is what it is.”
With that, I turned my back and left. Mother commented that she has rarely before seen me so bothered.
That was but a portion of our day of LSU walking. We made it out to the Rec Center and to the Vet School and a host of other locales, including the lakes and the churches by the lakes. By the end of the day, Mother admitted to me, “LSU is a handsome campus, not as beautiful as Newcomb, but its trees are some of the most beautiful I have seen on any campus. You were right, TulaneLSU.”
Perhaps one day, friends, we could meet up for a prayer walk through campus. Together, we could all explore campus and share our most hallowed and cherished memories there. I do so hope.
Faith, Hope, and Love,
TulaneLSU
P.S. I was pleasantly surprised by a few new art installations around campus. There were no such public pieces of outdoor art I can recall from my time. One memorable piece is John Fleming’s piece Reflectivity, which is near the new campus bookstore, which seems to be built on the old Highland Cafeteria site, which closed in 2007. I was told around that time, that the Laville Food Emporium, which was once home to a Domino’s that ran specials for five large one topping pizzas for $25 and became famous as the site where LSU Pizza Girl made a name for herself, was to be renovated.
This post was edited on 5/29/23 at 8:39 pm
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:34 pm to TulaneLSU
Post More
This post was edited on 5/30/23 at 9:22 am
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:36 pm to TulaneLSU
you refuse to go away, much less gracefully, you suck balls
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:36 pm to TulaneLSU
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:37 pm to TulaneLSU
void
This post was edited on 5/30/23 at 9:21 am
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:37 pm to TulaneLSU
I will make this my nightly reading before bed. Bless u, good sir.
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:38 pm to TulaneLSU
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:39 pm to TulaneLSU
Will you just make the thread of the Top Ten Shallow Graves You Have Dug already?*
*Allegedly
*Allegedly
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:39 pm to 777Tiger
quote:
you refuse to go away, much less gracefully, you suck balls
Well, to be honest, he provides better content and more value to the board than tons of common posters like you and I.
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:40 pm to TulaneLSU
Top 10 greatest dipshit/troll of all time
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:40 pm to TulaneLSU
For fricks sake
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:41 pm to TulaneLSU
I swear to Christ, your shite gets more and more tiring everytime you post something.
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:42 pm to 777Tiger
quote:
you refuse to go away, much less gracefully, you suck balls
At least his posts are well written. I'll take that over the same old daily drivel.
He puts effort in it at the very least
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:42 pm to TulaneLSU
The Episcopal church at LSU is better funded than at Tulane by a far margin.
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:48 pm to TulaneLSU
Is that your kidnapper van?
Posted on 5/29/23 at 8:48 pm to TulaneLSU
quote:
two semesters at LSU before transferring to Delgado.
Username should be DelgadoLSU
This post was edited on 5/29/23 at 8:51 pm
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